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This article was written by Windfall the wanderer. Please do not add to it without the writer's permission.
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| Tales of the Sentinels: Waste | |
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| Story | |
| Setting | |
| Date Set |
Around 56,000 years ago
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| Media Information | |
| Released |
March 6th, 2018
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Tales of the Sentinels: Waste is the first volume of the Tale of the Sentinels series. It features the Toa of Iron Cyrene.
Story[]
The dust clouds that often swept through the valley felt especially abrasive today.
Cyrene leaned back, shielding her face against the dust, although she knew her mask would probably protect her from it well enough. It also had the added advantage of blocking her view of the pit of sand she stood watch over, which she had long since memorized by now. Not that she didn’t care for her job, but it did get terribly dull sometimes. Her most frequent form of entertainment involved compressing and expanding a ball of protodermis, something that took very little effort.
It didn’t help with the boredom much.
She stood up and sighed, her head brushing against the tarp stretched across the top of her watchtower. She flexed her cramped organic muscles, and stepped off of her tower. Using her powers, she delicately levitated herself down to the ground, her weight settling back on her feet.
She wasn’t supposed to be leaving right now, but sometimes boredom had to be alleviated by doing something slightly less boring.
Cyrene walked the short distance between her tower, a strange, alien-looking thing, and her village. She headed for the water collector at the center of the settlement. Most of her Matoran were inside, confirming her thoughts that today’s dust storm was especially bad. Usually they didn’t mind it. But that wasn’t important. Water was important.
She spotted Irai patching a hole in his hut. The grumpy Po-Matoran came here after he almost drove his village to ruin by selling others valuables to unscrupulous individuals. He was probably less bothered by the storm than some others.
Being in the most Mata Nui-forsaken place on the continent kind of sucked sometimes. Living was tough, but it was the price you had to pay for secrecy, which was something most of her Matoran desired dearly, considering many were wanted for crimes. So here they came.
Once Cyrene had finished refilling her canteen, she retraced her steps back through the village, eventually coming to her tower, a stark contrast to the low, simplistic huts that comprised the rest of her village.
She was about to go back up to resume her watch, when she spotted a blue speck in the distance. Cyrene set off at a jog through the village, intrigued. At the edge of the mass of huts, she was able to see now that there was a navy-armored figure in the only entrance to the valley they were in. A tall figure. No Matoran was that tall, and Steltians were too large to fit through the first part of the entrance.
She hustled over to the figure, just as it collapsed, face first, on the ground in front of her. Cyrene reached over and heaved the body over. It WAS a Toa. The first one she had seen since she came to this place.
She just stood still for a moment, stunned by the implications of what this would bring. Only… would this be a normal entry, or did this Toa have more… nefarious reasons for coming here? Cyrene remembered well enough the reasons why she had left in the first place.
Snapping out of her reverie, she half picked up, half levitated the strange Toa, carrying her back to her village.
Cyrene stood in the dimly lit hut of the physician. The Toa she had found was laid out on a stone bed, and she decided to utilize this moment for some studying. The Toa was definitely female. That was for sure. Her mask didn’t look familiar at all. It fact, it looked almost grotesque, inherently frightening, in a way. Deliberately unpleasant, more like. Her armor was similar, organic and twisted. Potentially hinting at her personality, or just paranoia? Hard to say.
She jumped as the Toa coughed, being prodded by the physician, Akiko. Akiko was a Ga-Matoran who had a strange fancy for purple things. She was also an extreme kleptomaniac, but generally treated injuries well enough.
Akiko, absorbed in her work, didn’t acknowledge Cyrene. She toiled over the Toa, examining, prodding, occasionally turning around to glance at her supply of organic remedies. Cyrene figured the reason the stranger had come into here and collapsed was due to dehydration. On scouting missions, they sometimes found those with similar plights
It usually wasn’t pretty.
They usually searched the unfortunate travelers for any useful equipment they may have been carrying. Cyrene was well-suited for this job, being a Toa of Iron, but it made Cyrene squeamish, so she tried to avoid it. But, when you live in a desert, doing heartless things was a necessity to survive. She was fine.
Cyrene was snapped out of her reverie by a WHUMP. The Toa had awoken, and Cyrene’s suspicions that she was a Toa of Water were confirmed. The stone table she was resting on had become dry and crumbly, and there was a wet spot on the ceiling.
The stranger was gasping heavily. Cyrene took this moment to step out of the shadows and approach the toa. Akiko jumped, but said nothing. Cyrene, elemental powers at the ready, tapped the Toa on the shoulder. Her head snapped towards Cyrene, but stared, frightened, saying nothing.
“Er…” Cyrene fumbled, “Who... are you?” Mata Nui, her voice sounded gravelly.
The other Toa looked down for a moment before answering, sounding almost uncertain.
“I… I’m Araja-” She clipped the end of her name off like she wanted to say more, then continued, more confidently this time. “I’m Araja.”
Despite Cyrene’s initial judgement of her looks, she began to think this Toa might not be too bad. She was good at helping lost souls. That’s what she did.
“Ok, Araja,” Cyrene said, in what she considered a diplomatic tone, “Let’s get you more comfortable, then we’ll see how we can help.”
Cyrene and Araja sat together in the community hut. It was the largest and best furnished hut in the village. It also contained the only cushions they had, which were something of an oddity for Matoran used to living in difficult environments. Araja sat on one of said cushions, with her elbows resting on her knees. She was explaining how she got to be here.
“I was g-going home to the village I protected…” She shuddered, “but, when I returned, one of the M-matoran who disliked me had told everyone that I had killed his friend. I didn’t, couldn’t, because I was out gathering water, but they didn’t believe me. They threatened to bring me in, e-even execute me.” Her orange eyes closed, probably remembering an unpleasant memory. Cyrene sat on in sympathy. Many of the Matoran had been driven out of their homes for similar reasons, but they all just wanted a fresh start here. It was almost reassuring that even Toa could be the same way.
Araja continued, regaining her composure, “And then, when I left, they must’ve been mad still, because they sent some sort of… bounty hunter.. After me. She chased me-”
“She?” Cyrene interjected.
“Yeah…” Araja mumbled “A Toa of Water, like me.”
Cyrene was only slightly more surprised to learn that. Female Toa usually didn’t favor bounty hunting as a profession, and Toa of Water even less so. They were usually scientists or conservationists. Cyrene didn’t actually know that well, seeing as how she lived in a hidden desert village, so that was her best guess. Still.
“Anyways…” Araja said, somewhat peevishly, “She chased me for a long time, until I came to this desert. She didn’t want to follow, so it was my best shot.”
Cyrene nodded. She probably knew better than most Toa that they were much more powerful near a preexisting source of their element.
“And… that’s when I came here. I got too thirsty. And my elemental power hasn’t recharged yet” Araja finished.
“Alright,” Cyrene said, “Well, you came to the right place. You’ll live here in safety. You can even help me guard, too!” Cyrene was excited by this prospect. She expected today to be just as dull as every other day, but now she was about to get a new resident, and maybe a new friend. She almost giggled at the thought. Imagine that.
Cyrene was snapped out of her daydreaming when Araja asked “So, wait.” Cyrene looked at her. “Yes?”
“You’re making it sound like I already am living here. What if I don’t want to.”
Cyrene immediately became somber. “You can’t leave now, She explained, “This is a village full of wanted Matoran. If word gets out, we’ll be hunted down and eliminated. So…”
Araja stood, angry now. “So you’ll make me a prisoner?!”
“No… just think of it as-”
“You ARE!” Araja lunged at Cyrene, rage in her eyes. She made as if to grab her, but stopped mid-jump, quivering immobilized via Cyrene’s hold over her armor.
“No,” Cyrene stated, sternly. A falling feeling was beginning to take hold inside her. If Araja didn’t cooperate… what would happen? At the very least, her chances of making a friend were getting lower and lower. “I have to protect these Matoran. They may have done some bad things, but it’s still my duty as a Toa to help them. You have to understand that.”
Araja stopped struggling, going limp against Cyrene’s clutches. She glared at Cyrene for a split second before lowering her eyes and sighing. “Yeah… I-” Araja looked back up. “I guess I’ll have to stay now. I promise.”
Cyrene sighed internally with relief. Things hadn’t gotten ugly. Maybe there was still hope for a friendship.
As the daylight began to fade over the tops of the stone valley, Cyrene showed Araja where she would sleep. The community hut had been rearranged to make room for a couple of mats. Being Matoran-sized, more than one was needed to fit Araja.
As she arranged some of the mats, she considered her apprehension over letting Araja sleep unsupervised. After the outburst, she wasn’t sure if she would do something rash. The extent of what she had done to mitigate that was to ask Akiko, who lived close to the community hut, to keep an eye in case “anything went wrong.” Akiko probably assumed she meant in a medical sense, but it wasn’t that she was worried about.
Araja gazed at Cyrene before speaking up.
“So… what do you all do here?”
Cyrene, not sure how to answer, hesitated. “Well, not much. There’s maintenance, uhm, hunting, chores, scouting… things like that. Why?”
“Oh, well…” Araja laid back on the mats, staring at the ceiling. “I was just curious.”
Araja had talked very little since their previous conversation, so Cyrene was eager to continue the conversation.
“I, ah, also do guard duty on my tower. You might like that.” Cyrene tensed, awaiting the response. Kinloka devour her, she was terrible at talking.
“Mhm.” Araja said nothing, still watching the ceiling.
Cyrene, disappointed, made to leave.
“Cyrene?” Araja said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“I think I’d like to get to know this place better.”
Cyrene smiled broadly, “Well, that’s good to hear!” She exited the hut, and said over her shoulder, “I’ll see you in the morning!”
She got nothing but a mumble in return, but walked back to her tower, grinning the whole way.
Cyrene’s eyes snapped open. She was wide awake. A remnant from her paranoia-filled early days. It was strange, Cyrene thought she had outgrown that. She was a heavy sleeper. She dragged herself up into a sitting position, her backside grating against the floor of the tower.
Based on the light, it looked to be… midmorning? That couldn’t be right. The Matoran should be getting breakfast, chattering as they usually did. It should be the same as every other morning. It must be a trick of the light.
Confused, she leaped from her tower, softening her impact a little too late, sending a jab of stress along her legs. Not a good morning for her.
She limped into the village slowly. Everything seemed normal, aside from the fact it was silent save the rustle of the wind. The water collectors were full, which indicated to Cyrene something was wrong. She rushed into the nearest water keeper's house, Suren’s. Suren had a problem with violence, and was best left alone. He rarely left his home.
The house was empty.
Cyrene staggered back. What was happening?
She froze.
What about Araja?
Cyrene dashed towards the community hut, levitating herself over buildings when necessary. When she reached the hut, she spotted a prone figure propped up against the side of it.
It was Akiko.
Rushing over, sliding into a kneel, she grabbed the Ga-Matoran, and shook her gently, calling her name. She noticed the wound in the middle of Akiko’s stomach. Blood was leaking out. She wasn’t sure if she was dead or not… Cyrene never was very good with rescuing people. Akiko’s mask, glinting purple, rested in the doorway of the hut. She was either dead or comatose, neither of which was good.
Cyrene, stretched, grabbed the mask, and stuck it on Akiko’s face, but she knew that her only indication of Akiko’s health was if she ever woke up. She could do nothing either way.
Cyrene stood up, shaking. She pushed aside the cloth covering the entrance to the community hut, to reveal…
Nothing.
It was empty. Cyrene, starting to get dizzy, looked around. Araja definitely wasn’t there. She placed her hands on the side of her head, to steady herself. It was still quiet but something was very wrong. She felt sick.
No, this was fine. She was going to be fine.
Cyrene heard a crackling sound, and spun around. A cloth awning stood opposite the hut, and it was… dusty? Cyrene stepped closer to get a better look. The cloth was greying, getting more brittle by the second. In fact, it was happening, to some degree, to everything around her.
That was it. The world was ending. She couldn’t handle this anymore. No. Nononono.
Then, a thought stuck her like a sand vole to the face. She was a Toa of Iron. Many years of limiting her powers to trivial uses often made her forget she could exert some effort to do more than what was already second nature.
Sighing deeply, she opened her perceptions of the world. She had forgotten the familiar, almost comforting feeling of elemental sensation. It helped with the dizziness and nausea.
Immediately, she felt a large amount of metals… under the sand? That would be the Matoran, but… Oh! The cave! The cave was a project that to expand the already sizeable valley. It had to be stopped when the floor crumbled, but it was still traversable.
That being said, she didn’t know if Araja was there or why they had gone there.
Looking further, she saw an unusual spiral of metal on the opposite side of the valley. Her organic parts crawled with tension.
Time to investigate.
It was water.
A huge whirlpool of water was levitating, pulling in and discarding items at random. A stream of mist was being drawn from the objects around her, growing the whirlpool. A heady sense of pressure grew inside Cyrene’s head. At the center of the maelstrom, directing the whirlpool, was Araja.
Cyrene stepped forwards, weakly. Step by step, until she was near the perimeter. Her mind was blank. If Araja could do this, then… why?
“Araja!” Cyrene croaked.
Araja turned, with a grin on her face. “There you are!”
“Why…?”
Araja’s smile, somehow, grew deeper. “You know why. I was never going to stay here. I might as well have a little fun before I leave!”
When Cyrene didn’t respond, Araja’s smile twisted, becoming more like a sneer.
“Those Matoran evaded me when I came for them. I only got to meet one of them! So I’m going to flood their little cavern... “
Cyrene was still frozen. Her breath came in short bursts. Thoughts were racing through her head. She should have screened Araja more. She should’ve stopped this, somehow. What did he used to say…? She should’ve trusted her instincts and ignored her emotions. Now she was all drained and Araja was poised to kill every one of them.
Araja was still talking, manipulating the whirlpool.
“...but now that I’ve found you… I’ve changed my mind”
Cyrene’s heart stopped.
“You’ll be the first to DIE!”
Melodramatic. Cyrene thought in the split second before Araja dispersed the whirlpool behind her and knocked her to the ground.
Araja jammed her knee into Cyrene’s chest as she pulled a long, dull object from a hidden sheath on her leg. The object wasn’t a knife, but resembled a flattened, ridged cone. It appeared very sharp regardless.
“Pathetic” Araja hissed to Cyrene. “I wouldn’t trust you to guard my flower garden.”
That didn’t seem right to Cyrene, in her confused brain. She was better than this. She was a Toa. She was pretty good in her day… one of the best…
But it was hard to think. Araja had one hand on her throat, the other lining up her implement at a chink in Cyrene’s armor. Cyrene couldn’t talk, could barely draw breath, much less defeat Araja. Her arms lay limp at her side.
She gazed, almost pensively, at Araja’s burning eyes, her strange mask, full of hatred.
A well of emotion rose up inside Cyrene, staring into those eyes. She trusted them, believed in them, but they didn’t live up to her expectations, they NEVER DID.
Cyrene, quick as a viper, grabbed the sides of Araja’s mask, and let loose with an animalistic burst of power, compressing it, something she could do as a second nature.
Araja’s mask imploded, throwing her off Cyrene.
Cyrene inhaled, filling her lungs with air, then climbed up, her brow twisted with reciprocated hate.
She stalked over to Araja. A piece of her mask was pressed to her head.
She stared for a moment, calm. This was fine. She was alright. As usual.
Without any hesitation, almost surprising herself, she slammed her fists into Araja’s chest, the armor smushed like putty, the body below dented. Araja made a noise, a shrieking, creaking sound, but Cyrene did not stop. Every blow was bolstered by the crushing power Cyrene was able to wield.
Cyrene didn’t remember passing out, but when she awoke, the suns shone overhead, indicating it was about noon.
She didn’t even look at Araja’s corpse. Nothing of note remained.
She trudged back to her tower, reasoning that the Matoran could come out when they were ready.
At the top, she slumped back onto her resting place. It seemed to have escaped Araja’s absorbance completely. She gazed across the desert, so familiar, so bland.
She was fine.
A silver speck moved across the dunes, catching her eye.
She felt rested, reinvigorated, but she was not better.
Not yet.