Despair - a Voya Nui short story (Rewritten)

Almost a year ago I wrote a short story set on Voya Nui, focusing on some of my original Matoran characters. It was called Despair. It was soon followed by another called Tidal Wave, set during the Mahri Nui exodus and the revival of Mata Nui. Looking back, I found that while I still hold Tidal Wave in high regard, I grew to dislike Despair. The plot went by too quickly and we barely got to meet the main characters. I also realised I made a timeline oopsie - I envisioned the story taking place before LadyKopaka’s Hope, but found that this story (supposedly) takes place before the sinking of Mahri Nui (not that you could tell). This was barely a problem, but it still bugged me. With all this in mind I decided to bring it on the same level as its sequel story. Despair is now longer and canon-compliant. I hope you enjoy it. I know I do now. :slight_smile:


A lone Matoran stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Voya Nui Bay. He was a Ta-Matoran named Kapua, one of the oldest residents of Voya Nui. He had climbed the mountain path to check on the weather. Kapua was renowned among his Matoran peers for his knowledge of weather phenomena and his remarkable ability to accurately predict coming storms. Up on the cliff he had a good view of the horizon. The sky was clear and only a slight breeze blew between the rocks. Kapua was about to head back down when he saw something move further down. A small grey figure, possibly another Matoran. What was he doing up here? Before Kapua could think of a reason, the figure vanished. The Ta-Matoran did not dwell on what he saw. He grabbed his Lightning Rod and slowly started to descend.


In the place of the Bay there used to be a large Matoran settlement called Mahri Nui. The settlement, resting on a mass of volcanic rock, created not long after a deadly cataclysm, was one of the most populous and most industrious regions on the island. Was. It had only been a few years since it sank. Kapua had many friends from Mahri Nui and it was still hard to believe they were gone. But there was no time to grieve, for another storm could come and destroy what little Matoran life was left on Voya Nui. It was up to Kapua to see it coming. Lately, storms seemed to be getting more and more common…

The Ta-Matoran was back on the cliff. He had a bad feeling the calm weather was a harbinger of something far more destructive, so he started taking daily trips up the mountainside. Every time he came, a slight wind blew and there was nothing on the horizon. But he did see someone roaming up and down the Bay. A De-Matoran with a mismatched orange arm. He seemed to be looking for something. Kapua saw him again that day. The Ta-Matoran stepped carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. No doubt the De-Matoran could hear him regardless. And he did. He looked and saw the Ta-Matoran approach. Kapua addressed the wanderer with a careful whisper: “Hello.”


Two Matoran sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Voya Nui Bay, engaged in silent conversation. The De-Matoran turned out to be named Vinurr. When asked by Kapua, what he was doing in the mountains, he simply replied: “Looking”. He was shy and didn’t talk much, but he seemed to appreciate Kapua’s company. The Ta-Matoran was more than happy to stay by his side.

“There was this Fa-Matoran I met on a voyage once.” Kapua entertained his new friend with stories. “He was the captain of an old cargo ship. Farda, I think his name was. He was the best navigator on the continent.”

Vinurr listened intensely.

“He only had one functional optical sensor, but he still knew where was north and where was south. I travelled with him a lot. He taught me how to recognize storm clouds. You see, it’s all in the colour. Storm clouds are much darker than ordinary ones. Hah, Farda used to say that’s because Makuta- Hold on.”

Kapua thought he saw something on the horizon. Something dark and foreboding. As if on cue, a strong wind blew, almost knocking Kapua back down. Below, the water crashed against the cliffs. Kapua felt a sense of unease pass through him. He knew what all these signs meant. He turned to Vinurr.

“Come,” the Ta-Matoran said gently. “We must go and warn the others.”


Garan blinked. He couldn’t believe what his Ta-Matoran friend was telling him.

“A hurricane? Are you sure, Kapua?”

“I’m more than certain. It might be in a few days but it’s going to hit us sooner or later. I saw the signs.”

The Onu-Matoran crossed his fingers, considering the warning. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll begin the evacuation immediately.”

Kapua nodded. The last time they had a hurricane on Voya Nui was several hundred years ago. The Matoran knew how serious the situation was. They lived through it. Garan saluted and ran towards the village centre to sound the alarm. Kapua meanwhile glanced at a startled Vinurr.

“It’s okay,” he said to him. “It’s only a storm. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Vinurr smiled weakly.


The weather worsened in the following days. The wind was strong enough to break trees and lift roofs. A heavy rain pounded at the ground and widened streams. There was no doubt: a hurricane was about to pass. Kapua was huddling under a rocky overhang with the other Matoran. He was nervous, but not because of the storm. He sought Garan.

“Where is Vinurr?”

When he saw confusion on the Onu-Matoran’s face, he added: “The De-Matoran, the one with an orange arm. Did you see him?”

Garan shook his head. “I didn’t see him anywhere.”

Where could he be?!, Kapua thought to himself. Then he gulped. He ran out of the shelter towards the mountain path.


Kapua ran as fast as his weak legs would allow him. If he was right, then Vinurr would be at the Bay. He climbed, digging the tip of the Rod into the harsh rock. As the wind roared, he remembered the first ever hurricane to hit Voya Nui almost a thousand years ago. The blasted stone. The ruined houses. The mangled corpses of Matoran. Kapua screamed. He never wanted to see anything like that again. He stopped, searching for Vinurr.

At last, he saw him, wandering on the cliff where they first met. The De-Matoran was holding his hands to his head. The sounds must’ve been unbearable.

“Vinurr!” Kapua was shouting. There was no use in whispering. He grabbed Vinurr by the arm. “Come! It’s already begun!”

The two Matoran ran slowly and awkwardly. Kapua cursed Karzahni for the horrible work he did on his legs. Vinurr held his hand to help him navigate the rocky terrain. Not far away was the overhang. Kapua let go, much to Vinurr’s surprise.

“Go!” he ordered. “I’m slowing you down. You might make it in time.”


De-Matoran weren’t known to raise their voice, even in the worst of circumstances, so the shout that came from Vinurr took Kapua by surprise.


“I can’t lose another friend!”

The two Matoran stood in a silence ravaged by screaming winds and stared at each other, one in disbelief, the other in defiance. Lighting flashed. In that moment, a dawning realisation struck Kapua.

“There was a reason you were wandering up the Bay, wasn’t there?”

Vinurr’s head drooped in sadness. “He was a Po-Matoran from Mahri Nui. He sank on that day with all the others. I… I don’t why I keep coming here. Maybe to see him one last time.”

Kapua gently placed his hand on Vinurr’s shoulder.

“He was the only friend I had.”

“What was his name?”

Vinurr slowly raised his gaze.

“Suru,” he whispered.

It was then that a hard wind hit them both.


When he awoke, Kapua was lying in a shallow pool of water. His armour was scraped and his back ached from the fall. In his lap lay his Lightning Rod. Staggering and groaning, he stood up and leaned on his weapon. He was surrounded by the many inquisitive faces of the Matoran from the overhang. They were all there. Except for one.

“Did he make it?”

The Matoran were confused by Kapua’s question. The Ta-Matoran looked around. Not far away he saw a small grey figure lying on the rocks. A small grey figure with an orange arm.


Kapua dropped his Rod and limped towards the De-Matoran, hoping against hope that he was still alive. He fell to his knees and checked Vinurr’s heartlight.

It was no longer flashing.


A lone Matoran stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Voya Nui Bay. He was a Ta-Matoran named Kapua. He had recently lost a friend. In his hands was a cracked grey Kanohi. The Matoran of Kapua’s native land had a custom, where they would remove the Kanohi from the dead and give it to their friends. Vinurr didn’t have any living friends, at least none that Kapua knew of. But there was another…

Gently, he dropped Vinurr’s mask into the waters of the Bay. As it made a barely audible splash, Kapua hoped that the De-Matoran’s spirit would finally reunite with his fallen friend.