Thunder echoes across the ocean, as the skies flash with every roar. Darkness covers the entire area, as black clouds begin to engulf the island. Matoran and Agori alike gather around the beach as heavy rain pours on Pirau Nui’s Bo-Wahi. A statue carved of ancient, weathered stone towers in comparison to the nearby palm trees, bent and battered from the storm. The statue stands erect just before the sands cut off to the rainforests, as if it is there as an eternal guard, its helmet facing the raging coast. Around the statue’s base, five hooded figures are gathered, standing out amongst the crowd. “It’s storming out and the winds are strong enough to blow trees ‘til they bend. Exactly why are we out here again?” whispered a frustrated and shivering Ta-Matoran to the Ga-Matoran next to him. “We were told to gather in honor of somebody, but I have no idea who that ‘somebody’ is. Nobody in my village has a clue either. I guess that makes them a ‘nobody’?” replied the Ga-Matoran. The weather didn’t seem to bother her, but she wasn’t too happy to have her new life suddenly interrupted by this strange and sudden event. “I heard it was one of the guardians who just died. I think that’s why they immediately called for this funeral of sorts to honor them.” interjected an Agori from the Jungle Tribe. “That was quick. It’s only been a week since we all started to migrate here with the guardians. I wonder what killed them?” the Ga-Matoran replied, curious. “As terrible as that is, I gotta know! Which one of ‘em bit the dust? How’d they go?” eagerly interjected the Ta-Matoran. Before any other Agori and Matoran could join the quiet conversation, a tiny cloud of mist drifted across the Ta-Matoran’s face. Turning to his side, the Matoran was greeted by a broad blade, with its intricately carved surface glowing with heat. Each droplet of rain that fell on it disappeared in a puff of steam with a hiss, catching the attention of the surrounding Matoran and Agori. The hooded figure holding the sword spoke with a deep, monotonous voice. “Have you no heart, young one? My fellow comrade and brother in arms had just died. Show some respect.” the hooded figure quietly scolded the Ta-Matoran.
“I-I didn’t know! Forgive me, guardian! Forgive me!” the Ta-Matoran softly stuttered out of panic.
“That goes for the rest of you.” the hooded figure said, his voice measured, yet disappointed, to the Agori and Matoran nearby as he sheathed his blade. “Understand the gravity of this gathering.” He turned and walked away to join the five figures gathered around the statue.
“Mata Nui… What a cranky, old hothead…” grumbled the Ta-Matoran.
The rest of the ceremony carried on somber for hours. The Matoran and Agori in the area murmured and whispered to themselves, as if none of the six hooded figures were even there. By midnight, there was little left to say, and all the Agori and Matoran started to go back home to their respective regions, while the six hooded figures remained together around the statue. Eventually, the silence in the night was broken as all six of them began to discuss.
“I can’t say I knew him personally. I presume he was… a good warrior?” One asked, his voice quiet and respectful.
“And a good friend.” The figure’s old, haggard voice cut through the soft murmurs of the Agori and Matoran as they left the beach.
“How unjust. His death wasn’t even a noble one.” Another spoke, sighing.
“I was right to have my suspicions. This island is cursed.” One of the figures huffed, scorn for the land on which they stood apparent.
“Keep your superstitions to yourself, Toa. Those fields were unpredictable and twice as deadly.” The furthest of the figures snarled, obviously angry with his comrade and their comment. “We’re all lucky to have walked out of there at all.”
“Unless you were a Toa of Lightning, you couldn’t have survived that energy storm field for more than a minute.” The one who had remained most silent throughout the entire ceremony finally spoke, his voice clearly weighed with sorrow and guilt. “I should’ve done more for him. He didn’t deserve this.”
“Enough!” The eldest barked, upset at his compatriots’ varied reactions. “What’s done is done. Let him rest. It’s only the six of us now.” He said, looking at them all. “We must carry on with our duties as the guardians of Pirau Nui. This is how we honor him, and every single warrior who has fallen ever since the reunification.”
The six hooded figures nodded in agreement, and started to leave as well, one by one. Two of them remained by the statue, despite the storm getting stronger by the minute. The hooded figure who carried the glowing sword from earlier spoke softly as he placed his hand on the statue’s foot before leaving.
“Goodbye, Gresh.”
The one hooded figure who remained stood his ground and stayed longer, without moving a muscle. It was almost as if they were a statue too, unmoving in their stone cold posture. They calmly turned to their side, as something caught their attention. A lone Agori, smaller than average for their tribe, was hiding behind a tree, watching the hooded figure, looking frightened.
“What are you staring at, kid?” the hooded figure called out with a hoarse voice.
The Agori remained silent, while still staring at the hooded figure.
Something was… familiar about him. The Agori thought.
“What’s your name?” the hooded figure followed up in a voice colder and more dispassionate than before.
“Ana-” the Agori was cut off before she could utter her name, as another villager grabbed her by the arm and ran away with her into the forest.
“What were you thinking, staying out here? We gotta get out of this storm!” the Matoran said, dragging the Agori as they ran through the jungle together.
“H-he… was there…” the frightened Agori whispered.
“What? Speak clearly, Anahera.”
“Forget it…”
The Agori and the Matoran disappeared into the forest, Anahera glancing over her shoulder as they made their way back to their village in Bo-Koro.