“The telling of the tale is done,” said Turaga Vakama, his voice barely more than a whisper. “In time, we made our way back to the shores of the silver sea. Metru Nui lay before us, filled with Matoran trapped in endless sleep.”

He rose, using his staff to support himself. “Before his death, Toa Lhikan had asked that we safeguard the heart of Metru Nui. That heart was the Matoran. Now we were prepared to enter our wounded city and save them all. Our moment of destiny was at hand.”

Vakama’s eyes met Tahu Nuva’s. “And now I have told all that I wish to… perhaps all that I dare. You know what I must now ask, Tahu.”

The Toa Nuva of Fire rose. “Then you must also know my answer, Turaga.”

The other Turaga present rose in protest, but Vakama gestured for them to be silent. “It is decided then. But, hear me, Tahu – I will share my tale with you, and only you. Then you must decide if other ears can bear to hear.”

“More secrets, Turaga?”

Vakama bowed his head and walked slowly away. “There are some words never meant to be uttered, Toa Tahu,” he said. “There are some stories never meant to be told.”

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