The air was heavy with silence. The twin moons cast their pale glow upon the chamber's heart, where a gathering had only recently dispersed. One figure remained—a silhouette of modest stature, standing motionless as his gaze drifted upward. A crimson hue tainted the heavens, deepening with each passing moment, heralding the imminent rise of the third moon.
"The hour is upon us," came a muffled voice from the shadows behind him. "Summoning the chosen ones is the next step in the fulfillment of the design."
A pause. Then, with quiet finality: "Proceed."
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"Lhikan's armies had been prepared for the ambush. When the moment arrived, they struck without hesitation, their assault upon the Dark Hunters swift and merciless... Well, that concludes today's lesson," the teacher announced. "Tomorrow, we shall finish this chapter and begin the Great Cataclysm. May you all have a good day."
The Matoran rose from their seats, murmuring amongst themselves as they departed. The speculative chatter of students echoed down the corridor, weaving into the ambient roar of the great waterfall beyond the academy walls. It had been months—perhaps years—since the air had felt so still, so unburdened by war. And yet, beneath this fragile calm, a quiet fervor lingered. The yearning for rebirth coursed through the minds of the people, as though it were a new faith unto itself.
Within the emptied classroom, the teacher meticulously sorted digital tablets into the archive. It was then that the measured weight of approaching footsteps disrupted the quiet. A towering figure stepped through the threshold, his presence undeniable, followed by the synchronized march of armored warriors.
"Vhisola?"
The Ga-Matoran looked up, startled. She had not expected to hear her own name spoken by that stranger. His armor bore the unmistakable markings of an age long past, a relic of history walking in the present. Yet, the sigil upon his chest—etched deep into the blackened Protosteel—struck her mute.
"A member of the Order..." she murmured, her voice uncertain. "You seek me? For what purpose?"
"You should already know," came the reply from the agent.
"Should I?"
"Yes. Or has time stolen your memory?"
Vhisola hesitated. "It has been a long time since that day. But you… I do not believe we have met before."
The warrior inclined his head. "Forgive my lack of introduction. I am Hydraxon, but in another... life, I was known as Dekar. We've probably already met, but my aspect... it has drastically changed in the last... well, I've lost count of the days since this illness has been chasing me. Anyway, the court has sent me. You are to come with us."
The Ga-Matoran swallowed before voicing it aloud. "You intend to restore... the Three Virtues army?"
A shadow passed over Hydraxon's face, unreadable in its depths.
"No," he answered. "All things have their time… and their reason. In due course, you shall have your answers. But first, Vhisola, you must come with us."
With no other choice, Vhisola gathered her belongings, hastily preparing for departure. She moved swiftly towards her dwelling beneath the waterfall, flanked by Hydraxon's escort. As expected, she was not alone. Ruhnga soldiers stood in silent vigilance, their presence casting an ominous shadow over the otherwise tranquil building. The other Matoran—her neighbors—had been discreetly ushered away under vague pretexts, ensuring no unwanted attention was drawn to the unfolding events.
Vhisola struggled to grasp the purpose behind this sudden summons, let alone the need for a military escort. There had to be a reason—one that Hydraxon would soon unveil.
She packed what she could, her bag filled with trinkets and necessities, uncertain of how long this journey would last. An absurd thought gnawed at her: would she ever return to this home? A place both familiar and foreign, shaped by time's relentless erosion. Normally, her spirit clung to optimism, but something in the air was different—an unshakable sense of foreboding that defied explanation.
"You will need that as well," Hydraxon stated, gesturing toward a seemingly inconspicuous rug in the center of the room.
"A... carpet?" Vhisola turned, her voice betraying the unease of one caught in an unspoken transgression.
"You know exactly what I speak of," Hydraxon replied, the faintest trace of amusement ghosting across his expression.
Realization struck. The Order's operative was aware—he knew of the Kanoka launcher she had hidden beneath the floor's concealed hatch. There was no point in pretense. And so, she retrieved the weapon, along with the remaining ammunition, and secured them in her pack. The added weight bore down on her shoulders, an anchor to the uncertainty ahead.
"Where are we going?" she asked, tightening the straps of her backpack.
"The Coliseum. Helryx and Turaga Dume await us."
For a fleeting moment, her voice wavered. "Is it w-wise to travel at such a time?"
Hydraxon offered no answer. Just a mere order to his soldiers. The gleam of his black and yellowish armor shimmered in the fractured light of the waterfall as he raised a hand. Two swift, silent signals were all it took for the rest of the escort to acknowledge the command. The company set forth, crossing the Protodermis Falls toward the heart of the city. Yet, as they neared the main road, Hydraxon abruptly altered their course.
Vhisola hesitated. "Why? The direct path would be faster."
"I know a way that will save us time."
With no further explanation, he pressed onward, leading them into an uncertain future. Their journey would span two days, each step drawing them deeper into the machinations of fate. Yet Hydraxon had withheld a crucial truth—Vhisola was not the only one summoned.
Four others had been called by the First Toa.