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Chapter Text

In the darkness, he opened his eyes. 

He could smell the earthen tinge of the jungle, heavy with new life and soft with the damp of rain. In the distance, there were the soft cries of Gukko circling their nest, and the slow patter of an Ash Bear working its way through the undergrowth. Insects too small for the eye to see teemed through plants, landing and alighting in the space of a breath; he felt them surge and retreat, their rhythms whispering through the trees. 

His home was calling him. 

Behind his sharpened mask, four eyes, golden and verdant, narrowed to slits. He took a long, shuddering breath, tasted the air with a sliver of tongue. His armored skin, criss-crossed in black and green, tensed. A current of excitement ran through his muscles; his tail uncurled itself, his claws unsheathed from his hands. He had been summoned. He was alive. He was here. 

He rose and smacked the top of his head into the ceiling of Lewa’s hut. 

For a few seconds, the demi-god clutched the back of his head and cursed as only a being with two lifetimes of knowledge could do. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, making out what they too often did: a melted candle in the corner, a conspicuously locked door, an Onu-Koran shoulder bag left hanging over a wooden chair. 

The Vhotai of Growth gritted his teeth and suppressed a growl. After the fifth time, you would think they would figure out how to keep me in check on their more active nights. 

Fusions were creatures of destiny. The coming of one was meant to herald a time of crisis, a danger so great that the heroes of the world had no choice but to give themselves to become as gods. Only when they surrendered to their destiny could they bring their Kaita into the physical plane; only when their bonds were unbreakable could they lose themselves to each other. 

Then again, the Great Beings hadn’t quite accounted for love. 

Lenua looked out over the jungles of Le-Koro from his perch atop the tree behind Lewa’s home and bit back another sigh. His Toa of Air might have reveled in downtime, in passing the days without a danger to worry about, but the Vhotai felt as though he were going to leap out of his skin. He needed purpose - a foe to conquer, a people to protect. No fusion had much time walking the earth, and so every atom of them was geared towards accomplishing something in their brief visit. Take that away, and you had a big Toa-shaped ball of energy with nowhere to direct it. It was all Lenua could do to keep himself from leaping down into the vines and swinging through the forest, in search of some wrong that needed righting. His tail flickered back and forth of its own accord; when it flipped up in front of him, he bit down on it without thinking. The metal sang against the points of his teeth; after a few moments of frustrated chewing, he spat it away and began to shimmy down the tree. 

It wasn’t that he resented his Toa for bringing him into existence quite so often. More than anyone else, he understood - he felt - the depths of passion the two Toa had for each other. If asked, he could recount in minute detail how Lewa had gone from dismissal to respect to dependence on Onua over two terrible nights, or how Onua had slowly realized his concern for Lewa was more than that of a brother-in-arms; he could wax lyrical about the first nights they had spent in each other’s embrace, or the pain each felt on the days they fell into an argument. It was tautological - his Toa loved each other, and so he loved their love. 

And yet he had to admit he hadn’t quite expected to come to life quite so unceremoniously. 

The first time it happened had been in Onua’s home, deep beneath the earth of Mata Nui; the darkness of the hut had been complete, and he had awoken thinking himself trapped in a Makuta’s shadow-hold. When he smashed through the door and leapt into the tunnels of Onu-Koro, silver-sharp axe at the ready and a roar in his lungs, he had nearly sent a passing Nuparu and his Ussal careening into the wall. It was only a long conversation with Whenua (and three patrols of the village) that convinced him that truly there was no crisis. 

Later - for whatever time meant in the elemental plane - he watched as the other Toa Mata gently ribbed Lewa and Onua for the escapade. At first he had felt somehow wronged, insulted on his Toa’s behalf, but Lewa and Onua had taken it in stride (Onua perhaps more so), and listening closer he realized there were wistful hints of envy in the other Toa’s voices. They had fused with each other in the past, brought Great Akamai and Wairuha to bear against the Makuta, and each of them surely held the memory of that time deep in their hearts. To walk as one was to never face your doubts alone. It was to know you were safe, and you were right. It was all a Toa could aspire to be, and Lenua felt a flare of Lewa’s pride. 

But then it happened a second time, and a third, and Lenua’s forgiveness began to curdle into weariness. He felt as though his own purpose had been forgotten, his existence relegated to a romantic footnote. He began to take to walking the villages when he was summoned, speaking with the villagers, helping in what little ways he could, but it was not enough; there was no shame in helping dig a tunnel or repair a treehouse, but was he not something greater? Were there not larger threats to pursue? The Bohrok had been beaten back, but he felt the Makuta’s corruption still slumbering beneath the island. Were it not for Lewa’s nightmare-memories of being driven mad by infection, he might have begun burrowing into Mangaia himself to try and find the Makuta. 

And now - 

As he descended, he leapt from the tree and landed on the wooden walkways of the tree-village with nary a sound. He was the Vhotai of Growth, true, a fusion of earth and air that fostered life in all its forms, but he was also the embodiment of the beasts that stalked the jungle night or burrowed deep into the earth in search of prey. His instincts urged him to hide and hunt, not to dawdle in the open. His body sang with energy, begging him to find something to do, and he took off down into the village, his feet pattering against the wooden planks. Le-Koro was known for its villagers' devil-may-care attitude, but at this time of night even they were asleep for the most part. Lenua found himself slipping into the shadows of the huts as he passed, suppressing a smirk as he dashed past the few guards on duty without ever being noticed. 

When he reached the edge of the village, he leapt onto one of the guard towers and hung lightly from its side; atop it, Kongu paused and looked around in confusion, then shrugged. The Vhotai took another deep breath of the jungle air. Perhaps he would go for a vine-swing after all. It would be hours before his Toa began to stir within him, and he had no intention of sleeping away his brief time among the islanders. His eyes narrowed, seeking through the darkness, and found a vine dangling from a tree a few bio away. His body tensed, a spring waiting to be released. 

He leapt just as his wiser side resurfaced. The vine was rotting; there was no way it would support his weight. 

This is why I hate waking up in Le-Koro , he managed to think before he soared straight through the vine and into the tree behind it. Too much Lewa.  

There was a thud. In his guardtower, Kongu jumped and leaned out into the night, scanning the trees. If he saw a shadow slide down the side of one and into a crumpled heap on the ground, he took it for a trick of the lantern light. 

On the ground, Lenua stifled a moan and stiffly pushed himself up onto his hands, then looked up at the still-swaying vine. He raised a claw, his eyes narrowing, and suddenly the rot burst and bloomed into vibrant green fiber. He smiled in satisfaction. Bringing life to the jungle was part of his duties, after all, and he certainly hadn’t done that out of spite towards a bit of rot. That would be completely absurd. 

Still, perhaps better to stick to the ground for now. He stood slowly, shaking the dirt from his shoulders and checking that his tail wasn’t too twisted, then slunk off into the night. 

The waters of Le-Koro were nothing like those of Ga-Wahi. Here they were murky, overgrown with algae or clogged with fallen leaves; countless Rahi lurked in their depths, rising to the surface and trundling away into the jungle as they pleased. The ocean felt clear and smooth to the touch, but there was texture here in every drop, patterned in silt and pollen. 

As Gali surfaced and looked up into the darkened canopy above her, she smiled. It really was a pity the other Toa couldn’t appreciate these differences. 

Around her, the darkened forest chirped with life as though it were midday. An Ash Bear dozed under a tree at the far end of the pond, oblivious to the Nui-Rama perched on its head. The earth was still soft from that day’s rain, and she watched a lizard track mud up onto a tree as it climbed. Lewa doesn’t know how lucky he is, she thought, and then caught herself. Perhaps she could get away with thinking Tahu didn’t appreciate the finer points of nature, but if any of them could see the beauty that was the rainforest, it was Lewa, who found joy in the simple act of living. She sighed in contentment and leaned back into a float, letting the sounds of the forest almost lull her off to sleep. 

It took her a while to realize she wasn’t alone. 

All Toa could sense their brothers, even if only subliminally; Turaga Nokama had taught her to deepen that connection and open her mind to her fellow Toa through hours upon hours of meditation. Gali was no mind-reader, but she had learned to sense when Tahu was spitting empty flames versus deep-burning ash, or when Pohatu’s joyful repartee masked deep-seated worry even he could not voice. And in her dreams, she had felt the spirit of Wairuha call her and teach her how to guide others, as she had the Chronicler on his journey. 

What she felt now was akin to Wairuha’s whispers, but different - less refined, less steadfast, a spirit born less of destiny than of happenstance - a contradiction of free-flowing energy and unmoving heart. She opened her eyes and rolled off her back into the water, bobbing up and down as she scanned the trees. She couldn’t help but smile when she spotted four eyes slinking through the underbrush, trying their best not to look directly at her. “Hail, brothers,” she called. “It seems you’re terribly… active tonight.” 

There was a derisive snort. “Says the Ga-Toa taking a midnight swim kio from her home.” 

“Says the Vhotai who’s pawing the ground like a jilted Muaka.” She gestured to the water. “Won’t you join me?” 

The eyes narrowed for a moment, then rose. Lenua stepped out of the jungle hesitantly, his tail swinging behind him. Gali suppressed a smile at the fusion’s slightly awkward gait; he walked on two legs whenever he was around others, but she had heard from Matau that when the Vhotai believed himself alone he would speed through the jungle on all fours like an oversized Rahi. 

He stopped at the water’s edge and sat cross-legged, looking down at her. “I’ll stay on solid ground, if you don’t mind. Lewa’s influence.” 

“And Onua’s?” she teased. 

The Vhotai flinched. The Toa of Earth disliked water nearly as much as his partner, but he’d come to Gali for swim lessons nonetheless, asking her not to mention it to the other Toa unless there was a need. In his defense, he had proven quite an apt pupil once she had realized she would have to adapt the basic techniques to someone with a body type more suited for breaking down walls than for gracefully slicing through water. 

“I wonder,” she went on, “if you started to enjoy swimming, would they change their minds as well?” 

Lenua curled his tail around himself. “No reason to find out.” 

“Now that ’s Lewa’s influence.” She swam to the edge of the pond in a few quick strokes, then pulled herself up to sit alongside him, her feet dangling loosely in the water. Up close, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the fusion’s body - as much as it seemed to be derived of Lewa and Onua, there were some things that she couldn’t place for the life of her. The tail, for starters. (She had once asked Nokama her thoughts on the subject; the Turaga had replied with a vague comment about legends of Toa entwined with beasts and changed the subject.) 

“Well, brothers -” 

“‘Brother’ is fine, Toa Gali.” 

She looked at him thoughtfully. In the past, the Vhotai had never objected to her using the plural form. Then again, they had only met twice before - once when she had been visiting Onu-Koro, and once (rather awkwardly) at a late-night Le-Koro party, and both times they had little chance to speak. 

“Brother,” she repeated gently. “What brings you into the jungle?” 

The Vhotai shrugged irritably. “My Toa don’t know when to stop, as per usual.” 

She laughed. “I warned Onua he didn’t know what he was getting into.” 

“My heart deep-sings for them, but…” His tail flicked in irritation. “If they were going to summon me so often, I wish they would at least do so on purpose.” 

Gali furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?” 

Lenua raised a hand and turned it over almost experimentally. “When they allow their passions to go unchecked, I suppose it’s only natural that I might be called forth. But when they do so thoughtlessly, there is nothing stopping them from splitting apart. Right now they sleep within me, but when one of them wakes, they will draw apart, and I will return to the elements.” 

“You make yourself sound like a dream.” 

He chuckled at that, a deep, staccato sound. “Perhaps I am. I certainly feel that way about my time here. When I swim amongst the spirits, it’s… difficult to remember what it feels like to walk the earth, or to hold a body of my own. Were it not happening so often, I might forget altogether.” 

“And how often is that?” 

Lenua’s face fell, and he looked away. “Too often for peace-time. Vhotai may not be as linked to our duty as the great Kaita, but we are guardians and warriors, not sight-seers. If there is nothing for me to do here, it would be better if I were not called at all.” 

Gali thought of Wairuha - of how the spirit seemed almost to manifest of their own will in times of crisis, of how they came to her bearing warnings of catastrophe. There was no doubt in her heart that they were a warrior first and foremost. And ye… - 

“Do you really believe that, Lenua?” 

The Vhotai started. “Le-…?” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you didn’t - we had to figure out something to call you, since you never seemed to have a name. Lewa suggested it, actually. Said it was better to opt for something simple. I’m not sure Onua agreed, but-” 

“He did.” Lenua’s reply was instantaneous. For a few seconds, his eyes blinked, as though he were remembering something. “He… he never uses the name much, but… yes. He began thinking of me as… Lenua. Even if he hardly realizes it.” He looked down, and Gali saw the tip of his tail twitch. “This… how strange.” 

“You don’t dislike it, do you?” 

“I don’t think I could. It’s the name they chose, so - it is the name I choose, as well.” The corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish smile. “Though I think I agree with Onua that perhaps it leaves something to be desired.” 

Gali laughed at that. “That sounds like Onua. I’m sure if he truly hated it, he would have let us know.” 

“That he would have.” 

They sat there in silence for a few moments. Gali watched a water-skater gently descend onto the surface of the pond, then begin to slide across it, leaving trails of electricity in its wake. When she glanced over at Lenua, his eyes were tracking the insect. An image of him pouncing at it only to splash into the murky waters came to her, and she suppressed a chortle. 

“So,” she said, trying to push the idea away (along with the equally-appealing idea of giving the Vhotai a shove just to see what would happen), “before this you had no name?” 

He shook his head. “No. I was too new for one, I suppose.” 

“Too new?” 

He gestured to the jungle around them. “Everything in this jungle has been here since the before-time. Some of them named themselves, and some were named by others, but the naming of things ended long ago. I… am different. In the before-time, I was hardly even a possibility, much less something worthy of a name. Not until Lewa and Onua came into the world could I begin to take form. And not until they chose each other could I become real.” 

Gali frowned. “But I had thought… Wairuha wasn’t something Kopaka, Lewa, and I created. I can’t explain it, but I feel as though - no, I know they existed long before we came together.” 

Lenua nodded gently. “The noble Kaita are different than I. Great Wairuha is… how can I put this? Even if you six did not exist, they might still. Some other Toa of Water, Air, and Ice might someday call them to this world.” 

“If there were other Toa, I suppose.” 

Did Lenua’s eyes dart away for an instant, or was that her imagination? But the fusion continued without missing a beat: “Yes, I suppose. But my point is that Vhotai are not as… inevitable as Kaita. Kaita are bound to the three virtues - they are coded into every aspect of every being. The Nui -” and here the Vhotai did momentarily pause, as though he had said something he hadn’t meant to - “they are born of the elements themselves, of the six-sided balance they carry. You could no more erase them than you could the essence of fire itself.” 

“The ‘Nui’?” The word felt strangely heavy in her mouth. 

“Ignore that.” The Vhotai’s voice was suddenly sharp. “If the day ever comes that you need call upon the Toa Nui… well, we would never speak like this again.” 

Gali opened her mouth to probe further, but a strange dread planted itself in the pit of her stomach, as though something deep within her was rebelling at the idea. Instead she found herself asking: “Then what are Vhotai?” 

“We are aberrations.” The word should have felt cold or clinical, but Lenua said it almost wistfully. “Toa seek balance as does anything in the universe. They are drawn to threes or sixes; they know this is the shape of their spirits. So when crisis arises, it is Kaita that guide them, and it is Kaita that they are prepared to create. But there is nothing stopping two Toa from fusing if their bond is deep enough. If each has taken on the other’s elemental energies, if each understands the other in their soul…” Lenua lifted a hand to his heart-lights, pulsing dimly in his chest. “Then their Vhotai will find them.” 

Gali considered this a moment. “May I make a hypothesis of sorts?” 

“By all means.” 

“It seems to me that what fusions require is some kind of harmony, be that spiritual or elemental. The more Toa you have involved, the more elemental energy is involved - and so it matters less who those Toa are. So it is only natural that Vhotai could only be formed by two Toa utterly dedicated to one another.” 

Lenua nodded, a smile of relief coming across his mask. “Precisely.” 

“And that explains why you feel so much more like Lewa and Onua than Wairuha does of Lewa, Kopaka, and I. They are us, but-” 

“-But they are also something grander. They are ice and air and water. I am the wind above and the earth below, but I am also a tree-swinger of Le-Koro and a miner of Onu-Koro.” 

“And afraid of swimming.” 

In an instant, the dignified air around the Vhotai seemed to vanish. His mask curled into a face of disgust. “You’re still on about that?” 

“Why not? If I can get you in the water, that’s half the number of students I need to worry about.” 

He pouted and looked away defiantly. “I begin to understand why Lewa is afraid of you sometimes.” 

She leaned in affectionately towards the Vhotai. “Well, tell him that if he keeps asking me to make overnight package runs between Le-Koro and Ga-Koro in his place - he’ll have good reason to be. ” 

There was a splash, followed by an extremely loud and surprised squawk, followed by a rush of wind. 

Gali looked up and smiled. Lenua clung to the branch of an overhead tree, shaking off the water and looking down at her with a face of utter betrayal. “Pass that along, wouldn’t you?” 

Lenua scowled. “I’m glad you aren’t part of me.” 

“Now, now. I get on quite well with Wairuha, I’ll have you know.” Behind the Vhotai, through the gaps in the canopy, she could see dawn beginning to break. “I’m afraid I need to get back to Ga-Koro. I suggest you get back too, unless you think Onua and Lewa can handle waking up on a tree branch.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the Vhotai muttered, and turned to make his departure. 

“Lenua!” 

He paused and looked back over his shoulder at her. His eyes glowed in the semi-dark, predatory at a glance, but she could see the curiosity hiding behind the glare. 

“Next time you come to us, find me. I enjoyed speaking with you.” 

His eyes narrowed. 

“And I won’t throw you in any more ponds.” 

He nodded in satisfaction. “Perhaps I will, Toa Gali. It was… calming, having someone to talk to.” 

And with the spring of a branch and the rustle of leaves, he was gone. 

Chapter Text

This time was different. 

He felt it in his bones, in the way his body uncurled from sleep. Gone was the restless energy that drove him, gone was the crushing sense that he was forgetting some solemn duty. In its place was something calmer, something focused. A mission without a crisis. 

Lenua opened his eyes and slowly lifted himself from Onua’s bed, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the hut. He flexed his joints experimentally, suddenly realizing it had been weeks since he had last walked the earth. What had seemed an instant in the plane above now felt like a vast gap between his half-dream memories and the present. 

He felt a strange heaviness at the thought. This was good, wasn’t it? If there was no danger, nothing that called for a Vhotai’s interference, then they were right to leave him be. 

So what was this disappointment he was feeling? 

He shook his head in irritation. Enough navel-gazing for now. In the back of his mind, he heard a whisper, a request from his Toa: find Gali . For an instant his heart pounded with energy - had something happened? Had the Makuta struck again, captured his Toa’s sister-? 

No, came the whisper. She simply wants to see you again.  

Why?  

There was no response. Of course not; Lewa and Onua slept as one. The voice he had heard had been his own, relaying a message. Nothing more. 

The Vhotai stood slowly and took a long, deep breath, tasting the air of the mines. Barely past dusk. More than enough time to nip over to Ga-Koro. 

There was something calming about the dim glow of the Onu-Wahi tunnels. Le-Koro was open to the jungle around it, and hardly a day went by that some Rahi or other didn’t trundle through the village’s borders; even in the dead of night, Lenua could feel life pulsing through it. Here beneath the earth, it was different: if he knelt and laid a hand against the packed dirt, he could sense the gentlest tremors of the island itself, or the distant burrowing of an Ussal, but he could as easily close his ears and mind and let his world shrink to the light of a glowstone. 

Beneath his feet, minecart tracks ran into dozens of side passages, and Lenua idly timed his footsteps to land on the wooden slats. A spark of pride lit in his chest, Onua’s love for his people and their work shining through into the Vhotai’s heart. Yet a moment later, he felt a strange pang of envy. The Onu-Matoran were as much his responsibility as they were Onua’s, but Onua was their Toa. He was a guardian to be called upon, not a friend to live alongside. That was the nature of Vhotai, as it was the nature of all fusions. 

And that’s fine , he reminded himself. The Vhotai’s gait shifted from a walk to a jog to a four-legged sprint, but hardly noticed. That’s the way things should be. The way things must be-  

Someone stepped out onto the track in front of him. 

As it happens, Vhotai are not quite as good at braking as minecarts. For a few moments, the tunnel was occupied by a ping-pong ball of one very startled Vhotai and one even more startled Turaga. 

The pair eventually came to a stop in a pile of dirt off to the side of the tracks. Lenua extracted himself from the chaos in a single bound, spitting out a mouthful of dirt as he did so. When he looked back, Whenua was still neck-deep in the earth, his legs kicking frantically. With a sigh, the Vhotai reached over, plucked the Turaga from the pile, and laid him on the ground. While Whenua coughed the last of the dirt out of his lungs, Lenua stood and began pulling the Turaga’s staff from where it had lodged itself in the wall. 

“You know,” Whenua managed between coughs, “for a moment there I had thought I’d discovered a new species of Rahi.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” With a satisfying pop, the staff came loose, and Lenua turned and offered it to Whenua, who took it gratefully. The Turaga stood, shaking the last of the dirt from his shoulders, and squinted at the fusion. 

“I do wish Onua would warn me when he and Lewa were planning to let you loose.” 

“That makes two of us,” Lenua replied, and turned to leave. 

“Not even going to check if your Turaga’s alright?” Whenua’s voice was stern but bemused. “I suppose that’s Lewa’s bad influence showing. You should hear the horror stories Matau tells me.” 

“Lewa respects Matau, as do I. We respect him enough not to worry about the little things.” 

Whenua chuckled. “Ask him about the Ash Bear in his hut sometime. He didn’t think that was a ‘little thing’.” 

“That one was Kongu’s fault.” Lenua again made to leave, but a very focused cough from behind made him stop. He glanced over his shoulder at the Turaga, who was the picture of innocence. 

“If you aren’t in too much of a rush, might I join you for a spell?” 

Lenua scowled. “I need to get to Ga-Koro.” 

“Oh, I won’t tag along all the way if you don’t want me to. But after that crash, I get the feeling I ought to take a bit of a walk and double-check that all my pieces are still in place. And I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, Vhotai.” 

Lenua considered the Turaga’s words. A part of him wanted to turn and sprint down the tunnel, fulfill his ‘mission’ of going to see the Toa of Water as soon as he could. That would be the proper thing to do. 

“Alright,” he said, and gestured for the Turaga to follow him. “But try to keep up.” 

To his surprise, the Turaga strode forward with all the speed of a healthy Matoran. The smile on his mask segued into a smirk. “Don’t tell me Onua still sees me as the fragile elder, does he? That mask must be going to his head.” 

Lenua snickered and matched the Turaga’s pace. “Don’t ask me. From my perspective, you’re all fragile.” 

“I suppose there’s some reason in that. The power of one Toa is frightful enough; to carry the power of two within you must shape how you see the world.” 

“Frightful? Strange to hear that from you, Turaga. Didn’t you once tell Onua that his true strength lay in his heart, not his Toa-power?” 

“And I am delighted to hear he took that lesson so seriously that his Vhotai can spout it back at me. But my fellow Turaga and I understand that Toa carry a great strength - and a greater burden. For you it must be a very heavy burden indeed.” 

Lenua felt a flicker of irritation. “Don’t patronize me, Turaga. You are far enough from being a Toa, nevermind a Vhotai. Do not presume to speak of that which you have never known.” 

To his surprise, the Turaga simply chuckled, a low, bitter sound. “Of course. I’m sure a Turaga like myself would know nothing of Toa-powers or Toa-duty. My apologies.” They walked on in silence a little longer, Whenua’s brow furrowed in thought. When he spoke again, his tone was guarded. “May I ask you a strange question?” 

“You haven’t already?” 

Whenua didn’t smile. “How much of what we’re speaking of will Onua and Lewa remember?” 

“All of it, if they wish.” 

“If they wish?” 

Lenua nodded. “They know my memories, as I know theirs, but not the same way they would their own. If they want to remember what I’ve done, they can - but it might take some work, the same way you can hardly hold on to a dream.” 

Whenua seemed to consider this. “Is there anything you can hide from them?” 

The question startled the Vhotai. “You mean deceive them?” 

“Not in so many words.” 

Until now, he had never considered the possibility. What was his was theirs; what was theirs was his. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I would have to try, but…” his tail flicked in agitation. “I will not. It would be wrong.” 

The Turaga nodded in understanding, but Lenua caught the momentary disappointment that flashed in Whenua’s eyes. Had he wanted to ask him something he couldn’t ask Onua or Lewa? That hardly made sense. There was nothing Lenua knew that his Toa did not - even if they didn’t realize it. 

“My apologies, then.” The Turaga’s voice was all cheer again. “Forgive a fragile elder his probing. Shall we talk of something lighter?” 

“Such as?” 

Whenua gestured with his staff to Lenua’s twitching tail. “Such as the fact you seem more Muaka than Toa sometimes.” 

Lenua raised a hand and flicked a claw derisively in the Turaga’s direction. “Lewa has a fascination with the denizens of his Wahi - be they Matoran or Rahi. I’m simply giving him a chance to satisfy a curiosity of his.” 

“And Onua?” 

“He likes it more than he admits,” the Vhotai said smugly. 

“And you?” 

“I can sprint almost as fast as a Kakama-bearer, dig as quickly as a team of miners, leap and swing and stalk and strike in a single motion. Come the day I must do battle with the Makuta, I’ll be happy to take the role of hunter.” 

“Fascinating. Do you ever feel as though your… instincts might get the better of you?” 

Lenua snorted and shrugged. “I’m a Vhotai, not a Rahi. My claws and my tail are my tools, not my masters. Just because I walk on all fours from time to time doesn’t make me a beast.” 

Whenua tapped the top of his staff, deep in thought. “But - simply so we’re clear - you haven’t got any actual Rahi in you at all, is that right?” 

“Of course not.” 

The Turaga nodded to himself, half in relief and half in disappointment. Lenua shot him a glare. “Why so interested?” 

“You could say Rahi-cataloging is a hobby of mine. Has been for a very long time, as a matter of fact.” 

Lenua narrowed his eyes. Somewhere deep inside him, Lewa had made the jump from Rahi-cataloging to locked up in a cage and put on display and was in about as much open rebellion as an unconscious spirit could be. “Well, if you want to ‘catalog’ me, you’re going to have to catch me first.” 

“I’d better not. I can’t imagine what Matau would say if I told him I had you all trussed up next to the Ussals. Well, after he managed to stop laughing, at least.” 

Lenua clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Matau should watch his mouth if he doesn’t want another Ash Bear in his bedroom.” 

“I thought that was Kongu’s fault?” 

“It was more of a team effort, really.” 

Whenua laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time. He and Onewa used to get into prank wars with each other. We’d wind up taking sides, and nothing would get done for weeks while we all tried not to get surprised by the next horrifyingly life-like Bohrok sculpture to appear out of thin air.” 

Lenua smiled at that, then frowned. “You… are different.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“From how Onua and Lewa see you. No, it’s more than that. You never speak with them like this. You are always giving advice, or telling histories, not…” 

“…Being a person?” Whenua replied wryly. “No, I suppose not.” 

“Then why me?” 

Whenua said nothing for a few moments. “We have a duty to our Toa to guide them, to teach them our mistakes and let them learn from their own. Until the day the Makuta is felled and peace has returned to us, we cannot stray from that work. But the day our Toa have learned to accept their roles - the day where their duties and powers are truly part of who they are - on that day we can begin to speak to them as friends.” 

Lenua furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.” 

“What are you, Lenua?” Before the Vhotai could respond, Whenua waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t give me some archivist’s answer of ‘Le-Onuan Vhotai’ or something like that. You are something new . You are the bond between my Toa and his love given flesh and will. If Onua and Lewa still saw themselves as Toa and nothing more - if they still spent each and every moment trying to live up to that title - they surely never would have found themselves as people, much less each other as partners.” The Turaga stopped and faced the fusion, a wistful look on his face. “But here you are. That we can speak like this is proof that they have both accepted and surpassed their roles. And so I may speak to you as Whenua first and Turaga second, even if when I see them next I must not forget I am their teacher first and foremost.” 

Lenua found himself at a loss for words. A strange heat pressed its way into his throat, the emotion that Lewa and Onua would have felt to hear their Turaga speak this way threatening to overwhelm him. He took a slow, shuddering breath. “…You say so much right, yet you still misunderstand, Turaga.” 

“How so?” 

“Perhaps I am a sign that your Toa have grown beyond their roles. But you also spoke true when you said I carried both their duties.” His voice grew hard. “I exist to fulfill those duties, and whatever more can only be achieved through my strength. I am not a conversation partner sent for your amusement. If you feel you have more to teach your Toa, then you have more to teach me as well.” 

Whenua’s face was expressionless. “Then you would rather I return to the old platitudes and histories, the moralizing and the advice?” 

Not when you put it like that, he found himself wanting to snap back. Instead he swallowed his words and turned away. “I simply want you to understand what I am, Turaga.” He could feel the Turaga’s gaze on him, steady and quiet. 

There was the shuffle of robe on dirt as Whenua turned back towards Onu-Koro. “I wish the same of you, Lenua.” 

The Vhotai stood there in the dark a few seconds longer. Then he shook his head and took off towards Ga-Koro with a growl. 

On still nights when the moon was full, Ga-Koro glowed. Moonlight illuminated the slick plant-life that made up the village and struck the shining scales of dozens of fish lurking beneath the surface of the ocean. From her spot on the village’s outskirts, nestled among an outcropping of bamboo, Gali watched her home sway gently in the ocean currents. The jungles of Le-Wahi were beautiful, and the snow-covered caps of Ko-Wahi almost unspeakably serene, but this would always be where she belonged. In the distance, she could just make out the flicker of a glowstone going out in Nokama’s hut, and she smiled to herself. The Turaga insisted that she was capable of getting by on two hours' sleep, and the villagers of Ga-Koro had all quietly agreed to let the boast go without question even on the days she didn’t leave her hut before midday. 

There was a gentle rustle far behind her. She turned to see the tallest grasses leading up to the beach shaking, and her smile grew wider. She’d asked Lewa why his Vhotai was so fond of keeping to the shadows; he’d admitted that he’d actually like to be half as stealthy, but he never had the patience. It was an amusing enough combination - Lewa the air diva and Onua the mountain of muscle together somehow made someone who thought he was a master of subterfuge. 

She put two fingers to her mouth and whistled once, a short, sharp noise. For a split second, a green-and-black shadow popped into the air above the field, then rustled back into hiding. After a moment, she heard an almost pouting voice call out. “Was that really necessary?” 

“Just be glad it was me and not Kopaka. He would have frozen the grass around you just to prove you couldn’t get the jump on him.” 

“I don’t know how Wairuha can hold him and Lewa together, I really don’t.” There was another rustle, and Lenua parted the grass - on all fours this time. She raised a brow in skepticism, and he turned his head away in defiance. “It’s quicker than walking, all right?” 

“I didn’t say a thing,” she replied, and patted the ground next to her. The Vhotai hesitantly made his way over, then pulled himself into a cross-legged position. She smiled in welcome. “I’m glad you decided to come find me.” 

He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. “It’s… well, it’s something for me to do. It may not be as glorious as fighting the Makuta, but better to have something to focus on than to spend another night tearing through the jungle.” 

“And more interesting to me than another night of sorting through fishing plans. I don’t know if Lewa and Onua have ever told you, but the life of a Toa is not all Makuta-battling glory.” 

“I… seem to remember something about ten hours of debating mining diagrams with Tehutti a few days ago.” He frowned and shook his head. “I can’t tell if I’m having trouble remembering because Lewa dislikes the idea or if it’s because it really was that boring.” 

“If it’s the meeting Nuparu told me about, that would be because Onua fell asleep midway through.” 

Lenua sighed. “I need at least one of my Toa to be reliable.” 

“I’d say they both are in their own ways.” She reached into the bag at her side and drew a handful of ripe, green berries from it. “Bula? I don’t know if fusions need energy the way we do, but…” 

He looked at the berries in surprise, then hesitantly reached out and took a few. Gali watched as he cupped them in his hands, draining them of energy; the Vhotai had a contemplative look on his face. “May I have another?” 

“As many as you’d like.” 

He reached over and took another handful, considered them for a second, and then popped them into his mouth. Gali put a hand to her own mouth in half-disgust as the Vhotai chewed the berries thoughtfully. A dribble of juice ran out his mouth and down the side of his mask. 

“Interesting,” he finally said. “I’ve never eaten before.” 

“Keep eating with your mouth and nobody’s going to want to offer you food in the first place,” she replied. “Lewa eats like that?” 

The Vhotai started. “No! Neither does Onua. I just…” he suddenly seemed hesitant. “I wanted to try it. For myself.” 

The remaining disgust she felt vanished in an instant. “Oh! Oh, of course. If I only had a body every now and then I suppose I’d want to try out as much as I could with it as well.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them; there was no need to remind the Vhotai of his limited time here. 

If it bothered Lenua, he didn’t show it; he just nodded sheepishly and drew the back of his hand across his mask to wipe away the juice that was still trailing down it. “So, then. What did you wish to speak to me about?” 

She sat back slightly and looked him over. In truth, she had more questions that she knew what to do with - what was it like in the elemental plane? How much did he see of Onua and Lewa’s lives? How did he feel about the Kaita? 

But she had decided ahead of time how she was going to handle this. “Before that, Lenua. Isn’t there anything you want to talk about?” 

The Vhotai blinked in confusion. “I - no, should there be?” 

She shook her head, resisting the urge to sigh. “That’s not what I mean. You never have the chance to speak with anyone besides Lewa and Onua. It seems only right you get to choose what we talk about.” 

The Vhotai looked away. “I can’t say I even speak with them, really.” 

“What?” That was a surprise. Wairuha still came to her at times in her meditations or dreams, and though their conversations were brief, Gali left them with a sense that she had grown closer to the spirit. 

“I’m not sure they know that they can. Or perhaps they simply feel that they don’t need to speak to me - not if there is no crisis. Do you call to great Wairuha when all is well?” 

Gali shook her head. “No, I suppose not. But that doesn’t stop me from communing with them at times. It’s… comforting to be reminded that they are watching over me.” 

Lenua’s mouth curled into a irreverent smirk. “Well, maybe Lewa and Onua don’t need the reminder. Bit hard to miss waking up twice a month to the whole village talking about the giant Rahi prowling the streets the night before.” 

Gali laughed. “They don’t truly call you a Rahi, do they?” 

“Turaga Whenua seemed to want to figure out if I was a special kind of Muaka.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me. Takua once told me he caught Turaga Whenua trying to compare the eye-stalks of two different Ussals so he could better categorize them. Well, at least until Takua whistled for one of them and she nearly ran Whenua down.” 

Lenua smiled at that. “And how is the Chronicler? Lewa and Onua seem fond of him, but I’ve yet to meet him.” 

“He is well. It seems that unleashing the Bohrok wasn’t enough to satisfy his travel-bug; I still see him come by to visit Hahli every now and then. With Jaller tagging along by sheer coincidence, of course.” 

“Of course.” The Vhotai leaned forward, stretching his arms and back. “Your Matoran lead a charmed life.” 

“One that we fought for. And they are your Matoran as well.” 

He shrugged at that, looking out over the water as he continued stretching. “Didn’t you have anything else you wanted to ask me? You seemed terribly interested in fusion last we spoke.” 

She bit back a sigh. She had hoped the Vhotai would be a little more relaxed this time, more open to aimless conversation. Fusion of Lewa and Onua or no, Gali felt as though she had met a new Toa for the first time in her life, and for all her curiosity about what he was, she just as badly wanted to understand who he was. But perhaps that was easier said than done. 

“Then shall we talk of spirits?” 

He flashed a grin at her and half-bowed theatrically. “Allow me to bestow my knowledge upon you, lowly Toa.” 

“Tsk, tsk. I’ll tell Lewa and Onua you think of us as lowly if you’re not careful, and then who knows where you’ll wake up next.” She closed her eyes in thought. “When we last spoke, I asked you the differences between Vhotai and Kaita and Nui.” The last word still sat sour in her mouth, as though it were best avoided. “Does that extend to what you understand as well? Wairuha knows more than I could ever hope to.” 

His tail flicked back and forth in contemplation. “Yes, I suppose. There are things I recognize that Lewa and Onua do not. But there are secrets of the universe that Wairuha understands better than I could ever hope to.” 

She nodded, turning the Vhotai’s words over in her mind. “Fascinating. Wairuha is the spirit of wisdom, and if as you say they exist separate from Lewa, Kopaka, and I, it makes sense that they would know things we cannot. But what makes you so knowledgeable compared to Lewa and Onua, if you are more a fusion of them than of any two Toa of Air and Earth?” 

The Vhotai rested a hand against the ground and began to idly rub a stalk of grass between his claws. “Maybe I’m not explaining myself very well. There are things any Toa understands, even if they do not know it. Nokama taught you to gaze into your Toa and Matoran’s minds if they are willing, did she not? Any Toa could do the same, given the right circumstances. There is power and wisdom inherent in their beings, but they may not always see it. A Vhotai feels what they have not learned to, the same way we command the elements better than our Toa ever could.” 

“Don’t let Lewa remember those last words, or he’ll take it as a challenge.” 

Lenua smirked and lazily raised a hand. A ways up the beach, a clump of mud broke free of the ground and floated into the air. As Gali watched, it stretched and reshaped itself with incredible speed, forming sculptures of Matoran, Rahi, Le-Koro itself that lingered for but a second before melting away into something else. Gali leaned back and kept her face as neutral as she could. “Your precision is remarkable. But Onua could do the same with a little practice.” 

“Ah, but you’re assuming I’m manipulating the earth here.” For an instant, Gali felt a breeze run by her face, smooth as a touch. “Lewa might be a solid cyclone-maker, but let’s see him sculpt a pile of dirt with nothing but wind.” 

Gali pretended to consider the notion, then nodded sagely. “I imagine he’d more likely fan the pile into someone’s face by accident.” 

The hovering dirt momentarily twisted into the visage of a laughing Miru, then dropped back to the ground with a clump . Lenua didn’t bother to hide the satisfaction in his voice as he continued: “This is what Vhotai are. We may not be as forged in destiny as the Kaita are, we may not be able to ride the storms or split the earth as they do, but we still understand the universe in a way mere Toa cannot.” 

Gali looked out over the bay, glowing in the moonlight, and felt a twinge of excitement run through her. She was proud of her strength, and prouder still of the connection it gave her to the rivers and seas of their home. What must it be like to feel that connection a thousandfold? Her time as Wairuha had been brief and fraught with battle. She had never swam in the waters of her home as the titan of knowledge, never had a chance to listen to what the ocean might tell them. 

“Tell me what it’s like,” she said softly. 

Lenua was silent a time, and when he spoke, his voice was tinged with a quiet sadness. “If I close my eyes, I can feel the shape of Mata Nui by the eddies of air that run across its surface. If I touch my hand to the earth, I can feel the weight of every building, every mountain, every person it supports. The sky calls me to soar. The ground calls me to rest. Fire, stone, ice, water - they seem like afterthoughts, not the building blocks of the world I know them to be.” 

“It sounds wonderful.” 

“It is.” The Vhotai spoke with raw emotion, and Gali saw himself start, as though surprised at the intensity of his own words. “But it is natural. If I am to call upon my elements when necessary, I must never let my connection to them waver.” 

“Call upon them for battle, you mean?” 

Lenua said nothing. 

She didn’t have to ask what she was about to. In some ways it wasn’t her question to ask - it was Lewa and Onua’s, or perhaps the people of their village. One fusion could never take the place of two Toa, nor would she want him to. As fascinating as she found the Vhotai, she always felt a touch of melancholy around him, knowing he could only visit because two of her Toa-brothers went to take his place. 

And yet - she had the feeling the Vhotai was waiting for someone to ask the question, because he would never let himself do it. 

“Lenua,” she said softly, and the Vhotai turned to look at her. How quickly he had grown used to the name. “Would you… stay, if you could?” 

The Vhotai blinked, and she out of the corner of her eye she caught his tail twitch in surprise. “It is not my place to decide that.” 

“That isn’t what I’m asking. I’m asking - if you could live among us a time, would you? Without the worry of being called away?” 

Lenua blinked again, twice, and his eyes darted away. “Don’t be absurd, Toa. I - Vhotai are not made for - if I have no reason to be called, then I should not be called.” His voice, rough and deep, was full of hard bluster, but Gali caught the way his words flowed together too quickly. It was the same way Lewa’s tree-speak grew all but incomprehensible when he was upset. 

She kept her voice as gentle as she could, but let a hint of steel work its way into her words. “You keep saying that. And yet here you are, no great duty to fulfill.” 

His tail twitched again. “A loophole. I was called forth to speak to you. I’m sure you told Lewa and Onua to ask me to, and so when I awoke, I had no choice but to-” 

She shook her head. He froze. 

“I said nothing of the sort to them, Lenua.” 

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Then - they simply remembered what I saw, and decided to let me -” 

She reached out and laid her hand atop his. “Even if they did, it doesn’t change that you were the one who wanted to come see me.” 

For a few seconds, Lenua gaped back at her, and his eyes slowly narrowed to suspicion. He tore his hand away from hers, a scowl across his mask. “What are you playing at, Toa? How many times must I tell you? We are warriors. We are sentinels! I am not meant to live amongst your kind-” 

“And why not?” Gali let some of the anger she’d been holding back rise to the surface. “Ever since you appeared to us, you have done nothing but proclaim this or that to be true, but you have never spoken of why . Or have you never stopped to consider that question?” 

The Vhotai snarled and thrust a claw at her accusingly. “Because that is what a fusion is , Toa. We know what we must, and we are not foolish enough to question it. I know that the great Kaita are wiser than I could ever hope to be. I know that six Toa that gave themselves to call forth Nui would go mad from the experience. I know these things as well as I know that you stand before me, or that the sun will rise in the morning. And I know what my duty is.” 

“I do not deny you know these things, Lenua, no more than I deny that you know we are not the only Toa.” His eyes widened in shock, and she let her mouth curl into a momentary smile. “I accept that you know things I cannot. I only ask that you consider that you may be letting that knowledge blind you.” 

“Blind me to what?” 

She stood and gestured out to Naho Bay, to the village sleeping in the moonlight. “Look, Lenua. My people rest well tonight - better than they have in a thousand years. I have been with them only a few months, and already I have fought for them a hundred times. I have no doubt that I will fight for them hundreds more. I am a Toa, and it is my duty to guard them, as it is Lewa’s and Onua’s. As it is yours.” 

He looked up at her, saying nothing. She continued, “But it is not the wars I fight that define who I am. I will not let them. I am Gali, guardian of Ga-Koro, but I am just as much Gali the teacher, Gali the fisher, Gali the friend and sister. I will never forsake my duties, but nor will I close my eyes to what those duties are in service of.” 

The Vhotai remained silent, his face unreadable. She knelt down and looked him in the eyes. "This peace is short-lived. I hear Wairuha whisper as much to me in silent dreams, and I feel it in the way the waters churn. But while we have peace, I will revel in it. I will live the life I wish to live. Just as Lewa and Onua have. 

“You told me Vhotai are more their Toa than Kaita are theirs. Then why won’t you see what you are, Lenua? You may have the spirit of a warrior, but you are just as much Lewa’s time spent vine-swinging with his Matoran, or Onua’s long debates with his fellow engineers. Perhaps fusions are weapons of war, but so are Toa. And if we can live in peace, then so can you. So should you.” 

“That’s enough,” the Vhotai whispered, his voice shaking. Gali reached out to him - 

“That’s enough !” he roared, and batted away her hand as he leapt to his feet, towering over her. “Even if what you say is true, Toa Gali, what do you hope to achieve by saying it? Would you have me decide to live amongst you all and seal your brothers away forever? Would you have me visit once a month, let free to live for a day until I must return to my role as a guide?” 

Gali lowered her hand, but kept her gaze fixed on the Vhotai’s. “I would rather have one day of peace than none at all, brother. And I would rather know you one day than not at all.” 

They stood there, the wind rustling the grass around them. In the distance, a crackling gull-cry split the night air. 

Lenua turned away. “Leave me be, Toa Gali. And tell your brothers to be more mindful of their unions.” 

Before she could respond, he vanished into the grasses, sprinting away into the darkness. 

Chapter Text

Lenua.  

He knew that voice as well as his own. Better. And yet his first impulse was to push it away, pretend as though he had heard nothing. As though he had not watched Gali speak to her brother in hushed tones over the past weeks, had not seen Nokama teach Onua the ways of communing with the spirits. 

His voice came again, quiet and clear. Lenua.  

The spirit could not ignore his Toa. Onua.  

How strange to hear your voice without speaking through it.  

And how strange to hear yours without relaying its words.  

In his home deep beneath the earth, Onua sat cross-legged, a small candle casting a dim glow across the room. He breathed slowly, rhythmically, eyes and ears closed to the world around him. 

Lenua reached into his Toa’s mind, accepted the beckoning of his thoughts, and felt himself slip closer to the physical realm. He sat himself across from his Toa, watched the rise and fall of his chest. Onua opened his eyes and looked to him. 

“And how strange to see something where I know there is nothing,” the Toa of Earth said with a smile. “The last time that happened, it was a Bahrag mind-trick.” 

“And for once it was Lewa who saved you,” Lenua replied. 

“He has saved me many more times than that. But I suppose you of all people don’t need to be told that.” 

Lenua wanted to be angrier at the Toa that sat cross-legged before him; he wanted to unleash the same fury he had against Gali and Whenua, to demand Onua drag Lewa here so he could remind the both of them what it meant to summon a Vhotai. 

All he could manage was a sad, quiet smile. “I must have given Gali quite a scare.” 

Onua chuckled at that. “Oh, don’t oversell yourself. Had the two of you come to blows, I might still bet on her coming out on top.” 

“So might I.” His smile faded away. “How much do you remember?” 

“Enough. And Gali filled the two of us in on the details we couldn’t.” The Toa of Earth sighed and rubbed an eye in exhaustion. “I suppose it was inevitable things boil over sooner or later.” 

“Then the two of you knew?” 

“That you were… unhappy with us? How could we not?” 

A touch of irritation flickered up in Lenua’s chest. “Then why didn’t you stop? I can understand your passions getting out of hand once or twice. But if every Toa in love joined their partners, Vhotai and Kaita would be half the universe’s guardians.” 

Onua’s smile flickered back on. “Whatever happened to hiding that we are not the only Toa?” 

“I shall respect your Turaga’s secret-keeping, but I won’t lie to you outright.” 

“I shall keep that in mind next time Gali comes up with a historical theory I’d like verified. But allow me to answer your question.” His face grew serious. "Do you know what I remember most of all from my time as part of Akamai? It is not his power, nor the fragments of his wisdom, nor the glories we gained in battle nor the legends we sought to complete. No, I remember being at peace for the first time since I arrived on Mata Nui. 

"I do not love Tahu and Pohatu the way I do Lewa, but they are my brothers in arms, and we share a single, noble destiny. It may have been that destiny that helped us summon Akamai, but it was knowing I could trust them with my life that let me give myself to our Kaita without fear. As we fought together, I felt that there was no trial we could not conquer, no danger we could not overcome. 

“Then Akamai left us, and cold reality took its place. Do not misunderstand me: I believe with all my heart that one day we will vanquish the Makuta for good, and that there is a better world waiting for us when we do. But I am not unassailable. In my darkest moments, the weight of my duty feels too heavy to carry, and sometimes I do not know how to share that burden.” The Toa of Earth gently raised a hand to his heartlight, and Lenua for the first time noticed the simple wooden necklace that lay against it. "Lewa saw that fear when nobody else would. He understood - more than anyone else could - that there are times when the most our friends can do is be at our side. 

“But as I embraced him one night, something more than his presence chased my doubts away. I felt the same faith I had as part of Akamai, sharper than ever.” He closed his eyes, looking faintly embarrassed at the memory. “So I chased that sensation, as did he. And you came to us, and for a time I was safe again.” 

Lenua didn’t know what to say. An odd sense of hollowness settled within him. He had known his Toa found peace in each other, and as part of him - it was the nature of fusion - but the emotion in the Toa’s words struck him like a blow. How did I not know this? How did I not feel this? 

Onua smiled. “We may share a heart, Lenua. But there are things that are mine alone, and this is one of them.” 

“Then… that’s all it was? You kept summoning me because you wanted to feel safe?” 

“Is that so ignoble?” the Toa asked with a smile. “But no. That wasn’t all. You fascinated us, and our brothers and our people. Mata Nui is not so large a place. Our history has been one of conflict, and at any moment the Makuta’s shadow could return to strike us down. To have a new spirit walk among us would give us heart. It would remind us that someday, a greater world is waiting for us. A future is waiting for us.” 

“The sentiment is noble, Onua. But I had hoped you of all people would understand what it means to call upon the spirits.” 

Onua’s voice was steady as his gaze. “And what makes you think I do not?” 

“A Vhotai is -” 

“-a warrior? A guardian? A weapon?” Onua shook his head. “All titles too small for you and your kin. You are the same as the Kaita, Lenua. You are our guide . Why should you be so only in times of war?” 

The Vhotai wanted to reach out and shake the Toa. Instead, he struggled to keep his anger under control. “Your Turaga, your sister, and now you. If I am meant to be your guide, why is it that none of you will listen to what I have to say?” 

“And again I ask you, what makes you think I do not?” A touch of exhaustion crept into Onua’s voice. “What makes you think I would not be glad to? If tomorrow the Makuta laid siege to Onu-Koro, I would be honored to call upon your strength to lead us. If ever I felt there was some dispute I lacked the wisdom to settle, I would pray you lead me to sound judgment.” 

“Then enough with these games, Onua! I am grateful that you and Lewa have brought me into this world, and when the day comes that Mata Nui needs my power, I will happily lend it. But do not make me pretend to be someone I am not.” 

Onua sighed. “That is where we disagree, brother. I have no desire to make you someone you are not. I merely wish for you to understand who you are.” 

Lenua scowled, made to respond - 

Then he saw the look in his Toa’s eyes, and paused. There was a strange sorrow there, one that seemed subtly familiar to the fusion. Of course , he found himself thinking, he is my Toa. It is natural I carry his burdens. It is natural I know his sorrows.  

“Or perhaps you recognize your own pain in mine, my Vhotai.” 

Lenua flinched. There was nothing he could hide from Onua when they spoke like this, yet he felt as though the Toa had violated some unspoken rule. “I am - I don’t know what you intend to imply, Onua.” 

“Then I will state it outright.” The Toa’s voice grew hard, but there was not an ounce of anger in it. For an instant Lenua had a vision of a dim Nui-Jaga hive, of a clearing deep in the jungle. 

“You fear you cannot fulfill your duties, Lenua. You fear that any step from the path destiny has laid from you would cause you to lose your way forever. And most of all you fear that when the time comes, you will not be able to help those you hold dear.” The Toa of Earth’s tone softened just a fraction. “I know this because I have felt it each and every day. As has Lewa. As have we all.” 

A cold jolt of dread ran through Lenua. “Still your tongue,” he whispered to the Toa, already knowing it would make no difference. 

“I do not envy you, Lenua. You carry the passions and doubts of the both of us, but you lack the discipline of Akamai or Wairuha. You see this island and its people through our eyes, but you can never touch it yourself. You have been given a heavy duty, but none of the support to let you carry it.” Onua reached out a hand and laid it atop Lenua’s. “I understand, brother.” 

The dread the Vhotai felt split into a dozen emotions - anger, denial, grief, rebellion. Who was this Toa, that he thought he had the right to say such things? Who was he, that he felt he could understand the burden all Vhotai bore? 

“I am you, Lenua.” Onua’s voice was quiet. “That is who.” 

When he was in the elemental plane, he could not think. Not in the same way he could when his Toa anchored his spirit. Not in the way he could when he was running through the jungles of Le-Koro, or burrowing through the earth of Onu-Wahi. When he rested with the other spirits, everything was so much simpler. His duties were clear. His destiny was unquestionable. And the whispers of Vhotai waiting to be formed, or of Kaita watching over them all, ensured he was never alone. 

So why? 

Why was the Toa right? 

“I don’t understand, Onua.” 

His Toa was silent now, but Lenua knew he was listening. It had always been a skill of his. 

Lenua squeezed Onua’s hand gently, unable to bring himself to look the Toa in the eyes as he spoke. "Nothing I’ve said has been false. The spirits of fusion are not the same as Matoran or Toa. Our place is not here, in the physical realm. Even our bodies are testament to this fact. They are designed to carry out a single purpose, to master any threat that might arise. 

“How can all of this be true, and yet -” his voice faltered, and for a strange moment he had the sensation that he could no longer hear Lewa or Onua’s voices within his own. “And yet I wish to know more of this world?” 

Onua nodded gently. 

Lenua paused to collect his thoughts. Hundreds of ideas were pouring into his head, interlinking and shifting, trying to find some way to become solid feelings, thoughts, words. A painful jab of mourning ran through him - these were old thoughts, ones that he should have had the moment he first awoke in this world. Why had he not seen them until now? 

“Take your time,” Onua said quietly. “Remember that I feel what you feel, brother. I will know what you want me to.” 

Lenua hesitated, then shook his head. “Before that, I just - I want to try to say these as - as me. Not as you and Lewa, but as… as Lenua. I want these to be my words.” 

Onua nodded again, waiting. 

“I am not you, Onua. I cannot take your place amongst your brothers, and I will never be the Toa your villagers think of first. But there is a part of me that wants to walk these lands and see what I can be to its people. I want to feel the love you do for this world by myself, not from what you and Lewa can pass on to me.” The words were foreign in his mouth, and something deep inside of him was urging him to stop and remember his place as a Vhotai. 

It felt so good to ignore it. 

“I want to run amongst the beasts in the jungle and uncover the treasures of the earth with my own claws. I want to see the sun rise and set and rise again without ever leaving my perch atop Le-Wahi. I want to wind-soar as Lewa does and deep-mine as you do. And I want to hear the voices I never can alone. I want to learn from Gali, I want to surprise your Chronicler, I would even hear the Makuta’s evil for myself.” 

Onua chuckled reproachfully. “I can’t say I recommend the last one.” 

Lenua laughed at that, a short, sharp sound. “I suppose that is true.” He took a deep breath, then realized the absurdity of the action. He was not truly here, deep beneath the earth of Onu-Wahi; he had no body to draw breath with. 

It didn’t matter. “I have no right to walk this earth as you do, Onua. As a Vhotai, my place is with my fellow spirits, and as your guide, I could never ask you and Lewa to give yourselves that I may take your places amongst your people.” 

“Then do not ask that, brother.” 

“But if you and Lewa would allow it… I would try living in this world for more than a scavenged night or a momentary battle. I would try to see it as you do.” Lenua bowed his head to the other Toa. “It is your lives, and your bodies. It is not my decision to make.” 

Onua shook his head. “It is our decision to make together. You are not a weapon for us to call upon when we desire your power; nor are you a balm for us to use when we want to forget the world for a time. I know I speak for Lewa too when I say we would rather know you as a friend, even one we may never walk alongside.” He put a hand to his heartlight. “You have a right to us as we do to you, and we will not deny that.” 

A wave of emotion, hot and painful, rushed through Lenua. “Onua.” 

“I have but one request. I know it is an unnecessary one, but it is one I must make nonetheless.” Onua lowered his hand and gestured to the village outside his home. “Our duties as Toa do not stop in times of peace. As you guide us, we must guide our people. You are free to do as you would please in your time here, Lenua, but I ask you do not forget them. Teach them the things you would teach us, walk alongside them as we do. Be their Vhotai.” 

Lenua closed his eyes and thought of the nights spent until now, of the half-fear that the Matoran tried to hide in his presence. He thought of Whenua, seeking an equal, of the lonely guard towers of Le-Koro and the silent mines of Onu-Koro. 

“It would be an honor, Onua.” 

The Toa nodded, his smile one of relief and understanding. "Then rest well, my friend. 

“And know that when next you wake, you will walk freely.” 

Chapter Text

She could hear the voices of her villagers, surprised and uncertain, but she did not turn to look. From where she sat behind her home, the suns painted the waters of Naho Bay soul-blue and the sky a deep-red orange. The smallest of waves rippled their way out to sea, pushed by a gentle breeze. Gali took a long, slow breath, tasting the salt and wind. 

“Aren’t you going to go greet your brothers?” 

She looked up. Nokama stood there, leaning on her staff and smiling the smile of someone enjoying themselves. Gali shrugged. “He’ll come find me in time. Shouldn’t you be out there with the Matoran, Turaga? This might be a bit easier for them to swallow if you reassured them there was nothing to be concerned about.” 

Nokama shook her head. “If it’s all the same to you, I have work to do.” 

“And I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact Matau says he’ll talk a Turaga’s ear off now that he’s dropped the angry loner act?” 

Nokama frowned, her eyebrows narrowing into an exaggeratedly severe stare. “Now, Toa Gali! No Turaga would ever deny their Toa’s Vhotai a chance to speak with them.” 

“I’m sure they wouldn’t.” Gali shooed Nokama with a smile. “All right then, go. I’ll show our guest around.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Nokama replied with a smile of her own, and hobbled away. Gali watched her go with a raised brow. 

There was a sudden rush of air, and a chorus of surprised and delighted voices from the village. Gali looked down into the waters and smirked. If you’re going to come down to play with us, Lenua, you’d best not forget whose village this is. 

With silent grace, she slipped off the deck into the sea. Careful to disturb the water as little as possible, she swam past fishing nets and sunken bamboo, listened to the ocean currents whisper to her in ways only she could understand. As she approached the town square, she slowly rose to the surface, watching the shadows that lined the lilypads above her. Gently as she could, she lifted her head above the surface and craned to listen. 

“-and so I swear to you all the same oaths my Toa did. I may not be of Ga-Koro, but I am as much your protector as I am to Le-Koro or Onu-Koro. If you ever find the winds of your bay too powerful, or the earth of your meadows too fallow, you need only seek me out. Anything my Toa can do, I can do just as well, if not better.” 

Oh, this was just too perfect an opening. She cleared her throat and called to the platform above her. “Even swim?” 

The shadow above her froze, but it was too late. Gali grabbed hold of the pad above her and pulled, and an instant later a flailing pile of green and black limbs splashed down into the water next to her with a yowl. Before he could react, Gali gathered up the water around them into a bubble and lifted the two of them back into the village square, where the assembled Matoran were peering into the water. With all the poise she could manage, she gently guided them of them back onto a pad, then let the water release. A few of the Matoran cheered. “The answer is no. Thank you all for giving our Vhotai such a warm welcome, but before he gets too up on himself, I’d just like to remind you all who’s in charge around here.” There was a chorus of guffaws, and someone - she had a feeling it was Hahli - whistled. 

She turned to the sopping-wet Vhotai. “Now, Lenua -” 

Here Gali stopped, and before she could burst out laughing she stuck the back of her hand into her mouth. The Vhotai looked up at her reproachfully, which wouldn’t be too bad if not for the stark-black mane around his neck that was now sopping wet and clinging to him like a used rag. 

“Wonderful to see you too, Gali,” Lenua muttered. 

The Vhotai pulled the towel away from himself and tossed it aside in disgust; Gali put it aside with the other ones, careful not to let the pile slip over the edge and into the water. She had mostly managed to contain her laughter as she had guided the Vhotai back to her hut to try and regain some of his dignity, but had been unable to avoid a few chortles when he had stopped to shake himself dry. 

“Well,” she said cheerfully, “all the more reason for you to take me up on that offer of swimming lessons.” 

“All the more reason for me to never come to Ga-Koro if I can avoid it,” he muttered. The Vhotai grabbed a handful of fur, squeezed a bit more water from it, and made a face. 

“I have to admit, I wasn’t quite expecting a mane. Was this Lewa’s idea?” 

“Actually, it was mine.” 

“Oh.” She forced a smile. “Well, it looks very nice on you.” 

“I know it does. That’s why I picked it. But if I’m going to get dunked every time I travel south of Mt. Ihu, maybe I ought to get rid of it next time.” 

“I wanted the Matoran to know you were as much a friend as any Toa, and it seemed the best way to ensure none of them left feeling like you were too dangerous. And if you like the mane, then be proud of it, brother.” 

He grunted non-committally and leaned back against the hut. She did the same, and for a time the two watched the ocean ebb and flow. In the waters beneath them, a school of Ruki swam slowly across the sandy bottom in search of food. Gali smiled again. “So how do the Ash Bears and Ussals react to their new apex predator?” 

“With an appropriate mix of fear and respect,” the Vhotai replied with no lack of self-satisfaction. 

Gali sighed wistfully. “It would be nice if the Rahi around here would do the same for me. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve had to give a Takea a good belt on the snout.” 

“Maybe you should try talking with it next time.” 

Gali shot the Vhotai a skeptical look. “You can’t really do that, can you? Even Nokama’s mask is too weak to handle Rahi-speak.” 

“Oh, of course I can. What elemental spirit would I be if I could not commune with all the denizens of my domain?” 

Gali closed her eyes and made a show of looking deep in thought. “Why, I… I believe I’m receiving a message from Wairuha. A word of guidance in these trying times.” She nodded once, twice, then sighed dramatically. “They say… you are a terrible liar, Lenua.” 

Lenua laughed, a clear and sharp sound. “Well, that much is true. I was just wondering how many Vhotai powers I could sell you on.” 

“I’ve heard Lewa make awful excuses one too many times. You might be your own being, but that much you got from him.” 

“It’s just my luck I’d be stuck with such a troublemaker for one of my Toa.” Lenua looked out over the bay again and smiled softly. “But then again, I suppose I wouldn’t have him any other way.” 

“Nor I.” 

Gali smiled at that. When she had first met her fellow Toa Mata, they had squabbled and bickered, unable to see beyond their first impressions of one another. Even now, she sometimes caught herself thinking of Lewa as nothing more than a overly carefree vine-swinger, or Tahu as a mindless hothead. (Perhaps that second impression wasn’t too far off the mark.) But in their months together she had been reminded each of them was more than their legend. She saw as much in Kopaka’s protectiveness of his people, or in Pohatu’s quiet doubts. In the way that slowly, so slowly, she was learning to let her own anger and joy out and not stay hidden behind the role of peace-maker. 

“So what will you do now?”, she asked. 

The Vhotai said nothing for a few seconds, and when he spoke, he chose his words carefully. “I want to see the villages of Mata Nui for myself, and I want to speak with Tahu, Kopaka, and Pohatu as I have with you. Anything past that, I will leave to the whims of the Great Spirit.” 

“You speak as though you will not be here long.” 

Lenua looked at her and smiled softly. “I’m grateful to Lewa and Onua for letting me walk amongst you all. Truly. But I would be remiss to repay that favor by depriving you all of their presence.” 

“But you aren’t.” She reached out and gently laid a hand against his heartlights, pulsing gold and green in the evening light. “They walk with you, and I hear them in every word you say. Just because you are learning to speak for yourself does not mean you are silencing their voices.” 

Lenua closed his eyes and nodded at that, but sighed. “Even so. It is an honor to take their place, but I do so knowing it can only be temporary. There will always be things in this world that only they can do, and there will always be bonds that only they may forge.” 

“And the same goes for you, Lenua.” 

The fusion opened his eyes and looked at her, and she looked back. When she had first seen him, he had seemed something more than a Toa, a demi-god come to walk amongst them. Perhaps that was still true, but in this moment, all she saw in his gaze was the same things she saw in her brothers' every day: a determination, a fear, a hope. 

Hesitantly, Lenua brought a hand up and grasped hers, then lowered it away from himself. “Thank you, Gali.” His voice was warm and sad. “But… may I ask one thing?” 

“Always,” she replied. 

“Why were you so determined to know me?” 

She looked away from him, out over the bay, and sighed. "You fascinate me, Lenua, as much as Wairuha does. More. There are days when I find the pressures and powers of being a Toa almost unbearable. 

“And yet you carry more of those burdens and joys than I ever could. I cannot imagine what it must be like to see the world through your eyes, to know the elements more than any of us ever could, to hear the whispers of your Toa guide you. But when you are here - I feel as though I may be able to someday.” 

The Vhotai spoke softly. “You know that is not true. There are no words that could help you understand what it is to be tied to two others - to reach through them to their elements and live only through their bond.” 

Gali nodded, her eyes closed. “Of course. But this world of ours is one of mystery and wonder, Lenua. Something deep within me drives me to fight for its sake, but even if I were not a Toa, the sight of it each day would call me to guard it all the same.” She opened her eyes and looked to him. 

“You are a part of that mystery, Lenua, as are my Toa-brothers and I. We do not know where we came from, nor where our destiny will lead us. I know it is the will of Mata Nui that we focus on the present, and not our lost past or unknown future, but that will not stop me from seeking the truths of this place. Because the more I understand it, the more I can be part of it. The more I can belong here.” 

Lenua smiled gently, warmly. “Perhaps you Toa are not so blind as you seem.” 

“Perhaps you Vhotai are not as above our petty jabs as you seem.” 

“Blame Lewa.” 

She chuckled at that. Lenua seemed almost to glow in the dying rays of the sunset, his mane ruffling gently in the breeze (where he had managed to dry it off, at least.) His body seemed different from when she had first known it, the chaotic greens and blacks that had once patterned him now smoothed and grouped in harmony. He was lithe, but she sensed strength sleeping in his every muscle, waiting to unwind and take action. He was beautiful. 

A pang of sorrow ran through her. If her own Vhotai waited for her in the plane of spirits, she did not know them. Her fellow Toa were friends, partners she would give her life for, but she did not feel for them as Lewa and Onua did for one another, or how she suspected Pohatu and Kopaka did. She did not mind this - she was not lonely - but she could not deny the envy she felt. For now, she would not walk the earth as part of something greater. 

Perhaps someday I will , she thought with a smile. 

“May I offer another theory?” she asked, changing the subject. 

“About us fusions?” 

“It’s either that or my suspicions about some old drawings of Toa I found a while back. But that one might be more fun to discuss with Nokama in the room.” 

The Vhotai looked confused for a moment, then broke into a grin. “Oh, I bet it would be.” 

She laughed. “But let’s put that mystery aside for now. Lenua, even after all this, you still believe that fusions are meant for times of crisis.” 

He smiled ruefully. “I won’t deny that, happy as I am to be here now.” 

“Suppose I disagree?” 

He raised a brow. “Not to pronounce you wrong on the spot, but every piece of my soul is screaming that you are.” 

She stood and looked out at the dimming sea. “I think that’s only half the picture. You might be needed most in times of crisis, but I think that there is still a place for you in peacetime. Not as a visitor fighting his programming, but as a natural part of being a fusion.” He opened his mouth to protest, and she raised a hand to silence him. “If Vhotai are formed by the bonds of two Toa - bonds that can only truly flourish in peacetime - then it makes sense to me that not all Vhotai are made to handle danger. Not all the time, anyway. Perhaps some Vhotai - some Kaita, even - are meant for peace in the first place.” 

“It’s a nice thought,” he replied, doing nothing to hide the doubt in his voice. 

“I’m not saying that’s what you are, Lenua. Maybe you are the hunter you feel yourself to be. But perhaps this urgency you feel is nothing more than the urgency we all feel.” She traced the outline of a Keras slowly scuttling beneath the waves and sighed. “This peace won’t last much longer. The Makuta will strike again, and when he does I feel our world may be changed forever. But when all is done, at journey’s end - whenever that may be - I hope to see you again. I hope you will know peace the way we do.” 

The Vhotai was silent for a little while, staring out at the horizon. Eventually, he sighed. “You and Onua truly are alike.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He stood, still looking out over the sea alongside her. “Onua, Lewa, and I made a decision before they summoned me. After this visit, they would only call upon me in two situations. If there was a crisis that demanded my aid - or if this world finally found peace that would not shatter.” 

“That could be a very long time from now, you know.” 

“I do. But we agreed - we are Toa first and foremost. I want to know this world as best I can, but I cannot risk forgetting the war before us. So for now I will see it for myself, and learn what it is we are protecting. And my reward for guarding it in the years to come will be to return to it once again.” 

That certainly sounded like Onua. And for all she teased Lewa, it sounded like him, too. 

It sounded like all of them. 

“And Gali?” Lenua said quietly. “When we find peace - no matter when it is - I hope to explore it by your side.” 

She started and looked back at the Vhotai. He was smiling almost shyly, and he looked calmer and more relaxed than she could ever recall. A pang of regret ran through her, a childish impulse to ask him to reconsider, to stay with them as long as he wanted, but she pushed it away. Instead she stepped towards the Vhotai and raised a hand to the side of his mask. He closed his eyes at her touch, still smiling. 

“I’d like nothing more, Lenua.” 

They stood there a while longer, as the last of the sun slipped beneath the horizon and plunged Ga-Koro into twilight. If he doesn’t have long to know this world , she found herself thinking, I am glad he at least will have the memory of this moment.  

Eventually, Gali gave him a gentle pat on the cheek and stepped back, all smiles. “Well. It’s getting late, and you still haven’t had a chance to speak to Turaga Nokama yet.” 

“And then it’s off to Ko-Koro next.” He raised a hand to his mane and brushed it with a grin. “Maybe I should’ve gotten this all over my body.” 

“And go wind-flying as a fuzz-ball? I’d like to see that.” She elbowed him with a smirk. “Now come on. Let’s see how many references to other Toa it’ll take for Nokama to start panicking.” 

In the darkness, he opened his eyes. 

His body had changed, grown scarred with his Toa’s battles, sharpened and shifted in response to their armors, but it felt more familiar than ever. The air smelled different than any he had known on Mata Nui, tinged with alien life and scents he had never tasted before. The gentle murmurs of a city at work made their way to his ears, busier than Onu-Koro had ever hoped to be. The bed beneath him was carved of no stone Pohatu had ever known. 

He stood slowly and took in the room around him: the table set for two, the Onu-Koro lightstone placed above the mantle, the stacks of tablets covered in a script no Matoran had ever written. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked to the window and looked out. 

The city sang in the night. In the streets below, Agori walked side-by-side with Matoran, Glatorian and Skakdi lugged crates through the dirt, voices murmured and barked directions and laughed and sang. Some kio ahead of the workers, he could see the beginnings of a great mine, lit by the sparks of heartlights and torches. 

He leaned out the window a while longer, watching the world pass by. Then he stepped away and to another window facing to the south. In the distance, a great lake stretched out to the horizon, and the surface was dotted with ships and homes, sparkling in the night. If he squinted, perhaps he could make out a home that seemed a little larger than the rest, one where a lightstone still glowed in the window. 

But perhaps not. Not even a jungle-cat could see that far, after all. The only way to find out would be to go see it for himself. 

He smiled. In a single fluid motion, he clambered through the window and up onto the roof of the simple brick home. The wind, strange and new, ruffled his mane, and when he took a long, deep breath he could taste the new earth the city rested on. 

Then he looked again to the south, to that glimmering lake, and smiled wider. Yes, he would have to go see things for himself - he would have to see what peace looked like. And he knew just the person he wanted to show him the way. 

Lenua stood and felt the air curl around him. 

And with a step, skip, and leap, he let it take him where he needed to go.