Chapter Text
Though he would never come to completely know the reason why, Takua knew his problem well. He always wound up chalking it up to stress or sleeplessness, and though those were certainly contributing factors, he would never have thought of his occasional bouts of amnesia being a symptom of his chronically-wiped mind simply reacting to any similar incoming stimuli in the way it had been trained to- a recursively-acting program that had a hair trigger and a sluggish exit function. In hindsight he would notice that the episodes were caused by extreme stress, or a blow to the head, or simply an overlong nap.
Presently, however, no such thoughts ran through his head as he sat and took in the colors of the flame before him.
In an adjoining room, he could hear hushed discussion.
"Do you think the Vahki--" was cut off by a stream of angry clicks and whistles, and Takua's attention was quickly drawn back to the environment around him as the evening torches were lit, and a gentle rapping of metal on stone sounded from behind him.
Takua turned around to meet the eyes of a Matoran- similar in color to himself, save for his yellow Hau.
"Oh, Takua! I didn't see you there. Is Turaga Vakama in?" he asked. The intonation of his voice indicated familiarity, even camraderie, with him, and Takua inwardly felt a little guilty that he didn't recognize his peer.
"Well, there's a group in the other room, but I'm afraid I'm not sure who you're talking about, specifically."
Oddly, the Matoran's expression changed to one of confusion, then one of sympathy.
"Another episode?" He asked, confusing Takua even more.
"I, uh…" despite his unfamiliarity with the person before him, Takua felt at ease with his presence. "I suppose? I'm sorry, I don't really know what you're talking about."
The taller figure who had led him to this room earlier stepped out from the adjoining room, acknowledging the two Matoran.
"Turaga," the yellow-Hau-wearing one said, stiffening straight and giving a salute. "The outer perimeter has reported nothing strange. There's still no sign of Toa Tahu, but there doesn't seem to be anything else out of the ordinary."
The taller, Huna-bearing figure gave a dismissive wave in response.
"The Toa may not wind up… settling down, so to speak. Their duty, after all, lies all over Mata Nui. But before you go, Jaller- could you escort Takua back to his hut? I fear he may not remember the way himself."
Takua. He'd heard the name used in his presence before so he gathered it must be his. That made the other Matoran in the room Jaller, and the taller one most likely Vakama.
Jaller gave a bow before waving Takua over. Takua, seeing no other immediate choices and sensing no danger from the other, complied.
Once they were outside the hut, Takua took a deep breath of fresh, ash-scented air.
"So, how much do you know?" Jaller asked. Takua considered the question carefully- but, sensing no hint of an ulterior motive behind the words, shrugged.
"I've gathered that I've apparently lost my memory. I've also figured out that I'm Takua, and you're Jaller. Was the other one the Vakama you mentioned?"
Jaller nodded. Takua returned it and continued.
"I don't know who you are or what our relation is, but I feel more at ease with you than I did with Vakama. I'm sorry that I have to ask, but…"
"Who am I?" Jaller completed. Now it was Takua's turn to nod.
"I'm the captain of the guard of Ta-Koro, and I'm… we've been best friends for as long as I can remember."
Takua idly eyed his companion.
"I don't doubt you. I'm sure I'm lucky to have you as my friend."
Takua awoke in his hut, pressing a hand to his mask. This was always the worst part. Not only did he have to deal with the guilt and embarrassment he felt from being unable to remember his close friends, but it was always on nights like these he had the worst nightmares.
They were all loosely similar, but not linear enough to form a coherent thought, they existed more as… impressions. Flashes of gold and white and blue, swirling in a sea of gunmetal gray and black. The sound of anguished cries, the indecipherable pleas of someone who always seemed just out of reach. But worst of all by far were the feelings and sensations that felt so real he could swear he had felt them before. The feeling of being trapped, the captivity of it causing his heart to pound- he'd never liked enclosed spaces, and he had long since wondered if these dreams were to blame. The fear which twisted in his gut, the fear of all the unknowns of the world, which made him want to curl into a small ball and remain put. And worst of all, the wrenching pain of being taken, against his will, away from those who he held closest, accompanied by the aching feeling that they were still there, just barely out of reach.
In the beginning, he had dismissed them as nothing but unconnected stimuli, junk data that had been cluttering up the corners of his mind and was finally being purged. But as it continued to happen, solely after episodes such as this, he couldn't help but wonder if they were, in some haunting way, connected.
Takua sighed and pushed off the slab, slowly plodding his way over to the window, and as he looked at the pale light peering just over the side of the mangai, a single thought was present in his mind. Sure, these episodes were mercifully short, but what if they weren't an isolated problem? What if they were the mere aftereffects of something much larger, much more sinister?
If Takua had lost nights to episodes like these… how much of his life could he just simply have forgotten?