Circa Oak

And then it started: “Back at TAP”—oh, spare me. Here we fucking go. “I never knew just how sensitive—” he tugged again, “—these were.” I bit my tongue, refusing to flinch or snarl. That’s what this perv wanted. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to tune him out, focus on anything else. At least he was keeping his gross comments quiet enough for Tuk not to hear. Small mercies, I guess.

A sharp yip made my head snap up. None of the Avatars flinched—clueless, every last one of them. Seriously, these guys had no idea what was about to hit them. If you didn’t grow up around the Sullys, that yip probably sounded like some random animal noise out of Pandora’s greatest hits. But if you did? That sound meant one thing: Neytiri was close.

I caught Tuk’s eye across the way—she was already watching me, brave little thing. I blinked at her, trying to make my nod as subtle as possible. We’d done this dance before, and she knew the cue. Behind us, I could hear Kiri muttering under her breath, probably working up some prayer or curse or both. The Avatar holding her gave her queue a nasty jerk, making her yelp. Bastard.

And then all hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, a yellow-and-green-tipped arrow whistled out of the trees and just—bam!—buried itself straight in the guy’s temple. Chaos. Pure, beautiful chaos. “Contact rear!” the Colonel barked, and suddenly every Avatar without a hostage was losing their mind, spraying bullets in every direction but the right one.

Somewhere in the mess, I heard Neytiri shout, “Lo’ak!”—like she already knew what came next. Lo’ak didn’t miss a beat; he reached up, yanked a couple of pins on the vest of the Avatar holding him, and then—boom—green smoke everywhere. Burned my nose like crazy. My heart sank, Yava.

Through the haze, I watched Lo’ak and Tuk both go savage, biting down on their captors. About damn time. I spun, grabbed Anders’ hand before he could react, and sank my teeth in, hard. He howled. Felt good. When he tried to pull away, I only bit down harder. He screamed as blood filled my mouth. With a shake of my head, I was free, and he was missing a pinkie. He howled and roared in pain as I took off behind Lo’ak and Tuk. 

“Go, go, go!” I wheezed, adrenaline making my words come out half-shouted, half-gasped. Tuk glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide, trying to see if anyone was on our tail. “Don’t stop! Just run!” My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear myself think. Lo’ak was up ahead, just booking it, no plan, just pure panic-fuel. Didn’t matter where we were going—anywhere but here.

Everything was a blur of noise and chaos. Bullets hammered the trees behind us, making the air crack and sizzle. Leaves exploded, bark flying everywhere. My lungs burned, legs screaming, but we couldn’t stop. Not now. Tuk let out a scream as gunfire cracked right over our heads, ducking low and almost tripping. I grabbed her arm with my cuffed hands—“No, don’t! Keep running, Tuk!” I was yelling, desperate, dragging her along as we crashed through mud and roots and the mess of the jungle. We’d figure out directions later. Right now, it was pure survival, and the whole world was on fire behind us.

We screamed as a tall blue figure pushed through the bushes. Heart pounding, I pulled Tuk behind me and hissed, startled. It took me a moment to realise who it was; he looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's okay.” He raised his hands to show he wasn't a threat, and we all calmed down.

“Dad” Lo’ak breathed panting to catch his breath. The coolness of the night made his breath come out in smoke

“Jesus, Jake”, I let out a breath I was holding. I let Tuk go, and she immediately ran for him.

“Daddy!” she cried, nuzzling herself into his neck. He wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t even hesitate, rocking back and forth, gently rubbing her back. 

“Shh, Tuk tuk shh,” he cooed, hoping to ease her panic. He pulled away and started to uncuff the links, tossing the orange bands back the way we came, hoping to throw off anybody who might be chasing us. Tuk clung to her father’s leg as he unlinked Lo’ak’s cuffs. My heart was still pounding, and I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting someone else to jump out at us. 

The whole thing felt totally unreal, like we were stuck in a crazy dream that just wouldn’t end. My head snapped up as another body ran through the brush—nearly scared the life out of me—but I relaxed as soon as I saw who it was. My shoulders dropped, the tension melting away for a second.

“Nete,” I called out, my voice coming out all weak and shaky. The second he heard me, his whole face changed. He whipped around, pushing past his brother and father almost desperately, and rushed straight to me. His hands were trembling as he cupped my cheek—warm, gentle. For a second, his thumb lingered, tracing my jaw, like he was making sure I was really there. His eyes searched mine, full of worry. He let out a shaky breath of his own, then looked down and started fumbling with the restraints around my wrists, his fingers clumsy, rushing.

“Pasuk, what happened?” he asked, his voice soft but desperate. That was it for me—all the emotions I’d been holding onto just came crashing down. I shook my head, not even sure where to start, and he pulled me closer, his hands gently cradling my face, his thumbs carefully wiping away the blood that stained my mouth and the tears. His forehead pressed to mine for just a second. My eyes filled up, and before I knew it, a quiet sob slipped out. He didn’t flinch or pull away—he just held me tighter. It was like everything finally hit me at once, and I let myself fall apart. He sighed before pulling me in close, just holding me to him. 

I leaned back against Neteyam, totally wiped out—like, I honestly felt one step away from just dropping right there. But having him there, so close, was like this little anchor I could hold onto. Once everyone was checked over, we all piled onto our Ikrans and headed back to high camp. Neteyam’s free hand slid around me, pulling me in tighter, like he was making sure I didn’t just fall off mid-flight. I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and reassuring, and it made everything feel just a little less scary.

“Not too long now, Pasuk, just hang in there, okay? Keep your eyes open for me,” he said, following his parents’ flightpath. I just hummed in response, nodding half-heartedly. I was so out of it, but hearing his voice made it easier to hang on.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, barely able to keep my eyes open. Today had been way, way too much. I just wanted to crawl into my hammock and sleep for a week straight. Neteyam just squeezed me a little tighter and shot me this soft, crooked half-smile before turning his focus back to flying. His hand lingered on my side, thumb tracing gentle circles. It was like he knew exactly what I needed without me even saying.

When we finally got back to high camp, it was pretty quiet—just a couple of people wandering around, mostly night patrol and the usual scouts. Jake jumped off his Ikran first, helping Lo’ak down, and then turned to Neytiri and the girls. Everything felt a little blurry, like I was half-dreaming.

"{Y/N}," Lo’ak said—somehow he was suddenly right next to me, even though I could’ve sworn he’d just been with Jake a second ago. I grabbed onto his outstretched hands as he helped me down from Temek, my legs so shaky I almost face-planted. Neteyam was right there, steady hand on my back, making sure I didn’t just topple over. He was hovering close, like he couldn’t decide whether to help or just hold me. Everything around me was buzzing and weirdly quiet at the same time, and I felt like I could just pass out on the spot. Then, this big, warm hand cupped my cheek—oh man, that felt good. I leaned into the touch, letting myself soak up the comfort.

“Neteyam, take her to her kelku. She needs to rest,” Jake said, his voice cutting through the haze in my brain. I tried to shake my head and push away from Neteyam, not really wanting to be fussed over, but honestly, I don’t think I could’ve walked more than two steps by myself. Neteyam didn’t say anything, just slipped his arm around my waist.

“Jake, I’m fine, really,” I tried to say, but the words came out all slurred and weird. Turns out, only getting an hour’s sleep between a raid and almost getting kidnapped will do that to you. I was so tired I could barely string a sentence together.

“No you’re not, just go and rest, alright? I’ll come over in a bit, I promise.” Jake nodded to Neteyam, who didn’t even hesitate—he just took my arm and started leading me toward my kelku like it was the most natural thing in the world. Neytiri reached out and ruffled the top of my head as we passed; I caught her and Jake exchanging one of those looks, definitely not their usual date-night vibe, more like a ‘we need to talk’ parent kind of thing. Neteyam nudged me gently, like he knew I was about to get distracted.

“I can walk, Nete,” I grumbled, but honestly, I was glad he was there. The second we stepped inside my kelku,  and I saw my furs and hammock, I nearly burst into tears—sleep was calling my name. Neteyam just hummed, making sure the flap was shut behind us, all casual but also like he was guarding the place.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help,” he said, turning around, his eyes crinkling at the corners from holding back a laugh. The sight of me, flopping around, made him grin, but instead of teasing, he just stepped closer, hands gentle and steady as he caught me by the waist, lifting me up like I weighed nothing. For a split second, we were ridiculously close—his breath warm on my cheek, his fingers lingering. “Here you go,” he murmured, voice so soft I almost missed it. I let out a groan that probably should’ve embarrassed me, but Neteyam just grinned. That playful look in his eyes faded as soon as I managed to look at him, though, and he got all serious and soft. “Pasuk, what happened?”

I sighed, not wanting to go there, not wanting to think about any of it. “He was there,” I managed to say, my voice small.

“Who?” Neteyam asked, gently brushing stray hairs from my face. I made a mental note to ask Neytiri to redo my braids when she had time.

“Anders. The fucking perv from TAP. He was there.” I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could just erase the memory. “He had me, Nete, just like he wanted.”

There was a long, heavy silence before Neteyam responded. “No. You fought him; he didn’t touch you.” He used his thumb to gently rub my cheek, tracing the lines of my mark like he was memorising them. “You fought, and you won. He’s got the wounds to prove it.”

I swallowed hard, voice shaky. “They know I’m here, Nete.”

He shook his head, trying to calm me down, but I just shook mine right back. “And they know my family is here. They don’t know where high camp is—”

“But they know I’m here, not in the west with the others.”

Neteyam got really quiet. “Are you scared because you don’t have your family?” he asked, voice all soft, like he was worried I’d freak if he pushed too hard. I just nodded, not trusting myself to talk. “Ma’Pasuk, nothing will happen to you. You’re under my family’s protection, you’re one of us.” His thumb kept brushing my cheek.

I leaned into his touch, my eyelids getting way too heavy, but I could still feel the warmth of his hand, grounding me. He just chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over my cheek again—so gentle it almost hurt—and leaned in to press his forehead to mine. “Sleep, ma’pasuk. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Sit still,” Neytiri grumbled, and I winced as she tugged a little too hard on the bit she was working on. I’d only just woken up, had to literally step over Neteyam, who was passed out on the mat next to my hammock—guess he never left last night- and sort of stumbled to the Sully kelku. I asked Neytiri to help with my hair, and she gave me that look, the one that’s half judgment, half affection, before just shoving me onto the floor and starting over from scratch.

“Ow,” I muttered as she gave another hard yank. She just grunted and tapped me on the top of the head like I was a misbehaving kid. Jake was in the background, rummaging through some bags and laughing at the whole scene.

“Whoever braided your hair didn’t do a good job,” Neytiri said, and I could totally hear the smirk in her voice. She tied off the braid with a little extra flair, like she was showing off her skills.

“I did it,” I mumbled, cheeks heating up. She laughed and gave the new section a little tug, totally teasing me.

“Do better”

“It was hard to see—Neteyam swore they were done!” I tried to defend myself. Jake laughed even harder, coming over to sit in front of me and tapping my knee like he was in on the joke.

“And you trusted him?” he asked, setting down a bowl full of yellow and orange berries. Naturally, I reached for one, and of course, he smacked my hand away like I was a little kid. Rude.

“Yes?” I said without even thinking, going right back for the berries. We ended up having this mini smackdown, hands swatting each other as we tried not to laugh.

“The boy still has Neytiri doing his hair at his age,” Jake teased, making me snort. Neytiri just huffed and shook her head, but I could tell she secretly loved fussing over him—and, honestly, so did I.

“He is just as useless,” Neytiri grumbled, but there was a tiny smile on her lips. “I was doing my own hair at Kiri’s age.”

“No fair, I had a disadvantage,” I said, craning my neck to look up at her. She just rolled her eyes and gently turned my head back toward Jake.

“Your Sempul should have taught you—bead,” she said, holding out her hand and wiggling her fingers impatiently. I huffed and handed her a blue and purple bead that the Aranahe made me, trying not to smile at how bossy she was.

“To be fair, So’lek only had two braids,” I said, grinning as I reached for another berry—this time managing to snag one before Jake could stop me.

“Kid, we need to talk.” And just like that, with one sentence, all the fun got sucked out of the room. Vibe killer, thanks, Jake.

“Hate that,” I muttered, flopping back against Neytiri’s legs, making sure she knew exactly how much I was not here for a Serious Talk.

“We’re leaving.” My eyebrows shot up. From the way Neytiri yanked on my new braid, she clearly wasn’t a fan of this plan either.

“Ow!” I hissed, shooting her a look. “Wait, what do you mean you’re leaving? Like, actually leaving?”

“It’s not safe for us here. The RDA’s coming after us—they won’t stop until we’re dead… The others will look out for you, Mo’at and Tarsem will keep you safe.” Was this man actually insane? I leaned forward a bit, giving him the best ‘bitch are you serious right now?’ look I could manage.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on. Jake, I’m coming with you.” He just raised an eyebrow at me, totally unimpressed, and shook his head.

“Kid, you can’t.” He got that look like he was about to start one of those long-winded speeches that could put even a saint to sleep, so I jumped in before he could get going.

“Jake, they’re after me.” I wasn’t about to let him sidestep that.

“I know, but—” he started, but I cut him off again, not about to let him win this argument.

“No, Jake, they know I’m here with the Omatikaya.” This time, Neytiri stopped mid-braid and tugged my head back so I was staring up at her, totally upside down. Honestly, not my favourite angle.

“How?” she asked, her eyes narrowing like she already had a bad feeling.

“Anders.” Just saying that creep’s name made Neytiri’s nose wrinkle in disgust.

“The creep?” Jake said, his voice way softer than usual.

“He’s one of the Avatars. Bridgehead knows I’m here,” I explained, glancing between Jake and Neytiri to see if any of this was sinking in. “If I stay, people are still in danger. I can’t go back home—RDA’s got the west locked down for months. Let me come with you. Please.”

“Are you sure?” Jake finally asked, taking his sweet time.

“I am,” I said, trying to sound braver than I actually felt.

“We leave in the morning.” And, just like that, it was decided. No more arguing. Tomorrow, everything changes—again.

“Do you have everything?” Neteyam’s voice was right behind me, and I swear I could feel his hand land on my shoulder before he even got close. His fingers squeezed just a little, like he needed to reassure himself I was still there. I rolled my eyes, giving him a look. The Skxawng had asked me, like, a million times already—and yeah, it was annoying, but it was also kinda sweet.

“Neteyam, for the eighth time—yes,” I sighed, then quickly caught Tuk by the shoulder before she could zoom off again. “Tuk, sweetheart, do you have everything?” She nodded, face all serious, which honestly made me want to squish her.

“Yes—oh wait!” she gasped, then immediately took off running. Probably going to see her grandmother for the tenth time this morning. That kid was a tornado on tiny feet.

“Two minutes, Tuk! Kiri—” I called after her, then turned to Kiri, who’d been moping around ever since Spider got snatched. He was taken the same night we were held hostage—literally the whole reason we’re even leaving. If the RDA managed to squeeze the location out of him, it was game over for us.

“I have everything,” she muttered, not meeting my eyes. I nodded, trying to think of a way—any way—to cheer her up. Gently, I brushed my fingers over her cloak, hoping a little bit of attention might help.

“Did you just make this?” I asked, and a soft smile actually broke through her sulking as she lifted the cloak for me to see. Finally, a tiny win.

“Yeah, actually—A’vuna and I made it the other night.” I grinned, checking out the weaving. It was gorgeous, honestly.

“It’s so pretty. You’ll have to show me how you weaved it—wait, is it changing colours? That’s so cool.” I rubbed the fabric, watching it shift under the artificial light, totally mesmerised.

“Pasuk, Kiri, please,” Neteyam groaned from across the way, fiddling with the bag strapped to Temek. The guy sounded ready to lose his mind.

“Girls always chattering,” Lo’ak teased, swaggering past with an armful of bows. He said it like he wasn’t the loudest one in the family.

“Shut up, Lo’ak,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. Then I stomped over to Neteyam, who was being stubborn about putting on his hide cloak. I grumbled as I redid the button near his neck, giving him my best unimpressed face. “You’d freeze without me, you know that?” I muttered, fingers brushing against his skin for a second longer than necessary.

“Just because no one wanted to hear you talk about your knife again,” Kiri shot back, giving him a gentle shove. There she was—the old Kiri, even if just for a second. It made me smile.

“It’s a cool knife!” Lo’ak grumbled, clutching it like it was his firstborn.

“Uh-huh,” Kiri said, totally mocking him as she climbed onto her Ikran.

“Tuk, you have everything now?” I called, as Tuk whizzed past us again. Neteyam stepped over, adjusting my rider’s visor with this little hum, tilting it left until he was satisfied.

“Yes!” she shouted, launching herself at Neytiri and clinging on for dear life. Poor Neytiri looked like she was two seconds from bursting into tears.

“Okay, Ikrans loaded up?” Jake called, double-checking his own gear for the millionth time.

“Secure,” I replied, nodding at Neteyam. Then I wandered over to Ninum, who looked at me like she wanted to take my hand off and use it as a chew toy. I felt kinda bad—I’d promised her no more long flights, but here we were, about to do another 300 miles. If we didn’t stop, we’d make it in about ten hours. Give or take. No big deal, right?

“Everyone ready?” Jake asked, his voice all thick and wobbly with emotion. We all climbed onto our Ikrans—formation as usual: Jake up front, Neytiri with Tuk behind him, Kiri and Lo’ak in the middle, and me and Neteyam pulling up the rear. There was this chorus of "yeahs" and "let’s go" before Jake took one last look at high camp. Then he took off, leading the way for Uturu. Just like that, we were leaving everything behind. Again.

My back ached—eleven hours on an Ikran will do that to you. We’d stopped a bunch of times—Tuk’s bathroom breaks, Kiri needing to stretch, the Ikran acting all dramatic and needing a breather. If we were lucky, we’d get to wherever Jake was leading us before sunrise. Since we left in the middle of the afternoon, we’d been flying through the eclipse, which looked cool but honestly just made me more tired. Every now and then, I’d glance at Neteyam. He’d been quiet almost the whole flight. This had to be rough on him.

Ever since his dad ‘died’ and Tarsem was chosen as the new Olo’eyktan, everything Neteyam had trained for basically vanished. He could just be himself now—if he even knew what that meant. I kept sneaking looks at him, wondering if he was okay. He caught me after a while, tilting his head all cute like, ‘You good?’ I just shook my head and tried to act like I hadn’t been wondering if he even knew who he was, but he smiled and nudged Temek closer to tease Ninum, trying to lighten the mood. Leave it to Neteyam to go from brooding to goofy in two seconds flat to make someone else smile.

Jake looked back and gave us a look, and of course, Neteyam immediately bowed his head, while I just stuck my tongue out. Old grump. But then my eyes got huge—because, seriously, the view behind him was insane. There was this mountain that looked like it actually touched the clouds, and a reef cut off from the deep ocean by these giant roots, like something out of a dream. I’d never seen anything like it. We flew over these wild tide pools, and the reef people standing in them started yipping and waving when they saw us. 

I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot as we headed toward what must be the main village. All the Kelku’s and walkways were woven right into the roots of these massive sea trees. I’m pretty sure Jake told me the place was called Awa’altu or something like that. Whatever it was, it was gorgeous. We banked to the right, aiming for the beach to land, but of course Nimun decided she hated sand and just plopped down in the water instead. Typical.

“Aw, Nimun, come on,” I whined, eyeing my very soggy landing spot. Meanwhile, Jake was off in his own world, quietly telling Neytiri to leave her bow behind. I felt Neteyam’s hand instantly on my arm, steadying me as I tried not to faceplant into the water. “Thanks, Nete,” I said, flashing him a quick smile. He just nodded, but I could tell he was on edge—his grip was a little tighter than usual, and his eyes kept darting between his siblings like he was ready to jump to any one of them in a second. 

I bumped his shoulder gently, catching his eye and giving him a look that was just for him.“Nete,” I said, my voice soft, and I changed his grip so we were holding hands instead. He squeezed my hand—tight, like he needed the reassurance as much as I did. We started following after Jake, sticking close to both Lo’ak and Kiri, but Neteyam stayed right by my side, never letting go.“There’s no need to be so tense,” I teased, leaning into him just a bit as we walked. “Welcome this with open arms.”

The closer we got to the clan, the closer they got to us. The Sully family were tense; Jake's arms were up in a show of ‘hey, we were not here to harm’. It was like they had never met a new clan before. Tamtey would have just sauntered up to the closet person and asked to see the Tsahik or the Oloeyktan, all smiles and promises, then boom in a second, we’d be welcomed into the clan. Two boys around my age pushed through the clan. The one leading the charge was slightly decorated, much like Neteyam would be; he was important. Of course, the Sully boys, being raised correctly, motioned ‘I see you’, and when the other two didnt return, they looked shocked. I couldn't help but look them up and down, Who raised you?’ as they rounded us, the younger looking one pointed to our tails.

“Is that supposed to be a tail?” one of them snorted, which—seriously? Rude. I shot the boys my best death glare and squeezed Neteyam’s hand so tight he actually glanced over, eyebrow raised. “It’s too small, how are they supposed to swim?” the other guy chimed in, like we weren’t standing right there.

I leaned into Neteyam, muttering under my breath, “Remind me again why we’re even trying to impress these guys?”

Neteyam gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb tracing lazy circles over my skin—a tiny, secret comfort only I got from him. “Because we’re guests, remember?” he whispered back, his voice just for me, lips brushing my ear. Even with everything going on, he was still my favourite person to stand awkwardly next to.

The tension in my shoulders eased a little, just from that tiny bit of contact. He always knew exactly what to do to calm me down—even if it was just being there, holding my hand like it was no big deal.

“Do not, Rotxo, Ao’nung” A Na’vi girl around Lo’ak’s age appeared and snatched Rotxo’s arm away. She was pretty. I couldn't help but smile at her. A booming call made us duck as a creature I had never seen before launched above us. When it landed again, a very large Na’vi casually slid off the beast and began to approach us. You'd have to be dumb not to recognise that he was the Oloeyktan of these people, by instinct I straightened up. 

“I see you, Tonowari”, Jake spoke proudly as he gestured to him. The Oloeyktan gestured back, and we all followed suit. The people naturally parted as the one who looked to be the Tsahik walked through the crowd. I looked away from her gaze as she swept over us “I see you, Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayina” We all followed Jake’s gesture, yet she didnt return it. Ah, I see who her son is now.

“Why do you come to us, Jakesully?”  Tonowari asked, looking over Jake, his ears flattened.

“We seek Uturu”, Jake spoke loudly, gesturing to us.

“Uturu?” Ronal asked with a tilt of her head

“Yes, sanctuary for my family and for the Sarentu” As if she knew exactly which one of us was the Sarentu, her gaze snapped to mine, her eyes finding my mark like heat-seeking missiles.  

“We are reef people, you are forest people. Your kills will mean nothing here,” Ronal moved from her husband’s side, circling us like a Palulukan on the hunt. My nerves were shot, so I reached for Neteyam’s hand, gripping it way tighter than intended. He squeezed back, his thumb brushing slow circles over my skin—just for me, just to let me know I wasn’t alone.

“We will learn your ways. The Sarentu have done for centuries, she will help us. Am I right?” Jake looked at both Neytiri and me

“Yes”, Neytiri spoke as I nodded, her head snapping to look at Roal, who grabbed her tail. Her gaze then moved to Tuk, grabbing her smaller arm.

“Their arms are thin”, she let her go and moved to Kiri, pulling on her tail “Their tails are weak” Kiri’s ears flattened as she grabbed her tail from the Tsahik.

Neteyam flinched when Kiri cried out. I squeezed his hand again, close enough to whisper, “Open arms, open arms.” He looked at me, eyes wide and a little lost, so I bumped his shoulder with mine and gave him a half-grin. He squeezed my hand in return, grounding us both.

“You will be slow in the water”, the Tsahik's words trailed off as she saw Kiri’s hands. She snatched them to look at them  “These children are not even true Na’vi”, she announced. The clan began to mutter amongst themselves.

“Dad,” Kiri looked to Jake, who gave her a pained look  “Yes, we are”, she defended us. The tsahik's eyes moved to Lo’ak before snatching up his hand and showing the clan.

“They have demon blood”, my ears pricked as the clan erupted in louder talks of demon blood and half-breeds.

‘Look, look!” Jake walked forward, showing off his own hand “Look, I was born of the sky people, and now I am Na’vi. All right, we can adapt,”  I sighed, looking towards the Tsahik, keeping my eyes low.

“I was raised by sky people, only taught our ways ma’tsahik. These people can learn your ways, as Jake Sully and I have learned” There was a moment of silence as the Tsahik took me in before she could speak. Neytiri spoke with her tail lashing.

“My husband was Toruk Makto” The look on Jkae’s face made me want to laugh. He looked like he wanted to scalp that fucking overgrown bird. “He led the clans to victory against the sky people” 

"You call this victory? Hiding among strangers? It seems Eywa has turned against her. She wasn’t going to take that lying down, so she hissed back. Well, back to the Ikrans."

“I apologise for my mate. ” Jake began moving between the two. I bit back a laugh as Neytiri gave him an offended look.

“Do not apologise for me,” she hissed. Jake ignored her, continuing to speak.

“She's flown a long way, and she's exhausted”

“Jake”

“Toruk Makto is a great war leader. All Na’vi people know his story. But we, the Metkayina, are not at war.” Tonowari tried to distract from the argument. Jake picked up Tuk, who tugged at his arm “We cannot let you bring your war here.”

“I'm done with war”, Jake breathed. My tail lashed. Just because you're done with war, doesn't mean war is done with you “ I just want to keep my family safe”

“Uturu has been asked,” Neytiri spoke through clenched teeth. Ronal and Tonowari shared a look; it was easy to see they were having a silent conversation. Ronal’s closed her eyes, her ears unfolding.

"Toruk Makto, his family, and the Sarentu will stay with us. Treat them as our brothers and sisters. Now, they do not know the sea, so they will be like babies taking their first breath. Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless." Okay, that was harsh, but honestly? Fair enough. I caught Jake glancing back at us with a completely done, I-need-a-nap expression—relatable, honestly.

“Okay, what do we say?” Jake said in his best Dad Voice. A  chorus of "thank yous " came from the group, Kiri rolling her eyes while Lo’ak barely pretended to pay attention. I tried to sound polite, but my thoughts lingered on the comment about being like babies.

“My son Ao’nung,” He gestured to the taller boy who pointed out our tails. I fucking knew it. “Our daughter, Tsireya, will show your children what to do”

“Father, why do..” Ao’nung looked up at his father, his tail swaying and ears folded in annoyance. Tonowari held out his hand to silence him.

“It is decided” The pretty Na’vi from earlier stepped up to us, a beaming smile on her face.  

“Come. I will show you our village.” Tsireya stepped up, all smiles and sunshine, waving us along. Neteyam reached for my hand as we followed, his fingers lacing with mine so casually that no one even blinked. I shot him a look, and he just grinned, all soft and smug, like he knew exactly how much I needed that little anchor right now. 

“Tukkie?” I croaked, my voice still thick with sleep as I sat up and pulled her into my lap. She curled up easily, tail flicking from side to side like she couldn’t sit still if she tried.

“Come with us!” she beamed, every tooth on display. I tucked a stray braid behind her ear, stifling a yawn.

“Where are you going? Who’s us?” I asked, smoothing her hair with a sleepy fondness.

“We’re going to the old battlefield! It’s Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider, and me!” My ear twitched at that—technically, they weren’t supposed to wander that far without a grown-up, but I figured if I came along, Jake couldn’t complain. I glanced around—Neteyam was gone; he probably got called away by his parents. No doubt they wanted to make sure what happened at the raid didnt happen again.

“Where’s Nete?” I asked, and Tuk just shrugged, wriggling free from my lap.

“He’s on patrol with mum and dad, come on!” she insisted, tugging at my arm with surprising strength for someone so small.

“Okay, okay, just a second, Tuk,” I laughed, letting her drag me toward the entrance. I paused just long enough to grab the knife Tamtey had given me and sling my bow over my shoulder, ready for whatever mischief the rest of the day had in store.

We’d been wandering the forest for what felt like ages, the afternoon sunlight filtering down in golden streaks through the thick tangle of leaves overhead. The air was muggy, carrying that earthy scent of moss and flowering vines that always made me feel at home. Lo’ak, naturally, had taken it upon himself to lead the charge, even though none of us really knew where we were headed at this point—we were mostly just following whatever path looked interesting.

This part of the forest was nothing like Kinglor; the plants pressed in on all sides, lush and crowded, with roots curling across the ground and giant ferns popping up in the shadows.

I hung back at the rear, keeping an eye on the group and making sure no one slipped away. Tuk, true to form, got distracted by a banshee’s tail poking out from the underbrush. She dropped to her knees, giggling as she petted it—the tails weren’t nearly as big or flashy as the ones up in the upper plains, but they still flicked playfully under her hand. The whole thing made me smile; she could find something to play with anywhere.

“Come on, Tuk! Keep up,” Lo’ak called over his shoulder, half-annoyed and half-amused. I reached out, giving Tuk’s back a gentle nudge to get her moving, and she let out an exaggerated groan before scampering to catch up, her braids bouncing with every step.

We pressed on, ducking under low branches and stepping over tangled roots while the forest buzzed with insects and distant birdcalls. I caught the faint scent of sweet fruit on the breeze and heard Spider pipe up from somewhere near the front, “Bro, why’d you bring her anyway?” He sounded more curious than annoyed.

I didn’t know Spider as well as the Sully kids—he was friendly enough, always easygoing, but we just never ended up in the same circles. Still, out here, everyone felt a little closer, tangled together in the wild green heart of Pandora.

“She’s such a crybaby. Always with the ‘I’m telling!’ and ‘You’re not supposed to go to the battlefield!’ or ‘I’ll tell mum if you don’t let me come!’” Lo’ak stopped in the middle of the path, dramatic as ever, turning to make sure everyone could hear him.

His voice echoed through the trees, and I caught Kiri rolling her eyes hard enough I thought they might get stuck that way. Tuk, of course, was completely unbothered—she marched right up and planted herself in front of me, arms crossed and chin high, before sticking her tongue out at Lo’ak, using Spider as a makeshift shield.

“Don’t pick on her,” Kiri scolded her brother, her tone sharp but with a little smile tugging at her lips. I just crossed my arms, enjoying the show as Tuk’s tail flicked defiantly.

“Be nice, Lo’ak,” I called, struggling to keep a straight face. He just rolled his eyes in reply, but the whole group felt lighter for it. With a collective groan, we started moving again, deeper into the forest. The air felt thicker here, vines twisting overhead, and the ground soft underfoot as we wandered closer to the old Hallelujah Mountain battle site. My heart thudded a little faster as the sunlight broke through in odd, golden patches, lighting up an old, rusted Samson gunship tangled high in the trees—completely overgrown, a relic from another time. I wondered if So’lek had brought that one down himself.

Lost in thought, I barely noticed Lo’ak and Spider darting ahead, the pair scrambling up the trunk to peek inside the wreck. “Are there any dead bodies up there?” Tuk yelled, voice bouncing through the trees. I raised a brow at her, suppressing a smile at her morbid curiosity.

“Tuk,” I warned gently, but she just shrugged, mischief glinting in her eyes before scampering off after her brother and Spider. I glanced over and saw Kiri wandering off to one side, no doubt looking for a quiet spot to sit and listen to the forest breathe. The wind rustled the leaves, and something bright caught my eye—Tana’ring petals swirling in a lazy spiral, tempting me to follow.

“So’lek’s clan always said these flowers were sacred,” I murmured to myself, stepping off the path as the petals danced just ahead of my toes. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I let them lead me deeper, the sweet scent wrapping around me, until a sharp, electronic beep cut through the stillness. My ears snapped forward—the unmistakable sound of a hunting tracker.

I dropped to a crouch, eyes searching until I found a small shape hidden among the flowers: a juvenile Nantang, its stripes bright and awkward with youth. It whimpered, struggling to move with the tracker embedded in its flank. “Easy, sweet thing, easy. I won’t hurt you,” I soothed, crawling closer, hands outstretched. 

The poor creature trembled but didn’t snarl, too tired even for fear. Gently, I pressed one hand to its neck and yanked the tracker free in a single motion. It yelped, flinching, so I hushed it—“Tam tam, I know, I know”—and quickly chewed a handful of petals to make a numbing salve, ignoring the way my tongue tingled and went half-numb. I smeared it carefully over the wound. “There you go, sweetheart.”

The Nantang watched me for a long moment, eyes wary and round. Then, instead of snapping at me, it gave my hand a soft, grateful lick before curling up in the bed of flowers to rest, safe for now in the dappled light.

“Kiri, {Y/N}!” Tuk’s voice rang through the forest, snapping me out of my trance. The wind had stilled, Tana’ring petals settling softly onto the mossy floor, and I glanced back to see the Nantang curled up, safe for now. Slipping away, I made my way toward Tuk’s call, finding Kiri on the ground with Spider hovering nearby. You’d have to be blind and deaf not to notice the way they kept sneaking glances at each other—something sweet and awkward blooming between them.

“There you are! Come on, we have to get back,” Tuk chirped, grabbing my hand as Lo’ak started to lead us toward high camp. She let go almost immediately to race after her brother and Spider, leaving me with Kiri. We exchanged a silent look, and I nudged her playfully, raising my eyebrows. She rolled her eyes and nudged me back, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The setting suns painted everything gold, casting long shadows that moved with us as we walked. The air was thick with the sounds of evening—distant hexaped calls, insects buzzing, the quiet hush before nightfall. As we talked in low voices, Lo’ak suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

“Lo’ak, we’re supposed to be home by eclipse,” Kiri chided, watching as Lo’ak crouched down, eyes fixed on something in the dirt. Spider dropped beside him, curiosity written all over his face. I sighed, falling into step behind them.

“She’s right, you can play hunter tomorrow. Let’s go—” My words trailed off as I caught sight of what they’d found: a heavy boot print, Na’vi-sized but nothing like any of ours. My heart thudded in my chest as I drew my knife, every sense on edge. Kiri immediately pulled Tuk close, her protective instincts kicking in.

“Avatars?” Spider asked, glancing up at Lo’ak, who muttered, “Maybe.”

“This close to base?” I murmured, scanning the shadows, my grip tight on the knife. Lo’ak stood, his eyes narrowed, and began to follow the prints alongside the track.

“They’re for sure not ours,” he muttered. He moved with a hunter’s focus, tracing the trail deeper into the underbrush. Kiri and I exchanged a look—equal parts worried and exasperated.

“What are you doing?” Kiri hissed, sticking close as we followed. Lo’ak didn’t answer, just raised a finger for silence. “Shh—I’m tracking.”

Why were we doing this? We could be back at high camp in ten minutes, telling the patrol about the tracks. But no, Lo’ak had to be curious. I groaned as we left the main path, branches snagging my hair, and muttered, “You exhaust me, Lo’ak,” before following him off into the deepening forest. 

We trailed the tracks for what felt like a lifetime, weaving through tangled undergrowth as the prints multiplied, spreading like a warning through the soil. My ears folded tight as distant voices drifted on the breeze—low, guttural, and definitely not from the clan. Every step made my pulse thrum louder in my ears.

We slowed, creeping up to the edge of a sun-dappled clearing. My stomach dropped. There, prowling around a half-swallowed, abandoned lab, were a handful of Avatars—tall, blue, and armed, their features foreign even in Na’vi skin. The lab itself was a skeleton, all rust and moss and vines clutching at broken glass, a ghost of RDA’s past. My gut twisted. This was so, so bad.

“We’re never supposed to come here—dad is going to ground you,” Kiri hissed at Lo’ak, her voice sharp with panic. Lo’ak just shot her a glare, irritation flickering across his face. I could almost hear him thinking, ‘not now, Kiri.’

“Shh, can you not?” he shot back, waving her off. Kiri rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, crossing her arms and watching him with that classic big-sister look.

“For life,” she muttered, making Lo’ak huff and shake his head, ears drooping. He ignored her and locked eyes with Spider, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Bro, we have got to check this out, let’s go!” Spider whispered, barely containing himself. The two boys exchanged a look and then bolted forward before I could grab them, Lo’ak’s tail just out of reach. Idiots.

“You idiots—stop, Lo’ak!” I hissed, tail lashing in frustration as they disappeared behind a giant fern. They crouched there, whispering and peeking through the fronds, studying the Avatars with wide, anxious eyes. After a moment, they slunk back to us, Lo’ak already reaching for his throat comm.

I pressed my own earpiece, heart pounding. Was he really going to call this in? Did he want to plan his own funeral? I was almost impressed. I genuinely didn’t think he’d risk more grounding for this.

“Devil Dog, Devil Dog, this is Eagle Eye, over,” Lo’ak whispered into the comm, voice surprisingly steady.

A crackle of static, then: “Eagle Eye, send your traffic.”

“I got eyes on some guys, they look like Avatars. But they’re in full camo and carrying AR’s. Theres six of them. Over.”  There was static for a moment before Jake’s voice cut through 

“Whats you POS. Over” Yep, Lo’ak was going to be grounded, the expression on his face said he knew it too. 

“Oh…were at the old shack.”

“Who’s we?

“Me, Spider, Kiri, {Y/N} … and Tuk” Yep, Lo’ak was grounded for life, and maybe even after that if Eywa allowed it. 

“Son, you listen to me very carefully. You pull back, right now. Do not make a sound. You get the hell out of there. Move! You copy”

“Yes, sir, moving out,” Lo’ak said, dropping his comm and motioning for us to double back. The tension was thick—nobody wanted to be the reason we got caught, but Tuk, jittery and wide-eyed, hurried to the front, clearly desperate to avoid a scolding from her mum and dad. I could already see the spot where we’d first stumbled across those tracks, and the urge to sprint all the way back to high camp was getting harder to resist.

Kiri couldn’t help herself, nudging me with a grin. “See? I told you! You’re all gonna be in so much trouble,” she teased as I helped her over a massive fallen scale tree. Lo’ak groaned, dragging his feet ahead of us, his bravado finally starting to crack.

“Shh, Kiri, seriously—stop. We have to be quiet,” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t blame him; every snapped twig sounded like a gunshot in the hush, and the Avatars could have been right behind us for all we knew.

Spider jogged to keep up with Tuk, glancing over his shoulder. “Guys, come on,” he urged, nerves making his voice tight.

“It’s almost eclipse—let’s move!”

We picked up the pace, nerves jangling as the sky began to shift to dusky purple. Just as I thought we might make it—Tuk’s shriek split the air, sharp and terrified, freezing us all in our tracks.

"Tuk!” we all screamed, panic clawing up my throat as one of the Avatars lunged from the shadows and snatched her off her feet. Chaos erupted instantly—bows whipped up in every direction, strings straining, arrows levelled with lethal intent. My ears flattened to my skull, every muscle tensed as I let out a wild, spitting hiss, notching an arrow and sighting straight for the Avatar holding Tuk. The rest of the squad burst from the underbrush, boots thudding and guns raised; Lo’ak and Spider flung their bows between targets, hands shaking, Kiri’s knife flashing in the filtered light as she pressed in at my side.

“Put it down! Down! Put it down, or we’ll shoot!” one of the soldiers bellowed, their voice jagged with nerves. I snarled in response, drawing my bow tighter until my arms trembled, refusing to look away from the one clutching Tuk. Adrenaline roared in my ears as every instinct screamed to fight, protect, survive.

“Put it down, put it down,” Lo’ak called, but to the squad, it was just a rush of Na’vi—they kept barking orders, guns swinging wildly. My heart thundered, breath coming in ragged bursts, my vision tunnelling at the edges. Not now. Not again. I thought I’d moved past this, but the fear clawed up, hot and electric, crawling up my spine until my hands shook around the bow.

Suddenly, the forest wasn’t the forest anymore—sound bled, fractured. The Avatar holding Tuk seemed to flicker between their own face and Commander Alvies’s, that same cold, predatory stare boring right through me. I saw her lips curl, the echo of a sneer from memories I’d tried to bury. A savage urge to snap bones, to rip and tear, to show dominance, surged up in me like a tidal wave. That sick thrill—they all leaked from her ghost, coiling around my mind, stoking the fire of my rage until it was almost blinding.

I couldn’t tell where I was—one second I was in that fucking gym, the stink of bleach and metal and panic, the next I was back in the forest, my body braced to run, to fight, to survive. My chest tightened. I could practically taste that RDA sanitiser in the air, burning my nose, making my skin crawl.

The voices around me warped, too loud, too close, pressing in until I could barely hear my own frantic thoughts. I wanted to scream or lash out or run—anything but freeze, but I was stuck, trapped in the crossfire of memory and now, my past looping, raw and unhealed, right beneath my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spider, just as tense, both of us the last to lower our bows.

“Spider, {Y/N},” Kiri’s voice cracked, trembling as she pleaded. It wasn’t until Spider’s hand closed over mine and slowly forced my bow down to the dirt that the world snapped back into focus. I barely had time to register the loss of tension before rough hands grabbed my arm, and my fight-or-flight instincts surging into feral overdrive, every sense sparking with panic and fury.

I screamed, panic and fury crashing through me, and hurled myself backward onto the Avatar that grabbed me, sending us both crashing to the ground. My panic snapped into something feral—a need to destroy, to make them hurt the way I'd been hurt. Instinct exploded in me, white-hot and reckless, and I twisted, fighting like an animal, adrenaline flooding my veins. I clawed and kicked, scrambling on top, knees pinning their chest as I bared my teeth in a snarl. My ears rang with the sound of my own heartbeat. The world narrowed and blurred: I couldn’t hear anything, didn’t want to. The Avatar’s face melted away, and in its place flashed a parade of nightmares—her face, their faces, every ghost that ever broke me.

My chest heaved as I remembered it all in a rush: every bone snapped under calloused fingers, every cruel burn, every hissed threat, every word that still echoed in the dark. My hands shook as I screamed, voice raw, my vision swimming with red. I hit out, over and over, not caring where my fists landed—just needing to tear, to bite, to claw my way out of the past. With every blow, the features beneath me shifted: Alma’s fake smile, Commander Alvies’s icy glare, Alama’s lies, Harding’s smug grin, Mercer’s eyes, Mercer, Mercer. My mind spun out. Rage and terror tangled inside me, white-hot and suffocating.

I thrashed like a trapped animal as hands yanked me off the body beneath me, my vision swimming with rage and fear. My muscles burned, every instinct screaming to bite, to claw, to break free. The burning, screeching pain of someone dragging me by my Kuru jolted me out of the spiral. Suddenly, I was back in the forest, the scent of the sansitser was only just there, the smell of thick, damp air pressing in on my lungs. Distantly, I heard my friends screaming my name. “{Y/N}! Mawey!” Lo’ak’s voice finally carved through the static.

I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my chest, and for a moment I just lay there, trembling, every muscle still coiled and wild, ready to lash out again. My heart raced, blood pounding in my ears as I tried to focus—where was I? What year was it? My mind stuttered between past and present, trauma and reality. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing deep breaths, reminding myself—They’re gone. They’re gone. It’s been a year now. These were new threats, not the ghosts that haunted me. But that line felt paper-thin.

“Little bitch has a mean left,” the Avatar snarled, a twisted grin smudged with his own blood as he wiped his nose. I barely registered the words through the haze of pain and adrenaline—my knuckles ached, my heart still racing as panic and rage warred in my chest. I let out a raw, animal hiss, baring my teeth, defiant and wild, as I was pressed further into the soil. He laughed, the sound grating and cruel, and crouched in front of me, his shadow falling over my face.

Rough fingers twisted in my hair, jerking my head up, forcing me to meet his eyes. My skin crawled at the contact—my pulse skittered, memories flashing like lightning. For a split second, I couldn’t tell if I was staring at him or at one of my old tormentors. Even now, after everything, it only took a hand in my hair and that leering smile to send me spiralling right back into terror, seething anger, and shame. Why did he seem so familiar?

“What do we have here?” A new voice cut through the chaos, thick with an accent I couldn’t place—a voice that crawled down my spine, cold and sharp. I’d heard it before, back in the west, late one night when Taylan intercepted a message. I never got a name.

I forced myself to look away from the Avatar, still pulling on my hair, snapping my gaze to Kiri. She was on her knees, trembling, her kuru clutched in the grip of a bald Avatar who looked at her with all the warmth of a dissecting knife. My chest tightened. I wanted to move. But whoever pinned me down was far too heavy to buck off. 

“Colonel, check it out. Four fingers, we have a half-breed.” The bald Avatar yanked Kiri’s hand up, showing it off like a trophy. The Colonel—the one with the voice—strode over, not saying a word, just circling, eyes cold and assessing. He stopped in front of Kiri, studying her like she was an animal in a cage, before moving on to Lo’ak, who was desperately trying to soothe Tuk and keep Kiri from losing it.

“Show me your fingers.” The command was sharp, straight to the point, and Lo’ak glared up at the Avatar. Of course, in true Lo’ak fashion, he didn’t just obey—he raised both middle fingers, defiant even now. Despite everything, a wild, hysterical pride twisted in my chest for him, proof that we still had some fight left.

“You’re his, aren’t you?” The Colonel’s words hit like a slap. His? He had to mean Jake—that must be who they were here for. But before any of us could answer, Lo’ak snarled, “You’re his alright,” and then cried out in pain as the Colonel hauled him upright, dragging him by his kuru. I couldn’t stop the helpless anger that surged inside me, hot and useless, as I shouted, “Stop!” right alongside Kiri. But our cries got swallowed by the chaos.

“Where is he?” he demanded, after catching his breath from the shocked pain. Lo’ak refused to speak English to him, spitting out in Na’vi.

“Sorry, I don’t speak English to buttholes.”

“Where is your father?” The Colonel’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and ice-cold. My ears pinned to my skull, a physical reflex of fear and helpless rage—he knew Na’vi. That made everything worse. He yanked on Lo’ak’s kuru; the braid pulled so tight Lo’ak snarled, doubling over in pain.

The Colonel’s eyes gleamed with a predatory sort of delight as he unsheathed a metal blade from his belt, the sight of it twisting my stomach. Panic exploded in my chest. We all started yelling, voices tumbling over each other, begging him to stop. Kiri spat out an insult, desperate and angry, and for a split second, it made the Colonel hesitate. But then he tossed Lo’ak to the dirt and stalked toward Kiri instead, boots crunching on the leaves, blade gleaming.

“No!” we all screamed, the word torn out of us as the Colonel advanced. I thrashed in my captor’s grip, heart pounding like a war drum. The one holding my hair barked an order and waved away the Avatar pinning my shoulders, then yanked me up by my kuru. Pain shot down my spine, and I found myself kneeling, forced to look up, my scalp burning, panic making my vision swim. I hissed through my teeth, fury and terror mixing until I could hardly catch my breath.

“Don’t touch her!” Spider’s shout cracked through the chaos. He thrashed wildly in the Avatar’s arms, and for a moment, he looked more wild animal than boy—all spit and violence. The Colonel paused, brows lifting in surprise at the sight of a human fighting for a group of Na’vi kids. It was a flash of shock—one that didn’t last long.

“What’s your name, kid?” the Colonel demanded, turning his cold gaze on Spider. Every muscle in my body tensed,  I could practically taste my own panic as my mind spun, searching for anything—anything at all—that could help. But all I could do was kneel there, trembling, locked in place.

“Don’t say anything!” I shouted, my voice snapping louder than I meant. The Avatar yanked my Kuru so hard I saw white, a hot bolt of pain flashing through me, making me cry out without meaning to. For a second, everything blurred, my vision swimming, and I felt small and helpless and so, so mad.

“Shut it!” he growled in my ear, his breath gross and hot on my skin. I turned my head away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he was getting to me. His words crawled down my neck like Reyptswìk, making my skin prickle.

“Spider Soccoro,” Spider finally said, real calm, like he wasn’t even scared. There was no fear, no hesitation—just a stubborn edge in his voice that made my heart twist. He wanted to be strong, and for a second, it was like something crackled in the air between the Colonel and Spider. The Avatar waved off the one holding him, then knelt down so they were eye to eye.

“Miles?” I looked over, confused, catching Lo’ak’s eyes. He just nodded, like that explained everything. That was Spider’s birth name, apparently, but it felt strange and way too formal for him. He has some connection to the Colonel, one I would ask about when we weren’t being kidnapped.

“Nobody calls me that,” Spider shot back, his head held high in defiance, like he was daring anyone to challenge him. I didn’t question it—if he wanted to be called Spider, that’s what he’d get. He was staking his claim, even with all these monsters breathing down our necks.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Figured they’d send you back to Earth,” the Colonel muttered, squinting at Spider like he was a puzzle missing half its pieces. Spider scoffed, looking the Colonel up and down like he couldn’t believe how dumb this guy was.

“Can’t put babies in cryo, dipshit,” Spider spat, his words sharp as broken glass. The Colonel huffed, clearly not amused, and shot a look at the other Avatar, who immediately grabbed Spider again. As the Colonel stood up, his eyes locked with the Avatar holding me, and a sly smirk slid across his face. My turn, I guessed, and my stomach dropped as if I’d just stepped off a cliff.

“What in the hell happened to you, Anders?”

Anders. His name slammed into me like a freight train. Everything inside me went cold. My whole body just froze up, muscles locking so tight it felt like I might crack apart. My heart skittered, wild and sick. Suddenly, tears were burning hot behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. No, this couldn’t be real. There was no way. He was from TAP—he shouldn’t be here. My thoughts tumbled over each other, wild and messy, panic clawing at my throat. The forest spun. I tried to breathe, but my chest felt crushed, raw terror crawling up my spine and stealing the air from my lungs. It was like every nightmare had crashed through into the real world, and I was trapped, helpless, right at the centre of it.

“Little bitch, snapped. Thought I was the perfect thing to hit,” Anders joked, his voice casual and cold, like we were old friends. He yanked my head back, his grip rough and familiar in the worst way, forcing me to lock eyes with the Colonel. The Colonel’s gaze crawled over my face, zeroing in on the mark under my left eye, and that slow, smug smirk tugged at his lips—a look that made my stomach twist with dread.

“My, my, you’re one of Mercer’s kids,” he drawled, his words oozing out like oil. The realisation settled over me, sticky and suffocating. There was no hiding now.

“I knew I remembered you.” Anders' gross, hot breath hit my ear, making my skin crawl. I felt his grip tighten on me, and bile rose in my throat—I wanted to throw up, to scream, to claw his hands off me with everything I had. The revulsion was so strong it left me shaking, nausea twisting in my gut. Every brush of his breath, every hint of his cologne mixed with sweat, made my stomach lurch. I tried to yank myself out of his grip, desperate to escape the filthy press of his arms and the reek of him, but he tutted and pulled me back to his chest, “Ah ah ah, no running now. Daddy Dog-tag isn't here to protect you this time.” I heard Lo’ak yell as the Colonel yanked my face to look at him again, and I barely bit back another wave of disgust.

“You're the one thats been taking out our outposts, aren't ya?” he knelt down, his thumb tracing my mark “Scylla, isn't it?” I hissed at him, deep and guttural, the sound angry. The colonel laughed, throwing my head down as he stood up.

“{Y/N}” Anders corrected with that disgusting tone of his, “Scylla’s just what they call her at bridgehead”  Colonel huffed a laugh as he pressed on his comms. I looked down at the forest floor. I could look at the others, I was ment to protect them. “Looks like the crew won this time”, Anders whispered in my ear. I could hear Lo’ak and spiders grunting against their captors.

“Iron Sky, Blue One, Actual-Were standing by for extract over. Be advised, we are bringing in high-value prisoners and a runaway; we have a TAP kid in custody”  Dread filled me. I was right, the RDA was looking into TAP, but that meant one thing: I was the first one they found. The others were safe

Norm got word from one of the nearby clans that RDA was loading up one of their trains. Instantly, the mood shifted—everyone went from half-asleep to laser-focused, exchanging glances and quickly gathering into groups. It felt like the whole place was holding its breath.

Apparently, since they came back to Pandora, the RDA spent months setting up high-speed trains to move everything you could imagine: food, medical supplies, lab results, even random Na’vi trinkets. The worst part was seeing Pandoran creatures butchered and packed up to be auctioned off back on Earth. I could picture Harding bragging about her black-market deals, counting her credits. It was like watching a bad history rerun.

“{Y/N}—you’re with Neytiri. Hit the fuel lines on the gunships. We’ve got exactly two minutes before the rear guard shows up, so we need to be in and out—fast,” Jake called out, his finger tracing lines across the battered map. I nodded with the others, feeling that rush in my chest, that adrenaline buzz that always hit before a raid. “Anything and everything we can grab, but weapons are the priority,” he went on, glancing around to make sure we all got it. I shot my hand up quickly. “If you spot the blue crate, flag {Y/N} right away,” he added, giving me a nod. I dropped my hand. “Ten minutes, people. Let’s do this.” The whole tent seemed to vibrate with energy as the people scrambled to finalise plans and check their gear one last time.

Na’vi darted everywhere, making last-minute tweaks—tightening straps, whispering quick reminders, double-checking every bit of gear. The whole place buzzed with nervous energy, like we were all trying to burn off the jitters before go-time. We’d meet up with the ground team soon; they’d gotten the full explanation last night, so everyone knew their part.

I fumbled with Nimun’s harness, making extra sure it was snug around her shoulders and belly. The last thing I needed was to lose a bag—or myself—mid-flight. My hands were shaking a little, but I kept working, glancing up now and then to watch the others get ready.

Jake, Neytiri, and Norm always took charge, hashing out the plans from the crack of dawn. The only real snag was always the RDA’s tight grip on their blueprints; those trains and facilities were locked up tighter than a stingbat nest. Lucky for us, I had a few connections in just the right places.

Once I finally got the comms that Teylan gave me working — after a morning of swearing at tangled wires and static— I managed to get in contact with the person I was looking for. It took hours of long conversations and catching up with everyone in the ristance, but eventually Pyria dumped a mountain of files into my lap faster than I could say “irayo.” It felt like we were actually getting somewhere, and the tension in my chest loosened just a bit as I scrolled through all that precious intel.

Digging through the blueprints, we realised these trains were basically giant, driverless tin cans—run on a bare-bones AI that could only start, stop, and mess with the speed a little. No fancy tricks, no secret override, just a hunk of metal with a one-track mind.

Once we cracked that, our job got a whole lot simpler: hijack the train, let S.I.D. take the reins, grab everything worth its weight, and then send the whole thing barreling back to base. If luck was on our side, it’d smash right through their precious facility, tearing it up and basically ringing the dinner bell for every hungry predator in Pandora. 

We’d been ambushing these trains for weeks, and our hit-and-run tactics were definitely getting under their skin. Now, RDA barely sent any trains out, and the ones that did leave the depot were loaded to the gills—packed tight with supplies, gear, and whatever else they thought was too important to lose. The downside? Security got a serious upgrade. At least two gunships hovered over the main car, and another one guarded the rear like a stormglider. They had the whole thing locked down, double the firepower, double the headaches for us.

“Are your thoughts really that interesting, or do you just like zoning out?” Neteyam’s voice cut through my daydreams, making me jump a little as his hand landed warm and steady on my shoulder. These days, we were pretty much a package deal—if you found one of us, the other was always close by, trading quiet smiles or rolling our eyes together at whatever chaos the Sully family was up to.

“Just thinking about the raid,” I muttered, hoping my nerves weren’t too obvious. My hands automatically started checking his gear, going through the motions—tightening this, smoothing that, making sure nothing was flashy or loose when I reached up to the braid I’d woven into his hair, I noticed the little sailfin carving I’d usually sneak was still there. I nodded, a flicker of pride sneaking through. “So you actually listened,” I teased.

He caught my hand, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze and flashing that lopsided smile. “I always listen,” he shot back, eyes glinting with mischief. “But why are you so spaced out, Pasuk? You’ve done these raids a hundred times.”

I rolled my eyes at him, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but this one’s different. It’s your first time actually in it—not just watching from the sidelines.” I poked his chest, trying to sound more serious than I felt. “You’re staying in the air, you and Lo’ak. You’re spotters, nothing more. I don’t care how much he taunts you, I don’t want to see you on the ground.”

He just grinned and kept his gaze on me as I fussed over him. My ears twitched with the way he watched—steady, almost like he was trying to memorise the moment. “I’m in the sky, Pasuk,” he promised, voice playful but sincere. He raised my hands, turning them and pressed a quick, warm kiss to my knuckles before grinning up at me. The gesture was so soft and ridiculous. Trust Neteyam to be sweet and a total menace all at once.

The leaves rustled above our heads as our squad flew past, the scent of damn earth, mixed with the smell of pollution, hung heavily as we got closer and closer to the high-speed train. Jake’s voice crackled through the earpiece, calm but stern. It was easy to hear that he was tense about this raid; his sons were now involved.

“Now Birdie,” Jake called me to start the attack — Nimun sleek, quick as lightning, weaved throughout the low-hanging branches, soaring over the undergrowth, scarcely avoiding the vien pods that threatened the pop releasing its nauseous gas. Above me, the rest of the party unleashed their war cries, echoing through the canopy as the first gunships came into view. “Ground team— Go!” Jake barked, and everything exploded into motion. 

A second passed before the ground was shaking from the RPG the ground team aimed at the pillar of the track, sending chunks of concrete and debris flying. The train’s AI finally caught on that the track no longer existed, and it slammed the brakes as hard as it could, but it was way too late. The whole metal beast ploughed into the dirt, one car after another folding up behind it like a crumpled tin snake. This went on for a minute before all that was left was a choking cloud of smoke and a mountain of twisted scraps. 

Nimun let out a sharp, ear-piercing squawk as I leaned forward, urging her faster through the chaos. The air was thick with the smell of burning fuel and that electric tang you only get after an explosion. Neytiri was already on the move, her bow drawn in a smooth, practised motion. She let her arrow fly, and it found its target with deadly precision—the gunman barely had time to register what hit him. I swooped Nimun low, hugging the underbelly of the clunky samson, and spotted the fuel lines snaking along the side. One quick shot and fuel started pouring out in a shimmering arc, trailing behind as the Samson began to tilt dangerously.

Neytiri sailed over the tilting gunship, moving like she was born for it. Another arrow, another target down—pilot gone, ship finished. The gunships crashed with a sound that rattled my bones, sending up a plume of black smoke that curled into the trees. Adrenaline still buzzing, I slid off Nimun’s back and hit the ground running. All around me, it was organised chaos—Na’vi shouting, Pa’li snorting, Ikran wings beating the air as everyone scrambled to grab what they could before the RDA regrouped.

I grunted as I pulled a yellow crate out of the wreckage, the weight making my arms hurt. “I got weapons!” I called out, Tarsem, who finished with another smaller group in directing them in the carnage, rushed over, and he helped me heave it over a stubborn rock, unlatching it before handing out its spoils.  

Everyone was in scavenger mode, snatching up anything that wasn’t nailed down: rifles, mags, RPGs, med packs, and even busted RDA tech that might be worth something later. The air was thick with smoke, and the sharp tang of metal, and my hands were shaking with adrenaline. All I could focus on was that damn blue crate.

My eyes scanned the twisted mess of debris, hunting for that flash of colour, heart thumping so loud it drowned out everything else. Nothing. Just splintered wood and scorched metal. My tail drooped in frustration. Figures—it would be buried somewhere in the front cars, just to make my life harder.

“Birdie!” I hear Norm call over the chaos, cutting through like a lifeline. He’d found it. Relief crashed over me as I sprinted over, nearly stumbling on a pile of shattered glass, and dropped to my knees beside the crate. My fingers fumbled with the latches, tossing them open to reveal holopads, hard drives packed with terabytes of data, blueprints, and research files.

I worked fast, heart in my throat, eyes darting to the tree line in case the RDA decided to send reinforcements. I grabbed everything I could, stuffing my pack until it bulged. When we got back to high camp, I would spend hours upon hours sifting through the mess of files, looking through every line of code in case there was any mention of TAP, any hint of it being started up again. I refused to let what happened to us be repeated. “Thanks, Norm, I owe you!” I called out, hauling the half-empty crate toward Nimun, who eyed me with a look that said she was so done with this.

She squeaked in protest as I started loading her up, and other Na’vi joined in, piling on smaller things from the crash, mostly med packs. I strapped the pack full of holopads by her side and rushed to her other side to fill up the large pack with the rest of the crates’ remains. I must have pulled the strap too tight as she turned to hiss at me. “Sorry, sweetie,” I muttered, patting her neck. Just as I finished securing everything, a new noise cut through everything—a voice, one I knew all too well. 

“You don’t even know how to use it!” my ears folded as I turned to look, and of course it was the usual suspect—Lo’ak grinning like a mad man as he held the gun like it was a trophy, I looked over to see Tarsem handing out guns without really looking, ah—that makes sense. Tarsem was just focused on handing out the guns, not caring who they were, just as long as they were Na’vi hands. Neteyam, on the other hand, looked like he was just seconds away from strangling his brother with his own bow string. 

“You Skwangs!“ I yelled, making damn sure they both heard me over the chaos. Lo’ak, the chaos junkie, looked over and smiled, waving his free hand like I wasn’t two seconds away from beating him. Neteyam gave me the most desperate look — begging me to forgive him and not rat him out, regardless that he knew he was dead the second we got back to high camp. Neteyam shoved his brother and started walking towards me, holding his hands out as if to calm a wild animal. 

“Pasuk, please, I was just trying to—” Neteyam started, his voice low, a little defensive, but there was a softness there too—like he was trying to make me laugh, trying to win me over even as I glared at him. Before I could scold him, the comms crackled to life 

“More gunships!” someone shouted, and in an instant, the mood shattered. I fixed the boys with one last glare and vaulted onto Nimun’s back. The clearing exploded into motion—riders shouting, Pa’li stampeding into the underbrush, Ikran wings slicing the smoky air as everyone scrambled to regroup. My heart hammered as I urged Nimun forward, just in time to dodge a missile that screamed past our heads and exploded in a shower of dirt and sparks. 

I twisted in the saddle, yanked a heavy arrow made for piercing metal from my quiver, and let it fly, punching through the gunship’s weak spot. It erupted in a ball of fire, shrapnel raining down into the trees. I let out a wild yip as it crashed, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. If the RDA wanted that wreckage, all they’d find was a smoking pile of junk and a sky full of angry Ikran.

High camp was pure chaos when we got back—a wild swirl of voices, feet pounding the dirt, and bodies weaving in and out as everyone hustled to do their part. It was like a well-rehearsed dance, messy but efficient, and somehow nobody ever tripped.

Nimun’s wings barely touched the ground before half the clan was there, chattering in rapid Na’vi as they reached up to loosen straps and untie ropes. I slid off Nimun’s back—breaking tsaheylu always left me feeling a little hollow, like a piece of me was still hanging in the air, waiting to catch up.

I tried to shake off that weird emptiness and focused on the work. The pack of holopads thudded at my feet as I untangle the straps. My fingers moved on autopilot, but my mind wandered: how many raids had ended just like this? I unlatched the medpacks, warm from Nimun’s side, and handed them off—some to the healers, most to the lab, since Mo’at barely trusted sky people’s medicine anyway. “Take these to the Tsahik, and the rest go to the labs,” I called out over the noise, my voice almost lost in the commotion.

I ducked around Nimun’s tail and wrestled with the heavy bag at her back. She let out this low, grumbling groan, shaking out her wings in obvious relief as the weight came off. It made me laugh—a real, honest sound that tumbled out before I could stop it. I hefted the bag, seriously, who knew hard drives could weigh more than a satchel of fruit? and shoved it into waiting hands. “Labs too—Max’ll know what to do,” I said, shooting a tired grin at the runner as they disappeared into the crowd.

Finally, for just a second, I let my shoulders drop. The adrenaline was fading, the noise of camp swirling around me, and for a moment, I just stood there, breathing it all in—the smell of sweat and ikran, the buzz of voices, the energy that always hung in the air after a mission.

The aftermath always hit me hard; the adrenaline drained away, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that made my whole body ache for sleep. All I wanted was to curl up somewhere quiet and disappear for a while. I silently cursed myself for ever letting Jake know that I was good at handling the messy aftermath—sorting out the armoury, organising the chaos, patching up whoever needed it. Dumb move. My neck cracked as I rolled my shoulders, stretching until I felt a few satisfying pops. If I’d let myself, I probably could’ve melted into a puddle right there in the dirt.

But there was still work to do. I grabbed the pack of holopads, already picturing the neat pile they’d make next to the mountain of others we’d salvaged. I could almost see my Kelu in the back of my mind, calling me home for some well-deserved peace and quiet. Just a few more minutes, I promised myself, then I’d slip away and spend the rest of the day in blissful solitude.

Before I could even take a step, the sharpest, loudest hiss I’d ever heard sliced through the air right beside me. The sound was so jarring, it made my ears ring and nearly sent the pack of holopads crashing out of my hands. I whipped around, ready to scold Nimun for being a drama queen with the handlers, but instead of seeing her snap at the caretaker, I caught her giving in, tail flicking in annoyance as she begrudgingly let them check her wings for scale rot.

My brow furrowed, and I circled to the other side of Nimun, only to spot Neteyam’s ikran—Temek—standing alone, wings twitching, looking as lost as I suddenly felt. “Temek?” I called softly, reaching out to stroke his crest and calm him down. His hide was quivering beneath my palm, poor thing, probably picking up on all the frantic energy around camp. A knot of dread twisted in my stomach. If Temek was here by himself, where was Neteyam?

My ears flicked at the sound of the Olo’eyktan’s shouts echoing across camp—loud, sharp, and unmistakably Jake. That was all the proof I needed that Neteyam was alive and in deep shit. Relief hit me in a wave, and I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, giving Temek a last pat before weaving through the swarm of bodies to the Sully family’s usual storm of drama.

Everyone was there for the show: Jake in full lecture mode, Neytiri with her arms wrapped protectively around Tuk, who peered out from behind her mother’s legs with wide, worried eyes. Kiri was already on high alert, her gaze immediately landing on Neteyam—my ears folded back as I noticed him favouring his left side, trying to play it cool even as he winced with every movement. Skwang got himself hurt.

Jake’s booming voice cut through the noise “I let you two geniuses fly a mission, and you disobey direct orders.” Both boys kept their heads down, looking like guilty nantang pups. It was almost funny, if it wasn’t so serious. I couldn’t help remembering the last time I got chewed out like that—So’lek catching me sneaking into Palulukan territory for a so-called rare sweet fortune’s fruit turns out it was just a ripe fortune's fruit I could have gotten in any big leaf bimone. 

Kiri didn’t even bother listening to Jake; she was already at Neteyam’s side, checking over his wounds with quick, practised hands. I crossed my arms, glaring at the bloody scrape on his chest. I knew I shouldn’t have spoken to Jake about letting Neteyam in on the action, but no—I had to fall for that stupid look he gives me, that too-big, pleading eyes routine he knows melts my stubbornness. Every time he does it, I swear I lose half my common sense and end up letting him and Lo’ak tag along. 

“Kiri, can you please go help your grandmother with the wounded?” Jake sounded completely drained, practically pleading as he tried to herd his kids into something resembling order. Kiri rolled her eyes in the most dramatic way possible before her gaze snapped to me, giving me a quick once-over, like she was inventorying every scratch and bruise. Then she dove right back into arguing with her dad, voice sharp with that stubborn streak she had. Jake looked like he was on the verge of losing it—one more headache away from just throwing his hands up and walking into the forest for some peace and quiet.

“My brother is wounded,” she announced, chin tilted up, making it clear she wasn’t going anywhere until Neteyam was sorted out.

Lo’ak piped up from the side, indignant as his gun was wrestled away. “Why isn’t {Y/N} getting scolded?” he grumbled. My brow shot up, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief—like, really, this is what we’re focusing on right now? Neytiri drifted to my side, her hands gentle as she checked me over for hidden injuries the adrenaline might’ve masked, her touch warm and grounding.

“Because she is trained, I don’t have to train her,” Jake snapped, his tail lashing behind him in agitation. I whipped my head around to glare at him, my face twisting in pure disbelief. Trained? Like I’m some sort of Pa’li? The insult burned, and I could feel my ears pinning back with annoyance.

“Why am I being dragged into this?” I shot back, throwing my hands up, my exasperation almost comical at this point. Lo’ak, ever the instigator, kept trying to plead his case, insisting I deserved a scolding, too. Neytiri just sighed and rubbed soothing circles into my back, her touch warm and grounding, trying to knead the tension out of my muscles before I snapped at someone.

“Because you aren’t in trouble,” Neteyam said with a huffed little laugh, tilting his head to catch my eye. He was trying that stupid, crooked smile, hoping it would soften my mood, but all it did was make me scowl harder. I jabbed a finger at him, my ears flat against my head in warning.

“Don’t even look at me,” I snapped, unable to hide my irritation. Neteyam had that guilty pup look, but I wasn’t falling for it—not this time.

Meanwhile, Jake was still trying to wrangle his kids, the chaos reaching a fever pitch. “Baby girl, please—Tuk, go with her. Go,” he pleaded, sounding more tired than angry now. At least three different arguments were happening at once: Kiri stormed off with a dramatic eye roll, Tuk stomped after her, clinging to Kiri’s tail with the world’s biggest pout, and the whole scene was so ridiculous I almost forgot how mad I was.

“Dad—Sir, I take full responsibility,” Neteyam said, voice steady, but his tail twitching with nerves. He tried to stand tall, wanting to shield Lo’ak from the worst of Jake’s temper, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he squared his jaw and braced for impact. Always the protective big brother, even when he was in trouble himself.

Jake’s response was sharp and classic—“Yeah, you do. That’s right, ‘cause you’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” Jake’s eyes narrowed, and Neteyam kept his gaze glued to the ground, posture soft and ears pinned back. I caught him biting the inside of his lip, a nervous tic he never quite managed to hide. My own ears finally relaxed, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Maybe I’d come down on him a little hard. I kept my tail from drooping, not wanting Neteyam to think he was completely off the hook, but a tiny bit of my frustration melted away.

The circus of family drama was interrupted by Neytiri’s gentle voice. “Ma’ Jake, your son is actually bleeding,” she said, barely above a whisper but impossible to ignore, suddenly appearing at his side like she’d materialised out of thin air. I swear she was just by my side a second ago. 

“Mother, it’s fine, I—” Neteyam tried to talk his way out of it, but Neytiri wasn’t having it. She fixed him with a look that brokered no arguments, and even Jake softened a little when he caught the way she was fussing over Neteyam. For a split second, all the usual bluster in Jake’s voice faded, replaced by something gentler—maybe he remembered what it was like to be young and reckless.

“Just go and get patched up. Go on, dismissed.” Neytiri nudged Neteyam toward the healing tent, her hands surprisingly gentle on his shoulders. Neteyam shot me a look over his shoulder, but I just shook my head at him, biting back a smile. He might be hurt, but he wasn’t getting off that easily. I barely had a chance to breathe before Jake turned that dad-stare on me. “You too, Birdie. Have you been sleeping?”

“Jake, I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a casual shrug even though exhaustion weighed me down. The truth was, I hadn’t slept well in days. Ever since I found that encrypted file on one of the holopads—‘Director John Mercer - TAP’—it had been eating at me, making my chest feel heavy and my dreams restless.

Jake squinted at me, not buying a word. “No, you look dead on your feet. Dismissed. Get some rest. And that’s an order—no holopads until you’ve had at least two hours.”

Two hours had crawled by, and all I’d managed to do was scroll through a mountain of new holopads. Rest? Not a chance—not with the RDA poking around TAP and Mercer. My nerves felt like they were stretched to the breaking point, jittery and raw. My thoughts kept circling the same questions, each one heavier than the last: What if I missed something? What if they were coming for us next? What if it was already too late?

Every time I blinked, I saw flashes of Teylan slamming Mercer into the wall with his own machine, the sickening crack of his spine snapping in two echoing in my head and sending a cold shiver racing through my body. My heart jackhammered in my chest, breath coming short and shallow. I tried to focus on the holopads, but the words slipped away, replaced by a parade of worst-case scenarios I couldn’t shut off. Anxiety gnawed at my insides, sharp and relentless, refusing to let me rest.

Why were they after Mercer now? Maybe Harding ratted us out after we destroyed his facility. I tore through ten holopads, searching for any whisper about the western front, the Sarentu, or TAP—nothing. Not even a hint. My eyes burned as I rubbed at them, the words on the screen blurring in and out of focus. The next file was some endless report, ‘Neural connection to Pandora,’ a scientist droning on about how everything here was part of a vast neural network. Groundbreaking stuff, right? No duh, genius.

I slouched back, groaning as I dragged the file into the secure cloud. Seriously, the scientists on the eastern front had to be the dimmest glow worms on Pandora. They’d only just started puzzling out the neural connections between everything on Pandora, while the West had already cooked up the ‘severed’ years ago. At least we had Hajir on our side—Eywa only knows what the Sky People could’ve done if they hadn’t been stopped at Palulukan and Nantang. The thought made me shudder, and I leaned back, letting my head thump against the wooden stick that kept my hammock up, willing myself to just breathe for a second.

My ear twitched as I picked up the sound of someone slipping quietly through the flaps of my Kelku. I didn’t have to look up to know who it was—Neteyam always moved as if he belonged in my space. He settled in just behind me, stretching one long leg out so it brushed against mine, his whole posture protective and familiar, almost curling around me. “You’re not resting,” he said, and his voice was lower than usual, rough with exhaustion, but somehow still tender.

I didn’t turn, but I could feel his presence, warm and grounding. “You were supposed to stay in the sky,” I shot back, but there was no heat in my voice. Neteyam just hummed, reaching over to gently pluck the holopad from my lap, letting his fingers linger on my knee for a heartbeat longer than necessary before setting it aside with an easy confidence, like he knew I wouldn’t fight him on it.

He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, and for a moment his touch tightened, like he was afraid to let the moment slip away. There was a longing in the way he looked at me—his gaze tracing the curve of my cheek, the line of my jaw, almost reverent. It was as if just being close to me wasn’t enough; he needed more, but wasn’t sure how to ask for it. He leaned closer, hand finding my knee, his thumb tracing lazy circles that sent a little shiver up my spine. “You can blame Lo’ak for that,” he murmured, voice gentler now. “He wanted to be on the ground and if—”

“If something happened, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself,” I finished for him, finally turning to meet his gaze. His eyes searched mine, tired but bright, and for a second, everything else faded away. There was a softness in his expression, something vulnerable and open, and I felt myself leaning into it. “But you still broke your promise,” I said, my voice coming out gentler than I meant.

Neteyam nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as the quiet settled between us. He watched me with a kind of hunger, like he was trying to memorise every detail before the moment slipped away. The air felt warm and safe, filled only with the soft sounds of our breathing and the distant hum of camp outside my Kelku. Neteyam shifted, tucking a loose braid behind my ear. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, and I barely noticed myself nodding off until Neteyam’s gentle laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Sleep, Pasuk. You’ve done more than enough today,” he whispered. His hands were so careful, coaxing me down until my head fit perfectly in his lap. I let out a soft sigh, pressing in closer as his fingers traced idle, soothing patterns across my temple. The comfort of his touch and the steady rise and fall of his breath lulled me until I finally surrendered, letting sleep win, safe in the circle of his arms.

He apologised for not knowing what Alma did, saying that if he had known, she would have been killed on sight, and we would have been found and free to live on Pandora as we saw fit. Whilst So’lek taught me how to be Na’vi and Mercer taught me how to be human, Jake taught me how to balance on the line that separated the two. He’d say the ‘human’ side was reckless and vengeful, always wanting payback, while the Na’vi sought justice—real justice, not just an eye for an eye. Through our talks, Jake helped me see the world through both lenses, and in turn, I think I helped him reconnect with the part of himself that was still human.

Honestly, we were both guilty of wanting revenge, but it was weirdly comforting to realise we weren’t alone in that. Leaning on each other made it easier to let go of all that anger, and we began to trust each other enough to admit our fears and weaknesses. Our relationship became a safe space, a rare thing on Pandora, where we could drop our guards and just be real for a change. We’d poke fun at each other over dumb stuff—like how I always complain about the food or how Jake goes all serious over nothing. 

We found ourselves laughing at the things that used to frustrate us—those classic Human eye rolls, the tempers, the sarcasm that just slipped out, whether we meant it or not. It was like old habits dying hard, and sometimes it was actually kinda funny. Honestly, half the time it felt more like we were siblings bickering than anything else.

With that Jakes walls started to crumble slightly, and honestly? It felt like someone had finally loosened a too-tight collar. RDA facilities were still behind an impossible paywall, but the remaining outposts? I was unleashed, so long as an elder hunter or warrior hovered over my shoulder, eyes sharp and silent. My first free outposts were pure agony. Do you know how hard it is? Ever tried to move like a shadow when someone was breathing down my neck? How hard it was to keep the nightmare of ‘Scylla’ alive whilst being told your aim was slightly off.

The first to tail me was Jake, of course. He wanted to see me in action. If his sons recountment of how I took down bases was right, then he needed to see it himself. He grinned like a madman when he realised my tactic was just like the story he heard his brother once tell him when they were younger. To be honest, I wondered why the RDA called me that, neat. 

And then there was Tarsem, the older hunter who made it seriously difficult to concentrate. Not in the way you’d think ethier, no, he was so distractingly handsome! Sometimes I’d catch myself staring at him when I was supposed to be deciding which grunt to take out first. Not my best moment, I’ll be honest. The whole thing felt half training, half trying not to embarrass myself in front of the way-cooler, older kids. Still, it was all part of earning my stripes, I guess, and honestly, it was kind of fun—stressful, but in a way that made everything feel more real.

Neytiri began to fully trust me; we didn’t even really have a relationship before I bared my heart to them, but when she cleaned my face of tears, that must have snapped some sort of bond between us. She’d pass me a small package of food before I went out on small hunting parties, re-braiding my hair when it needed it, even helping me apply my paints. One night during dinner, she confided that she was happy I was close to her family, since she could go on hunting parties without worrying that Lo’ak—who she specifically put in charge of looking after his sister—would disappear with Spider and leave Tuk in the dust. 

I basically became the girls’ shadow, always close by—Kiri and I would fall into these endless conversations, sometimes about what the stars might mean, sometimes just giggling over dumb jokes. Tuk, on the other hand, treated me like her own personal jungle gym. She’d climb all over me, wrapping her little arms around my shoulders or swinging from my elbows, laughing so hard she’d get the hiccups.

Most days, I let Lo’ak and Spider vanish into their own chaos—who knew what kind of trouble they were brewing, but if I had to guess, it was probably something that would end with scraped knees and wild stories. Every so often, I’d try to herd them back toward training, nudging them like stubborn yerik. Lo’ak was gearing up for his second try at claiming his Ikran, and he needed every ounce of muscle and bravado he could scrape together.

Then there was the eldest Sully. Ever since he snitched on me, he started to grate on my nerves like sand in a wound. I swear he existed just to piss me off. But after that night, it was like he was desperate—seriously, he wouldn’t leave me alone. He shadowed me the entire day, not even pretending to be subtle about it, just full-on walking beside me everywhere I went. He kept trying to apologise, over and over, and I could hear the frustration in his voice every time I brushed him off. It was almost sad, honestly, how much he just wanted me to listen. I ignored him until his father told him he needed to go on his patrol.

And every day since it’s been the same thing! I have to admit, he was probably just as stubborn as I was. “Let me help,” his voice came out of nowhere, breaking the silence as I sorted through the jumbled supplies the scouting party had brought back after raiding a supply stash a little bit north of us. It was a small abandoned shack, absolutely stacked with tech, medicine and extra parts we had been needing for a while now. I had tossed two fired holopads behind me only a minute ago; it hurt seeing so much data fried to a crisp. Seriously, if they had just listened to me and used my S.I.D like I suggested, we might have figured out what the RDA’s current scheme was. 

I shot Neteyam a sideways glance, brow raised. This would be interesting. He looked down at the box as if it contained ancient secrets, his hands hovering before he finally grabbed a stack of holopads. I looked away from her to focus on the holopad in my hands, which was fried to a crisp. Fuck me drunk. I groaned, placing it behind me before reaching for one that Neteyam had placed on the floor beside him. My eyes immediately locked onto his hands, his finger hovered over the giant button that basically ‘touch me with too much pressure, and I’ll self-destruct’.  I smacked his hand away, hissing, “Don't touch that”. He blinked at me before snatching his hand away from the button.

“Sorry, sorry!” he blurted out, his voice cracking a little. I rolled my eyes and went back to sorting the box. I hummed happily as I picked up at least five thoat comms—hopefully the earpieces were in there too—barely listening as he tripped over his words again. “I'm sorry for telling my father about what happened without talking with you first. I kept my head down, letting him stumble through his apology. “I was— I was worried, like my father said, if something had happened and no one was there to help,” he rambled, his words coming out in a rush, like he couldn't stop them even if he tried. 

He kept wringing his hands, glancing at me and then away, as if worried I'd snap at him any second. He started rambling about how I was reckless, but he got what I wanted to do, and how if I got wounded, it’d be fine because his grandmother taught him how to heal basic wounds. The more I let him talk, the purpler his cheeks got, and honestly, it was kind of adorable. For someone who was all stoic and calm when we first met, seeing him turn into a nervous, desperate, bumbling mess was unexpectedly endearing.

If I’d learned anything, it was that words could be slippery—sometimes sweet, sometimes hollow, and you could never really tell until someone backed them up with real action. “Thank you for the apology,” I said, trying to keep things cool as I scooped up the pile of holopads and got to my feet. Without looking back, I started toward where Doctor Spellman was taking inventory, trying to play it off like I was busy, but I could practically feel Neteyam’s confusion buzzing behind me.

“Wait, does that mean! Do you forgive me?” I felt my brows scrunch as I watched {Y/N} walk away from me. My ears drooped, and my chest ached. I’d been trying for days now—desperately—for her to even look at me, to speak to me like before. Every time she brushed me off or walked away, it stung more than the last. When I finally got her to say something, all I got was ‘Thank you for the apology?’ I wanted her to forgive me. Did she forgive me? Or was I going to have to keep chasing that tiny bit of hope she’d let me back into her life?

I heard Tarsem's boisterous laugh—a sound that barely registered over the way my eyes kept drifting back to {Y/N}. He was part of my father's war party and a trusted member of his guerrilla group, but right now, all I could focus on was the ache in my chest watching her ignore me. Tarsem placed a hand on my shoulder as he crouched beside me. “Young Neteyam, looks like you’re on our Sarentu’s bad side.” I couldn't help but groan, frustration mixing with something sharper—longing. I hated being on the outside, hated that she wouldn’t even look at me.

“What do you do when —” I started, desperate for advice, but Tarsem stopped me before I could continue.

“Ma’Muntxate and I never get into spats like this,” he laughed as we watched {Y/N} talk to Norm in his Avatar. She was gesturing to items in the box while standing on her toes, and my brow furrowed. He should have bent down a little so she could see. “But if I were you, ma’Eylan, actions speak much louder than words.” With that, he sauntered off, no doubt going to find my father to discuss strategy, while I was left staring after him

Neteyam took Tarsem’s advice and wore it like armour—actions over words, every single time. On patrols, he was always right there, flying at my side, nodding at my ideas, never questioning, even when he probably should have. It was like he was determined to prove he had my back, no matter what shadows we flew through.

Sometimes he’d even crack a joke or two, making the tense moments lighter. And when Kiri and I finished weaving, he’d come over and compliment our work with this soft, genuine smile. There was this gentle, careful energy between us that always lingered—like we were both tiptoeing around something bigger, something we didn’t want to say out loud. He’d brushed his fingers over the start of my weave—so gentle, like he was afraid it’d fall apart if he pressed any harder. Sometimes I’d catch him just watching me, like he was memorising every detail, and it made my heart race in a way I didn’t want to admit. Our connection felt both fragile and intense, like we were both waiting for the other to make a move, but neither of us wanted to risk breaking whatever we had.

He walked with me whenever we had free time, not saying much but always finding little excuses to stay close—like brushing his hand against mine as we walked, or nudging my shoulder whenever I got too serious. Sometimes we’d just wander without a destination, pointing out weird-looking plants or making up stories about the animals we saw. 

One day, we ended up by the pond on top of one of the floating mountains. It was the kind of spot that made you want to just kick back and forget about all your problems for a while. The world below felt so far away, like it couldn’t touch us up here.

The sun was doing its best impression of a warm blanket, and the breeze was all flowery and fresh—honestly, perfect nap weather. I was humming the only song I could remember from home, the one Aha’ri used to sing, while I tried to fix Neteyam’s poor, mangled armband. The guy really had a knack for getting his stuff caught on everything. He’d saved it right before it could do a dramatic swan dive into the forest, which, honestly, would’ve been kind of funny to watch. Every now and then, he’d pass me a bead or some thread, his fingers brushing mine and just… hanging there for a second, like he was making sure I noticed. Sometimes he’d crack a joke about being absolutely hopeless at sewing, and I’d just roll my eyes, pretending not to laugh.

It was just us, the pond, and the weird little bugs making their own soundtrack. Neteyam was sprawled out like he was sunbathing for sport, and I swear, the dude looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. Then, out of nowhere, he sat up and said, “Your song,” all soft and thoughtful, like he was letting me in on a secret. “You never sing it.” I stopped humming, needle frozen halfway through a stitch, and suddenly even the bugs seemed to hush like they were nosy and didn’t want to miss anything.

I glanced up at him, half expecting him to be teasing, but nope—he was serious, eyes all warm and curious. It made me a little self-conscious, so I shrugged and let the needle drop into my lap. “I was too little to remember the words,” I mumbled. He already knew most of my story anyway, so what was the point in pretending? “Only Aha’ri knew the whole thing. Sometimes I can still hear her voice, but the words are just… gone.” I let out this awkward, embarrassed laugh, feeling a little exposed.

Neteyam inched closer, closing whatever tiny gap was left between us until our knees almost touched. He looked at me, just really looked, and said, "If you ever remember it, I’d like to hear it." His voice was so soft, like he was afraid to break the moment—and, honestly, so was I. For a while, we just sat there, not needing to say anything else, letting the wind do all the talking for us.

That afternoon, I finally cracked what little annoyance I had left for Neteyam. I started letting him into my good graces, bit by bit. Instead of brushing past him in the morning, I actually greeted him with a smile. When mealtime rolled around, I let him sit next to me without making a big deal of it. I pretended not to notice whenever he glanced at my leaf, then sneakily slid more of his food onto mine—especially when it came to the spiced Telu, which he knew was my favourite. It was his not-so-subtle way of looking out for me.

We began spending more time together, sometimes intentionally, sometimes by accident. I started noticing a restlessness in Neteyam—how his eyes would linger on me when he thought I wasn’t looking, or how he’d search for excuses to be near, never quite content to let our time together end. He’d offer to help with the smallest of tasks—gathering fruit, weaving, even just walking with me to the river, drawing out our moments together as if he couldn’t get enough. Sometimes, when we talked, I’d catch him watching me instead of listening to my words, distracted. Our laughter started to blend, and I found myself looking for him in a crowd, noticing the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled or how his voice softened when he spoke to me.

During hunts or training, he’d subtly step closer, always ready to cover for me or share a teasing remark. I started confiding in him—small worries at first, then deeper ones. He listened without judgment, and his quiet confidence made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t expected. Sometimes, he’d share his own doubts, and I realised he trusted me too, not just as a friend but as someone who mattered to him.

Little things started to add up. I caught him one night, sitting down beside me just as I was settling in with Kiri. He gave me a shy smile, his gaze lingering for a moment too long, as if he was hoping I’d invite him further into my world. There was a hesitation in the way he settled next to me, like he was afraid I might turn him away, but he couldn’t keep himself from trying to be close.

I couldn’t help but smile back before diving back into the conversation. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Neteyam listening in on Lo’ak, Spider, and Palu’s debate about Lo’ak’s upcoming iknimaya, but his attention always drifted back to me. Every so often, our eyes would meet, and he’d quickly glance away, cheeks flushed in the firelight. The firelight made everything feel softer, warmer, but between us there was a gentle tension, as if the air itself was charged with everything he wasn’t saying.

I was just about to pass the Telu to Kiri, who was gushing about her Ikran and its knack for finding healing roots, when I felt Neteyam drop something onto my leaf.

Glancing down, I realised he’d given me half his portion—no words, just a quiet gesture. I gently nudged his shoulder with mine, a silent thank you, and he just grinned, looking all too pleased with himself. Moments like that made me think maybe letting him in wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

A jealous Neteyam was honestly kind of hilarious, even if he'd never admit to actually being jealous. I mean, being the son of Toruk Makto and the future Olo’eyktan of the clan, he had this built-in swagger—like, you could just feel the confidence rolling off him. He never bragged, but c’mon, you’d have to be blind not to notice. Plus, everyone our age seemed to like him, so he was used to getting so much attention.

But the second my attention slid to someone else—like Tarsem—suddenly, all that cool confidence just kind of fell apart. He’d get all quiet, jaw a little tight, trying to pretend he didn’t care but failing horrifically at it. Sometimes he’d shoot Tarsem these looks when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, or he’d randomly want to show off a little, like carrying twice as many baskets as usual or making up some excuse to sit next to me. It was honestly cute, watching him try so hard to act like he wasn’t bothered, when it was written all over his face.

He’d sulk by his father’s side, arms crossed, lips pressed in a full-on pout, acting like he was way too busy helping Jake with the Hedapex his mom brought in to care what Tarsem and I were up to. But honestly? It was so obvious. Every couple of minutes, he’d shoot these dagger eyes at Tarsem—like he was trying to set him on fire —especially whenever Tarsem made me absolutely lose it laughing. It turned into this silent, hilarious contest, and Neteyam hated losing even more than he hated admitting he cared. Sometimes I’d egg it on, chatting with Tarsem just to see how long it would take before Neteyam would stomp over and invent some ridiculous reason for me to go with him.

One afternoon, I was spinning the tale of how I nearly became stomglider bait—my sister’s hunt gone sideways—for a circle of hunters, Tarsem laughing loudest of all. And wow, was Neteyam struggling to keep his cool. Every time Tarsem let out one of those big, ridiculous laughs, Neteyam’s jaw would clench just a little bit more, like he was physically holding in a sigh. I had to bite back my own laugh because, honestly, watching him was half the entertainment. He was lurking at the edge of the group, pretending to be super interested in a broken arrowhead, but everyone could see he was listening in. My grin just kept getting wider, and at some point, I think Neteyam realised he was losing his battle with looking unbothered. Watching him wrestle with that jealousy—trying to pretend he didn’t care while failing so badly—was almost better than the story itself.

Eventually, I felt his hand land on my shoulder—gentle, but insistent. “Father’s asked for you,” he said, and was his voice deeper than usual? I almost snorted. Was he actually trying to sound more grown-up, or did he think it would make me listen faster? His eyes stayed steady, not giving away a thing, even as he reached for my wrist. I glanced at his hand, then up at him, arching an eyebrow, but let him pull me away.

If I’m honest, there was something fiercely protective in the way he acted, as if he needed everyone to see that I was with him—and not just anyone else. I’d catch him shooting sideways glances at anyone who tried to talk to me for too long, his eyes narrowing just a little, his body language shifting so he was always between me and whoever had caught my attention. It wasn’t just about jealousy or pride; it was the way he positioned himself a half step ahead, or the way his fingers lingered at my wrist, almost like he was afraid I’d slip away if he let go. Sometimes, if someone laughed too loudly at something I said, I’d see the corners of his mouth tighten, a flicker of annoyance there and gone. There was a tension in his jaw, a silent promise that he wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—get too close unless he decided it was safe.

Honestly, it was kind of ridiculous how obvious he was about it—like, if someone made a move to talk to me, he’d lean in just a bit, voice all low and casual, but you could tell he was sizing them up. Even his tail got in on the act, flicking in this impatient arc if someone got too close. Sometimes, I’d catch him glancing over his shoulder, making sure I was still right behind him, like he was half-expecting me to bolt at any second.

And when we walked, he’d always angle his body so I was on the inside, away from the mess of the crowd—like he was my personal shield, but trying not to make a big deal out of it. If anyone tried to squeeze between us, he’d bristle, shoulders stiffening as he gently but firmly guided me back to his side. It was sort of sweet, sort of annoying, and honestly, a little funny—because no matter how tough he tried to look, there was a softness in his grip that made it feel less like a leash and more like a promise that he’d always be there, whether I liked it or not. Sometimes, I wondered if he even realised how obvious he was—like he couldn’t help but stake his claim, in the subtlest ways he knew how.

As we walked off, I called back over my shoulder, “We’ll finish the story on patrol!” My words hung in the air, and I could practically feel Neteyam’s vibrating as he silently celebrated his one-sided victory.

Sneaking up on him was easier than I thought. Despite being such a mighty hunter, his awareness of his surroundings was less than I’d expected. Biting back my smile, I kept my steps light as I stalked after him. He had been hunting down an elusive yurlk for a while now, with his entire focus on his prey. With careful precision, he moved—tail still and ears pricked—each muscle tense with anticipation. Behind a fallen log, he knelt, dappled sunlight filtering through the forest leaves and painting golden patterns on his skin. 

The determined set of his jaw stood out in the soft gold. Amused, I shook my head and crept closer, careful not to make a sound. When he lifted his bow, the faint creak of the string tightening was enough to alert the yurlk. In a flash, its head snapped up, and it bolted into the underbrush. Frustrated, his ears folded back as his prey disappeared again, leaving him staring after it with a sigh.

I reached over him and gently covered his eyes with my hands from behind. His tail gave a quick twitch. “Who goes there?” he spoke playfully. I laughed, tilting his head side to side by guiding his head with my palms. He laughed as he lowered his bow, letting it rest in his lap, and allowed me to gently tease him as I pleased.

“Someone who wants to give you a message,” I cooed, making him nod. He laughed, his hands coming up to gently hold my wrists, not moving them away from his face.

“Is the message for me to start hunting further away from Highcamp to get away from little Syaksyuk’s who like to tease?” Neteyam hummed, trying to peek at me through my hands. I gasped in mock hurt.

“Syaksyuk! You could have called me anything else!” I dropped my hands, but Neteyam only grinned wider. He stood from his spot, still holding my wrists, and gently pulled me closer.

“But it fits you,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I tried to twist away, but he easily caught me, looping his arms around my waist.

I stuck my tongue out at him, earning a mock-scandalised gasp. He retaliated by lifting me up off my feet for a moment, spinning me around just once before setting me down again, both of us laughing. Breathless, I poked his side, and he pretended to stagger, making a show of my 'strength.' “Now what was the message, mighty Syaksyuk?”

I playfully shoved him, “Your father wants you home to talk about something.” I spoke in a singing tone, his ears perked up, and his posture straightened

“You talked to him?” For weeks, Neteyam had been asking me to just speak to his father about him joining the raids; he was allowed on a few in the past, and each time he proved himself very useful! As of late, Jake seemed a little more hesitant to let him join in, not worried about him getting injured or distracting him when he needed 100% of his focus on keeping his people safe.

I nodded. “I did.” He laughed, picking me up again and swinging me around. “Easy, mighty warrior, it's just as a spotter!” He put me down, that smile still on his face.

“I’m happy I'm even allowed near the raid! Tsahik was right, you Sarentu know how to charm your way into anything.”

“Now hold on!” I laughed, flicking his forehead, which made him furrow slightly. “What about your end of the deal?” His brow smoothed out, and that smug-looking smile crossed his face. He leaned in, voice dropping to a playful whisper,

“Mhmm, did I agree to something?” he teased again, brushing my wrist up to his nose, nuzzling the area between my wrist and thumb, what a werdio. I rolled my eyes and pushed his shoulder.

“You promised me, Neteyam.”

He looked at me with soft eyes, the setting sun made his amber eyes like molten gold, I swore I could feel the gentlest brush of his lips on my skin before he pulled away and playfully sighed, “I promised” 

“Neteyam, you have to see how weird this is from my perspective!” I laughed as he helped me off of Nimun. She squealed as I disconnected our bond. Neteyam’s Ikran squawked back, nudging her away from us. “You come into my Kelku, take me out of my hammock and tell me to get onto Nimun with no explanation.” Neteyam didn’t respond, but I could see the smugness on his face. His hand didn’t let go of mine, fingers laced tight with mine like he was worried I might get snatched up by a stray Nantang the second he let go.

He grinned, tilting his head with that infuriatingly charming look that always made it impossible to stay annoyed with him for long. “Maybe I just like having an excuse to hold your hand,” he teased, his thumb brushing a slow, deliberate circle against my palm. I rolled my eyes, feigning exasperation.

“Oh, so this is all just a plot to get close to me?” I shot back, nudging him with my shoulder as we walked. He bumped me back, laughter bubbling up between us, the sound echoing through the trees.

As we picked our way through the greenery, he kept glancing back at me, just to check I was still there. Whenever a branch hung too low, he’d sweep it out of the way with this casual, practised motion—like he’d done it a thousand times before—making sure nothing even grazed me. Sometimes he’d nudge me closer to his side if the path got narrow, and his grip would squeeze just a little tighter, a silent reminder that he was right there and I wasn’t going anywhere without him.

When I stumbled over a twisted root, he caught me without missing a step, steadying me with a soft, “Careful, I need you in one piece.” I stuck my tongue out at him. Honestly, it was a little over the top, but somehow it didn’t bother me. If anything, it made me want to laugh even more. There was something kind of adorable about how serious he got, acting like our little stroll through the forest was some big mission and he was personally responsible for getting me back in one piece. I teased him about it, but he just rolled his eyes, pretending not to notice the way my smile lingered after.

When we crested the hill, my words fell away. On the other side, a massive Tarsyu stood in full bloom, its petals glowing with an electric, otherworldly light that spilled across the hillside in waves of violet and blue. The blossoms curled open so slowly it was almost hypnotic, each petal unfurling with a silken shimmer, like Pandora itself was putting on a show just for us.

For a second, I just stood there, jaw hanging, completely stunned by the sight—like the whole forest had been holding its breath, waiting for someone to finally notice this hidden miracle. The air was thick and heady with the scent of sweet flowers and damp moss, every inhale making me dizzy with how alive and ancient it all felt. I could hear Neteyam’s quiet laugh behind me, warm and a little smug.

When I finally found my voice, all I could do was laugh, half in disbelief. “Neteyam—how did you even find this?” I turned to look at him, the darkness wrapping around us, his features painted in the soft, otherworldly light of the Tarsyu. He looked almost unreal, the blue of his skin glowing against the petals, eyes bright with mischief and something softer, too.

He shrugged like it was nothing, but there was this gentle pride in the way he watched me take it all in. “I always wondered why these never bloomed,” he said softly, voice barely more than a whisper. “My mother used to tell us stories that those would only open for a long-lost clan.”

He stayed close, almost protectively, like even now he wanted to keep the moment safe just for us. I could feel the heat of his arm beside mine, and for a heartbeat, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered except the two of us on that hill, tangled up in moonlight and wildflowers.

“This one must have been waiting a while,” I uttered softly, fingertips grazing one of its glowing neuro-connecting stamens. The whole thing felt alive—like holding a small piece of the forest’s memory in my hand. Its energy was so powerful and ancient; it sent a shiver right down my spine, as if the world were holding its breath just for us. I glanced over at Neteyam, who was watching me like I was the rarest thing on Pandora. He hovered close, his presence warm and grounding, his eyes soft and maybe something else.

Finally, after weeks of dancing around it, I let myself smile up at him, the tension slipping away. “I forgive you,” my voice barely above a whisper, but somehow it felt like the most important thing I’d ever said.

“Are you okay?” A gentle voice pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up, seeing a girl who was maybe a year or two younger than me, watching me with a cautious curiosity. She had kind eyes, the ones that made you trust her almost instantly. I managed a smile for her, didnt want to scare off any potential friends. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay—just a long day,” I admitted. I shifted over to make room for her. “Please, sit.” She smiled back as she sat beside me, picking through her meal. My ear twitched as I noticed that she had eaten all of her Telu but was just playing with the rest of her food. “Here,” I nudged my portion towards her before she could refuse. “Please, I’ve never been the biggest fan of Telu,” I lied, but you know what, it was harmless. 

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes crinkling with a genuine smile. “I’m Kiri,” Her voice was soft, but it carried that same warmth that made you want to keep talking just to hear her laugh.

“{Y/N}” I introduced myself. After we sort of fell into a comfortable conversation, we talked about the easy stuff, what the Kinglor forest was like? What are Zakru? Was it true that the water is sweeter in the West? Once I explained to her that, in fact, the Kinglor forest was so beautiful and full of life, it was impossible not to miss it. The Zakru were gentle giants that the  Zeswa clan lived in symbiosis with, and yes, the water was actually sweeter. Did I know why? Absolutely not. 

As our conversation grew lighter, it seemed we had gathered a small crowd. I smiled as I dramatically told the story of how Tamtey and I had accidentally landed in a Palulukan den without knowing, were actively being hunted down for two hours before having to outrun two full-grown Palulukan with two arrows, one daphoment pod and a very unfortunate place vein pod. 

As the night went on and more stories were told, it slowly dwindled back down to just Kiri and me. We giggled like two little kids leaning into one another. She leaned in with a wide smile on her face. “You met my Skxawng brother, huh?” she nudged me playfully. I laughed, nudging her back. During our conversation, she explained she was adopted by the Sullys since her mother was a Dreamwalker and was pregnant when its driver, Grace, was killed during the battle of the Ayram Alusing. “He’s all bark and no bite”, she finished off with a smile. 

“I mean, he did try to kill me,” I laughed, unable to keep a straight face as I polished off the last pieces of sweet Yovo fruit. Kiri’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in mock horror. Then, all at once, her expression crumbled into laughter, bright, infectious; it was that belly laugh that made you think you were going to pass out. 

“He what!?” she gasped, clutching her side as she tried to picture her responsible older brother—so serious, so stoic—actually aiming at her new friend. The two of us dissolved into giggles, drawing a few curious glances from nearby groups but caring less with every second. It felt good to laugh like this.

“Kiri!” a small, excited voice piped up from somewhere in the crowd, cutting through our laughter. We both turned, scanning the gathering, and spotted a little Na’vi girl weaving her way through the sea of legs, a huge grin plastered across her face. “Ka’Ita wants to learn how you made your tewng!” she announced breathlessly, bouncing on her toes before launching herself into Kiri’s lap with all the energy only a child could muster.

Kiri laughed and wrapped her arms around the girl, smoothing her wild hair with easy affection as if she’d done it a thousand times. The whole scene was so wholesome I couldn’t help but grin—the girl’s infectious joy, Kiri’s gentle hug, the way the little one looked up at both of us with unabashed awe. For a moment, all my worries faded, replaced by a quiet warmth. 

“Tuk, this is {Y/N},” Kiri said, introducing us with a little flourish. Tuk beamed up at me, her grin so wide it looked like her cheeks might burst. “She’s going to be living with us for a while.” The little girl’s excitement was contagious, and I couldn’t help but wave back, feeling my own smile stretch wider. “Maybe I could show both Ka’Ita and {Y/N} how I weave?” Kiri suggested with a wink. Tuk’s eyes went impossibly wide, sparkling with hope and mischief, and I could tell she was ready to unleash the world’s most dramatic pout if I dared to say no. I hummed, pretending to weigh the offer, but it was all theatre—I already knew there was no way I’d refuse.

“Well…” I started slowly, dragging it out just to see how much bigger Tuk’s eyes could get—they were practically the size of moons by now. “I suppose so.” That was all it took. She let out a delighted squeal, springing from Kiri’s lap like a little bolt of lightning and latching onto my arm with both hands, tugging me along with a strength I wouldn’t have guessed from someone so tiny. Giggling, she pulled me toward the weaving area, her enthusiasm bubbling over and pulling all of us along in its wake.

Neytiri’s eyes hadn’t left the newcomer since they’d all sat down for dinner, sharp and watchful as ever. Jake had told her everything he knew—Alma, from the resistance out west, requesting that a young Sarentu complete Rongloa Teykusing with the Omatikaya. But deep down, Neytiri knew it wasn’t the politics or the ceremony that unsettled her. It was the way the Sarentu girl, with her painted face and unfamiliar markings, had quickly woven herself into the fabric of their family.

She watched as the girl tipped her head back, laughing with Kiri as if they’d always known each other, her own bowl of Telu forgotten in favour of sharing with their daughter. It was a small, gentle gesture—breaking bread—and Neytiri couldn’t help but notice the way Kiri’s eyes shone back, open and trusting.

“She isn’t a threat, baby,” Jake said softly, his voice a low rumble meant just for her as he reached for Neytiri’s hand. “She’s barely older than Neteyam. Alma said she hasn’t had much training, hasn’t seen real battle.” Neytiri huffed, unconvinced, her ears flicking with restless worry.

“You trust her? Look at her,” Neytiri whispered back, nodding in the girl’s direction. “She wears war paint—decorated by other clans.” She watched as Tuk tugged the Sarentu girl away from the communal area, Kiri following close behind, the three of them already laughing about something she couldn’t hear. “The Sarentu was started by my ancestor Entu. They disappeared more than twenty years ago, and now—suddenly—one appears, in our home?” She gestured with a subtle tilt of her chin, her words edged with both suspicion and reluctant curiosity.

Jake’s brow furrowed, a storm of questions swirling behind his eyes. He hated the feeling of being kept in the dark—his tail lashed against the floor in frustration. How much had Alma really told him? Who exactly had she sent? Just who had he welcomed under his roof, into his clan’s inner circle? The idea that this girl was a living thread from a clan lost to history over twenty years ago made his skin prickle with uncertainty. It was like inviting a hooded figure to dinner.

Slowly, I was starting to find my footing amongst the Omatikaya—Jake kept his distance, I don’t blame him, a stranger too time to get used to. We did have a conversation one night, and I told him I was a trained warrior by So’lek; his ear twitched at the name. After that, he allowed me to go on patrol with a smaller group; he saw it as a right of passage, and I treated it like a test. I was given an inch, and bitch I will take a damn mile. 

As we flew through the tangled undergrowth and winding path near the Ayram Alusing, I mentally kept a running tab of every single RDA outpost we passed. One to the east, tucked behind a ridge, two in the west where the trees grew thickest, another to the north, then three clustered to the south, closest to the rivers. 

Every detail mattered. Once I had enough information, I planned to start picking them off one by one, just like Tamey and I had done on the western front. The more outposts we could take out, the less likely the RDA would want to stick around—too many losses, too much trouble for them to replace their people and equipment.

I was so deep in strategy and old memories that I barely noticed when a younger Na’vi boy wandered over to see to Nimun. She grumbled, flicking her tail with half-hearted annoyance, but I could see she was slowly getting used to letting others help. It used to be just the two of us against the world, but here—surrounded by all these new faces—she was learning to trust a little, too. Watching her reluctantly accept the boy’s careful touch, I felt a quiet sense of pride and relief. Maybe we were both finding our place here, one day at a time. I hated that Tamtey was right. Welcome to the world with open arms. 

“Thank you—oh, hey Lo’ak!” I greeted, catching sight of the youngest Sully, his familiar grin looking a little forced today. Unlike Neteyam’s stoic energy, Lo’ak wore his emotions like war paint—every flick of his ears, every twitch of his tail gave him away. He looked so much like Jake it was uncanny, the same sharp jaw and bright, restless eyes, but with an edge of mischief that was all his own. In the short time I’d known him, I’d already picked up on his reckless streak. It wasn’t just for show; I saw the hunger in him, the need to stand out and be noticed, to prove himself in the shadow of his family.

This morning, he’d been practically buzzing with excitement, talking my ear off about his Iknimaya. His father was leading the group—big day, big responsibility—and Lo’ak was determined to come back with a tale worth telling. He even bragged about how, once he made the bond, we’d all fly together, and he’d be the first to show off his Ikran’s speed. But now, as he stood there beside Nimun, his shoulders were hunched, and his ears drooped low, tail lashing behind him in frustration. He didn’t have to say a word; the disappointment was written all over him. I offered a gentle smile, hoping to lift his spirits.

“Didn’t go so well?” I asked, hopping down from Nimun and landing lightly beside Lo’ak. He snapped his head away, ears pulled back, tail lashing in frustration, his mouth twisted into a classic Sully pout. There was a storm brewing in his eyes, all that energy and pride tangled up with disappointment. I gave him a moment, then gently rested a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the mouth of the cave, away from the others' eyes and teasing voices. Sometimes you just need a little space to let the sting fade, and I wanted him to know I was on his side.

“Not getting your Ikran the first go doesn’t mean you’re any less of a warrior,” I said, trying to channel So’lek’s wisdom, even if it sounded a little clumsy coming from me. Lo’ak just stared at the ground with that glazed, distant look, like my words were bouncing right off his stubborn skull. I let out a breath and nodded, showing him I understood. “Honestly? I wish I could do my Iknimaya over again.” That got his attention—a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “I wish I hadn’t rushed it. I was reckless, and I could have died. Hell, I was closer than I’d like to admit.”

“What happened?” he asked, arms crossed tight over his chest, trying to look tough but not quite hiding the worry in his voice. There was a vulnerability there that reminded me of how young he really was beneath all that bravado.

“My dad and I got into a pretty bad argument,” I started, gently touching the hunter's necklace I refused to take off  “There was a battle, one I wanted to join in so badly, but he was just protecting me, told me that because I hadn’t bonded with an Ikran I would be a burden” I groaned embarrassed by own stubbornness “So I travled in a storm, and bonded with the first Ikran that tried to kill me.” For a second, Lo’ak’s eyes lit up, but I quickly waved away any heroic ideas. “No, trust me, it was stupid. I was too proud to admit I was scared.” I shook my head, remembering how the wind had howled, and the rain had turned every handhold slick as moss. “I almost didn’t make it back. Took me months to realise that surviving wasn’t about being fearless, but about knowing when to ask for help and when to know it’s okay to slow down.”

Lo’ak fell quiet for a beat, his shoulders finally dropping as he let himself breathe. “I’ll try again.” His voice was softer now, a bit of hope threading through the disappointment. I grinned and ruffled his hair, earning a half-hearted swat and a tiny, reluctant smile. 

“You will,” I said, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “And when you do, I have a race to win.” I nudged him gently in the direction of the training grounds, tilting my head with a mock sternness. “Go on—go train. Show them what you’re made of.” He rolled his eyes, but there was a new spark in them, and as he jogged off, tail swishing behind him, I knew he’d be okay.

“These blues are getting out of hand, that was our last oil extraor.” My ear twitched as I worked on the lightbox. The night pressed in, thick and heavy, swallowing the outpost in a blackness that felt alive. You’d think after so many attacks, they would have put more security on this thing, or at least made the system harder to figure out. But the humans always underestimated what was waiting for them in the dark. A twisted grin crept across my face as I ripped out the wire, and the outpost drowned in shadow.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Insects scraped and hissed, the distant, hollow call of a predator echoing through the trees. The air vibrated with threat. This was my second-to-last outpost. One more, and this stretch of the East would finally be free of their poison. For a week now, I’ve become the thing they whisper about around dying fires—a shadow slithering through the jungle, taking apart RDA machines, leaving behind only terror and bodies.

“Shit, Georgy, go check that! James, you see anything up there?” Their voices shook, cracking and thin—already haunted by the dark pressing in on every side. I vanished into the tree line, the jungle swallowing me whole. The soldiers clustered together, their mask lights slicing through blackness that felt impossibly thick. Their faces glowed ghostly white behind the glass, like trapped spirits, wide-eyed and desperate. They clung to their tech, knowing it was the only thing keeping Pandora from eating them alive.

I started humming, low and broken, a song that had become a warning. Maybe it was for comfort, or maybe to haunt them. Deep down, I knew it was retribution.

They should have killed us when they had the chance; now their mercy was a curse.

I fixed my gaze on a lone soldier, the mask light carving out every wild line of panic on his face. I drew my arrow, savouring the way the jungle fell dead quiet—every heartbeat a countdown. When the arrow hit, it punched into his neck with a wet, dull sound. He staggered, choking, his mask fogging up as Pandora’s air gnawed at his lungs. He crumpled, twitching, spasming, the only sound the wet, static gasp of his comm. “Gilligan? Gill copy?” The voice was already fading, already doomed. I vanished, swallowed by the jungle, eyes searching for the next.

One by one, I picked them off. Their panic broke through in wild, useless shouts, bullets screaming into the dark, never hitting anything but shadows. Their terror was thick, sweet, almost intoxicating. The jungle drank it up. I wanted the commander. I wanted him to see me—really see what haunted his men. The last soldier tried to scramble up the oil extractor, but he was too slow. My arrow caught him mid-climb; his body slammed onto the metal, the clang echoing like a warning bell before he crashed into the dirt below, limp and broken. The sound lingered, foul and final.

I watched the commander whirl, panic wild and animal in his eyes, surrounded by the wreckage of his dead men and shattered machines. The forest pressed in, shadows writhing at his feet, hungry for the scent of blood. He knew it was just us. And the jungle was watching, too.

His rifle’s torch jerked up, landing on my face. For a second, I saw the terror in his eyes, saw how the jungle’s blackness had seeped into his bones. “Hello,” I rasped, my voice strange and guttural. I forgot what his language sounded like coming from my lips. He tried to steady his aim, but his hands were shaking, the magazine nearly empty, one bullet left between him and me. 

I stepped in, closing the distance before he could blink. My hand tangled in his sweat-slick hair, yanking his head back. The blade flashed in the torchlight, and his fear filled the air as I drove it home. He went limp, dropping like a rag doll, the jungle swallowing us both in its hungry silence.

A voice, raw and shaking, tore through the silence. “What have you done?”

I twisted around, heart thudding. Pathfinder—Neteyam—stood frozen at the edge of the carnage, the body of the first soldier sprawled at his feet. His knife was drawn, knuckles white, but his eyes—his eyes were wide, horrified, reflecting the blood-soaked scene in the scattered torchlight. For a second, he didn’t even look real, just a shadow trembling at the edge of a nightmare. I saw his chest rise and fall, shallow and fast. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was a hunter—or a monster. My stomach dropped. Fuck me 

“Are you serious?” Jake's voice was sharp as he hauled me into the empty Sully Kelku by my arm. I followed behind, irritation eating at me—Neteyam the fucking snitch, dragged to his father as soon as we made it to High Camp. Jake spun me to face him, forcing my attention. He glared. “What you did was beyond reckless. You acted without thinking about anyone else.” He paused, scanning the Kelku as a few people filtered in. “And worse, you broke trust. We have a way of doing things—what you did went against all of it,” he growled, ears flattened and tail thrashing behind him.

My brow furrowed, my tail lashed. What the fuck was he talking about?

“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped back, my voice just as sharp as his. For a moment, I forgot I was speaking to the Olo’eyktan, not my battle-worn father or Nor, who would have scolded me before letting me vent. Exhaustion and stubborn pride refused to let me back down.

Jake’s jaw clenched. “You think surviving a few fights means you understand war? You don’t. What you did tonight sends a message to our enemies—you showed them we can break our own rules. If they think we're unpredictable or desperate, they'll use that against us. You didn’t just risk yourself; you risked all of us.”

I bristled, refusing to shrink under his glare “I know exactly what war is. You think you’re the only one who’s lost people? The only one who’s watched friends die? I know what loss feels like, and I know what I’m fighting for. I didn’t come here to be sheltered or given busywork—I came because I want to make things better, to actually change something. Just sitting around, waiting for the RDA to crush us, isn’t protecting anyone. If surviving means hiding while they take everything from us, then what’s the point?”

I bristled, rage boiling in my veins, refusing to shrink under his glare “I know exactly what war is. You think you’re the only one who’s lost people? I’ve watched friends die, and I’ve buried family. I know what loss is, and I know what I’m fighting for. I didn’t drag myself here to be coddled or shoved onto useless chores—I came to fight, to actually do something that matters. Sitting around, waiting for the RDA to crush us, isn’t protecting anyone. If surviving means hiding while they strip everything from us, then what’s the point?”

“Know what you're doing? The RDA is going to be looking for you!” Jake's words cracked like a whip, anger and worry warring in his eyes “You’ve put everyone at risk—my family, my clan. You can’t just act alone here. There are rules. There’s a reason we move together, a reason why we have ethics”

I finally yanked my arm free, voice rising. “The RDA has been hunting me since before you landed on Pandora. What, you just think the RDA cleared out of the West on their own? That the clans, after years of being against one another, finally just rallied together?” I met Jake's glare with my own. I was fucking done playing rookie. “We did that,” I pointed to my chest, “The Sarentu did that. Without your precious rules and ethics,”  An uneasy silence fell among us. To be honest, I wasn’t sure we were just going to continue yelling at one another or if we were actually going to come to blows

“The Sarentu,” a new voice cut in between the tension. I stiffened, unable to meet her gaze—the Tsahik’s presence was impossible to ignore, her authority woven into every syllable. “They are storytellers,” she said, her tone cool and probing. “Yet you arrive here ready for war. Why do you carry the skills of a fighter? Why do you know how to use their weapons?”

I could feel their eyes drilling into me, heavy as stones—judging, questioning. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt, anger vibrating through every part of me. I shot Jake a glare that could have cut stone. He did this. I knew my anger was misdirected; it was John Mercer and Alma who did this, but Jake let Alma stay, let her rot here for over fifteen years with nothing—nothing!—to answer for.

“You talk a big game about ethics, but you don’t actually do shit,” I snarled, ears flat against my skull. “Was what the RDA did to us ethical, Jake? Was what Alma did ethical?” I glared, daring him to show any shame, any anger—anything. But there was just emptiness. Rage flared hotter. I jerked my head toward the others: Neytiri, Mo’at, Neteyam—all of them, staring blankly. That bitch. She played you all.

A harsh, disbelieving laugh burst out of me. “She didn’t tell you,” I spat, every word dripping with venom. I stared Jake down, daring him to deny it. “That’s why you let her stay on Pandora—Alma lied to your face, to all of you.” My whole body shook with rage, fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. “You had no idea,” I snarled, voice cracking with fury.

Jake placed his hands on my arms to steady me “What are you talking about, {Y/N}? What did Alma do?”  He leaned down, capturing my gaze with his own, “{Y/N} What didnt I know?”

“She killed us. Every last fucking one.” My voice shook, but this time it was with fury—a rage that burned hotter than any grief. The air turned to ice; every word I spoke was a weapon aimed at Jake, at anyone who dared look away. “You think we just vanished? No. Mercer and Alma made us disappear. RDA director Jonathan Mercer and Alma Cortez—they didn’t just build a program,  they wanted to rip us apart, destroy everything we were. And for that, they needed children. Our children.” My fists trembled, nails digging into my palms until I felt blood. “They didn’t want to change us—they wanted to wipe us out. Erase us. Burn us to nothing. All so they could have their precious TAP project,” I could barely bite the words back. “They found us all at the Sarentu Moot—”

I could hear Jake’s low, furious rumble, a sound that vibrated through the tense air like distant thunder. His anger was palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. Neytiri, ever a steady presence, reached out and gently rubbed my arm—her touch grounding, warm, a silent promise that I wasn’t alone in this storm of memories. Mo’at, wise as ever, nodded to me with that knowing look in her eyes, her voice soft but commanding: “Continue, child.”

“They didn’t just gun us down—they hunted us, like we were animals.” The words tore out of me, a guttural snarl. “Our parents—my own mother and father—threw themselves on us, tried to shield us from the bullets. They stuffed us under roots, in rotten hollows, even under the bodies of the dead. Blood-soaked everything.” My hands trembled with fury. “The soldiers didn’t care. They laughed. They kept firing, kept killing, until there was nothing left.” My voice shook with rage. “When it was over, the ground was just bodies. Only eight of us crawled out. Eight. Out of hundreds.” I glared at the floor, fighting the urge to destroy something, the memory Tamtey shared with us searing my mind.

“They didn’t just hide the massacre—they erased it, like cowards.” My voice was raw with fury. “It wasn’t just violence. It was a fucking extermination. The RDA was waiting for us. They covered their tracks, lied to everyone, even their own. Mercer gathered his scientists and made something worse than any weapon.” I spat the words. “They poured chemical death into the soil. Hundreds of barrels. It ate through flesh, bone, hope—turned bodies to vapour, turned my family into poison. That place is still toxic. Children breathe it in. Families, My family is still dying, even now, because of them.”

“They lined us up like cattle,” I forced myself to keep talking. “Hosed us down every morning with cold, sanitised, scrubbing until we bled. They beat us until we forgot our own language, our home, our family—ripped our songcords, yanked the beads and feathers from our hair, called us dirty animals.” I bit back tears as I spoke, the humiliation and loss still raw after all these years. “They raised us like humans, groomed us to be the perfect envoys, little puppets for their cause. Alma was always there,” I spat out her name like it was acid.

“She didn’t just watch—she encouraged us to obey, to sit still, to be good little pets. The soldiers, the commanders—they took every sick opportunity to break us. They snapped bones.”  A flash of Teylan’s arm shattered because he dropped a rifle. “They tore skin from flesh” Ri’nela’s screams still echo in my head. “They didn’t just break bodies—they broke spirits.”  Nor dragged to Mercer’s office, again and again, coming back silent and hollow-eyed. “They preyed on us, Sargent Anders—he was a predator, and everyone knew it. His hands, his eyes, always on us, and Alma never stopped him. Never. And when Ara’hri, the bravest of us, tried to fight back, they made an example of her—they beat her to death in front of us. She was ten. Ten! And not one of them cared.”

I saw their eyes flicker, picturing Tuk—innocent, laughing, bursting with life—just a child. Rage seethed in my chest, nearly choking me. That’s how old Ara’hri was when they took her from us, when they murdered her in front of us to prove a point. She was a child, and they butchered her like she was nothing. 

“When the war started, Mercer didn’t hesitate—he ordered us slaughtered and ran away like the fucking coward he is. He wanted every trace of his crimes erased, every witness silenced, just to save his own skin. If even one of us survived, his precious reputation would be ruined—and he couldn’t stand that. The only decent thing that fucking woman ever did was save us, and even that felt like a curse.” My voice was shaking with fury now, every word spat like venom. “She shoved us into cryosleep—fifteen years, locked away like we were nothing, like we were a problem to hide. It was supposed to be mercy, but it was just another prison. We went to sleep as terrified, broken children and woke up in a world that didn’t even want to remember us.”

“When we woke up, we were nothing but rage. Starving for payback. The RDA had stolen everything from us—our families, our childhoods, our very names. That fury burned so hot it nearly tore us apart. Every day became a war. We rose before the suns and plotted revenge from the shadows, our voices hoarse from screaming into the dark. We learned every inch of the western frontier because we had to, because it was the only thing left they hadn't taken. We turned the jungle into a trap, a nightmare for them. Sabotage wasn't enough—we wanted them to feel hunted, to suffer like we had. We set traps, poisoned supplies, struck fast and vanished like wraiths, leaving terror in our wake. I wanted them afraid to sleep, afraid to breathe, to never know when death would come for them. I needed them to feel hunted every second, to know they would never be safe again.” My smile twisted, sharp and cold.

“We became the monsters they wanted us to be. My sister was unstoppable—bold, quick, always the first to charge and the last to fall back. carried us through the worst of it. They called her ‘Death on Wings’ for a reason. And then, finally, we got what we wanted—we killed Jonathan Mercer. The bastard who started it all. I wish I could say it brought us peace, but it didn’t. It just meant there was one less monster in the world. For a moment, it felt good. But nothing they destroyed came back. With Mercer dead, we tore the RDA from the west, reclaimed piece after piece of what was ours, leaving scars behind, in the land and in ourselves. The forest began to heal, but I’m not sure I ever will.”

I took a deep breath, forcing my back straight, even through the weight of my past pressed down on me. “I know war, I don't care for ethics because they never have. I know what it costs and who suffers for it.” I met Jake's eyes, letting him see the exhaustion beneath the anger—a glimpse of the wounds I rarely revealed. The kelku, so loud with accusation moments before, was hushed. Silence settled around us, thick and almost peaceful—like the world itself was finally catching its breath in the wake of a storm. My voice faltered. I looked down, letting the quiet linger.

Jake still hadn’t let go of me. It was only now, in the hush, that I realised how firm his grip was—no longer restraining, but anchoring. I stared at my hands—palms bleeding, old scars and calluses stark against my skin. My anger had spent itself, leaving only rawness and a strange, aching relief. It felt like I’d set down a burden I’d carried too long, and the ache of its absence was almost as heavy as the weight itself. 

I cleared my throat, “I’ll pack my things,” my voice barely a whisper. “Just—just give me a day to get Nimun ready, that’s all I ask. 

But before I could even finish, Mo’at moved with a quiet, timeless authority—her presence as steady as ancient stone, as patient as the roots that hold the forest together. She reached out, pressing her hand to my chest with a touch that was both grounding and sacred. Her eyes searched mine—not just seeing, but understanding, as if she was reading not only my pain but the pain of every ancestor before me. The wisdom in her gaze was humbling: she sifted through the chaos of my spirit, not to judge, but to illuminate the strength I had forgotten I carried.

“Eywa has let you live for a reason, child,” she said, her voice calm, soft, but unbreakable. “What has happened cannot be changed, but it is not the end of your story. Eywa’s wisdom is greater than our own. She has sent you to us, not to erase what you have endured, but because your scars, your rage, and your survival are all threads in something larger.”

Her hand cupped my cheek, thumb gentle as she brushed away a tear I hadn’t even realised had fallen. For a heartbeat, I let myself believe in her faith. “You have wandered long in darkness, through years of silence and cold sleep. Now, Eywa calls you to the light again. Your sisters, your brothers, they walk their own paths—each a different thread in the great tapestry. It is time to find your place among us, as yourself, not as what was done to you. You are not lost, child—you are returning. And we have been waiting for you.”

She lifted her gaze to Jake, and for a moment, the weight of everything seemed to settle on his shoulders. He moved away from me, his fists clenched so tightly the knuckles blanched, jaw tight with the effort of holding back a scream. His ears drooped, but his eyes still burned—anger and helplessness warring in their depths. His tail lashed, agitated, betraying the storm beneath the surface. Jake looked like a man who wanted to tear the world apart with his bare hands and yet had to stand still, forced to carry a pain too big for words.

Mo’at regarded him with a wisdom that seemed older than the forest itself. She saw every crack in his armour, every ounce of rage and sorrow, and recognised the burdens he carried. Her voice, gentle yet resonant, seemed to echo from the roots of Eywa: “Jake Sulli will guide you,” she said, her words wrapping around both of us like a promise and a blessing. “You walk between two worlds, just as he does. Yet remember, even the strongest warriors must learn when to lay down their weapons and listen to the wind. Home is not just a place, but the people who choose to stand beside you, and the stories you share together. In pain, you find strength; in anger, you find purpose; but in compassion, you find healing. Let him show you this truth.”

“Come, let me take care of you,” Neytiri murmured, her voice soft and warm, soothing. She slipped her arm around my shoulders, pulling me gently into her embrace. Her hand moved tenderly to my cheek, wiping away the tear tracks with a mother’s care I hadn’t felt in months. She guided me up from the mat, her presence steady and nurturing, each step supported by her gentle strength. As we walked toward the entrance of the Kelku, she kept close, shielding me from the eyes of others, her fingers brushing my hair in silent comfort. The air outside was cool on my cheeks, but it was Neytiri’s warmth that made me feel safe, as if the storm inside me could finally settle.

As we stepped out of the Kelku, the last thing I heard was the sharp intake just like that first night, all those weeks ago. My ears flicked back in recognition. I forgot Neteyam was there, half-hidden in the shadows, posture stiff and uncertain, listening in silence. He heard everything, heard my rage in every word. Shame prickled under my skin, hot and raw, and I kept my eyes glued to the ground. I didn’t want to see pity in his face, didn’t want that look that said he thought I was fragile or broken. I’d spent too long stitching myself back together to have someone—anyone—see me as less than whole.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to let the shame slip away. My past was dark—hell, it tried to break me—but I survived. I rebuilt myself from the ashes, piece by stubborn piece. I wasn’t looking for pity. I was looking for strength, for a reason to keep fighting. And I had it. Tonight, with Neytiri’s hand steady on my back and the world finally quiet, I remembered who I was: not fragile, not broken, but resilient. I’d faced worse and won. Now, I walked forward—head high, heart steady—knowing I was strong enough to belong.

At this point, my rations weren’t great, the dried fish was the first to go, and I think I was getting tired of the dried fortune’s fruit. If I eat a fresh one, I think I’d just throw it up. Nimun, bless her giant, stubborn heart, was getting crankier by the day, and the nips were getting more and more violent, to the point that she was actually drawing blood. Every grunt was so obviously a compalin ‘Why are we still this?’ I promised her over and over that once we found the Omatikaya, she’d get the rest she deserved—no more long flights until her wings were rested. 

Halfway through the fourth week, I think I actually sobbed in relief at the sight of real solid land—lush green trees as far as the eye could see, mountains stacked on top of one another, rivers glinting in the afternoon sun. Nimun and I practically sagged in relief. She let out the most dramatic huff I had ever heard from her as we landed. She bucked me off and collapsed onto the ground, rolling around like the ground was a freshly beaten fur. Pyria said that ‘cats’ do the same thing when they get to lie in the sun. 

I brought a hand up to my comms, pressing on the small metal buttons “Hey everyone, just uh letting you know I’ve finally fu-uh.” I cleared my throat “I finally made it to the east. That journey sucked,” I laughed, sitting at the base of a massive tree. One hand still on the comm, the other gripping the grass below me.  

The comms weren't perfect, but Teylan assured me that once we made it to the Omatikaya, they would snap into the connection, and we would be able to talk back and forth like normal. But at this point? It was a one-way messaging system; they would be able to receive my ‘message’, but I couldn’t hear them. It would have to do for now. 

I sighed, letting my eyes close just for a moment as I felt the warmth of the sun on my face, if So’lek’s memory served right, whilst I joke he was an old man, his memory was sharp as a Stormglider's tooth. We shouldn't be too far away from the Teyrangi Clan. Once we rested for an hour or so, his memory was right, even over the ocean, he was proving himself. I swear I could see his smug look. 

When we arrived, I was greeted by the Olo’eykte, Ikenyni. I knew immediately not to fuck with her. She met me with this piercing stare, all cool autheroity but there was a flicker of curiosity. It seemed like the story of my clan's disappearance had made it all the way out here because she was shocked to even see a Sarentu. It took a while, but I was able to explain what happened to them, what happened to us. I saw her ears twitch, and her tail thrash in anger. Before she could push for more information, their Tsahik cut in, her voice gentle as she steered the conversation on how I survived, how I was able to come back from the ‘cold sleep’. 

We ended up staying with them for a few days, letting Numun rest amongst their Ikran whilst I trained under Ikeyni herself. She showed me all she knew about becoming one with your Ikran—she praised our bond, but scolded me for letting Nimun nip me so often. We left once one of the elders assured me that Nimun was well-rested for the rest of the journey. Flying for a few more days, we managed to meet new clans and catch our breath when we could; in fact, we met yet another clan who fought alongside Toruk Makto. 

The Olangi were especially kind, helping me stock my supplies with sweet fruits that both Nimun and I could have eaten hundreds of in exchange for stories and tales of the Western Front. If I was honest, they reminded me of the Zeswa, strong, good nature, but without most of the loud jokes and shoves, they even preferred to ride Pa’li to Ikran. Some warriors had one, but everyone in the clan, including the young ones, knew how to ride. Their Olo’eyktan, Akway, was full of advice and guff encouragement—who did that remind me of?—When I told him we were heading to the Omatikaya, he pointed us due east “Only an hour's flight,” he gestured, “and if you don't stop, you’ll make it by eclipse”  Yep, I could already feel Nimun biting my leg, again. 

I risked a glance over at Nimun whilst, by Ikeyni's words, we shared a stubborn soul, but that doesn't mean our stubbornness would last forever. Her wings weren't snapping like usual; she moved with a smooth, tired grace. I nodded my thanks to the Olo’eyktan before walking to Nimun. I gently stroked her side. “Just a little more, okay, and when we make it to the Omatikaya, I don’t care if the Tsahik demands it, you’ll be resting for a week straight, you don't even have to move from your spot, I’ll hand-feed you myslef” she gave the most unimpressed look before nipping at my hand, I hissed gently shaking away the pain. I sighed, hopping onto her back before waving to Akway and his clan before we took off again. The wind, for once, was working with us, like it was ushering us along. 

It was dusk when we landed, but something was wrong. I stayed on Nimun as I scanned the area where Akway said the Omatikaya village was supposed to be. The Kelku’s—the big communal area that should have been loud, full of life and conversation—was eerily quiet. The lanterns swaying gently in the breeze, the glow worms not even trying to illuminate, their usual bright shimmer now a dull and pale flicker. No voices, no music, just the wind rustling through the leaves and the distant haunting creaks of empty hammocks. This was fucking creepy. 

I slid off of Nimun, my heart hammered with every step as I wandered through the abandoned village. Amid the quiet, I could hear my own heart pumping blood through my body. I hated this, I hated this! Even Nimun was uneasy! She let out uncertain squeaks. She usually stomped around new places as she owned them, but here, she stuck close, her eyes wide and posture tense. 

“Uh, Hello?” I called out. How pathetic did that sound? I knew it wasn't the smartest move—if there was something dangerous, I had announced myself too—but part of me hoped anyone left would hear and come out, maybe explain what happened here, why everything felt so wrong. What did Tantey say before I left? ‘Greet the world with open arms,’ I suppose this was the best way to start, but the only answer was the slow, mournful groan of the wind and Nimun’s soft huff at my side.

I walked to the centre of the village, where a massive bonfire must have once burned bright and warm, where stories were told and songs sung, now reduced to a wide circle of blackened earth, the ashes long since scattered by the wind. “What happened here?” I lifted my hand to my throat “So’lek, are you sure this is the right place? There's no one here?” A soft breeze came out of nowhere, making my face scrunch. I took in the empty space, the way the shadows pooled in the corners, thick and unmoving. I started into the treeline, my eyes locked onto one spot, praying that I could see anything, I’d even take the movement of a hexaped, but nothing. The gust of breeze gone, the world had frozen.

I bit the inner part of my lip before blinking; I had mentioned that I hated this. I shook my head, breaking whatever spell I was under, before walking towards Nimun. “Let’s just go back to the Olangi and try again in the morning-” something made me turn, I didnt know what I was, but I—I needed to. I heard Nimun screech, almost offended that I turned my back on her. 

My heart thudded, my ears folded. There I just stood only a moment ago—a soft, drifting glow, impossibly gentle. A woodsprite, I only saw them a few times back in the Kinglor forest. Anufi explained that they were the seeds of the tree of voices, omens. A symbol ethier sent by someone who had something to say, or—and of course—a message from Ewya. I sighed, squeezing my eyes tight before letting my shoulder drops. “Hello friend,” I grumbled softly as I walked towards it. 

As much as I wanted to fight it, I was tired, my bones ached and seeing something that reminded me of home—I let the softest of smiles cross my face. I reached out, carefully and slowly, expecting it to flit away from me, repulsed by my touch. But to my shock, it rested on my hand, then, as if it were a secret signal, even more Atokirina began to drift down, swirling around me in a silent, sparkling dance. Their tiny feet brushed my arms, and for a moment, the emptiness didn’t feel quite so lonely.

I watched from my hidden perch as the stranger walked around the heart of our old home, her every movement tense and wary, like a Nangtang deciding if a Talioang was prey worth hunting, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow, as if expecting danger to leap from the ruined hammocks. She’d landed at least ten minutes ago; her Ikran was restless on the outskirts, wings twitching, muscles tense, ready to fly at a second's notice. 

The silence was thick, only broken by a creaking of old wood. I crouched at my old watchpoint—a high branch overlooking the communal area. I used to sit here for hours as a child, legs swinging, watching my people gather around the fire; the air was alive with laughter and the scent of cooking meats. Now? This place was just that, a memory. All the joy and life were sucked away at the Sky People’s return. Word had come from one of the patrols in the west sector: a stranger had been spotted meeting with neighbouring clans, asking far too many questions, and now she was here, right on our front door. 

She was strange—wrapped in a patchwork of clan memorabilia, beads, feathers, and colourfully dyed clothes in too many styles to belong to just one clan. There was something unsettling about her, something that made the hair on my neck rise. As she turned, a glint of metal caught in the dim light of the lantern: a gun, strapped to her thigh, then on her neck, a dog tag hung. Sky people things? Yet she was Na’vi, there wasn't any doubt—her skin was the true azure of Pandora, not the washed-out flesh of an Avatar. I squinted, trying to recall any lessons my father had drilled into me about outsiders, about the signs of RDA. Nothing useful came to mind. 

I bit back an annoyed sound as I tightened my grip on my bow, the wood smooth where years of training had worn it. I drew an arrow, notched it and pulled back the string, aiming—not at her heart, but just past her shoulder, a warning shot if it came down to it. My breath slowed, muscles coiling, every sense sharpened by the cool air and the tension humming in my veins. But as I drew the string back further, a flicker of movement caught my eye—a pale, weightless shape drifting down.

An Atokirina, gentle and unrushed, settled on the arrowed tip, its tiny tendrils glowing faintly in the dusk. It was as if Eywa herself had sent a gentle hand to still my own. I didnt need words, a loud gesture or a sign; this was enough. The message was clear: Lower your aim, mighty warrior. This is no enemy of yours. 

A sharp, almost hissing breath caused my ear to twitch—someone was watching me. I tried to calm my thundering heart. Okay, there was only a small stretch of area where they could see me, front, left, and right. I was covered from the back. I forced a calm I didnt feel. I made my gaze follow the Atokirina that drifted off into the forest. Think, what's next? Who could it be? Not RDA, they are careful or stealthy in the slightest, not to mention they would have shot by now. Na’vi then. There was no use fighting someone on their own turf with no weapon, hey Nimun wanna waddle over here or no? No, sweet. The only things I had were an empty gun and Tamtey’s knife, both useless in this situation. If worst comes to worse I can launch the gun at them, but I think that would just shock them and not do any actual damage. 

I sighed. Whelp, here you go, Tamtey. Open arms. I lifted my hands, showing I had no weapons. I was defenceless. “I know you're there, there's no need to fight.” I looked arond nothing, not a hint of movement “My name is {Y/N} te Elusa Kipsi’ite. I’ve come from the West to meet with the Olo’eytan of the Omatikaya. Do you know where they are? What happened here?” My words hung in the air, swallowed by the hush that fell over the forest. Come, you bitch come out.  

Then, in the exact spot where I’d heard that breath, a figure suddenly dropped from the hanging tree above, landing lightly as if they were weightless. He looked to be around my age, tall and lean, with amber eyes that flicked over me in a quick, assessing glance. His face was unreadable, carved from stone, though I just caught the smallest flicker of curiosity—maybe it was suspicion—in his gaze. For a moment, he reminded me of an unbonded Ikran, wary and ready for a fight, muscles ready to redraw that bow in a heartbeat. I kept my posture open, don't provoke him. Open arms, open arms {Y/N}. 

“You’ve come to see my father?” His voice was deep, not as deep as So’lek’s or Itu’s, but I could easily see a future where his voice deepened into a rich timbre. As he stepped into a dim light, I could finally see him; he was—different—I couldn’t help the subtle tilt of my head. He was broad for a Na’vi, tall too. Definitely carrying himself with the pride of an Olo’eyktan’s son. “Does he know?” his voice broke me out of my studying. 

I nodded, keeping my hands risen “He should, I’m a part of the resistance, they radioed over a month ago.”  My nerves buzzed underneath my skin; you could cut the tension with a dulled knife. I watched as his eyes roamed over me in a way that made my tail twitch and my posture stiffen. I had been inspected by Olo’eyktans and their Tsahik’s before, the clans mighiest warriors who could snap me in half if they wanted, hunted by predators that made still running blood cold, creep soilders back in TAP with eyes that held nothing but their sick wants. But the way he looked at me made me feel utterly vulnerable. I swear he could see right through me, past the false confidence. I wonder if he could tell I was itching to grab my knife; let's hope not. 

Slowly, I watched as his hand came to his throat, my tail lashed, and he had a throat comm too. “Pathfinder to Devil Dog, do you copy?” his voice low and controlled. Call signs? That was actually so smart; we had just been using our actual names like dumbasses. Maybe I could suggest it to Teylan—though I could already smell the chaos that would stir up. 

Teylan would be something science-y, like Einstein?  I don't know, I never paid attention to those lectures. So’lek would just use the nickname the RDA gave him, ‘Dogtag.’ Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he just wanted to be called So’lek, Tamtey? Who knows with her, it could be something totally random or just Sarentu, since nearly the entire clan she went to just referred to her as our clan name. The idea of them throwing around random names almost made me smile, the tension in my shoulders easing just a bit as I watched him wait for a response from ‘Devil Dog’. 

My ear twitched as the static of his communicator came alive. He nodded his shoulders, sank a little, his eyes meeting mine. “Come” was the only word he said, his tone casual but his eyes still sharp and watchful. Without missing a beat, he let out a sharp melodic chip—a call to his Ikran. 

I watched as he strode ahead, no hesitation in his steps. I turned to find Nimun standing off to the side; she just let this whole altercation happen without so much as a scary roar or threatening flap of her wings. “Some guard you are, you overgrown lizard,” I muttered, walking towards her, giving her snot a gentle flick. She chirped back, all attitude. I gave her a hiss as she attempted to nip at my hand.

We both paused to watch ‘Pathfinders’ Ikran swoop down from the canopy—a stunning male painted the most vivid green I had ever seen, jagged yellows scarred his sides like lightning. He was gorgeous, strong too, but it seemed he liked to show off as he glided to his rider. With a practised swing, I threw myself onto Nimun’s back,  connecting our Kuru’s. I couldn't help the shiver as I felt her tense beneath me; she was just as nervous as I was, but she was ten times better at hiding it.  I nudged her forward, and together we fell behind the strangers. 

I couldn’t help but stare, eyes wide and jaw practically hanging open, as I realised where we were headed: the Hallelujah Mountains. The stories So’lek had spun about them never did justice to the real thing. They soared above us, impossibly huge, with more floating islands than I could count—each one draped in lush greenery and tangled vines, mist curling around their bases like shy ghosts.

Even the floating islands back in the Kinglor forest seemed tiny compared to these giants, and for a second, I felt like a child again, awestruck by the sheer scale of Pandora’s wonders. The mountains here even rivalled the ones I’d glimpsed near Tourk’s Point, but these felt wilder, almost alive, shifting in the sunlight and casting dizzying shadows on the world below.

My head snapped in Pathfinder’s direction as he suddenly yipped loudly, then, with a sudden deep swoop, dove his Ikran towards a gap in the mountains. The wind whipped past my ears sharply as I urged Nimun to follow, her muscle bunches beneath me. Pathfinder flew into the opening with known ease, disconnecting from his Ikran. Unsure, I tried to copy him. It was—much less graceful— but it worked. The landing was a blur of claws and swirling dust, the sight of a young Na’vi rushing over and starting to tend to Pathfinders' Ikran made me groan. This wasn't going to go well in the slightest. I was too late to warn another young Na’vi from approaching Nimun before she arched her neck and batted her wings, this overprotective, lazy.

I slid off of the bucking moron, reaching up to stroke her neck “Easy! Easy Nimun,” I gently flicked her snout, making her glare at me “You can rest, okay? I’ll be fine. Let these kind people look after you,” I heard Pathfinder’s Ikran squawk at Nimun, who wasted no time squawking back, the two launching into as loud a back and forth. After a moment, Nimun gave a resigned huff, shooting me one last look of annoyance as she allowed the Na’vi to tend to her—though she kept her tail flicking, just in case anyone got any funny idea. This bitch. “So you'll listen to a man you just met but not me,” she huffed, a puff of air making my hair move, “rude.” 

I stuck close behind Pathfinder, not wanting to risk losing him in the labyrinth of the mountain halls and ending up somewhere I didnt want to be or falling out of the mountain in a random exit point. The tunnels twisted and turned, with beams of sunlight filtering through cracks above, casting shifting patterns on the mossy stone beneath our feet. Open arms? Yeah, right, every Na’vi we passed looked at me like I was a threat to destroy. I refused to let them see how nervous I was, so I walked behind Pathfinder with fake confidence, back straight and ears pricked. Was this what Tamtey had to go through every time she met with a new clan? If so, she can keep the job.

My eyes darted everywhere, drinking in the chaotic blend of Na’vi tradition and sky people tech. It all felt like HQ had been picked up and dropped into the heart of a mountain, but with more vines. Resistance members moved through the tunnels—all in exo-packs, tapping away at holopads or fiddling with gadgets that reminded me of S.I.D. The urge to bombard them with questions burned at the tip of my tongue, but one glance at Pathfinder’s stone-cold expression told me to keep quiet and keep moving. 

Eventually, we reached the heart of the mountain, where rows of kelkus clustered together like a little village, and looming at the very back was a massive human base, its metal walls gleaming under the eco-friendly generators that chugged away, powering the whole place with a steady, reassuring hum.

“Bring her to me”, a mighty voice echoed throughout the heart of the mountain. Was it too late to turn tail and book it back home, or no? Pathfinder nodded towards the voice, urging me forward; he even gently pushed me towards the voice. I kept my head high, but gaze lowered, running through every single step So’lek taught me. I walked under Pathfind, who halted me, his arm stretched out in front of me. The Omatikaya gathered around, surrounding me so there was literally no chance of escape. 

“Grandmother, I see you.” Grandmother, of course, I wasn't just found the Olo’ekyan’s son but the Tsahik’s grandson; at least I didn’t make a fool of myself. I took a chance to look up, and who I was was probably the wisest-looking woman I had ever seen. She walked up to me, and I could feel her gaze looking through me, at every inch of who I was, her hands lithe as she grabbed my queue, tracing the braid and grazing the feathers and beads. She stood in front of me, her hand tracing my jaw until she tilted my head to look at her. 

Have you ever looked at someone who was bigger than you, not in the way of size, but in the way that they are just meant for more, that they have a path in this life that was so important they seemed so untouchable? This was her, in a single gaze; she held the knowledge of shit I couldn't imagine. Her amber eyes scanned my face before landing on my mark, the one made when I was born. Suddenly, that all-knowing gaze was replaced by a look I had never seen someone give me before. She cupped my face, her thumb tracing the mark. 

“Sarentu,” she whispered, “You’ve returned to us. After all this time.” She traced my features. I wondered what she saw. Did she see my father's eyes? Or even my mother's nose “What is your name, child?” 

“{Y/N} te Elusa Kipsi’ite.” Her brow furrowed at my name. Was that wrong? I wanted to slap myself thats your damn name, you fucking idiot. She let my face go before placing her hands on my shoulders.

“The Sarentu are welcomed into the Ometikaya. You have suffered a long journey to get to us.” Did she? There was no way she could have possibly known, right? “Neteyam, bring her to your father. Jake Sulli will guide you from there.” With a final squeeze, she released me.  I looked over to Pathfinder, Neteyam? That’s a nice name. Neteyam looked annoyed. His tail thrashed, and his nose scrunched before nodding me to follow him. As I stepped away, I turned to look at the Tsahik. She watched me, unmoving. What did she know? 

Neteyam led me deeper into the heart of the mountain, towards the Kelku’s, where my eyes immediately locked onto the one person whom everyone seemed to orbit around—Jake Sully. He was taller than I expected, broad-shouldered and carrying himself with that quiet, unshakeable authority you only ever hear about in stories. For a split second, his presence made me feel absurdly small, like I was a kid caught sneaking around the bunks after being told lights out, and I had to force myself not to shrink under his gaze.

I quickly averted my eyes, trying not to look like I was intimidated, even if I absolutely was, and pressed my fingers to my forehead before lowering my hand in the traditional greeting. “I see you, Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya.” My voice came out steady but not too sharp, hoping to show respect without sounding stiff or desperate to impress. He returned the gesture, his own movements measured and dignified, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as if he’d seen a thousand greetings just like this one.

“I see you. Alma spoke very highly of you,” he said, his words rolling out in a Na’vi that was almost perfect, but not quite—each syllable tinged with an accent that sounded strange and familiar all at once. It reminded me of those early days after we’d first escaped TAP, when our words tumbled out in a messy blend of old and new. My tail flicked involuntarily at the mention of Alma, a flash of emotion I tried to hide, but apparently not well enough—Pathfinder’s eyes narrowed, catching every twitch.

“I hope not too highly—those praises should really be saved for my sister,” I said, letting myself smile, feeling the knot of tension in my shoulders loosen just a little. With permission, I finally met his eyes. 

It looks like his genes lost the dice game when it came to his son. Neteyam didnt look anything like Jake; in fact, I think the only thing he passed on was his height and build. “Thank you for letting me stay with your people. Did…” I hesitated, her name catching on my tongue like a burr, “Alma, explain everything?” I watched him closely, trying to read if I needed to launch into the whole story from the top. He shook his head, the gesture slow and reassuring.

“No, she only told me what I needed to know,” Jake replied. He gestured around at the unconventional setting, a rueful look softening his features. “This isn’t exactly the village I wanted you to see, but with the RDA back, it’s safer for my people to stay hidden.” My ear twitched at the mention of the RDA, a ripple of worry and curiosity passing through me. Maybe I’d bring it up later, but for now, I just nodded, wondering quietly if there was some way I could help—lend my skills to their cause, if they’d have me.

“You must be exhausted,” he said, a hint of warmth breaking through the formality as he gestured toward Neteyam, “You’ve met my son, Neteyam. He’ll show you to your Kelku, and my mate will come find you when it’s time for dinner.” The promise of rest and a meal after this whirlwind of first impressions felt like a blessing, and for the first time since landing, I allowed myself to breathe just a little easier.

Neteyam didn’t look thrilled to be saddled with newcomer duty—his mouth pressed in a thin line, shoulders set just a bit too stiff. Jake shot him a look, and something unspoken passed between them, a flicker of family code that made me feel like I was intruding on a private conversation. Maybe all clans had this complicated dance of hierarchy and silent expectations when a stranger arrived, or maybe it was just the Sully family way. Either way, Neteyam gave a clipped nod to his father, then turned to me and jerked his chin, a silent command to follow. Did he even speak? I swear this was the fourth time he just gestured at me. 

As I fell in step behind him, I tried not to gawk like a wide-eyed kid seeing the world for the first time, but curiosity got the better of me. The place buzzed with life—Na’vi of all ages milling around, the air filled with laughter and the soft thump of bare feet on packed earth. A gaggle of children darted past, shrieking with joy as they chased each other, waving makeshift toys overhead. I squinted, trying to make out what they were holding, but the chorus of playful squawks gave it away—miniature Ikran, carved and painted with loving detail, their little wings flapping wildly as the kids ran circles around each other, lost in their own world of adventure.

“Here, this will be yours,” Neteyam said, pulling back the flap of the Kelku and letting me duck under his arm into the cozy little space. It wasn’t nearly as big as the family kelkus I’d glimpsed on the way in, but honestly, it felt more than enough—just having a spot to call my own, even if it was barely bigger than a storage nook, sent a strange wave of relief through me. The place was simple but clean, with woven mats lining the floor and a hammock strung up in the corner, swaying ever so slightly as the breeze slipped through the entrance.

I noticed my bags—someone must’ve already brought them in from Nimun, neat and stacked by the wall. The familiar sight grounded me, a small comfort in all the newness. Neteyam lingered by the entrance, eyes flickering from my face to the rest of the Kelku, something unreadable in his expression. “Is everything okay?” he asked, his tone softer than before, almost awkward, like he wasn’t used to playing host.

“Sorry—it’s perfect, thank you, Neteyam.” I managed a tired smile, hoping it showed just how grateful I was. He gave a small nod, scanning me one last time, and then let the flap fall closed, sealing me in with a hush that felt both safe and strangely lonely. The moment he left, I realised I’d been holding my breath for what felt like hours, and let it out in a slow, shaky sigh.

For a long moment, I just stood there, soaking in my surroundings—the soft rustle of the hammock, the filtered glow of sunlight through woven walls, the faint hum of voices from outside. I didn’t bother unpacking or organising. Instead, I made a beeline for the hammock, sinking into its gentle sway and letting exhaustion crash over me like a wave. For the first time since I’d arrived, I let my eyes drift shut and finally settle into sleep.

He could already picture his sister the second he got home—yelling his ear off about how ‘we already trashed Earth, and now you’re helping ruin another planet!’ Same old hippy rants. But hey, who was paying for her college degree? Definitely not their deadbeat dad. It was him, and this job. Still, being 6.45 light-years away made him miss the chaos of family, even with all the yelling.

He was standing alone at the top of the extractor, just kind of zoning out. Not that there was much to see—everything around looked dead, like their work had sucked the life out of the land. Even the animals they’d been warned about in training wouldn’t come anywhere near the site. He glanced down at his RDA-issued gun. Some of the guys decorated theirs with stickers or weird knick-knacks. One girl on the east crew had, like, a dozen charms dangling from hers. Jones? He just had the one.

He and his sister didn’t exactly get along—they fought more than they actually talked—but he was still her big brother. Before he shipped out, she shoved a little gift in his hand and told him not to do anything stupid. He couldn’t help but smile thinking about it. It was their dumb inside joke: a tiny brown teddy bear with a blue bow. When they were kids, they played that old re-remake together, and both had a ridiculous crush on Ada Wong. Some things never changed.

The lights died.

His head snapped up, and he gripped his gun a little tighter. Suddenly, the whole site went dark, and everyone got twitchy. The only thing he could hear was the weird nighttime noises—the yips and groans of creatures he definitely couldn’t identify. His comms crackled in his ear: “Jones, what’s going on?” He scrambled to look down his scope, scanning for anything at all. Nothing, just the usual crew moving around, their mask lights flickering on and lighting up little patches here and there. Creepy, but still nothing.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but a cold, crawling feeling crept up his spine. Something made him glance toward the edge of the site—was that something moving in the shadows? He squinted, eyes straining, but the darkness seemed to swallow everything. The world went silent, too silent, like the whole place was holding its breath. He wasn’t alone anymore—he could feel it. A little light flickered in the distance, looked like a soldier on the edge. He was just about to call it in when—the light was gone. What the hell? “Commander, the guy on the north edge just lost his light,” he said into the radio, voice a little shakier than he’d like, heart thudding in his ears.

“Copy, Ryder and Kolswalski, check it out.” Jones didn’t even bother watching the soldiers head out—he just kept his eyes glued to the treeline. Another guy to the east was standing there, his back to the jungle, and as soon as he turned around, his light blinked out, too.

“Another one out, commander,” Jones reported, before the commander could respond. Ryder's voice crackled through the comms, panicked.

“Shit! Commander, Grimes is down!” Ryder’s voice cracked, desperate, and then—something wet and awful gurgled over the comms. Jones froze. For a second, he couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. He swung his scope back around, and his stomach turned to ice. Ryder was just gone—an arrow through the neck, his body crumpling like a puppet whose strings were cut. Silence, then… a song. A strange, haunting melody drifted through the night, too beautiful and too cold. It sounded like death itself was singing. Jones shivered. He never wanted to hear that sound again.

“Natives!” Kolswalski screamed, his voice breaking through the comms like a dying animal. Chaos exploded. Mask lights blinked out one after another, swallowed by the darkness—pop, pop, pop—like eyes winking shut for good. “Which one is it?” someone yelled, voice high and thin with terror. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” another kept repeating. Rifle shots cracked in the dark, wild and desperate, bullets whizzing into the void. Michael’s hands shook as he locked his scope onto the commander—and saw pure, bone-deep fear. The kind that meant none of them were getting out alive.

“Scylla!” the commander howled, voice ragged and full of terror, trying to drown out that eerie song. He spun, firing blindly in every direction—panic and madness in every shot. Michael’s heart slammed in his chest. The commander was hitting their own people, cutting them down in the chaos. Mask lights winked out, bodies fell. Scylla. The monster from whispered stories, Michael realised, with a cold certainty, that those stories never ended well. There were three monsters from these stories.

The Dog-tag Warrior— thirteen feet tall, and killed RDA soldiers for fun, they said his entire body was decorated with the tags of those he killed.

Death on Wings — The Sarentu Olo’eykete, who took down every single RDA facility in less than a month, she and that Ikran were monsters, you’d see her one send then the next, she was gone, her Ikran would bomb from the sky and rip apart any AMP suit you put in front of them.

Scylla was new, another Sarentu with generational beef. She only attacked at the darkest hour; the only warning you got was that song. She only ever aimed for the neck, right underneath.

Michael’s eyes went wide as the horror finally hit. Turn off the damn light—now! His hands shook so badly he could barely move, cold sweat pouring down his back. Down in the middle of the site, Scylla walked right up to the commander, who was still firing his empty rifle, lost in terror. She raised her arrow and, with terrifying calm, slit his throat—no hesitation, no mercy. Blood sprayed in the darkness. Scylla looked around, her eyes catching every movement, every sound. The whole site was dead—no lights, no backup, just Michael and the thing that haunted every soldier’s nightmares. Then she stopped. Slowly, her head turned, and her eyes locked onto his. Michael’s heart stuttered. He dropped to the floor of the extractor, hands clawing for the mask light, sobbing, panic breaking him apart as he finally hit the button. He was in complete darkness.

That didn’t stop her. A heavy thud rattled the extractor, the metal groaning around him. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Then, he felt it—a cold breath on the back of his neck. He froze, every instinct screaming. The darkness pressed in, the smell of blood and fear sharp in his nose. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. The last thing he felt was the weight of something inhuman, and then—nothing.

“There you are, how did it go?” Tamtey smiled as she pulled me into a hug. I grinned, hugging her back, my tail trashing happily. We had been through a lot after Mercer died.  Seeing her smile felt like a little miracle. Cleaning up the rest of the frontier was top of the to-do list. Tamtey handled the big, scary facilities, and I took on the outposts—basically, we made an awesome team. HQ was buzzing, as usual, with resistance folks running around doing whatever needed doing. Even some Na’vi from other clans liked to hang out at the base now. They’d drift off home for a bit, but always popped back when they needed a break or just wanted to gossip. Literally, everyone was welcome.

“Good! Took down the extractor in, like, two seconds.” No need to share the gross details—they got the picture. Tamtey laughed and gave me a playful shove as we headed inside. Humans were running around everywhere with reports, charts, and whatever else they thought was important. Honestly, I just tuned it out.

“What’s this?” Tamtey asked, fiddling with the little charm I’d braided into my hair.

“Oh! No clue! Found it at the outpost, just hanging off one of their guns,” I said, smiling up at her. “Isn’t it cute though?” Tamtey cracked up, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe me. Wild to think that just a few months ago, I was all rage and doom and wanted to blow up everything in sight. Now I’m here, collecting shiny things and decorating my hair.

“Your friends will want one now. You might have to ask Anufi if she knows any carvers who can teach you,” Tamtey teased. I gasped—oh, they’d be obsessed! Imagine us all matching. I was about to launch into a full-on ramble about all the things I wanted to carve when Pyria swooped in and cut me off.

“Hey, ladies! Sorry to interrupt—Tamtey, can I borrow you for a sec?” I groaned, all dramatic, and Tamtey just nudged me back toward the entrance.

“Go see Anufi, she misses you!” Tamtey called after me. Well, perfect timing. I waved at them and headed for the cave entrance, calling for Nimun as I went. I had a whole list of things to talk to the Tsahik about, and honestly, I just hoped I was doing the right thing. 

“Rongloa Teykusing, Ma’Tskxevi, are you sure?” Anufi asked, her voice soft as she wrapped me up in smoke. I gotta admit, I’m way closer to Anufi than Etuwa—she’s just more comforting, like your favourite aunt who always knows what to say. If I ever needed advice or just someone to vent to about stuff So’lek couldn’t help with, I’d go straight to her. Actually, she’s the one who told me about my parents in the first place.

When we first met, I honestly thought she was going to pass out. For a second, she looked at me like I was some ghost from her past. Then she just pulled me in for a huge hug and told me I looked exactly like my mom, but with my dad’s eyes. After that, I basically stuck to her like glue. She never pressured me about Eywa stuff the way Nor or Ri’nela did—she just got it. I remember her saying, “Ma Eywa has never abandoned you, my child; she sees your wounds, she shares your pain. There isn’t a day she doesn’t miss your people’s songs; she is eager to meet you and will wait until you’re ready.” That was the first real, honest conversation we had once the whole Mercer mess was over.

“You said the Sarentu—and even my dad—did Rongloa Teykusing for generations. I don’t want to be the one who lets that die out.” My voice came out all soft and weird, but this just felt important, you know? I ran my thumb over the carved bone—my dad actually made it for me. Before I was born, he lived with a clan way out on the other side of Pandora, masters of bone carving and stargazing. Anufi once told me my parents prayed to Eywa for months after they bonded, and once it was confirmed my mother was pregnant, my father spent days by the tree of voices carving this for me. 

“Mhm, is there a clan you had in mind?” Anufi asked as she finished up the cleansing, already grabbing her material to resume making her medicines. My ears folded back—I couldn’t help it. Ugh, I hated that I’d even talked to Alma about this. Let me tell you, it was not a friendly chat. The whole time I stood there, arms crossed, glaring, tail flicking like I was about to take someone’s head off. Classic. Alma suggested the Omatikaya. I mean, it makes sense—their leader is literally the head of the whole resistance, so having someone to bridge the western and eastern fronts could actually be useful. Plus, Alma could message him ahead to let him know I was coming, so I wouldn’t show up like some lost puppy and get turned away.

“Mhm, is there a clan you had in mind?” Anufi asked as she finished up the cleansing, already grabbing her material to resume making her medicines. My ears folded back—I couldn’t help it. Ugh, I hated that I’d even talked to Alma about this. Let me tell you, it was not a friendly chat. The whole time I stood there, arms crossed, glaring, tail flicking like I was about to take someone’s head off. Classic. Alma suggested the Omatikaya. I mean, it makes sense—their leader is literally the head of the whole resistance, so having someone to bridge the western and eastern fronts could actually be useful. Plus, Alma could message him ahead to let him know I was coming, so I wouldn’t show up like some lost puppy and get turned away.

“The Ometikaya, Alma,” I practically spat, rolling my eyes. “She’s chatting with the Olo’eyktan right now.” I couldn’t help myself—snagged a berry and popped it into my mouth. Anufi gave my hand a gentle slap.

“Jake Sulli, Toruk Makto,” Anufi hummed. “He was once a dreamwalker.” My ear twitched. That name was familiar—Some people at HQ would speak about Jake and his efforts against the RDA, and I remembered the day we went into Cryosleep was because he went rogue and made the RDA tuck tail and run. Still, it confused me. How does some ex-human marine end up leading the clan that the RDA tried so hard to wipe out?

“So… why’d people even trust him? To lead?” I asked, flopping back onto the woven mat and sneaking another berry from her pile. Couldn’t resist.

“There are lots of reasons, Entu. Your ancestor bonded with Toruk when the clans were divided, too. There have only been six riders in our history—and everyone says if you ride the beast, Eywa herself has picked you.”

I just went quiet—Eywa again. Okay, maybe there’s some confusion about how I actually feel about the ‘All Mother.’ I know she’s real. I’ve never doubted that. But I’m pissed at her. I just don’t get it. If people are suffering, why doesn’t she step in? If it’s all part of her plan, why does it have to be so vague and confusing? And what’s with the whole “giant Ikran picks the boss” thing? It just feels… unfair sometimes. Like, is she really watching, or is she just letting us figure it out and hoping we don’t mess it all up?

Honestly, sometimes I wonder if Eywa even cares about what’s happening down here, or if she just sets things in motion and sits back with some cosmic popcorn to see how we handle it. Maybe that’s blasphemy. She’s this great, all-seeing force of nature, but that doesn’t make it easier to swallow when good people suffer or when things just… don’t make sense. I know faith is supposed to mean trusting even when you don’t have all the answers, but some days it feels like Eywa’s answers are locked in a language nobody speaks anymore. 

“What do the other Sarentu think of this choice?” Anufi broke me out of my thoughts. I looked at her with a sheepish grin.

“They uh, they don't know” Anufi paused, looking at me with a confused look on her face “I-I know I need to talk about this with them, especially with Ri’nela, but-” 

“When you leave, you will go straight to Ri’nela to discuss this. She is your Tsahik; her decision on this is final”  I folded my ears and looked down at my hands. I hated getting scolded by her. 

“Yes, Tsahik.” 

“Are you sure about this?” I sat in front of Ri’nela and Tamtey; the glow of the Tarsyu behind them looked entirely haunting. I just poured my heart out to them about how I felt this was my contribution to our clan and its traditions. Tamtey hadn’t spoken; she hadn't uttered a single word. She sat there, her hands clenched. “Have you…consulted with Eywa?” Ri’nela continued, I looked down, shaking my head.

“You’re the Tsahik—you’re supposed to know what Eywa wants for the clan,” I blurted out, not really sure if I was making any sense. The moss under us glowed a little brighter, like it was listening in on our conversation. The silence stretched for a second before Ri’nela just hummed, like she was trying to remember the right words or maybe just buying herself some time. 

“I will—consult with Eywa. Hopefully, I’ll have an answer for you in the morning,” she said, calm and serious, not even a flicker of doubt. She nodded toward the hill. “Go on, you’ll need to let everyone else know what you intend to do.” I stood there for a second, feeling a little awkward. So I gave a tiny nod and shuffled off, Sisters, right? They always know how to make things feel ten times heavier.

The two sat together in silence for a long time. The night sounds of Pandora were gentle, but they did nothing to calm the older girls.

“It's tradition,” Ri’nela said, her voice rough as she stood, shoulders shaking. She sniffled and reached for her queue, wiping away a tear. Tamtey clenched her jaw and stood too, her tail lashing in frustration, showing the tension between them.

“She’s a kid, Nela, she's only seventeen,” Tamtey pleaded, her voice shaky as she held the Tarsyu stem away from Ri’nela, her hands trembling. The Tsahik let out a sigh and reached for the stem, her face torn between duty and worry.

“Every Sarentu at seventeen went through this,” Ri’nela said, her voice gentler as she tried to reason with Tamtey. Tamtey only shook her head, lips pressed tight in defiance.

“But it isn't safe for her,” Tamtey said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Ri’nela finally took the tendril from Tamtey, moving slowly and carefully, as if afraid of what would happen next.

“Mercer is dead, Tamtey. There is no more RDA in the western frontier.” Before she could finish, Tamtey met Ri’nela’s eyes, tears gathering at the corners. Her ears drooped, and her tail went limp, the fight leaving her as old pain returned.

“I can't lose another sister.” Her words hung in the night, full of fear and grief, the pain of past loss clear in her voice.

“Oh, Tamtey,” Ri’nela whispered, stepping closer, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She placed a gentle hand on Tamtey’s shoulder. “{Y/N} isn’t Aha’ri; she has Nimun. Eywa has this plan for her, no matter how hard she tries to fight it. This is her will.”  Tamtey shook her head. 

“Will Eywa be kind to her?” She asked, her voice was broken, Ri’nela hadn’t heard her like this in years. 

“Let me discuss with her, let me see our sisters' fate.” 

Ri’nela looked up with eyes that weren’t her own; the vision was blurry, unfocused. Panic began to well before that song. The panic disappeared in an instant, our song, the song Aha’ri used to sing to us. The only thing that kept us connected to our clan, it was so clear. The world began to unfog. 

Between the mist, there was a fire, flames that licked through the cloud, relieving families, so many dancing and singing in joy. To her right, a figure came into her vision: an older woman, her hair braided, adorned with feather pearls and beads so colourful they rivalled the murals painted on the nearby rockfaces. She was the one who was signing. 

“Mama?” A voice that was not her own spoke; it was sweet and so small. The woman turned to her, that crooked smile she loved so much spread across her face. She was beautiful. 

“What are you doing awake again, my child? You should be asleep,” she cooed, reaching over to take her into her arms. How odd, usually the roles were reversed. 

“Where’s brothers? “ She yawned, looked to the older woman. She had brothers. Ri’nela felt her heart squeeze. The older woman looked towards the blazing fire, a gentle smile on her face, love soaked in her eyes. 

“Si’onu and Teyaka are out enjoying the moot,” She looked back to her, her hand coming to gently caress her face, her warm hand easing the unknowing annoyance that settled in Ri’nela’s stomach. A jingle caught her attention; she heard it a million times, running into the base with a new flower or a new trinket she found. 

The older woman smiled as she realised what had grabbed her attention, she laughed, lifting up her songcord. It was so long and so full, she couldn't help the bubbling laughter that escaped her as her chubby little hands chased after the cord, pearls and blue amber beads with a drop of blood within, dangled just out of her reach. “You love my songcord, don't you?” Her laugh was so warm “One day, you will have a long and beautiful songcord of your own, to tell your story.” 

“Ma’Muntxa, why are you not—” A much deeper voice Ri’nela had never heard before came from behind her. The older woman looked up; she wasn't sure if any more love could fit in her eyes. “Ah! This is why” Ri’nela was suddenly lifted and met the deep amber eyes of the man who held her up “Ma’yawne is awake again! Come, we can’t leave you brothers to act like fools without us, Ma’{Y/N} join us”

The morning painted Pandora a soft gold, the light spilling over the treetops and making the mist glow in this weird, almost magical way. It was way quieter than usual—even up here, there’s always some noise, like bugs clicking or those little wild Ikrans screeching. But today? Nothing. Just me and the silence. I let myself just take it in for a second, breathing in, letting my brain go blank, just like So’lek always tells me to do. It felt pretty good.

The morning painted Pandora a soft gold, the light spilling over the treetops and making the mist glow in this weird, almost magical way. It was way quieter than usual—even up here, there’s always some noise, like bugs clicking or those little wild Ikrans screeching. But today? Nothing. Just me and the silence. I let myself just take it in for a second, breathing in, letting my brain go blank, just like So’lek always tells me to do. It felt pretty good.

Suddenly, there was this sharp crack—it made my ear twitch. But I couldn’t help grinning, because I knew exactly who it was. There’s only one person who’d bother flying all the way out here with me. Every single morning, we’d just take off, come up to these peaks, and hang out. We’d sit, talk, or just go off about literally anything, no matter how random. Sometimes he’d just lean against me, all casual, but the warmth from his arm would sneak over, and it was like having a silent promise that everything was okay. There was a comfort in just being near him, no big speeches, no awkwardness—just us and the sky.

Iley waddled over to Nimun, the two of them preening and squawking like they were gossiping about everyone back at HQ. Iley kept giving Nimun these tiny, goofy nips—like your mom fixing your hair before you go out. It made me snort, even with that weird tight feeling in my chest.

So’lek flopped down next to me, bumping my shoulder like he always does. We just sat there, watching the wind shove clouds out of the way so Hometree could peek through. Even from up here, you could see those wild colours the Aranahe painted all over it. Even with a picture-perfect morning, I couldn't help but feel a knot tighten in my chest. I hated this.

He noticed, of course, he did. So’lek always notices, even when I’m trying to be all tough and unreadable. He nudged me, just a little, and he grinned, like he was letting me know he’d stick around no matter what weird mood I was in. That alone made everything feel a little less scary.

“Why are you always zoning out, Tskxevi?” he asked, voice so soft it actually made me pay attention. I let out this long sigh and leaned on him, head right on his shoulder. He glanced down at me, and for a second, I wondered who he saw, did see that frighten kid who he pulled out of TAP, or did he see Scylla? Maybe he just saw the girl he held during thunderstorms.

“I” the words stuck in my throat, barely a whisper. This wasn't goodbye; hell, I wasn't even leaving yet! But for some fucking dumb reason, it felt like the end. I stared at a flock of wild Ikran gliding through the fog—way easier than looking at So’lek. If I looked at him, I’d probably just melt and forget about all my plans, just stay here forever. “I… asked Ri’nela to do Rongloa Teykusing,” I finally blurted out, voice all shaky. The words just kind of hung there, awkward and quiet. Did I say it too quiet? Was he ignoring me?

He didn’t say anything for a second, just let the moment breathe. Then his hand found mine again, and he squeezed it, grounding me. “Where will you go?” he asked, and nope, I couldn’t do this. His voice was so soft it made my heart ache. I wanted to call the whole thing off, just say it was a dumb idea and stay right here forever so he’d never sound like that again. I curled up against him and, without missing a beat, he pulled me even closer, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. His head leaned against mine for a second, and we just sat like that, not needing to talk, just holding onto each other so the world didn’t feel as big.

“To the Omatikya—Alma’s talking to the Olo’eyktan,” I mumbled, voice all muffled. The silence was thick, but he just started tracing little circles on my arm, keeping us both anchored in the real world instead of letting my brain run wild. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar, steady scent of him.  

“Toruk Makto,” So’lek rumbled, the name rolling out of him like distant thunder “He will care for you, his mate is fierce and unshaken” I caught that rare smile as he reminisced, “They are kind people, they offered me a place amongst their clans many years ago.” 

“I remember,” I smiled. I always loved the beginning of his story, his journey to us, to the Sarentu. It wasn’t happy, but it told me who he was before this, before the RDA. I remember how his face lit up when he spoke about his mentor, his first bonded and the thrill of battle. He looked down at me, his expression caught between worry and pride, the sun now climbing higher and washing us both in a warm golden light.

“Is this what you truly want?” He asked, his voice barely a broken whisper. Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked hard, nodding as the lump in my throat made it impossible to speak. I turned to look at the Kinglor Forestk, the treetops bathed in golden light, no smog or the scars of metal anywhere in sight. For a moment, I could imagine a better future, free of the shadows of the past. Pandora free of the RDA sounded pretty fucking good to me. 

“The Sarentu need to give Pandora hope, to remind the people that one day. The RDA will just be a nightmare—a story of greed to warn children. A story, not some beast to hide away from” I looked up to him, I could feel my chest well “To make sure my clan’s history isn't repeated.”

So’lek hummed, watching in silence as the sun finally crested the horizon, flooding the walk with warm light. For a long moment, he seemed to take everything in, and a real smile slowly spread across his face, like Eywa had given him a message in the warm rays. Then his ear twitched—he was up to something, and I couldn't help but mirror it. “If you’re going to the Omatikya, you’ll need to show them who raised you.” That rare smug look crossed his face. I’m so game. 

Honestly, I looked like the Tsahik for every clan on Pandora with all the stuff they piled on me. Okay, to be fair, I was supposed to be the envoy for five clans, but still—Nefika was not about to let me show up looking like some scruffy Nantang that rolled in late. She practically tackled me every time a bead was out of place. I had this chest piece and shoulder decoration that was so fancy, with two huge braids hanging down the front, almost to my knees—tripping hazard, honestly. The Zeswa went all out with old bones and their wild paint, and the Kame’tire clan made me a tewng from Mimlkyun hide and stuffed my pouches and gourds with more medicine than I’d know what to do with.

My own clan went overboard—Ri’nela jammed so many purple feathers into my braids I felt like it was going to weigh me down somehow. Tey’lan hooked up this throat comm that blended right in with my hunter’s necklace. And don’t even get me started on So’lek. He basically turned making the new necklace into his life’s mission. He spent hours wandering around, picking up fibre pods, holding them up to the light, and debating which ones were “the right shade.” I swear he spent half the afternoon arguing with himself about which blobs of blue and purple amber looked best. 

Tamtey was more secluded; I didnt see her for a while. It wasn't until my last hours in the Western Front, well, until my clan needed me again or in a year's time, whichever came first. I kept myself busy with little things, tying my last bag onto Nimun’s saddle, double-checking every strap and knot, and slipping her a small Ikran treat. It wasn't my best; it was still a little wet, but I’m sure that didn’t matter. Nimun seemed to like it anyway, so that’s a win. Every tiny task was a distraction, a way to keep my hands busy and my heart from splintering in front of the others. 

It's okay, it's okay. Just one more thing, just one more thing, then we can cry. I turned to my family and immediately felt like that girl back at TAP. I bit my lower lip. It's okay, don't cry, don't cry! Ri’nela smiled so softly at me, like she knew everything would be okay. She took a steady breath and stepped forward, her hand reaching out to hold my cheek, and without a moment's hesitation, I leaned into her touch.

“May Eywa, and our ancestors guide you on your journey, gift you safe passage, then when the time is right, safe return.” With a gentle rub of her cheek, she leaned down and whispered, “You can always come home” 

“Okay, you need to share her now.” Tamtey said, her voice thick with emotion, but trying to hide it with her humour, a watery laugh in the back of her throat.  Ri’nela laughed before stepping back, letting Tamtey step in front of me. With hands a little shaky, she held out a small bundle towards me. She took her time unwrapping it, fingers trembling just a bit. I looked up at her only to see that look of hers that said ‘just give a second’. Inside the bundle was a knife—it was beautiful, the blade glinted with an iridescent shimmer, a Palulukan tooth. The hilt was set with a sturdy gem, the sort only the bravest or—dumbest—Na’vi would find at the bottom of a cave.    

“I won't be there to protect you,” she started pressing the knife into my palm “This will have to do” Her smile was brave, but the slight wobble of her lower lip gave her away in a second. 

“Tamtey—” My throat tightened. I was the youngest warrior of the Sarentu. Why did seeing Tamtey trying to hold back her own tears turn me into a little kid again! She shook her head, a laugh bubbling up again.

“I have plenty of teeth and bones, I have the Kame’tire stash, it's basically overflowing. We only have one of you. Try not to be so stubborn, and try to greet the world with open arms,” she said, her voice rough. Without another word, she pulled me into a hug, squeezing me so hard I thought my ribs would crack, then took in a sharp breath before placing a kiss on my head. She cleared her throat as she stepped back, nodding her head towards So’lek, who waited at the edge of it all, his tail twitching with nerves, watching us with a tenderness I had seen him wear regularly nowadays. Fuck, this was going to hurt. 

I began to walk towards So’lek. I could feel my ears folding as he met my half way. I heard his chuckle as he flicked at my ears. I couldn't help the smile that crossed my face. Without any words, I wrapped my arms around him, and somehow, he pulled me to him tighter. It probably sounded dumb, sappy or some shit, but even without words, his message was loud and clear. No matter how far away you are, if you ever need me, I will find you. 

I looked up at him one last time, my vision blurring as I fought—and mostly lost—the battle with my tears. There was this weird ache in my chest, like I was both breaking apart and coming together at the same time. My throat felt tight, words and feelings tangling into a knot I couldn’t untie. I took a shaky breath, memorising the lines of his face, the way his ears flicked when he was trying not to show how much this hurt him too. Finally, I stepped away, bringing my hand to my forehead before lowering it. My voice cracked, soft but certain.

“Oel ngati kameie, Ma sempul.”

The whole rescue was chaos, to be honest. Alma returned to TAP with a small resistance crew and a Na’vi named So’lek, whom I didn’t really have the chance to meet. For about ten minutes, things felt quiet—until we received word that Mercer and a small fleet were on their way to investigate the signal we sent by releasing ourselves from cryosleep. Suddenly, the calm evaporated. One moment, we were in the halls we grew up in; the next, we were yanked back into a world that had moved on without us. The realisation hit hard: we had lost fifteen years, with no warning or discussion.

​

The first night after our escape, I don’t think any of us slept inside HQ. I found myself cuddled beside Ri’nela as we stared out at a world we thought we’d never see. It was alien, yet somehow familiar—the air actually smelled alive, unlike the stale air we used to breathe. Even now, a few days later, I keep finding myself staring, trying to take it all in. As I sat on the observation platform of the HQ, sitting on the untreated wood, leaning on the metal bar, watching the wind play with the oddly shaped trees and listening to the water trickle downstream toward the waterfall, I realised Pandora wasn't like the Earth shown in Alma's documentaries. Instead, this world felt even more alien and unnatural—my own planet felt like it wasn't mine. 

“You are lost.” So’lek’s voice crashed through my thoughts, making me jump so hard I slammed my knee on the metal bar. The metal thump made me laugh before pain set in.

“Ah shit!” I hissed, frantically rubbing my knee, hoping to somehow make the pain disappear. I looked over to So’lek, who was slightly amused by my pain. “You’re oddly quiet for someone so big,” I shot back. It was true, though. Nor and Teylan looked like teenagers compared to So’lek; he was tall in a way that made doorframes nervous. Sometimes, when he walked through a corridor, a loud thunk followed by a muttered curse as he smacked his head on the highest beam. It was comforting to know that even Na’vi, no matter how agile they seemed, could still be clumsy.

He sat beside me with an easy grace, making my own slouched posture feel even clumsier. “My mother’s blessing,” he mused, mimicking my stance, eyes never leaving the flowing stream. “You are avoiding the conversation.” I hummed in agreement; I didn’t want to talk about it. When the resistance rescued us, So’lek briefly explained that our clan, Sarentu, vanished in a single night, leaving only rumours and emptiness. Our people were once envoys, nomads, and storytellers. Yet I could barely leave HQ without fearing I’d fall apart. Tamtey and Ri’nela, though, belonged—they fit here naturally. Tamtey was already out in the world as the Sarentu envoy, winning over clans and striking RDA outposts. Ri’nela moved through the camp as if she had always known the Tsahik’s rituals, learning and connecting to Eywa as if it were second nature.

Eywa, maybe I was being bitter, harsh, or maybe even the human ingrained in my bones was finally surfacing. The questions gnawed at me—if Eywa was so powerful, so benevolent, why did she let us rot in TAP for so many years? Did she forget us? Did she abandon us? Children forgotten and neglected by their mother, was it because of our human anger and our bodies spoiled by metal? So’lek must have seen the dark thoughts swirling—“Where are you, Tskxevi?” he asked me. His voice was soft, as if he would speak any louder, he’d spook me away.

The night was alive, with a weird, wild chorus of Pandora—little yips and screeches echoing throughout the forest, the breeze moving in lazy currents that smelled of moss and damp soil. I didn’t look at So’lek; I kept my gaze locked to an odd floating speck that hadn’t moved in a minute.

“I’m lost, I’m—I don’t.” I wet my lip, searching for words. “I don’t know where I belong.” I cleared my throat as emotion rose—a tremor I tried to hide. “Eywa has forgotten us, forgotten me.” Saying it aloud felt better; I hated the silence after. I didn’t expect So’lek to shift closer.

“Eywan, has not abandoned you,” he said quietly, his hand coming to rest on my arm—big, warm and steady and for a second, I let myself lean into his touch, just a little. “You are new to this world. The RDA took you and planted you in fake soil. It may take some time, but Eywa will see you and welcome you back as you were deeply missed.” He didn’t let me go; instead, he sat with me in the dark, letting the silence sit comfortably between us, just breathing deep and slow, like he was teaching me how. He didnt flinch away from my thoughts; he simply reassured me they weren’t going to control me. 

It was mid-morning, So’lek and I were sitting on a fallen log not too far away from the Aranahe home tree, and he insisted that slowly beginning to leave HQ and inching out into the world would ease my unreasonable anxieties. Which, to be fair, had worked. I mean, just a week had gone by, and we’ve made it this far! The excitement was immediately thwarted, though, as my brain throbbed in pain.

“So’lek”, I whined as he flicked my forehead. I pinned my ears back and glared at him. He huffed before shaking his head.

“No whining, Tskxevi. What’s this?” He pointed to his nose. I grumbled. We’d been here for hours as So’lek taught me Na’vi from scratch, like I was a baby. Not that I minded; it worked.

“O-ontwo?” I said slowly, trying to remember the pronunciation. My cheeks burned with embarrassment at every mistake. So’lek sighed, shaking his head, pointing to his nose again, and this time exaggerating the sounds. I bit back the urge to apologise, determined to at least get this right, even as doubt set in.

“Ontu.” 

“What is this?” he asked, tapping on his tooth. I felt my face scrunch as I tried to remember, panic fluttering in my chest. The pressure to answer correctly made my mind go blank.

“One or two?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid to get it wrong. So’lek hummed before clarifying it was the single tooth. “Sre’.” 

“You are getting better,” He praised before making me repeat every feature of the face. We repeated this until I was fluent and barely needed any guidance. The suns were beginning to set when So’lek decided that it was better if we left for HQ. I turned to hop off the fallen log, but something stopped me.  There was chanting, a loud song coming from home tree. I know the Aranahe were proud musicians, but this was different.

“So’lek, what are they doing?” I asked as he helped me off the log, and he paused, his ears twitching to find the sound I was talking about. After a moment, he hummed as a look crossed his face, almost reminiscing.

“A Uniltaron, a dream hunt. The transition between childhood and adulthood,” I joined him in looking at the hometree “I remember my own; I was around your age when I completed mine.” I turned to look at So’lek, and my tail twitched.

“What is a Uniltaron?” I asked as we both stood there, still. The air was different; it was as if we were stuck in a lightning storm, electric, full of energy.

“As I said, it's a right of passage, where we seek out our animal reflection and gain knowledge from Eywa.” Knowledge from Eywa, that alone made my blood start to burn, without any more questions, I turned away from hometree and started the walk back to HQ. “You know”, So’lek starts as he catches up to me in only a few steps, “You and your brother are very different.”

“Which brother?” I asked; it came out short and sharp, but I couldn't care less about my tone at the moment.

“Nor, whilst he does everything in his power to make Eywa see him, following her will to a fault, you, on the other hand, wish nothing from her, run from her, question her will.” I pinned my ears to my skull as I turned sharply to look up at him, whilst I probably looked like an angry viperwolf, ready to snap and fight. So’lek was calm, no expression on his face to prove otherwise.

"If someone should question Eywa’s will, it’s me," I said, tail thrashing against my calves. "I have that right, since her will took everything—my clan, my family, my life, Aha’ri." Angry tears burned my eyes. I felt my voice tremble, pitched somewhere between a sob and a growl, the words scraping out of my throat. I didn’t want to cry in front of So’lek, but the pain was too much to hold back. For a heartbeat, I wanted to scream at the sky, to demand an answer from Eywa herself. "If that is Eywa’s plan, then I want nothing to do with it." The words hung between us, heavy and final. Without letting him speak, I turned and stalked back towards HQ.

“And you thought to hide this Tilortsyip from us, Ma’So’lek?” Nefika snapped, yanking So’lek’s tail like she was annoyed but also maybe a little amused. His ears went flat, and he let out a grumble that pretty much summed up his mood. Poor guy—he saves a whole forgotten clan, and now he’s getting flicked, tugged, yelled at, and even used for target practice. All of this in just a week! Honestly, if the universe was trying to mess with So’lek, it was doing a top-notch job. 

Since Ka’nat didn’t immediately kick Tamtey out, So’lek figured today would be as good a time as any to finally introduce me to the Aranahe clan. Of course, because my luck is what it is, the very first person we ran into was Master Weaver Nefika. “And you let her walk around like this?” she said, raising my arm and staring at the cuffs Rajinder made. They were way too big, honestly—like trying to wear your older siblings' hand-me-downs and pretending they fit.

“Nefika, we didn’t—” So’lek was immediately cut off by the older Na’vi woman, who just tutted

“No excuses, come, I will put you in something much more appropriate than these rags.” I blinked, and suddenly we were heading into hometree, with So’lek—fully grown and supposedly wise—pouting and dragging his feet behind us. “Purple is your clan’s colour, ma’yawntu, but if you’re with us, you have to be basically swimming in colour!” Nefika wasted no time. One second, I was standing there, and the next I was surrounded by Aranahe, all of them chatting and laughing as they pulled me into the weaving den.

“Why is your hair so straight?” One of the girls who looked around my age asked as she took out the hairbands Ri’nela put in earlier this morning.

“Look, it’s slowly healing,” someone pointed out, grabbing a bit of my hair that was finally starting to curl up instead of hanging straight. Even my hair had been messed up by the RDA, but hey, progress is progress. “If we don’t start now, we’ll be here forever! You have so much hair, I’m jealous.” The second girl didn’t waste any time and just yanked me over to one of the dyeing vats, with the rest trailing behind her. We ended up sitting there for what felt like forever, laughing about nothing, while they played with my hair.

“No, you haven't heard!” Veewa, the girl I sat in front of who was busy rebraiding my queue, gasped. The others shook their head, she laughed, “No, Itu, wasn’t just out hunting yesterday, he was with another, teaching them how to hunt…alone” The others gasped. I looked back and forth. Why was that so gossip-worthy? Na’u, who was threading beads into my braids, saw my confusion before elaborating.

“Itu is a very handsome hunter—he did his dream hunt years ago and still hasn’t picked a mate.” Oh, now I got it. He was basically the clan’s heartthrob, so the idea of someone ‘stealing’ him was enough to get everyone talking. By the time the girls were finished with me, I looked way more like an Aranahe than a Sarentu. I was dripping in purples and yellows, with a bit of rare pink and blue thrown in, all made from this tough material that would probably survive an Anstik attack. My hair was braided and full of beads, but honestly, the best part was all the dyes and paint on my skin. I was kind of falling in love with it.

“You are always welcome at hometree, ma’yawntu! Perhaps So’lek will let me teach you our weaves,” Nefika basically thrummed with pride as she guided me back to So’lek, who was speaking with an elder of the clan. “Ma’So’lek! Do not let her return in the state you brought her in!” she scolded. So’lek gave the elder a farewell before looking at us. I saw his ears droop, and his tail flicked softly.

“You and your people have done well”, So’lek praised “We will return soon”, he gestured for me to walk beside him. I said my goodbyes to Nefika before falling in beside So’lek. We walked in silence for a while, and he passed the fallen log before he spoke. “You look like a true Na’vi now”, he chuckled gently, tugging at a braid the three girls paid very close attention to “The girls have even made you an eylan tswin”  I furrowed my brows, trying to think of the translation.

“Something braid?” I muttered. So’lek rolled his eyes and tugged the braid again.

“Friendship Tskxevi, they made you a friendship braid”

A friendship braid. I had actual friends. So’lek started laughing as I strutted a little ahead of him. I didn’t get why until we got back to HQ: I had this ridiculous grin plastered on my face, my ears were up, and my tail was wagging like I’d just scored my favourite snack. 

“So’lek, this is stupid,” I groaned, my voice echoing across the mossy clearing. It was private, not another Na’vi in sight. Coronis chattered overhead, the sun leaking through the leaves, dappling everything in shifting gold. I was settling into life in the Kinglor forest way better than I thought I would. I pretty much live at Home Tree now, which is wild, given how panicked I was when I first got here.

Veewa and Na’u basically scooped me up into their friend group without even asking. We spent hours weaving and gossiping, and right before So’lek dragged me off for training, we were out picking daphomet pods for Tsahik Etwua. Veewa was telling us about her big upcoming ikran rookery climb. She said she wasn’t embarrassed at all about taking her time to become an adult in Eywa’s eyes—she was just waiting for it to feel right for her. Can’t say I blame her.

“It is not stupid. Again,” So’lek boomed. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck, and my ears folded back—honestly, sometimes I think they have a mind of their own. “Don’t you fold your ears at me,” he scolded, sounding way too much like my mom for comfort. I popped them right up, grabbed my bow, and took another shot, pretending I wasn’t dying of embarrassment.

“Arg!” I yelled as my arrow shot off to the left—again. I must have looked ridiculous because So’lek was already cracking up. I grabbed for another arrow, but he put his hand on my arm and started moving me into the ‘right’ pose. I let out a super dramatic huff, but honestly, I probably needed it.

“I need to get better,” I muttered, frustration bubbling up as he turned my head toward the target. He just stared at me, all patient and zen, like he had literally nothing better to do than watch me miss the target a hundred times. It was both comforting and kind of annoying.

“You will not improve if you rush ahead. You will trip and fall flat with no lesson learned,” He spoke with a tone so calm it was infuriating.

“Tamtey got the hang of this in one night. I’ve been at it for over a week,” I complained. So’lek just tapped my back, making me stand up straight with a snort—like I was a little kid being scolded for slouching.

“Tamtey is a creature not even I understand, Tskxevi. Again,” I couldn't help but a little huff in amusement, well, I was thankful that it was a universal truth that Tamtey was a force of unknown nature—half of the camp deeply admired her and the other camp looked at her like she was some sort of cryptid. Whilst Tamtey—love her to death—was better at fighting and war tactics, I beat her tenfold in weaving and healing practises. I think she almost wiped out an entire generation of daphomet trees instead of just waiting for her wounds to heal with everyday healing herbs.

“Deep breaths,” So’lek said, pressing his big hand over my ribs until I finally gave in and listened. The air in Kinglor forest is just… different: sweeter, richer, with a little hint of campfire smoke. “Sense the world around you,” he added. My ear twitched at the sound of people gossiping, someone’s hexaped yipping, and the distant rumble of stermbeasts by the river. I dug my toes into the dirt and let the world just… sink in. I let the arrow fly—a sharp trill sounded as it zipped through the air, then—thudded dead centre. “Good job.” So’leks voice was full of easy, solid pride.

“I did it.” I couldn’t stop laughing. “I—I did it!” I spun around to face So’lek, grinning like an idiot. He grinned back, nodding towards the target, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Good, Again.” 

“So the Zeswa do fight-dancing?” I asked So’lek, who just hummed above me like this was all totally normal. Tamtey was off chasing leads on Harding’s shady black market stuff, and we’d tracked her all the way to some place called ‘The Lodge’ in the Upper Plains. Technically, So’lek and Teylan were supposed to help, but obviously, I wasn’t about to just sit around. One puppy-dog look, and So’lek caved, tossed me up on Iley, and boom—we were on our way.

“Yes, it’s how young Na’vi practice, and the grown-ups use it to show off a little,” he said. I nodded, but honestly, he was way more interested in whatever was up ahead than in talking—he just kept his eyes glued on the waterfall at the edge of the Kinglor forest.

“So’lek, what kind of traditions did your clan have?” I asked, trying to sound casual. He just hummed, with that little smile that always shows up when he’s about to talk about his past.

“Hmm, my people had many traditions. We share traditions with the Omatikaya on the other side of Pandora,” So’lek begins “We can make me a necklace after my first hunt and found comfort in meditation—”

“Oh! So that’s why you’ve got your cave,” I said, grinning as I remembered the little cave he kept near HQ. It’s tiny and kind of a mess—full of his stuff, he definitely needed a bigger cave. It was his favourite spot to go sit and think when he needed a break from everyone.

“Exactly. I try to keep my clan’s traditions going, even if I’m the last one left.” That hit me right in the gut. I’d been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I forgot So’lek’s situation was even rougher. At least I still have my siblings. I chewed the inside of my cheek, not really sure what to say.

“What if I joined you? You could teach me how to meditate, and when I finally do my first hunt, we can make a necklace together,” I blurted out, getting more and more excited as I started listing off ideas—like foraging for Tana’ring flowers and trying to make a fermented berry drink he talked about once. I didn’t even notice So’lek was looking at me all soft and proud until later. Honestly, I think that’s when things started to shift between us, going from just mentor and student to something more like real friends.

So much had happened—that was it. I’ll try to condense everything down. After Tamtey and the others blew up Harding's facility, officially putting an end to her black-market business, Pryia and the others decided that throwing a celebration was a top priority. I honestly wasn't sure what a party was, but if that was what a party was, it was sort of fun! It probably would be ten times more fun if we didn’t let Jin do the cooking. The good times never last. Out of nowhere, alarms blared, the base was under attack—Mercer had found us, and he wanted to show us what happened when we destroyed what was his.

Everything was chaos, shouts, screams, and the crackle of gunfire took over the sounds of the night I had gotten so used to. I don’t remember how I got out; all I remember was being laid down in an unfamiliar cot in an unfamiliar, clouded place. When I woke up, I was cuddled into a very stressed-out-looking Ri’nela, who told me So’lek had carried me out of the rubble like I was weightless, had made sure I was secured to Iley before taking flight. We met up with Anqa, who had the rest of the resistance in her battered old Samson. This new base was cold and dark, but hidden. I hated it, I miss my forest.

I don't think I’ve left So’lek’s side since the attack. I helped him organise his weapons, his gear, and just sat by him. We needed healers badly, too. Without the forest's bounty, Ri’nela and I were about as much help as a couple of fish on dry land—even if we did have what we needed, herbs and old tricks weren't going to heal deep lacerations and fractured bones. So Tamtey was off to find a healer amongst the Kame’tire. She was hesitant at first, since Alma said they were to be trusted, but Nor told her that what Alma said was wrong. He remembered from his youth that the Kame’tire were just reclusive.

A huge crash of thunder rolled in, and then—bam—a crack of lightning snapped me awake. My heart dropped, and fear washed over me. I jumped out of my cot, breathing way too fast, hands actually shaking. It was ridiculous. I mean, I was never that person who got scared of storms. Lightning used to be my favourite thing—I’d watch storms for fun back in the rainforest. But now? I was totally losing it, and not even pretending otherwise.

“Tskxevi?” So’lek’s voice cut through the noise, warm and steady. He was at my side before I could even think, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in close, his usual rumble softened, almost gentle, as if he was trying to drown out the storm for me. When a shaky sob slipped out, I didn’t even try to hide it—I just buried my face in his chest, letting it all out. So’lek didn’t flinch. He tightened his hold and rubbed my back, slow and reassuring, his chin resting on top of my head. “It’s okay, Tskxevi. I’m here. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his words calm and safe.

“I—I don’t know what happened,” I sobbed, words all jumbled because I could barely catch my breath. “I’ve never been like this before.” So’lek just kept shushing me, rubbing my back, and not letting go, like he had all the time in the world to just sit there with me until I was okay.

“Shh, it's okay—you’ve been through a lot. It is your body responding,” So’lek placed his hand on the gem on the hunter's necklace we made after my first solo hunt, “Fkew’taronyu.” He repeated the gesture, gently rocking us as he continued to mutter reassurances. We sat there for a while, the storm raging from beyond the new HQ’s cave. So’lek’s rumbled reassurances and gentle touches made my eyes heavy, and slowly and surely I fell asleep against his chest. His heart lulled me further into a dreamless sleep. 

“I will not argue with you on this,” So’lek spoke, his tone final as he strapped on his gear. The tension in the air was thick—everywhere I looked, people were pacing, walking around, sharpening blades and arrows. This was it, we were only hours away from taking down Mercer, we had everything we needed, all we needed was a way in, and Tamtey was our ticket. My ears folded flat against my head, frustration prickling as So’le shut me down for what felt like the hundredth time. I kept my feet planted, my jaw clenched, but the world felt like it was closing in— all of these plans and all this danger, and I’m just supposed to sit out? No fucking way. 

“So’lek, this isn't a discussion!” My voice came out sharper than I meant, cracking a little. “I deserve to see that fucker fall, just like Ri’nela and Tamtey! This is my right—” the words came to a sharp halt as So’lek turned to face me, his eyes were dark and unreadable. Suddenly, I could feel too many pairs of eyes on us—people pretending not to listen but their gazes flicking over every now and then, curious and anxious. My hear ahmmered, but I forced myself to stand tall, even as my tail lashed behind me. I met So’lek’s stare, refusing to back down, he stepped forward, towering over me and lowered his voice—so that only I could hear. 

“You are not ready.” His gaze pinned me to my spot. “You have not yet bonded with an Ikran, you've only just completed your first hunt, you have heart, but you will only distract.” His words landed like stones in my chest, my breath hitched as his glare dug in. His hand hovered over my shoulder, but he let it drop, the gesture unfinished. 

“All of this because I haven’t bonded—” I started trying to keep my trembling voice under control. The frustration tangled up in my throat, coming out in a choked little gasp. Heat burned behind my eyes, humiliation prickling my skin as I struggled to keep my composure in front of everyone. I wanted to scream, to argue, to make him see how much this mattered. But So’lek cut me off 

“Yes,” he snapped, “You will stay at base, safe. Away from danger.” His words left no room for argument, so final I couldn't help but flinch. For a moment, all I could do was stare, feeling smaller and lonelier than I had in a long time. The world continued to press in, and I was left standing in the middle of it, angry, so fucking angry. I felt my face scrunch up, trying to hold back the hurt without thinking. I hissed, broken and messy. I saw the look of shock on So'lek's face. I had never hissed before, hadn't I ever hissed at him. I glared up at him before I shoved past, my tail lashing behind me like it had a mind of its own. My chest was tight, and anger and embarrassment took up more space than I thought they would.

“{Y/N} What happened?” Rinela's voice, all calm and worried, tried to cut in, but I didn't want to hear it. More than likely, I knew if I stopped, I'd break out in angry tears and just prove that I wasn't ready for this fight. I could feel Tamtey's worried glances between So'lek and me; it'd take a blind man not to see how close she and So'lek had gotten, I mean, So'lek and I had gotten close too, but not in that way. So if this fight was something more than just a rough spot, she’d need to pick a side. Their faces blurred together as I pushed past, my shoulders tense, jaw locked. I just needed to get out of here before I broke down. I ducked through the nearest exit of the cave.

If I needed proof I was ready, I would give him proof. 

It took me well over two hours to get back to the Kinglor Forrest, the shortest route Tamtey showed me would usually only take an hour of travel on foot, but with the storm that roared overhead, it slicked the ground and made the rocks deathtraps, the thunder rolled like angry drums I swear it this was Eywa herself was throwing this at me on purpose saying ‘Alright, you want to question me? You want to prove yourself? Here is your shot’

I fought my way forward, staggering through the storm that was out to kill me—every slip on a far too slick rock and every stumble on a far too wet patch of moss only pissed me off more and more, every curse vanishing into the howling wind. Each puddle I almost fell into threatened to swallow me, while by the time I reached the rookery’s edge, I swear I was more storm than person—legs caked with mud, arms streaked with green, skin burning for the tiny wounds low, branches and small rocks that nicked her on the travel, my poor tail was sodden and heavy, halfway dragging in the mud. I cursed again and again as I began my climb, my fingers throbbed from wrenching myself up, vine after vine, the tips of my fingers raw and bleeding. If this was Eywas trail, I’d complete it without her guidance. 

I hauled myself over the final ledge. I was two seconds away from collapsing, my chest heaved so hard I thought my ribs would snap. My lungs were on fire, every breath ragged and sharp, like I was trying to breathe with shards of glass in my throat. The rookery was alive with pissed-off Ikran—outraged squawks, low warning hgisses and the restless shuffling of talons on slick stone. Some were crammed together, wings tucked tight, their eyes glowing like embers in the flashes of lightning. But they didnt lunge or snap at me—not like Tmatey swore Telisi did, all teeth and fury, or how Itu always bragged about almost getting his head taken off on his first try. These Ikran were simply spectators; some were frightened by the raging storm, and others by me, this muddy, shivering intruder.

I spun in a slow, anxious circle, squinting through the darkness, searching for that spark that instant connection—that gut feeling that one of these overgrown lizards was meant to be my bonded. I nearly jumped out of my skin when an Ikran crashed into the mouth of the cave, wings flaring so wide I felt the gust of wind smack me in the face. She looked like she was carved from the storm itself—her hide slick and gleaming, droplets rolling off in tiny rivers, showcasing just how muscular her form was. For a moment, we just—started—both of us panting, wild-eyed, soaked through and unmoving, neither one of us was going to back down from this showdown we created. 

Her colouring was unreal: deep, inky blue that swallowed the light, streaked with splashes of yellow gold and smudged purples, like someone had painted the night with lightning and bruises. Her eyes were locked on me—huge, gold-flecked and burning with anticipation, she was daring me to move first, we’re both young, both stubborn, both dumb pieces of shit with something to prove. 

“Lets get this done.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, the energy between us snapped. We moved in the same breath, two storms colliding. She came at me with a roar that rattled my bones, jaw yawning wide, her obsidian blade teeth gleaning inches from my face. The heat of her breath washed over me—wild, animal, fucking disgusting. I dove, barely dodging, my heart pounding so violently I was sure my ribs were bruised. Her wings lash out, a wall of muscle and bone hammering my side, sending me flying through the air. I swear the ground somehow moved upwards to meet me, knocking every last atom of breath from my lungs. For a heartbeat, I lay there, rain from the mouth of the cave needling my skin, thunder rolling, the Ikran I now had personal beef with let out this guttural, mocking chuff—a sound that so clearly said ‘Nice Try, little one’. Now lying in the mud, I had two choices: stay down, or get the fuck up. 

Mercer didnt raise a bitch. 

With a snarl, I forced myself upright. I could feel the mud on me like a second skin, i tired no to think about my aching limbs as I threw myself at her again. I must have looked dumb as shit. The Ikran that surrounded us scattered, wings beating the air, eyes burning with the hunger of chaos. I flung my arms around her neck, my grip slippery and desperate as she thrashed and skreeched, her massive body rippling with fury. Every movement threatened to hurl me out into the thousand-foot drop, but I refused to let her go, even as she jerked her head, jaws snapping so close I felt the wind off her clamping jaws. In a fit of rage, she lifted her wings and slammed them down, a sharp blade-like talon raked down my arm, and white-hot pain exploded through my body. Eywas, storm, screamed with me as my blood mingled with its downpour.

I fought through the pain, dragging myself up her neck, clinging to her spine, breath coming out in ragged gasps as her body spasmed beneath. “You fucking overgrown lizards bitch!” I spat, my voice raw and shaking as adrenaline coursed through my veins. My thighs clamped around her neck, fighting to force her head down, every muscle screaming as she thrashed and bucked beneath me. She let out a deafening screech that rattled my teeth, her wings beating the air, causing small rockers to skitter across the cave floor. The storm outside raged on, lightning throwing wild shadows across the stone and painting us in blue-white fire. My bones felt like they were on the edge of splintering, every bruise burning, and every scar ripping open further, “Come on!” I roared, pushing down all my pain as she writhed and snapped. 

Then—There! A bolt of lightning spilled light in the cave, blinding and savage, and in that instant, I saw it, her Queue, writhing like a live wire, just beyond my grasp. My heart punched against my ribs, and a swirl of hope and panic crashed together as I risked everything. I lunged, no planning out anything or consequences considered. She bucked violently, the world tilting on its axis—one slip and I’d be crushed, finished. 

I dug in, nails cracking, skin tearing, all sense of pain drowned by the frantic chorus screaming in my head,” hold on, hold on, hold on. “Make the bond”, I choked, desperate, the words ripping through the chaos—half threat, half plea. My own queue lashed out, nerves crackling. I reached, fumbled, almost losing my grip on her— then with a guttural, primal scream, I slammed out Queses together.  

She joined my screaming as our world exploded. I felt every inch of her, every muscle hunching and trembling underneath my grip, the ache in her neck from here I clung form desperately. I felt her fear, prickly and sharp, tucked away behind all those teeth and bluster.  For a second, we were the same creature—hearts pounding in unison, our minds tangled. Slowly, as everything seemed to calm, the storm easing to a loud downpour, our tangled minds blended into one, like two songs playing at once and somehow making sense; it wasn't loud or off-beat. 

“Suck on that So’lek” 

Some and ash hung heavy, choking every breath, stinging eyes and throats. The ground was utter chaos—bodies everywhere, RDA, Na’vi resistance fighters all a tangle of limbs, blood and gear. Screams and gunfire ricocheted off the ruined concrete. Ikran shrieked overhead, wheeling in frantic, furious swarms, tearing through the sky, people's ranks and sending soldiers scattering, some diving for cover, others weren't so lucky, they were picked up and dropped from bone-breaking heights. 

The zeswa thundered in on their Pa’li, the massive beasts buvking and bellowing, stampeding over barricades and ploughing through lines and desperate soldiers who fired blindly, some just tossed their guns to the side and sprinted for cover. Explosions kept rocking the earth, Kame’tire bombs shattering the ground with shrapnel and poisonous thrones. Metal twisted, flames licking up from ruined vehicles, the smoke so thick you could barely see your own hands. 

Tamtey groaned, dragging herself up from the wreckage of the Samson. Every nerve screamed—her head pounded, ears ringing so loud that they drowned out the chaos, mouth full of the taste of blood and smoke. Her world was a dizzy mess: shouts, gunfire, the thud of impacts on metal, and the distracting crash of something massive collapsing. She had no idea how long she was out for; it couldn't have been for long, not even a few minutes. 

Taylans voice crackled through her comm, frantic and sharp: “Wake up, damn it! Tamtey, you have to move!” She blinked, clearing the fuzz from her heads, everything felt floaty, like she was stuck underwater. The ground trembled below her, explosions rocking the earth. She heard someone in the distance, screaming for help, but the words were swallowed by the roar of engines overhead. 

“I’m okay, I’m up,” she croaked into her comm, voice rough as gravel. Her legs shook as she forced herself upright, just as she managed to stand up straight, dread filled her body. A Scorpion gunship loomed out of the chaos, its searchlights sweeping, the massive propeller whipping her braids around her face, stinging her cheeks.  Around her, soldiers darted between cover, shouting orders and firing blindly into the haze. 

She squinted against the wind, adrenaline kicking in, and reached for her heavy bow—the one So’lek had given her in exchange for the RDA rosters she had found, battered and trusted but a real beast of a weapon. She had dropped plenty of gunships before, always with nerves of steel. But as her fingers found the quiver, her heart crashed to a halt. No arrows. Not a single one left. There was nothing but chaos, and she was standing dead centre, exposed and empty-handed. 

Her ear twitched. A battle cry one she hadn't heard before entered the fray— it was so loud and guttural, it made her blood freeze for a second. Out of the swirling grey and black haze burst a shadow, all muscle and sharpness: an ikran and its rider, she was reckless, that was easy enough to tell, and by the looks of it had been through hell. Her blue skin was thick with mud and streaked with blood; not a scrape of battle armour graced her skin. 

To humans, she was a nightmare incarnate. With a speed that rivalled Telisi, the Ikran dove through the acrid clouds, zeroing in on the tail of the gunship, its winfs snapped open, sending a rush of wind and grit across the ground, in one brutal move, the Ikran latched onto the metal tail, its claws grinding into the metal, the, with a violent heave, flung the entier machine into the concrete barricade. 

The exposition was sensory overload—heat, shrapnel, smoke billowing from the now-massive hole. In the middle of the chaos, the Ikran rider let out another roar, already with their bow drawn, before letting the arrow loose, dropping a soilder before he had the chance to raise his gun before his body was cold, they’d nocked another arrow, hands moving so fast it was borderline second nature for them—each shot smoother and deadlier than the last. 

The Ikran twisted and dove through the hail of gunfire. They weaved through the spray with reckless, almost joyful agility. One by one, soldiers dropped like flies. The irkan was so urged to destroy anyone with a gun that it skimmed so close to the burning wreckage that its wing sent sparks spiralling into the ash-filled air, the heat of the flame painting wild, shifting patterns on their scales. 

When only one soldier remained, the rider swung down from their ikran in a single, fluid motion, landing hard on the concrete floor. They rolled before coming up in a crouch, their bow already drawn. With calm, lethal focus, they let their last arrow fly—a silver streak in the fires of chaos—striking the final soldier down. For a second, just a second. Everything was silent. The only sounds were their ragged breath and the distant crackle of flames.

Tamtey released the breath she had been holding—a shaky, relieved exhale she hadn't even realised she was clinging to. The Ikran rider, wild and fierce just moments ago, snapped her head in Tamtey’s direction, eyes shaped and alert, her hand reached for her empty quiver. Under that bravado, Tamtey saw someone she had always seen: after beatings from Alvies, after she had been scared of Anders, she knew her. And it seemed the Ikran rider saw her as well, as that battle-ready mask melted away. That crooked, goofy smile broke across her face. Tamtey couldn't help but laugh; of course, only her little sister would smile at her like a Skxwang. 

“Tamtey!” she shouted as she walked towards her. It was an impossible task not to smile back; the older girl's heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She rushed to meet {Y/N} halfway. She looked like a living disaster! Scraps on her arm, hell, a massive tear on her inner right arm, her hair wild and half escaped from their braids—but somehow she was grinning, like she had managed to sneak out past her curfew and not just, oh you know, took out a whole squad of  RDA soldiers and a gunship but herself. 

“W-what—how?! When did you get an Ikran? You’re bleeding! How did you—” Tamtey words tumbled over each other, her voice rising as she fussed over little sister, hands flying over everywhere at once—checking the scrapes, poking at bruises and trying to make sense of her nest of a hairstyle. “So’lek is going to kill you!” she broke out, half crying, half laughing, relief and panic tangling up in her chest as she tried to pull {Y/N} into a hug and scold her all at once. 

“Well, So’lek said I couldn't join in on all the fun unless I bonded, so—” She had totally missed the point, yes, not being bonded played a large part in his hesitation of letting her join the battle, but it was his— “Tamtey meet Nimun”, she swept her arm towards the newly bonded Ikran. Nimun stood tall and vibrant, wings still trembling with the thrill of flight, scales slick with rain and streaked with mottled purples and slashes of yellow gold. 

“Wait, you bonded alone?” Tamtey's expression crumbled slightly, worry and guilt vying for space in her eyes. Her voice trembled, “I should have been there—”

“Trust me, you wouldn't have wanted to watch,” She broke the hug with a fond, crooked smile “It was ablood bath, trust me. Nimun didnt let me breathe for a second” She began to pick up the intact arrows “We’ll talk later! Mercer’s isn't going to wait for us to catch up before dropping that last charge” 

“You’re not coming with me—” Tamtey began, but {Y/N} shot her a look that was equal parts exasperation and determination, her brow raised. Without a word, she pressed a fistful of arrows into Tamtey’s hand, the gesture gentle but unyielding—a silent promise, she was by her side, in life and death. 

“Let's not argue,” she sadsi her voice unshaking, the glint in her eye dared Tamtey to argue “You know I'm just going to follow you anyway. let’s go.” She flashed a grin before giving chase; the promise of finally destroying Mercerr pulled her forward like the beat of a war drum. 

It was over. 

Mercer was dead, his precious base reduced to smouldering wreckage. The RDA’s iron grip on the west shattered—no more than a handful of scattered outposts and rogue patrols frantically changing flight paths to return to whatever RDA facility stood. The clans stood atop one of the floating mountains, the world stretching out beneath us, the clouds swirling below our feet and the wings singing of freedom. Songs erupted from the clans, the voices mixing with the shrinks of Ikran wheeling overhead. I collapsed into the hug Ri’nela pulled me into, her laughing ringing in my ears, and Teylan and Tamtey joined in. For a moment, we were a family again—grieving for those we lost, Aha’ri, those who wondered, Nor and those without names. We laughed, holding onto each other for dear life. We were free. 

It wasn't until I heard my name rumble like thunder across the mountain top that the spell was broken; immediately, all those poetic emotions and feelings disappeared. I was fucked

“Keve’otu!” The group hug ended that second. So’lek stalked towards me, his shadow stretching long in the afternoon sun. I shot my siblings a glare, traitors—cowards, leaving me face off the dog-tag warrior alone. So’lek’s eyes flashed with obvious annoyance, anger and a slight hint of disappointment as he towered over me. 

“You went against my orders. You disobeyed me. You bonded with an Ikran without an elder hunter present.” His words struck like stones, heavy with authority and wounded pride. My ears folded back, my gaxe dropping to the mossy ground. Months ago, I would have met his authority with bared teeth, chin high. Whilst I have to admit, I did bare teeth at him this morning, I thought if I showed him I was strong, he’d let me go with him, but now? Something in So’leks disappointment made my heart twist. Was he not proud of me? I needed to do this; I was so sure he knew that. 

He reached out, her hand coming to gently tilt my chin up, until our eyes met, his massive hand warm and steady against my frozen skin. “Unfold your ears,” he rumbled, his voice soft, just like that night the storm tore me from my sleep. I forced my ears upright; the movement was awkward and slow, but when I looked up and saw the unabashed look of pride that took over everything else on his face, it was like the sunlight peaking through storm clouds. His rare smile was crooked; I couldn't help but copy it. In a heartbeat, he swept me into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around me. I wrapped my own arms around him, laughing as he gently swayed us. 

“And I’ve never been prouder of you.” He muttered with brewing emotions. Something inside me cracked open. I clung to him tighter, burying my face in his chest, and tears began to burn my eyes and for a moment. I was small, cradled in the arms of someone who was finally proud of me. The sound of his chuckle rumbled through his chest, grounding me. I make him proud. 

He saw me.

“Get up, blue!” Product of our cages for sure. Commander Alvies’ familiar voice echoed throughout the gym. The overhead lights glared down, making weird little halos on the ceiling. I squinted from the mat—if you could even call the thinnest sheet of foam a mat. My body was a collection of bruises and aches. They were badges from drill that felt more like a twisted initiation than regular training. She loomed over, taking up my vision. Her entire vibe was loud and commanding, screaming, ‘I am authority’.  If you want my honest opinion, if you stripped her of armour and released her from her duties, she’d be nothing more than a dull, boring husk with no hobbies.

Her AMP suit was a mobile fortress. Glossed black plates, joints that clicked and whirred as she moved—everything about the suit screamed, ‘Fuck with me and see your bones broken in twenty-eight different places’. The suit was impenetrable, but the person? Without the constant surveillance and ten to twenty gunmen watching us, she’d be dead in a single hit. That's carbon fibre bones for you.

I already knew my answer. People—or in my case, Na’vi—are products of their environment. I was raised a soldier, and I’ll die a soldier. Nothing more, nothing less. But there was still that tingle, that little nudge at the base of my skull, making me question it. I squeezed my eyes shut, erasing the thought as I hauled myself upright. I almost slipped, landing on my ass as I stood upright, wiping off the sweat and whatever grime had collected on the so-called mat on my shorts. Then I shoved that annoying, straightened strand of hair out of my face.

I swear we’d been at this for what felt like forever—every second dragging on like it was stuck in tar. I risked a glance around to see how everyone else was doing. Tamtey, strong as ever, kept a stone face as she dodged another hit for making a jab at the AMP suit’s ‘ribs’. Ri’nela was quick, dodging more than she hit. Nor, violent as ever, made jabs and threw punches like the suit owed him tokens. Poor Teylan was in just as bad shape as I was. He looked half-dead and glassy-eyed. He wasn’t built for combat, and in my eyes, there was no shame in that.

Rolling my shoulders, I took up my stance. Feet rooted to the mat, muscles coiled and ready to snap. I hated the tension—the pause before the strike. My tail twitched as her shadow engulfed me, spilling across the floor like ink. Her gaze was heavy—it always was. Predatory. Fucking creep. She always looked at us that way when we ate and during free time. Her and Sargent Anders—freaks.

“All Na’vi are to be escorted to Lecture Hall C”

I could have collapsed at the AI voice from the PA system. Relief showed far too quickly as I heard Commander Alvies chuckle mockingly. “You’re safe this time, Blue. Move it,” she barked. Her voice was like nails to a board. The AMP suit's hand clamped around my arm before she shoved me toward the showers. The message was unmistakable. I was cargo, not a person—just another object to be transported with no fragile sticker on my face. I winced at the cold feeling burning under my skin.

We’re split into two lines—male and female. Nor and Taylan moved off with the boys as the guards directed them away, while Tamtey, Ri’nela, and I were led to the shower block. As we walked, I could feel eyes on me again, the same unsettling gaze I’d experienced every gym session. I didn’t need to turn to know Sargent Anders was watching as we entered the swirling steam. Tamtey must have felt it too—she gently pressed her hand on my back and nudged me forward, placing herself between me and his burning, too-long gaze.

“Come, let me fix your hair”,  Ri’nela urged me to sit in front of her. The smallest grace we had in this place was the time we had to wash ourselves, thirty minutes to an hour, an hour and a half if we were lucky. It was thanks to the director Mercers ‘cleanliness issue’ that we had such a luxury, for the simple fact he was a clean freak— Commander Harding’s words, not mine.  

I sat in front of Ri’nela, who sudded up my hair and began to wash away the sweat and grime. “You did well today”, she spoke softly as she tilted my head back. I hummed, staying quiet as I let her do her work. I wasn't a talker, never have been. “Alvies almost praised you”, she hummed with a teasing smile. I peered at her through the water and raised an eyebrow. She laughed and closed my eyes with her palm, “Skxawng” I couldn’t help the smile that slipped through as she finished washing my hair.  

​As the timer buzzed, signalling we needed to finish up, Tamtey passed me a towel. It was short, clearly made for humans; we each needed about three towels to dry off, but apparently, the RDA is too cheap for that, so we had to walk around still half-wet, with uncomfortable clothes sticking to us. Tamtey quickly towelled herself semi-dry before coming over to help me with my hair. When we first arrived at TAP, the older kids were forced to cut their hair. I was still little at the time, maybe a year old, not even that, so they didnt bother cutting it. But as I grew, they decided I would be the perfect experiment to see just how long it took Na’vi hair to grow.

So, when we were able to hold a brush, we were responsible for keeping it ‘clean’ and ‘maintained’. Teylan stuck with the same hairstyle for years. Nor, who had some memory before TAP locked his hair, the same way his father used to do, and in a similar vein, Ri’nela braided hers the way her mother had. Tamtey was a loose cannon; one day, it would be braided, the next she would have bangs, then she’d be bald.

I didnt know what my parents' hair was like. I wish I did. I looked into the steamed mirror, Tamtey and Ri’nela both working to keep my hair off my face so it wouldn’t be a hassle later. Did I have my mother's hair? Her texture? Maybe it was my father or even a mix of the two? I squeezed my eyes tight before refocusing on the mirror. I looked up at Tamtey and nodded my thanks before getting dressed in the uncomfortable uniform we were made to wear.

"I'm not sitting." I planted my heels on the gleaming linoleum and crossed my arms. In the lecture hall, we had some freedom, and today mine was not sitting on those uncomfortable plastic chairs—they hurt my tail, especially after being beaten by Alvies. I wasn’t going to spend six hours on them. Tamtey sighed and tried to nudge me to sit. The lecture hall was as deserted as always; the only sound was the stale hum of the ventilation.

The door locked from the outside; the only way out was if someone let us out—and that would be our teacher, still missing, probably linking with her avatar. Silence pressed in until I muttered, "She’s got it out for me," stretching out the knot in my neck. Nor, who somehow made the plastic chair look like the comfiest surface to lounge on, couldn't be any more different from Teylan, who sat up straight as if he was being graded on posture. He huffed and shook his head before speaking.

"She went after all of us when we were your age," Nor said dryly. "She likes to break them young," he mocked, echoing Ander with a crooked grin. It was a survivor’s joke—dark, yet oddly comforting. We were in this shithole together.

“She’s such a fucking creep,” I muttered, glaring at the locked door. Ri’nela hissed and smacked me on the back of my head. My ears folded as I turned, meeting her scolding look.

“Who taught you those words?” she asked, grabbing my shoulders and guiding me to my chair. I groaned as I flopped onto the plastic monstrosity. Tamtey smiled as she sat beside me, draping her arm over my shoulder and resting her hand at the back of my neck, her thumb tracing slow, calming circles. The motion worked. My ears unpinned, and my tail thumped the seat. Tamtey tucked a stray hair behind my ear and squeezed my shoulder before folding her arms.

“She did the same thing to us when we were your age,” she said softly, her voice obviously recounting old memories. “She was rougher with Teylan. Didn’t she almost break your tail once?” She looked over at him. His shoulders dropped, a sad look crossed his face, and his voice was thick with emotion.

“She said it got in the way.” Silence filled the room, all jokes and poking fun snuffed out at the understanding that we all shared the same wounds.

A heavy silence lingered in the room, broken only by the weight of shared memories. Suddenly, the door hissed open. “Hello everyone!” Alma’s voice burst into the room, jolting us from our thoughts. She was TAP’s landmark for RDA soldiers, she had been our guide through learning about humans, and their planet ‘Earth’, it was—weird, with all its ridiculous customs, money obsession and the lack of care that the water was a slurry of waste, and their air was as thick as two-day-old porridge that smelt of burning rubber. She tossed her holopad onto her desk with a flourish, flashing us a crooked grin. “Wow, look at all those smiling faces!” she quipped, pure sarcasm dripping from every word. “Survive training, or barely hanging on?”

“Commander Alvies beat the shit out of me”, I mumbled under my breath before I could think about stopping myself. My ears folded as Ri’nela gave me a warning hiss again and swatted at the back of my head. Alma didnt offer a sympathetic look, just a hum.

“She’s always been one of the RDA’s more enthusiastic teachers.” Enthusiastic? That was one way to spin the story; it sounded a lot nicer than “Has a hobby and a perversion to beating up children in the gym with no repercussions.” Alma rushed into a lecture about how we should respect RDA officers, the ones who ‘protect us’ and supposedly keep Pandora from eating us alive. As the others moved on to the lesson, something about capitalism, I decided to stay in my head. The only place with colour, that was mine and mine alone.

I was far too young to remember anything outside of these walls. On the rare occasion we get to go outside, I get the smallest glimpse of the outside, a flash as the winds pick up. Green, deep and vibrant when I first saw it—I was maybe four—I decided then, and there that it was my favourite colour.  Alma and Director Mercer always spun the same web of stories: our clan abandoned us, the RDA, in all their ‘heroic glory’, scooped us up and started TAP—the ambassador program. Some sort of program Alma came up with to connect both Na’vi and Humans alike so we could live in peace with one another. I spared a look down at my bruises. Was this peace? 

I wouldn’t know.

Nature versus nurture. I was proof of the theory; raised by humans, fluent in cafeteria slang and military jargon, my mother tongue was mostly lost. As a child, Nor and Ri’nela tried to teach me scraps of Na’vi they remembered, but I felt more like a broken ‘Speak and Spell’—Na’vi scattered through English. Still, even now, something pulls at me: an ache, a hunger for Pandora. That single glimpse of green sparked my yearning for home, to lie under a sea of stars, to run through grass until my lungs ache, to breathe the same air my parents once did. I know I belong out there—not in this box of recycled air and humming lights. Four walls and a roof—a cage dressed up as security. I remember a quote from a book an RDA scientist once let me read: 'A wolf is a wolf even in a cage, even dressed in silk.' I don't see her anymore.

I always wondered what happened to that book—maybe it was hiding somewhere on base. Everyone had something from Earth to remind them of their past. We were allowed to keep one item. Ri’nela had her mother's beads, Nor his father's armband. Teylan kept his tucked beneath his pillow in our barracks; he doesn't show it often, but I think it was a tuft of wool. Tamtey had her mother's songcord. I squeezed my eyes, thinking of Aha’ri—once the eldest, now the youngest, after she was murdered. Mercer stole their mothers' and Aha’ri’s songcord to make a point. Prick. 

My own anchor of the outside was a tiny bone-carved creature, it wasn't like I or the others had seen before, not in the old human documentaries Almas showed us or the rare picture we had seen on her holopad of Pandorean creatures. Even when I went up and asked her, Alma couldn't even guess what it was. For years, I tried to picture what it would look like. I tried to think about who carved it for me, where they were sitting far away from the creature, so it was hard to see, and that's why it didnt have a lot of detail? I gently traced the creature's body; the bone was worn from the same action over the years, the pores slowly worn smooth. I immediately stopped as the door slid open with a sharp hiss. 

“Cortez, I need to talk to you over here, now.” In strode Mercer, in all his compact glory and hard-edged authority, on his wrist, breaking up his attire of white and grey, stood out Tamtey’s mother’s songcord. Fucker. Two of his guards flanked him, both wearing their protective gear and guns pointed to the ground, their fingers ready on the triggers. The air in the room instantly tightened, and everyone sat up straight. This was his peace. 

When Mercer would burst in ususally he’d be prowling, quietly stalking around the room, his first target was always Teylan, it wasn't hard to see why, he’d perk up like a puppy desperate for praise, regardless that I was the youngest and should technically be just as faithful to Mercer as Tyelan was. I never fell for it. The beatings were enough to prove that Mercer didnt care for us. 

“Listen up—orders just came down from Hell’s Gate. We’re getting kicked off Pandora. Pack your stuff, and do it fast before—”  As if the base’s defences were listening, a siren exploded throughout the halls, red lights started spinning and strobing, turning the room into something you’d only see in a horror movie. We had run through drills like this for years, fire, safety breach, but never evacuation. For a heartbeat, nobody moved—frozen in a moment of fight or flight. I met the others’ eyes, hoping to see some sort of direction or guidance from one of them, only to see them in the same position I was in. Great. “Before the panic starts,” Mercer finished, his voice barely audible beneath the howl of the alarm.

“What?!” Alma shouted, her voice cracking as she tried to cut through the noise. Even she looked thrown, her usual calm shattered. The siren kept wailing. We get it, could someone shut it off already! I thought as I pinned my ears back. 

Mercer didn’t waste a breath. “We’ve lost Pandora. Some Avatar driver named Jake Sully went full native—turned the Na’vi against us. That’s why you can’t trust them.” Fucking rude, I felt a hand grab my arm as I flinched forward. I looked over to see Ri’nela, who simply shook her head, her jaw tight, eyes focused on the guards and their guns. When they so much as twitched, Nor was up, planting himself in front of the rest of us. 

Alma turned to us, trying to hide her panic. “Okay, everyone! Grab your things—” Her voice wobbled, not nearly as strong as usual. I felt Tamtey slip her hand into mine; her grip was iron. Before we could think about following Alma’s instructions, Mercer cut in again, his voice somehow managing to cut through the silence. 

“Cortez! I’ll handle this. You need to go.” Alma froze, torn between following orders and her duty to us. She gave us one last, worried look before slipping out, swallowed up by the red flashing light and noise. Mercer turned away from us, ignoring our stares, and nodded at his two guards, who shifted, hands twitching close to their weapons.

“You know what to do,” he said, voice ice, heavy and final. The sound of his command lingered in the air like a death sentence. For a moment, I think it was. 

Mercer’s gaze swept over us, one last time, and I realised what this was. He was destroying his experiments. Torching his shame, and there was nothing we could do about it. Then he turned and walked away. The guards moved up to the platform, the one Alma would use when the ‘Link’ got too much for her, their faces carved from stone, eyes glinting with some sort of sick twisted pleasure under the strobing lights. I tried not to tremble, but my body betrayed me.

Tamtey yanked me closer, her arm now wrapping around my shoulder, half shielding me with her own body. Every muscle in her body tenses, ready to take what blow was meant for me. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying not to think of the image of lying under her as she died. Even as fears radiated off of her like waves, Tamtey’s grip never faltered. I could feel my knees about to give way. Stop it, you need to be brave like Tamtey! I wasn't brave, I wasn't brave at all. Fear crawled throughout my body, icy and unyielding, squeezing the air from my lungs; every single breath was on borrowed time. There was no way out, there was no escape. 

Nor let out a low feral hiss, but it didnt fool anyone, he was just as scared as the rest of us, frightened animals cornered. Teylan bolted to Ri’nela’s side, grabbing her arm with a frantic grip, eyes wide and eyes shining with tears that were ready to spill. I pressed myself deeper into Tamtey’s side, like a child hoping that if they just wished hard enough, the monsters would go away. Tamtey’s ears pressed to her skull as a low warning hiss escaped her. My vision blurred with tears I couldn’t blink away, breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as I clung to her, fingers digging in, desperate not to be torn from the only safety I had left.

A gun rattles—a sharp, mechanical clatter that we all knew all too well thanks to Commander Harding. They took their aim. My heart leapt into my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut repeatedly, praying to—well, to whoever would listen that it would be quick and painless. I tried to focus on anything else, Tamtey—I focused on her, her scent wasn't her own, sanitised with that awful soap they made us use, not that then, I focused on her grip. I think if she squeezed me any tighter, my shoulders would have broken, but I am not complaining. I tried to ball myself up, pressing my face even deeper into her side, bracing for the white-hot sting of gunfire. 

The gunshots came next, they were louder than out on the shooting range, my own screams didn’t even overpower them. The sound echoed, bouncing off the walls, then nothing, leaving a ringing silence so final I thought I was dead. My prayer worked; my death was quick and painless. I risked a peek at the afterlife, the light stabbed at me, and for a second, everything was just a whirl of shapes and colours. Then it clears, Alma is in the doorway, breathless and wide-eyed, a gun clutched in her hands. On the platform, the two guards who’d just been mere seconds away from gunning us down lay dying, unmoving, blood being to pool out of the wounds and dripping on the once pristine flooring. 

“Follow me. Quickly!” Alma’s voice shattered the silence. Tamtey was the first one to snap into action; she pulled me from my dazed state. Yanking me to follow her as she called out for the others, the words were worbled to me, not fully formed, but I could understand the intention behind them. We tore from the lecture hall in a stumbling herd, adrenaline burning through my veins, heart pounding so fiercely I thought it might punch through my chest. My feet barely remembered how to run, slipping and skidding on the polished floor as the world blurred—red warning lights spinning, the siren screaming in my ears, the corridor felt endless, a tunnel of panic and echoing footsteps.

By some miracle, we didn’t see a soul; everyone was likely at the evacuation points or packing in their barracks. We ducked and sprinted through the labyrinth of halls, harsh fluorescent lights making everything seem more surreal. I’d walked these halls all my life, but now I had no idea where I was. Alma led us into a small, sterile room we must have passed a million times without noticing.

Fourteen cryobeds lined the walls, their glass lids catching the spinning red lights and throwing them across the room in jagged, shifting patterns. The beds blinked with a slow, eerie green light, like the pulse of something alien. Dread prickled over my skin. Since when did we have cryobeds here? Why did the RDA build them so far away from the evacuation point?

“Alright, get in,” Alma ordered, trying for calm, but her voice quivered. Tamtey paused, her sharp eyes scanning every corner and entrance, as if expecting guards to burst in. Only when satisfied did she nod and let go of my hand to help the others.

Confusion and fear hung in the air. Teylan’s breathing hitched as he paced, tail flicking anxiously. “Is Mercer leaving us?” he choked, eyes wild.

Nor spat a bitter answer—“We are no longer of use to him”—anger and resignation heavy in his voice. The weight pressed down on us; I was right, we were just shameful experiments never meant to see the light of day.

Alma hastily motioned us toward the cryobeds, repeating, “You’ll be safe here—” though her eyes kept flicking nervously to the door. Nor planted his feet and faced her, refusing to move until he made his stand.

“Let us go, we can take them! We can escape! To Pandora!” His voice cracked on the word, but Alma shut him down with a hard shake of her head.

“There are soldiers everywhere. You won’t make it a step.” She blocked the door, as if she could stop us. Nor slumped in defeat, and Teylan tugged him to a bed. We gave in one by one, exhaustion and reality settling in.

Tamtey stayed glued to my side, guiding me to a cryobed, not letting me hesitate. Her hands were gentle and sure as she helped me climb up, muttering reassurances. She smoothed my hair back, whispering, "I’m right here. I’ll be right next to you."

Her words settled over me, warm as a blanket, as fear twisted my stomach. The bed was cold, metal against my back, and I grimaced at the sticky sensation beneath me. Tamtey lingered, squeezing my hand, thumb tracing soothing circles. The lid hovered above, ready to close me in like a specimen.

Tamtey paused, shooting a last worried glance at Alma. “What about you?” she asked, voice hushed but fierce. Alma shook her head, already tapping controls. Tamtey climbed into the bed next to mine, eyes on me until the lid lowered.

Alma’s voice floated over us, muffled and distant. “You’re just going to sleep for a little while. It won’t be long, okay?” Chemicals flooded my body, dragging me into darkness so deep it might as well have been the end of the world.

And we stayed in that darkness for fifteen years.