Matoran and Toa alike fell around him. Ranama raised his hatchet, the world a shimmering shadow around him, the only thing in his vision, a Rahkshi. He charged and swung the hatchet, but the Rahkshi caught the blade full force with its hand, apparently taking no damage at all. The hatchet was torn from his grip, and the Rahkshi's other hand raised its staff, which came swinging towards him.
Ranama crashed onto the floor of his hut, thrashing about, knocking his dumbbell stand over and getting tangled in his exercise mat. Eventually he realised where he really was, and he shuddered. He pushed himself to his feet, shaking slightly.
'Get a grip you pathetic fool,' said a voice in his head.
He dug his fingers under his Kanohi, massaging his forehead, which felt like it was about to burst. Focusing, he removed his fingers from the gap and straightened the mask, before carefully picking up his dumbbells, and flattening out his mat. He then left the hut without looking back, stepping out into the bright sunlight. Mata-Nui, an island at last free of tyranny.
He broke into a jog, and dived off the edge of the Le-koro platform as he always did, free falling a few bio before catching a vine and swinging from one to the other, getting lower and lower, until he hit the ground running. He sprinted. A lot of the surrounding shrubbery that used to hinder him was gone, either through Le-koro's development, or destroyed in the battle. He kept running, eventually the low lying plants becoming denser.
Soon he reached a lake edge, and a distant memory of Nui-Rama buzzing filled his head, and the voices of some people he used to know. He hadn't seen any of them after the battle, he didn't know what had happened to them. He began to run around the edge of the lake. There were the occasional signs of the long past battle out here, no clean up work happened in uninhabited sections of jungle.
Ranama stopped suddenly. A crooked tree stood before him, and something about it sent a shiver down his spine. Nevertheless he approached it, and burrowed around in the dirt at its feet. He found a rusted chunk of metal, the head of a hatchet. The wooden handle had rotted away, but the head remained. For a moment everything went dark, and then Ranama did a complete back flip, as a Rahkshi swung its staff at him. He overcooked the back flip, and ended up lying on his back in the dirt. He covered his face, cowering, but then something clicked in his head. He had imagined the Rahkshi.
'Truly useless,' said the voice in his head. 'You can do better.'
"I can," Ranama said out loud. He broke into a run again, faster than he had ever done before, continuing his path around the edge of the lake.
'Worthless' the voice in his head said, contradicting him. 'FASTER, NOW!'