//------------------------------//
// Chapter 3 An Unfulfilled Prophecy 
// Story: Six Ways, Book 1: Unity 
// by the_bioXpony_guy 
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“Here they come!” called the captain of the Ta-Koro guard. “Load your disks! Consider this your final training course."

An army of Ta-Matoran readied their throwing arms for the approaching enemies. The shadow before them only approached closer and closer, bringing with it the horrid notion of defeat. Every Matoran there felt like retreating—but was that what Jaller had told them to do? Were they to simply run away when the going got tough?

After years of hiding beneath the Makuta’s cloak, a horde of Nui Rama came flying toward Ta-Koro. Their masks—the likes of which had been blackened from Makuta’s grime—and their buzzing cry encapsulated the Matoran in fear. Nothing was worse than listening to the Nui-Ramas’ buzz. It was like being surrounded by bees—only these creatures were a hundred times bigger and a hundred times deadlier.

“Fire at will!” cried Jaller.

And so it was done. Disks of many origins came flying out from the Matorans’ arms and toward the rahi beasts before them. Some made their target—leaving rahi spiraling to their doom. Others missed—only to have the few Matoran who missed feeling self-disappointment.

Jaller pulled out one disk of his own, admiring its texture, reminiscing about the disk itself before cradling it within his arm. I have had this since I first became captain, he realized, digressing from the fight. On its front was a picture of his mask: the Kanohi Hau. For decades had it shielded him from all rahi threats. Even now when the beasts seemed to act stronger and fiercer than ever before, his disk prevented Death's hand from taking a hold of him.

Now ready for battle, Jaller took a step forward and prepared to spin himself like a discus thrower—only to find himself entranced by the sight of six little lights out in the distance. He almost gasped at such a sight; he stopped spinning and took a look up at the purple dusk sky just to get better understanding of what was going on.

Sandwiched between two puffy clusters of clouds was a group of twinkling spirit stars—one for each Toa. Every star shined in his eyes with a spark of hope—the kind of hope which assured him safety for many years to come. We are coming, this hope seemed to tell him.

Before Jaller had a chance to respond, the stars spat out six canisters toward the ocean.

“Bzz!” cried a Nui-Rama. Nearly knocking him off his feet, the insect grabbed a hold of Jaller’s shoulders and attempted to take him up into the sky.

Thankfully for Jaller, his guard was around to help him—to knock this creature away. In doing so, they drove the rahi beast away—leaving Jaller to lie on the ground. “Captain!” a Ta-Matoran guard called. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jaller confirmed while picking himself up. “I’m alright.”

At that moment, a miracle happened. All the swarming Nui-Rama stopped attacking—as if frozen by an invisible force—and started fleeing away from the Matoran. Each and every last one of those still alive flew away in the same formation in which they had first appeared.

What did we do? Jaller wondered, amazed by the sight of retreating rahi beasts.

“What happened, Captain?” It was Kapura: the slowest of the guard.

Still distraught by what he had just witnessed, the captain of the guard released a sigh before responding, “Nothing. It’s alright.”

“Looks like we’ve won, Captain,” assured Kapura. “What should we do?”

Jaller pondered on those words for a moment. What was he to do? What was it he had told Vakama earlier? “Oh yeah!” he remembered. “I’ll tell you once we’ve dispersed.”

At that moment, Jaller walked past Kapura and over toward the other Ta-Matoran—many of whom hadn't a clue what was going on. Clapping his hands, Jaller cried to his army, “Guard! Ten-hut!” With those words, Jaller stopped the entire guard. Every single one of them looked up at their leader, keeping their eyes focused on Jaller.

Now with their attention, Jaller called out to them, “Great job today, guard! We have fought well—and won!"

“Thank you, Captain!” the cried in unison.

“Fall out!” commanded Jaller—and the Ta-Matoran did as they were told. Before the Matoran could have made a considerable amount of progress, Jaller grabbed a hold of three members of his guard, startling them all as a result. Among the Matoran was Kapura.

“What is it, Captain?” one of them asked.

A somewhat mischievous smile on his face, Jaller answered, “Meet me at my hut at dawn. I have a task for all of you.”

And with that, Jaller tightened his grip and left each of the confronted Matoran alone. Said Matoran exchanged nervous glances with each other.


“Captain?” wondered Kapura, coming in last as usual. Nobody was in the hut. The only thing in the hut catching his interest was a map of Ta-Koro—the likes of which had a number of markers placed upon it. “Captain?” he repeated. Am I late?

Nearly scaring the flames out of him, a whispery voice called his voice from behind. “Kapura!”

Flinching, the slow guard turned around and caught sight of his captain. As Jaller stood beneath the entrance, he continued, “We’re going to gather around the Mangai flame.”

The Mangai Flame? wondered Kapura. He called us all over just so we could look at a fire? The thought both angered and confused him.

Unsure how he should have responded, he let out a sigh before murmuring, “Okay.” With that one word, he walked past Jaller and toward the Mangai flame—where at least a hundred other Matoran surrounded Turaga Vakama.

The sheer brightness and orange color of the flame made Kapura proud to be a Ta-Matoran. Onu-Koro may have had a twinkling lightstone mine; Ko-Koro may have had skyscraping mountains; but Ta-Koro had the heat of the Great Mangai as a symbol of their village’s pride.

His staff shining as powerfully as the flame sitting behind him, Vakama witnessed as the last of the Ta-Matoran—which of course, was Kapura—took his seat and locked his eyes on the village elder. Seeing as the whole village gathered around him, Vakama gave a bow and sat down, as well.

As the flame came inches from burning the back of his head, he cleared his throat and began:


“Gathered friends—listen again to our legend of the Bionicle. In the time before time, the Great Spirit descended from the heavens, gathering we—the ones called the Matoran—to this paradise. We were separate and without purpose. So the Great Spirit illuminated us with the three virtues: unity, duty, and destiny. We embraced these gifts—and in gratitude, we named our island home Mata Nui: after the Great Spirit himself."

“But our happiness was not to last. Mata Nui’s brother, the Makuta, was jealous of these honors and betrayed him—casting a spell over Mata Nui, who soon fell into a deep slumber. The Makuta was free to unleash his shadows. And unleash them he did.”


A round of applause surrounded the Turaga as those last words mixed in with the blissful sound of fire cracking wood. Almost every one of his words pierced the Matorans’ hearts with hope and despair. Their only hope rested in the Toa’s hands—but hope was fragile.