Rebirth (part seven) - Rumbling

Ackar and Kiina emerged from the shadowed spires of New Daxia, burdened by a grim covenant. The clandestine parley with the Order of Mata Nui had come to an end, and with it, the last remnants of certainty. Helryx had laid before them a proposition not of alliance, but of subjugation cloaked as salvation.

The Order, once mere whispers in the dark, had proven indispensable. Though their numbers waned, their blades did not. They commanded the Ruhnga and the Korero, night-born Rahi twisted into cruel sapience within the furnaces of Karzahni. These abominations, shorn of kin and conscience, had forsaken wild instinct for cold logic and pledged themselves to Helryx. Their minds were weapons, able to paralyze thought and shatter resolve—predators not of flesh, but of will.

Once forged by the deranged hand of Mutran as weapons for Icarax, the Korero were cast away like failed experiments. Yet in Helryx's presence, they found purpose, and through time, power.

Now Ackar stood before the edge, not of a battlefield, but of destiny. The age of frail unity was no more; blood had soaked the soil where Matoran and Agori were building peace. What began as murmurs of discontent—whispers of missing kin and stolen goods—had bloomed into a roaring fire.

Where once stood diplomacy, now stood division. The Agori of Vulcanus, led by Raanu, had cast the Matoran from their lands, branding them saboteurs. Refueling stations burned. Watchtowers fell beneath Skakdi rage. Ackar, once the voice of calm, had been deposed—his pleas drowned in the thunder of war drums. Now Raanu was the one controlling the United Villages. Ackar, disgraced but not forgotten, was named the Commander of the Certavus Guard, a ghost title borne in honor of an ancient Glatorian, and perhaps, a final hope.

With Kiina, he rode through the broken veins of the land. Together they whispered of oaths made after the fall of Teridax—promises that no evil would rise again. Yet evil had no form; it seeped like poison into the cracks of civilization. And so, the Order, once anathema, now seemed the only shield left to raise. But for Ackar, accepting their hand meant surrendering.

Kiina's eyes, deep and knowing, caught his thoughts before his tongue did. Without a word, she veered toward Tajun, leaving Ackar to ride into Vulcanus alone.

* * *

There, in the molten breath of the forge-city, Rubix, an Agori, hailed him. Her voice was low, her gaze sharp. "Come," she bade, "you must see."

Beneath her dwelling, in the dark hollow where warmth dies, she revealed a secret kept in shadow.

A Toa, mortally wounded, had once been brought into her care—Kapura of Ahi-Nui. She had hidden him, nursed him, and spoken to no one. But now… he lay cold and still, his fire snuffed by unseen hands.

Who had done this? And why? Was the blade Agori, or something fouler still?

Rubix told of cloaked figures prowling her land, neither Glatorian nor Agori. "Perhaps Matoran," she said, but Raanu's decree had sealed the borders. None should pass.

One of them wore a face not made, but mangled—a visage lost to horror. Ackar felt the pull of dread creep along his spine. Only Kiina deserved to know this; no one else.

And so, the two warriors left for Tesara, under the whispering trees, where they met Gresh, once a disciple, now a warrior of renown. His voice rang with joy, but his eyes carried the storm of youth, eager to surpass, to conquer, to lead.

"Has the pact with the Order been sealed?" he asked. "Is the war ending?"

Ackar did not answer.

Instead, they were summoned before the Four of Tesara, who spoke of vanishing Agori and new voids opening in the Ice Region. Ackar and Kiina exchanged glances—Kapura, the cloaked strangers… was this all the same thread, unraveling?

But before thought could turn to word, the ground trembled.

A titanic pulse of energy surged from the earth—Protodermis screamed beneath their feet. Across the world, radars blared. From beast to warrior, a shudder of existence echoed—a signal of something ancient awakening...

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Far to the north, through frostbitten wind and ruin, Nuju and Vakama trudged toward Vulcanus. Vakama, plagued by visions that bled into waking thought, saw shadows of the past clawing into the present. History, it seemed, had begun to loop upon itself.

In the shards of Iconox, Matoran soldiers found a figure cloaked in tattered green. "Who are you?" they asked.

"I am Tura... ehm... Toa Matau!" he answered. "Returned to protect all of you!"

But protection had already been promised. The Matoran spoke of six summoned from ancient Metru Nui, five now transformed by the Red Star's flame, one vanished without a trace.

Matau's heart darkened. He would seek the Turaga, and in their words, perhaps find a thread that led to Nokama.

Meanwhile, in the deserts where the sun devours the dead, two shadows walked—Whenua and Onewa—their steps silent over the bones of cities. Ruins whispered of slaughter. Matoran and Heroes, fallen, unnamed, forgotten.

"One hundred and two," Whenua murmured.

Onewa's voice, once loud with laughter, now trembled beneath the weight of memory. And then, they saw him—a watcher in the heat. A figure blurred by sand and distance. A ghost?

No. A spy, cloaked in silence, face masked by a silver Kanohi Volitak, once worn by Nidhiki, the betrayer. It was Mazeka, emissary of the Order. 

The next piece had moved. The great game was stirring again...