Chapter 16: tower of memories
Dawn breaks over the city of Elysia.
Sunlight scatters over the purple roofs, the various cables and metal walkways that weave in between the various buildings. The lampposts flicker out as the morning sunlight flows through each district, finally landing upon the imposing bastion of Karzahni’s citadel. Some matoran have already awoken, preparing for whatever errands or work needed to be done today. Others remain asleep, not needing to awaken for another few hours.
Atop the dome of the citadel, Voriki sits crosslegged; spear in hand, absently staring at the horizon. As the sunlight creeps up her body, the warmth embraces her past the armor platings, making her sigh in content.
She stood vigil the entire night, not daring to move in case of potential pursuers coming for Karzahni.
Yet none had appeared.
It wasn’t enough. Sure, they haven’t appeared yet, but what was stopping them from appearing at all? Who’s to say they won’t appear in the next few minutes? Who’s to say how’d they appear, from the waves or the sky? Would she even be able to counter them if they could still manipulate time? The answer for that wasn’t that she could, but she had to. For Karzahni’s sake, for Ivna’s sake, for all her friends here, she had to stop Makuta or Ekimu or whoever dared assault the city.
Somehow.
But…
As Voriki’s body is seeped with the comfort of sunlight, her eyes begin to feel heavy.
No, she demands herself. She has to stay awake.
Ivna fought to stay by her side the whole night, but eventually Voriki sent her home once she almost slipped off the roof in a daze. Voriki could handle this task alone. After all, she’s the Toa, the guardian of Elysia, right?
But…
How her body yearned to be at home, embraced with Ivna in their comfortable bed, the soft sounds of the ocean waves rumbling below, the soft murmurs of an early awoken matoran beginning their day…
Voriki slowly leans against her spear, struggling to gaze at the sunrise.
I’ll close my eyes for a moment. That’s all.
A few minutes later, Elysia’s protector sleeps perched at her post.
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Beneath the sleeping guardian of lightning, in the dark, empty halls of the citadel, the Great Being stalks towards his abandoned workshop.
It had been a restless night; even basked in darkness, Karzahni was wary of every shadow that moved, every flicker of light that seeped through the hidden cracks in the walls. The whispers he hears, the images that plague his mind, incessantly barraging his sanity.
Rap Tap Tap.
Incessantly.
It beckons to him.
The sweet taste of endless knowledge, only now to find that forbidden fruit to be toxic, slowly choking him out.
It almost feels like mockery.
He sees the countless ways he dies in different realities; a promise that when- not if- his time comes, it will be utterly painful.
He sees his trusted friend, his prized pupil, his successor; now destined to become his fated executioner.
He sees that nauseating ball of flesh, pulsating, writhing in agonizing pain yet gleefully devouring all unfortunately to be in its sights.
Which, as this self-proclaimed Ȑ̶̢ë̸̤ḋ̶͉ ̶̦͆S̶͔̏t̴͕̊ä̴̡r̶̺̈́ has been so intent on reminding Karzahni, is everyone on this planet- Matoran and Great Beings alike.
And this thing seems to enjoy it. Mocking him.
But as the S̷͚̿t̷͎͝a̵̘͠ȓ̵̢ continued to whisper into his mind, tapping against his psyche, reveling in the unknown of when all these fated outcomes would occur- something changed within Karzahni.
How dare.
How dare this abomination torture me with my own abilities.
Did Karzahni unintentionally poke a truly eldritch horror and draw its attention? Yes; at the moment, Karzahni nor anyone else were equipped to fend off such an entity.
But he will not “rejoice” for its arrival.
Karzahni stumbles into his workshop, making his way over to his workbench. His tools lay where he left them, a thin layer of dust coating the workspace. Some tendrils emerge from his body to quickly sweep the dirt away.
No, no, he will PREPARE.
Karzahni will break his cycle, defy this foreboding fate and claim victory. Already he pushes his mind through the haze of omens, crafting ideas.
Right now, he has three objectives:
One, ensure he has strength. The matoran outside are capable beings; but they need to be stronger. Capable of combat. Obedient. Along with them, he needs to create a designated security personnel that can handle more pressing opponents, much stronger than mere matoran.
Two, secure Elysia. This city will be his stronghold, his tower to defend against the approaching storm. No hidden flaws to exploit, nothing to sabotage. It will be his indomitable bastion against whatever comes.
These two objectives were crucial to maintain the final objective-
Voriki.
“-You know what!? One day, I will be a hero. And when I do, I will make sure that you’re wiped away from this world!-”
Karzahni clenches his jaw, clawed hands holding his head. Time was running out; the visions and voices would only continue, and it would not be long before he succumbed to the onslaught.
He sighs, taking a deep breath. One task at a time.
First, he needed to fetch some spare parts.
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Mavrah tended to keep to himself, save for occasionally a dinner with the original matoran. But today he is drawn to a crowd of matoran gathering around the entrance of the citadel. His reliable hahnah, Talle, scuttles close behind as they make their way to the crowd.
As they draw closer, he can start making out fragments of conversations;
“-what was she even doing up there??-”
“-yeah, Ivna and Gevnuk will be here shortly-”
“-and he hasn’t shown his face! Where is-?”
Mavrah frowns. He approaches the crowd; the closest matoran he recognizes is Kiromo.
He finally speaks up, “What’s going on here?”
Kiromo whirls around. “Oh, Mavrah! It’s Voriki! She fell off the dome!”
Mavrah’s eyes go wide, instinctually glancing upwards, “The citadel’s dome? What was she doing up there?”
Kiromo shrugs, “I’m afraid I’m unsure; some matoran heard a bang, and when they checked it out they found her on the floor.”
Mavrah moves forward, “Is she ok?”
Kiromo moves aside as Mavrah tries pushing through the crowd.
“She’s unharmed naturally,” Kiromo calls from behind. “A mere fall shouldn’t affect a Toa so easily.”
The rahi enthusiast rolls his eyes as he pushes through. Not a surprise the fanatic won’t shut up about the deific status of his friend.
He manages to squeeze past the gathered matoran and finds Voriki lying on the floor, unconscious. A matoran is crouched above her, a heavy orange shawl draped over his shoulders. The matoran peers up at the sound of Mavrah’s approach, his red eyes glowing in the deep sockets of his mask.
“Healer Ulris, is she really ok?” Mavrah asks.
Ulris slowly stands upright and nods, “Ah, nothing to fear Mavrah, I’m pretty sure the floor panel took more damage than she did.”
Mavrah exhales, slight relief filling his body.
Ulris turns his gaze up towards the top of the citadel.
“Does anyone have any idea what she was-”
Suddenly a shout interrupts his question, followed by gasps of matoran.
“MOVE OUTTA THE WAY!!” Gevnuk roars as he stampedes towards the crowd. Ivna is hot on his heels, her face etched in concern.
“Restrain yourself this instant you oaf!” Ulris scolds. “One unconscious matoran is enough for today, thank you very much.”
Gevnuk skids to a stop, huffing in annoyance. Ivna slows down and stops in front of the healer.
“Where is she, is she-”
The Healer holds up her hands placatingly, “She’s right behind me; no worries she is unharmed.”
Ivna sighs, “Oh thank-”
“However,” Ulris interrupts, “Voriki seems almost completely exhausted; I imagine her sleep deprivation is the reason for her tumble off the roof?”
Before Ivna could muster a response, he folds his arms, “You two are extremely close, correct? Any idea what our city’s leader was doing perched on the top of the citadel without any sleep?”
A few murmurs from the crowd of matoran echo the Healer’s sentiment. Mavrah eyes the crowd in annoyance, before shooting Ivna a worried glance.
“I… I don’t know how much I can really say,” Ivna starts. “You all know that our city is on high alert following Karzahni’s return. She thinks whatever had harmed him will follow him here. So, she stood watch.”
She glances downward, “Ugh, I should’ve been here, I should’ve stayed! At least-”
“Shush shush shush, none of that,” Ulris shakes his head. “Perhaps I was a little harsh; right now the important thing to know is that Voriki is safe, but she needs to get some proper rest.”
Ivna sheepishly nods. The crowd of matoran move aside as Gevnuk gently scoops up the unconscious matoran and leaves.
Soon enough, with the incident resolved, the crowd disperses. Ulris and Mavrah remain, their gaze upon the front door. Ivna stands beside them.
“With both of Elysia’s leaders currently indisposed, logistics will be in your hands for the time being Ivna,” says Ulris.
“Yeah, gotcha.”
Ulris frowns, “If something strong enough to injure Karzahni is inevitably coming for him, we may be overdue for a discussion about proper defenses for this city. Despite their power, we cannot rely on Karzahni and Voriki to solve everything on their own.”
He turns to her, “We’ll discuss later with Jouwi. I’m heading back to the apothecary; let me know if anything changes with Voriki.”
Ivna nods in thanks, and the Healer departs.
Mavrah continues staring at the door. Ivna glances at him, then the door.
“Everything good?”
Mavrah’s eyes don’t leave the citadel entrance.
… Beware the rain, beware the snow. Beware the one, you think you know…
"… Yeah. It’s fine,” he says finally.
“Right… Let me get Voriki comfortable at home first, then I’ll try popping in and seeing if Karzahni’s ok.”
Mavrah goes still.
“… I’ll go with you, to the citadel.”
Ivna waves him off, “Nah, it’s fine. I know you two aren’t exactly buddies; I’ll take care of it.”
Ivna gives a quick pat on Talle’s head before heading off. Mavrah’s mouth is agape, his protest falling away.
Talle chirps, breaking the matoran out his trance. He grimaces.
“I don’t like it, Halle. I don’t like it at all.”
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Following a rugged mountainside, a wide dirt road slowly snakes its way around the rocky cliffs and stone valleys. Looming in the distance is a massive volcano, the landmark of Mangaia. Ash clouds permanently dot the sky above, a constant shadow on the land below.
On this dirt path is what seems to be an ordinary traveller, bundled in a blue cloak, a silver ornate staff being used as a walking stick. They don’t appear to carry anything else.
The traveller continues down the dirt road, slowly heading towards the direction of Mangaia. As they walk however, the sound of heavy hoof-falls and wagon wheels begins to creep up behind them. They move towards the side of the road, giving enough space for the wagon to pass.
Soon enough, a large wagon being drawn by two Kane-Ra bulls rushes past him, adorned with bright yellow and purple curtains and golden accents. But to the traveler’s surprise, the wagon comes to a sudden halt, the bulls huffing in annoyance.
The traveller eyes the carriage warily, though maintaining their pace along the road. As they’re about to pass the wagon, the side door swings open. Standing in the frame is a brown-hued matoran, draped in beautiful blue silk and golden jewelry. In his hand seems to be a hollowed out fruit, idly held to the side as he leans against the doorframe. Green eyes skim over the traveller, a coy smile stretching across the matoran’s face.
“That cloak keeps you hidden pretty well,” the matoran smirks, “but I know that staff anywhere.”
The traveller sighs, turning to face the matoran. The light of the wagon’s interior illuminates the golden armor hidden within the shadows of the cloak.
“Ekimu, our creator,” the matoran purrs. “Curious to see you wandering the trade routes like a common nomad. Where is our illustrious Great Being off to this afternoon?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Ekimu admits sheepishly.
“Mmm hmm, is that so,” the matoran muses. “Well, would The Creator care for some company and easier means of travel? At least to the next village.”
Ekimu blinks. “Why would you offer that?”
The matoran shrugs, grinning. Ekimu looks the stranger up and down, slightly skeptical, before he sighs and approaches the wagon.
And that is how Ekimu finds himself sitting across from the Magnate Algash, the merchant king of Motara, a small table of luxury foods between them and a hollowed out fruit shell filled with a potent juice in his hands.
Across from him, Algash lounges on a massive, soft, cushion, flanked by two Motaran guards. Armed with warhammers and steel pauldrons, they stand stoic as the wagon rumbles over the rocky dirt path. The merchant king pops a small grape into his mouth as he casually glances at Ekimu.
“Ekimuuuu…” Algash slurs lazily, “Relaaaax. Take a load off, enjoy yourself. What is mine to enjoy is yours; any desire you seek we’ll do our best to fulfill.”
“… while your kindness is appreciated,” Ekimu murmurs, “forgive if I am slightly cautious of your intentions.”
“Ohhhh? I am merely offering my services to you; what have I done to warrant such suspicion?”
“I’m not entirely the naive fool that many think I am,” Ekimu retorts. “I know who you are, what your position is. If there wasn’t something you could gain from this, you wouldn’t have picked me up.”
Algash lets out a hearty laugh.
“I can’t deny that your… maturity on certain topics has been a subject of many conversations I’ve heard; however I assure you my intentions are purely altruistic, for the most part.”
Ekimu raises an eyebrow, “For the most part?”
The merchant king returns a cheeky grin, “For the most part.”
Ekimu scoffs in frustration, falling back against his seat. He crosses his arms, frowning at the matoran.
“See,” Algash snickers, “you pouting right now isn’t helping your case.”
“Being frustrated with someone isn’t a sign of immaturity. Especially if said person is being cryptic on purpose,” Ekimu grumbles.
The two beings watch one another, looking for some unseen tell of what the other is thinking. Ekimu glares at Algash while said matoran idly clinks the rings on his fingers together.
Finally, Algash claps his hands together.
“Ok! How about this- I’m a matoran of deals and investments. So here’s my offer- I ask you something, you give me an answer. If I’m satisfied with the answer, then you may ask a question and I’ll give you an answer of equal value. How’s that sound?”
Ekimu remains silent for a moment, before nodding his head.
The magnate claps, “Lovely! Let’s start with an easy one- what has the Creator been up to these days? Feels like things have been quiet on the Great Being side of things lately.”
The Great Being looks down at his hands, his expression faltering.
“I’ve… that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out myself.”
“Ohhhh? Hitting a creative roadblock?”
Ekimu frowns, “Not… exactly. I find myself at a loss of what my purpose is. The island is here, the matoran are established and flourishing… what am I supposed to do now?”
Algash leans back, hand to his chin, “Hmm, that’s a loaded question. I didn’t think Great Beings had similar existential dreads that we do…”
He snaps his fingers.
“But! You are a Great Being, with nearly limitless power! You could do whatever you want!”
Ekimu’s eyes widen, “But I can’t just… wander about, doing whatever my whims compel me to do! I have to–”
“Have to what? You said it yourself; the hard work is done, everything’s in its place. What else are you obligated to do?”
The Creator seems to squirm uncomfortably in his seat, “But Makuta–”
Algash scowls, “Ah, who cares what that big makika wants! You’re not beholden to his word, are you? You’re his equal; you can decide your own duties and desires.”
Ekimu goes silent, his mind screeching to a halt.
Was it that simple?
Of course… he was betrayed by his brother. Why was he still holding himself to the Overseer’s standards?
Could he just be…
“Oh Ekimu,” Algash interrupts his thoughts, “I’m starting to think fate has brought us here this afternoon on purpose.”
The Merchant King flashes a smile.
“I think giving you a lift today will prove to be a very fruitful investment.”
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Mavrah shuts the door behind him, stepping outside Voriki’s residence.
He had come by earlier to check up on Voriki’s wellbeing. She was still asleep; it seemed the mixture of fatigue and stress had worn her down more than they were led to believe. Gevnuk was currently stationed at the house, waiting for Ivna to return.
Which was the current issue.
Ivna left to check up on Karzahni hours ago, and had yet to return.
A heavy unease settled in Mavrah’s gut as he strides towards the Citadel. He internally chastises himself; he shouldn’t have let her go by herself, he should’ve been more firm.
Mavrah had always been suspicious of Karzahni, from the moment of his awakening. While Voriki claimed the Great Being had reformed and changed for the better, Mavrah could still see that something cold and devious still lurked within him. Sure, Karzahni put on airs that he was aloof but kind, pragmatic but compassionate; but the Rahi enthusiast never truly bought it. It always felt like an act.
And now, injured and vulnerable, Karzahni’s mask appeared to be slipping. To save face, he hid in his citadel to recompose himself… or perhaps has the Great Being finally snapped? Mavrah wasn’t entirely sure, but the fact that Ivna went to check on him and hadn’t returned made him anxious.
As Mavrah approaches the citadel’s entrance, he notices the front door is agape. So Ivna did enter the building… yet didn’t seem to leave. Cautiously he peers inside the gap.
The interior was dark, seemingly none of the lights were kept on. Slowly, Mavrah squeezes through the entrance, scanning his surroundings.
This area seemed frozen in time from a year ago; old training dummies from when Ivna and Gevnuk used to practice with Voriki, the rickety wooden chair that Akhun seemed attached to, were all where they had left them. A faint smile graces Mavrah’s face; memories from what had been a simpler time.
Clang!
Suddenly, echoing down the hallway, a metallic sound rings out. Mavrah freezes, eyes trying to scan in the darkness. Carefully, Mavrah sneaks down the hallway.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Following the sounds through a series of winding corridors, Mavrah eventually sees a light leaking from a doorway.
He slides up against the wall, edged against the frame of the door. He takes a breath, and peeks around the corner–
And…
It takes everything in Mavrah’s power to not retch right there.
Matoran. A dozen or so, not Elysian. Mostly colored red.
Dead.
Mangled.
And there amongst them, like a wicked reaper, was Karzahni, taking pieces of their bodies and making… something.
Its top half looked vaguely matoran, but with bulkier arms that ended in blades. The bottom half was some sort of insectoid body; pointed limbs and a long, stinger tail.
Mavrah was frozen, the lifeless eyes of the nameless matoran seeming staring into his soul, filled with a silent anguish.
Karzahni stops. His claws seem to tighten around the limb in his hand.
“…oh, I knew you’d become a problem eventually.”
The sleuthing matoran doesn’t know if the monstrous deity was referring to the abomination he was assembling… or him.
Mavrah wasn’t sticking around to find out.
As quietly as possible, Mavrah scurries away from the room.
The darkness makes it difficult to navigate, but Mavrah didn’t care, he needed to get away. He had to get out, he had to warn everyone. He had to…
As he whips around a corner, he suddenly collides with a body. He stumbles back, giving a little yelp. He haphazardly raises his arms in defense–
In front of him is Ivna.
A wave of relief washes over Mavrah. He rushes forward and, surprising himself, hugs Ivna.
“You’re ok, you’re alive, thank goodness,” Mavrah wheezes. He quickly pulls back, peering down the hallway he just came from.
“Ivna, we have to get out of here. I don’t know how you’ve escaped this… monster’s grasp, but Karzahni’s dangerous. He’s… I saw…”
Perhaps, it is because Mavrah trusts Ivna. Perhaps, because of the many matoran on Elysia, he considers her and the original created matoran to be something of a family to him. Perhaps it was the euphoria of finding her alive and not a mangled corpse.
Perhaps it was any of these reasons that he doesn’t notice her unusual empty expression.
Doesn’t notice his friend holding a blunt, metal pipe.
And doesn’t notice her then raising it in the air, posed to strike him down.
Our sailing ships