☪︎ ⵣ bahr

“Ma Tsu’tey,” you whisper, melting into his embrace as soon as you reach him.

He appears as he was in life: strong, proud, the bullet hole scars across his chest still vivid, his eyes fierce yet tender for you. He lowers himself into the moss with you, cupping your face with hands that feel real, warm, and alive.

“You came again,” he says softly. No anger. Only sorrow.

“I can’t stay away,” you reply, voice cracking. “I see you every time I close my eyes. I hear you in the wind. If I stay here… I can almost pretend—”

He presses his forehead to yours. The bond between you—tsaheylu formed in life—still lingers in Eywa’s realm, faint but unbreakable.

“You are not pretending, ma yawne,” he murmurs. “You are dying… Slowly. Your body weakens while your spirit clings to mine, and I cannot watch you fade.”

Tears spill down your cheeks while you only cling harder onto him. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

“You already do.” His thumb brushes away the tears. “You fought with me. You became one of the people. You carry our love inside you. That is enough. That is everything.”

You shake your head, eyes squeezing shut in denial. “It’s not.”

He sighs, the sound heavy with centuries of grief. “Eywa has shown me. Your path continues. There is more for you—love, laughter… and children. A life I cannot share. But I will always be with you. In the wind. In the roots. In every song you sing.”

The light around you brightens. Another presence joins—Mo’at, still Tsahìk of the Omatikaya clan, her spirit form calm and commanding.

“He speaks the truth, child.” Mo’at says gently. “Your heart mourns, but it still beats. Tsu’tey’s love was fierce and true, but it was not meant to chain you here. Return to your body. Live. Honor him by breathing, by loving again.”

You look between them—your lost mate and the woman who once guided you both, who helped anchoring your spirit and soul from your human body into your Avatar. Something inside you cracks wide open, raw and aching.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

Mo’at places a hand over your heart. “You already have. Now open your eyes, yawntu.”

The connection fades slowly; you can still feel the brush of his lips on your forehead, the gentle murmur of his voice in your ear before Tsu’tey is gone again. You return to your body. It feels cold; there is a lingering heaviness pushing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. Mo’at is still connected to Eywa, still praying a few feet away from you.

The Tree of Souls glows around you, but the warmth is gone. You sit there for a long time, tears drying on your cheeks, until footsteps approach.

Tarsem.

He stops at a respectable distance, bow slung over his back. His eyes are kind, but there is a quiet strength in them that reminds you—painfully so—of Tsu’tey. He has been watching over you these past months, never pushing, never demanding. Just… there.

“You have been here all night again,” he remarks softly. Not accusation but observation.

You nod, throat tight.

He crouches beside you, careful not to crowd. “The clan worries. I worry.”

You glance at him with a hint of shame. You haven’t been much help to the clan; haven’t been there to rebuild what was lost in battle.

The way the moonlight catches the scars on his arms, the steady calm in his gaze. He has always been kind, always steady and responsible despite his young age. Never once has he looked at you with pity. Only respect. Only patience.

“I miss him,” you admit quietly.

“I know.” Tarsem’s voice is gentle. “But he would not want you to follow him. He would want you to walk in the light and live.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know how.”

Tarsem hesitates, then offers his hand. Open, palm up. Not a demand. Just an invitation.

“Then let me walk with you,” he offers encouragingly. “Until you remember the way.”

You stare at his hand for a long moment. The ache in your chest is still there—sharp, heavy, and seemingly endless—but beneath it, something stirs. A small, fragile spark.

You place your hand in his.

His long fingers close around yours and he coaxes you to rise on shaky legs. He helps you stand, steadies you without judgment, and then you walk together down the paths of the Tree of Souls, back toward the village lights. The night is quiet except for the soft hum of the forest.

For the first time in moons, you do not look back.

You look forward.

And Tarsem walks beside you, silent and patient as ever, waiting for the moment you are ready to look at him—not as a shadow of what was lost, but as the beginning of what might be.

The spark flickers brighter.

Mo’at watches with a pleased glint in her amber eyes.

And somewhere in the afterlife, Tsu’tey smiles.