You Are Meant To Shine Bright

The baby slept quietly against you, comforted by the connection of your kurus, no longer wailing at the audacity of being forced into the world. He was round and soft with all that human fat that had caused you too much trouble the last few hours, thicker in ways normal na'vi babes would be slim.

Lo'ak's eyes searched that round little face, moving from his chubby cheeks to pouty lips, then higher up above his eyes.

No brows.

Lo'ak's chest stilled, breath hitching.

No brows.

The babe's face was devoid of any extra hairs that had plagued Lo'ak's face his entire life. For a second, a palpitating sense of relief washed over him, relief at knowing his child would not be subjected to the cruelties of words those hair brought on. The mocking, the sneers, all of it. The kind of silent scrutiny that lingered in crowds wherever he went.

Then his eyes traveled down. And there on the babe's clenched fist were five fingers. Five, short, stubby little fingers, each barely larger than a mealworm.

A disorienting flurry of feelings surfaced.

First it was fear for his son, of what the people might say or do, of what he might endure as he grew. The shame and self-hatred.

But then…there was adoration, quiet and fluffy, settling right in the middle of his chest in a ball of fuzzy warmth. Because looking now, at that little fist that housed that tiny pinky, Lo'ak knew, with all the certainty in the world, that finger could not belong to a demon. Attached to that pinky was a small, chubby newborn baby; someone who was the complete embodiment of love, the product of two hearts joining as one. That finger looked so soft and gentle and pliant. Something incapable of harm.

Pride came rushing in. Pride that there was part of him seen in his son. Pride of knowing indisputably that the babe was his—not that there was ever any doubt— and that finger was not what anyone ever told him it was. That it was not something vile and eldritch but rather adoring. How could he have ever let anyone make him believe otherwise when the truth was so clear before his very eyes?

Tears clouded his vision. It was not a burning that rushed along his waterline in quiet heartache. It was a fast and bubbling rise that quivered along his lower lashes in release of that suffocating feeling that surfaced whenever he looked at his hands.

"Ma Lo'ak"

Your hoarse voice broke him out of the spell his son had cast over him. His eyes found yours instantly. You held the babe up to him, arms lifting as much as the exhaustion that had settled in your joints would let you.

Instinctively, Lo'ak's hand raised, only slightly before stopping mid-air. It was the hesitation of a man who never knew if what he was doing was right. Hesitation that did not exist when he was a reckless boy. Hesitation that was born of blood and death and war. His hand stayed still, shackled by an invisible chain of his own making, holding him back, stopping him from crossing the distance despite your silent permission.

His eyes found yours again. Your wide, beautiful eyes, so different from his smaller ones. Those eyes that looked at him with all the adoration in the world. Those eyes that had seen him and chosen him despite what others whispered. Those eyes that softened and fluttered and gave him all the love he had craved his entire life, genuine and surreal.

"Lo'ak," your voice was a blanket, always so careful with him, wrapping him in pillowy warmth. Your lips were pulled back, smile sweet despite the corners drooping from tiredness. "You can hold him. It is okay." Lo'ak always listened to you. You were his rock, the one thing in his life that considered him completely, that held him up when his own legs refused to, folding under the pressure of his own doubt. Lo'ak owed you more than his life. Your love had saved him in ways he could not express in words. Whatever you wanted, he gave it, because you gave him everything the day you chose him. Even now, you still give him more than he deserved in the form of a sleeping babe.

Lo'ak's hand trembled, pulling against the self-imposed shackles, freeing himself and finally breaching the space between him and his son. You passed the baby off with ease, him only stirring slightly when you unlinked your kurus. The baby's weight settled in Lo'ak's arms nicely. Heavy and real. That pale blue skin of new life was plush with human fat, feeling so cushiony against his arms. The babe's rounded cheek was squished against Lo'ak's chest, his pouty lips letting out a quiet, content sigh. Lo'ak wondered if his son could hear the deep thudding of his heart, if it was comforting to his tiny ears.

Lo'ak's hand went to the babe's fist, smoothing his large thumb over the little one's knuckles. He naturally focused on that small pinky that was barely longer than his own nail, carefully opening the little hand so he could stroke it with a reverence he never thought he would have towards the finger that was just like his own. His heart skipped a beat when the babe curled its hand around his finger—his pinky, so large that those small fingers struggled to fully wrap around it.

It was then the tears finally fell, brushing against his cheek in a light, cool rush. He tipped his head down, bringing his lips closer to the babe's ear, and with a soft whispering voice laced with willowing devotion, he welcomed his son.

When the smoke clears and the ashes fall, nothing is left of the Hometree. 

Nothing but the stump, the bulging roots and the cut-off part remain of your destroyed home. You’ve never seen one, but you think that the remains of the tree must look like a decapitated corpse — something that once was full of life, and now is just… there. A reminder of what was. 

Many managed to evacuate the branches as it fell, but just as much ended up being buried by its massive limbs; you can’t find it in yourself to understand if it was a blessing — for them to have such a quick death, one that avoided them from feeling the endless grief you’re feeling now — or a tragedy. You keep asking Eywa the same question, but either she doesn’t know, or she won’t tell you. 

She hasn’t been telling you much lately, anyway. 

As the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk, you grew up close to the bond you shared with Eywa. Mo’at always brought you and your sisters along with her to pray, and the three of you soon learnt how to perceive her in everything you did and everything that happened. The Great Mother is in all of us, your mom used to always say, before you fully grasped the concept. She gives, and we take. And when the time comes, we’ll be the ones to give back what we borrowed. 

It looks like, to you, that the time has come. Only, Eywa won’t seem to take anything from you. 

During the day, you’re back at the ruins of the Hometree, with a few other Omatikayas looking for the remains of their loved ones. When they are easy to remove, you do so, and then give them the burial they deserve as a part of the People; when the branches have buried them too deep in the terrain for you to remove them, you pray for them and their souls, hoping that they are, at last, at peace. 

At night, you pray by the Tree of Souls until the first morning lights shine through the outline of the mountains, when your mother wakes and gently drags you to the marui you share with her and orders — more like begs — you to sleep. “You won’t be able to hear Eywa better if you tire yourself so, daughter,” she utters as she holds you tight in her arms, humming that same lullaby she used to when you were little. “I doubt she wants you to be exhausted.” 

You sniffle brokenly, hiding in her shoulder like a child as she covers you with the blanket she had stitched with the help of Sylwanini and Neytiri when she first realised she was pregnant with you. It’s a miracle you managed to salvage it from the fall of the Hometree, as most of your belongings have been lost during it. “We still haven’t found Tsu’tey, sa’nok,” you whisper, muffling a sob. 

Mo’at sighs softly, holding you tighter. “Oeyä yawne,” my beloved, she starts, “Tsu’tey died a great death. Even if you do not find what remains of him, I’m sure Eywa will hold him close nevertheless. He fell into the ocean, after all — she’s strong there, too. We might not think of it to be our home, but everywhere Eywa is, can be considered our home.” 

Still, it’s hard to believe that Jakesully out of all people is helping rebuild your village. 

He’s supposed to be one of the aliens that came from the sky — one of the four-fingered demons that have destroyed your home. And somehow, Eywa still chose him to lead the Omatikaya. 

You don’t deny his bravery, nor his will to learn your ways, nor the fact that he is a great warrior — Turuk Makto, in fact. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t hard for you to look at him and not see the Hometree lying dead on the ground, burning, and the Tree of Voices reduced to shreds under the dozers. 

You know it’s probably just your grief talking — you’ve never had anything against the man, not even when he first came here, blabbering about wanting to learn the way or whatever the RDA had put in his head — but you don’t know what else to do. When you’re not looking around for the corpses of the fallen, or praying for them, or begging Eywa to tell you the meaning of all of this, you’re either crying or trying to sleep — and when the latter comes, it’s never restful. 

Neytiri is grieving, too, and you know it, but she takes it differently — because she has Jake, and she’s putting all she has into building a new, safe village, where maybe one day their kids will grow happily. But you feel stuck — like when it fell, the Hometree swallowed you, too, along with all the fallen comrades that you had known for your whole life. 

Your answers finally come during another restless night spent under the Soul Tree. 

Your mother has since stopped trying to coax you away from it — instead, she has taken to making salves and weaving shawls under the light of the branches as you weep silently for a sign, the terrain still against your body, unlike the usual steady beat you used to feel. Sometimes Mo’at braids your hair, other times recalls stories of your father and sister, but mostly lets you cry it out — even if her heart breaks every time a tear slips down your cheek. Neytiri sometimes comes along, chanting her songs and saying her prayers, but lately, she’s taken to spending her nights in the tent she calls home, with Jakesully. 

(Not that you blame her. If you had a mate, you’d probably find comfort in them, too. If you had a mate, maybe you wouldn’t be so utterly hopeless.) 

It’s when you find sleep while having these thoughts that finally, Eywa responds to your call in the best way she knows — a dream. 

You feel like you’re floating, and finally, finally– you can feel her presence. She’s everywhere, surrounding you with her warmth, and it’s just when you look around to understand where you are that you notice that you are underwater. Life swarms you from every angle — the fishes twirling in a dance only they can understand, anemones and corals shimmering with bioluminescence on the rocks under your feet. 

You don’t know for how long you swim, but what you know is that you haven’t felt this feeling in what seems like ages. You have missed the Great Mother’s presence, and if this dream tells you anything, it’s that maybe, she has missed you, too. 

A large, warm hand engulfs yours. You can’t see the face of the man that has taken it, but by the color of his skin, he can’t be Omatikaya. Come with me, a voice says, and you aren’t able to really distinguish it — it does not sound like a real voice, rather like a spoken thought inside your mind. Our Spirit Tree is this way. You feel the same hand on the small of your back, guiding you in the water, in a way so gentle that you already dread the moment his touch will fade. 

You wake up with your hand still feeling warm and dried tears staining your cheeks. The ground you’re lying on feels stiff and cold. Hoisting yourself up on your elbows, you notice the sky — it’s still night — and your mother, sleeping with her head leaning on the trunk of the tree. “Are you trying to tell me that I have to find my peace somewhere else?” you murmur quietly to the tree, impossibly tired in every way imaginable. And maybe it’s just an impression, or your lack of sleep, but you think the branches glow a little more than usual at that. 

The hard part is not accepting to leave behind the Omatikaya — in your heart, you knew that a part of you died when the Hometree fell, and no new village would ever make up for what the sky people have taken away from you; every camp made after that would only look like a ghost of what was, where you grew up in. 

No, no. The hard part is convincing both the Tsahìk and the Olo’eyktan to let you go. 

By the time morning comes, your bags are already packed. Your ikran, Ry’ia, is waiting for you just outside of the village chirping softly with Neytiri’s mount, Sa’atra, as you pull on your traveling shawl and wait for the villagers to wake up before your departure. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for chaos to erupt. 

Neytiri drags you away from the astounded clan members as soon as she gets wind of what’s happening, Mo’at and Jakesully on tow when she sits you down in one of the newest tents, her face unreadable as she takes a seat in front of you. “Explain.” 

You look at her mate and your mother, sitting respectively on her left and on her right, and suddenly your heart fills up with courage you weren’t even aware of having. “I had a dream last night,” you start, “Eywa has shown me where to find my peace again.” 

As you recall your vision, you can tell that the only one fully understanding the meaning of it is your mother, because while Jakesully doesn’t look too troubled about it, Neytiri hasn’t had that betrayed look on her face towards you since you were seven, and you stole the last piece of fruit intended for her. “What?” she asks in pure disbelief, “Wha– why would you ever think of going away from here, sister? We have plenty of men who would be delighted to have you as their mate. We have the ocean. We have fishes. Do you really have to look for them from another clan to be happy?” 

You shake your head, guilt seeping through your chest. “Sister, if I could be happy while being here, close to you, I would stay. But…” Your eyes drift up to Jake and immediately go back to her, not wanting to blame him for all the things humans have done to you. “I can’t find it in myself to build a new village that Tsu’tey, father– hell, Sylwanin won’t see. And even if I could…”

You scroll your shoulders, “Eywa has shown me the way,” you say firmly, “and I will follow it.” 

Neytiri looks over to Mo’at, searching for support in the discussion. “Mother, please, tell her this is madness,”

She looks at her for a singular moment, then to you. Finally, she speaks. “When I was your age, I had a dream, too. It led me to your father.” The story isn’t new to you — everyone knows Mo’at was part of the Orangi clan before she married your father. 

Neytiri stares at her, “Mother, you can’t be serious– she doesn’t even know where–” 

“How can she know, if she does not try?” The Tsahìk interrupts her, “Eywa has shown her that she won’t find peace while living here. These things are rare, but they happened. That was my case, at least.”

Your sister gapes at her, flabbergasted, only to look back at you, getting back up on her feet. “If you leave,” she hisses, “I will never forgive you.” She storms out, her tail twitching after her, leaving the tent feeling even colder than before.

Finally, you manage to look at Jakesully straight into his eyes, trying to avoid the glare your mother is sending him, and you’re surprised to see an actual understanding of the situation there. “You do understand why I can’t stay here, do you?”

He blinks, sad. “I do.” 

You nod, “Good. I would never ask you to leave — this is your home, too, after all. And it would mean sacrificing Neytiri’s happiness. I’d rather be happy here too, but… I can’t do that. Not while my loved ones lay under the Hometree, dead.” you shake your head, ashamed of what you’re about to say, “Not while you are here living the life they deserved. I am sorry, Jakesully.”

Tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mutters, sorrowful, “I know you would stay here if you could. Just… please, do not go today. Wait until the end of the week. Let me talk to your sister– I’ll try to change her mind.”

As he leaves to go look for Neytiri, you are left with your mother. Your eyes remain downwards, all the courage of before gone after your sister’s outburst, your heart feeling heavier than ever. Needless to say, when she moves to hug you, you’re left stunned — you were waiting for her to tell you you were mad, too. “I am sorry, daughter,” she says, her usually firm voice trembling, “I did not understand your pain was so great. I thought Eywa had in her plans to keep my daughters close to me, but if having you far from me is the price for your happiness, then I’ll gladly take everything that comes with it.”

You avoid mentioning her teary eyes when she pulls back, her hands holding your shoulders. She sniffles, trying to save face. “The Metkayina are the only sea clan your father’s ever had contact with,” she manages, "their Olo’eyktan may still remember him. You should start your search from there.”

In the following days, you are smothered with gifts. 

Everyone makes something for you to take on your travels, or to give to the chiefs of the foreign clans you’ll visit. Your friends Ninat and Peyral stitch a beautiful shawl in record time, stitched beads and feathers in it. So that you may have something to remember us by, Peyral explains, emotional, as Ninat nearly bursts into tears. 

Your mother makes a Tsahìk necklace typical of the Omatikaya and tells you to give it to the wife of the chief. Showing respect to your hosts is always important, remember. Do not forget your culture, but do not force it on them, either. 

Even Jake turns up one night, giving you a funny-looking bone knife that he clearly has just learned how to carve. “As a… parting gift?” he tells you, even if it sounds more like a question. His ears bend down, “I’m sorry you feel like you have to leave to be happy. I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” I wish you could overcome our differences like your sister did. 

You look at the knife — the jaggedy blade looking ugly but clearly heartfelt — and then back at him. “You’re a good man, Jakesully,” you tell him. “I am truly sorry that my opinion on you has to be stained by what your kind has done to us — but perhaps, it’s just because things are a little too fresh. Perhaps, I just need some time away from here.” 

Neytiri doesn’t come looking for you until it is time for you to go. As you say your goodbyes to friends and everyone you grew up with, she shuffles quietly behind Jake, her hands behind her back. Still hugging Ka’ani, you look at her as she gets closer, suspiciously quiet, only to present you with a bead on her open palm. 

You gasp at the sight of it — it’s a bright blue stone, one of the ones to be found only in the ikrans’ nest, with the Omatikaya clan symbol etched on it. “For your songcord,” she explains, not looking you in the eye. “To mark your… new start. Your travels.” 

You look at the bead, taking it in your hands, then tug Neytiri close to hug her as tight as possible. “I’ll miss you, sister,” you murmur in her shoulder. 

Even if she’s supposed to be mad at you, she reciprocates the hug immediately, and it doesn’t take long for the tough facade to crumble. “Please, come back when you’re finally happy again, okay?” her voice is trained, and you doubt anyone but you heard her whisper. “This will always be your home. You’ll always have a place to stay here — with me.” 

Ry’ia is delighted in the change of scenery — you can tell by the way she reacts through the bond, but also the happy shrieks she lets out once you lower her near the surface of the ocean so that her wings may touch the water. You look behind you — to the mountains that you’ve called home ever since you came to the world — one last time before turning your gaze back to the sea, the directions your mother gave you etched into your mind. 

Awa’atlu is almost three days of travel from your village, turned into four by the stops you make to allow Ry’ia and yourself some rest. And when you finally reach it, it’s night, and only a few lights are shimmering in the Metkayina village. Not wanting to disturb their sleep, you turn your ikran to the rocky side of the island — devoid of any maruis from what you can see — and land atop the coast, dismounting from Ry’ia and patting the side of her neck. “Good girl,” you murmur, “rest now, yes? I’ll take a dip and be back here with you in a moment.”

You remove your traveling shawl as she chirps quietly, remaining in your loincloth and chest piece as you dive into the waters. 

You feel like crying in relief when you finally feel her. Eywa is everywhere here — she surrounds you with the water in bioluminescence, in the anemones that move in rhythm with the currents and the nocturnal fishes that swim around in a haze. It’s like waking up from a bad dream, being able to finally feel her again. 

Even if brief, the peace it gives you swells your heart. The Great Mother wasn’t holding a grudge against you — you simply weren’t searching for her in the right place. 

You resurface to catch some air, only to notice that you aren’t alone.

A turquoise zukzuk — an otterfin — stares at you with her big eyes, and if she weren’t an animal, you’d say she was smiling at you. She rubs her snout into your shoulders, chirping happily, and you chuckle, petting her back, “Aren’t you a cutie? Oh, yes you are, yes you are…”

She licks your cheek, and you fake a gag even as she basically throws herself in your arms. “Now, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to trust strangers? If I were a tad bit more selfish, I’d totally bring you home with me,” you’re not sure how you would manage an otterfin in the forest or while traveling, but you’re sure that if there’s a will, there’s a way. 

“Hey, you shouldn’t swim here when it’s dark,” 

The screech you let out is loud enough to wake up the whole village, you’re sure. The zukzuk — who looks more scared than you — jumps in your arms as you hug her, ready to defend her from any possible attacker. The latter — a man with turquoise skin and weird tattoos over his face — screams back, mostly startled by your yelling. 

“Sorry, sorry!” he puts his hands in front of him as your screams die down, still hugging the otterfin, “I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that — we’re too close to the reef, and it’s mating season for the akulas. Their cubs will start hunting for preys any moment now. It’s dangerous to stay here for long.”

You share a look with the otterfin, who’s still cuddled to you, and it’s just then that the man seems to notice her. He frowns, “Nala, is that you?” It's the same tone you use for Ry’ia when she pulls some kind of stunt you told her not to do, and the zukzuk lets out a noise while looking at you with the biggest eyes as if to say, I’ve never met this man in my life. 

The latter gasps, “It is you!” 

The pup cuddles closer to you, hiding under your chin, her tongue slipping out of her mouth like she wants to mock him. You raise an eyebrow, “This is your zukzuk?”

The guy nods, “She knows she shouldn’t swim here at night, it’s dangerous–”

A rumble from below interrupts him, and you all freeze. “…What did you say about those akula cubs?” You don’t even know what an akula is, but judging from the fact that apparently their cubs make swimming at night dangerous, it can’t be anything good. 

His hand wraps around your wrist as he starts to drag you away, back onto the shore, much faster than it took you to even get here. “Just where did you come from? Are you Ta’unui really so clueless?” Another rumble from behind you, and he swims even faster. You keep Nala under your arm, and she keeps moving her tail like she’s trying to help him move away. 

It’s only when you’re out of trouble and onto the shore, where the water reaches your knees and you’re illuminated by the bioluminescence and the moons, that he notices that you don’t look like a Tau’nui at all. He stares at your slim tail and arms, leaning his head like he’s never seen a specimen like this, and even your clothes are weird. Quite dumbly, he pulls at the feathers stitched into your top, staring intently, “What are those?”

The fact is, you’re also just noticing that he doesn’t look like normal Na’vi men, too — at least, not to the ones you’re used to. He’s broader, taller, and apparently also dumber, because he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s just grazed and uncovered part of your breast. 

You deadpan. He blinks. Nala barks. He lets the feathers go as he turns purple, “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” He’s lucky that the Omatikaya are people raised with no shame about their bodies, because otherwise, the slap you would’ve given him wouldn’t have been too nice from a girl who’s supposed to look for uturu in his clan. 

You squeeze the water out of your hair as he stares weirdly, Nala twirling around the two of you. “Why were you swimming if the waters are so dangerous at night?” You ask him, trying not to stare too much at his arms — you never thought that the Omatikaya men needed more muscles, but now you understand that if they did, it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. His tail — twitching uneasily behind him — is thicker and longer than yours, and his arms have strange prolongments on their sides — to help swimming, you suppose. While Omatikaya grow slender and thin to avoid any difficulty in swinging in the forest, maybe the Metkayina grow to swim more efficiently in the ocean. 

“I was looking for her,” he points at Nala, “we spoiled her a little too much, and now she doesn’t know how to take a no.” He tries to smile at you, “You’re not from around here, are you? Your tail would be horrible for swimming.” 

You nod, “I’m from the forest clans — the Omatikaya.” you tell him your name, and he nods. “I came here looking for uturu, but the village seemed to be asleep when I got here, so I figured I would talk to the chief in the morning.”

He looks troubled, “I’m Tonowari,” he introduces himself, “I’m from the village. Uturu? Has something happened to the Omatikaya?” 

No matter how much you insist he doesn’t, he drags you to the village — in the literal sense, as you didn’t want to follow him and he has to take you by your wrist — and over to a secluded mauri, where he finally lets go. Ry’ia chirps tiredly beside you, huffing indignantly at him as you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “I’ll talk to Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to the mauri, “wait for me here, okay?” Nala quietly follows him, dragging her little belly over the sand. 

You didn’t really explain the whole thing— you just told him that you’re here to find contact with Eywa again because you weren’t able to in your homeland. You don’t really know why he insisted so much in talking to the chiefs now, and you can’t help but wonder why he feels comfortable waking up the two most important people in his village for a stranger. 

Soon enough, he comes back out from the marui, gesturing for you to come inside; you do, and you’re greeted by two very much awake chiefs, sitting with their backs straight as ever. 

“Olo’eyktan Arvak and Tsahìk Tsika,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to them, “I’ll leave the three of you alone– keep an eye on that big bird of yours.”

“She’s not a big bird," you whisper, too tired to fully protest. He pats your shoulder, looking a bit guilty, letting the woven sheet atop the pod close back behind you, “Sure she isn’t,” 

You remain alone with the chiefs — and Nala, who you realise just now hasn’t followed Tonowari. Looking at the couple, you figure that the Metkayina must all have his same features. “Sit,” Tsika gestures to the empty space in front of them, “and tell us everything.”

Recounting the fall of the Hometree is more difficult than you thought it would be — because even if it’s been almost a month now, the wound still feels fresh. They listen, not prodding for more information when you stop to take a deep breath to avoid bursting in tears, and the Tsahìk puts a hand over her mouth when you mention your father. “Eytukan,” she murmurs, looking over to her mate. “He came here when we called for the other Tsahìks.” 

At your confused face, Arvak explains, “A little over twenty years ago, our son fell sick. Rashes all over his body, convulsions, other symptoms we’d never seen before.” 

His wife takes a deep breath, “When nothing seemed to work and we lost all hope, Arvak chose to call the other clans’ Tsahìks and healers for help. The Ta’unui sent a healer, the Aranahe some healing plants, and everyone pretty much did the same. But your father,” she pokes you in the chest, not in a mean way — in a way that says, the man you’re half a part of. “Olo’eyktan Eytukan came here himself. Excused his wife’s absence, told us she had just given birth to their third daughter and wasn’t able to travel properly. He took a look at our son’s state, and said that it probably was txumpaywll poisoning — until then, we didn’t even know that its plants had started to grow on our islands. Made a salve for his rashes, concocted the antidote and left when he got better.” 

They bow their heads at you, “It will be an honor to pay back Eytukan’s kindness. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do anything in our power to help you.”

You beg them to raise their heads, embarrassed. “I just want some time with your clan,” you tell them, “learn your ways with the creatures, how you move within the currents.” If Jakesully out of all people managed to learn the Omatikaya’s ways, you doubt it will be much harder for you. “I… I’ve lost contact with Eywa. I hope that learning your clan’s ways will help me in finding it again.” 

Arvak has got a pensive look on his face. Then, he says, “Tonowari, I know you’re listening. You can come in.” 

The man sheepishly enters the marui again, sitting beside you, a little embarrassed. You raise an eyebrow — did he really think either of you didn’t hear him? You might’ve not heard him approach when you were in the water, but back with your feet on steady ground, you would’ve known how to spot him before he was even in your line of sight. 

Nala squeals and throws herself on his knees, purring. Arvak tries to ignore her to his best abilities. “Our son Tonowari will teach you everything he knows about the reef,” ah, so that’s why he didn’t have any problem waking them up. Nice to know that the Olo’eyktan’s successor has seen your boob. On his part, Tonowari makes no protest. “Her training starts tomorrow. Go show her one of the vacant maruis — she’ll stay here for a while.” 

Ry’ia is already sleeping when you and Tonowari detach your bags from her saddle, and you try your best not to gape at his biceps as they flex while he takes the heaviest woven baskets out of your hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll take those– you must be really tired.” 

He balances them on his side and shoulder as he walks you through the maruis — with the few still awake villagers peeking out of their tents to steal a curious look at you — only to stop in an empty one, carefully leaning the baskets down to the floor. You stare at the woven walls of your new home, at the mat on the floor and the little space reserved for the fireplace, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this can work. 

You set down your bag as Tonowari stands back up from his knelt position, “Try to get some sleep,” he tells you quietly, “I’ll come to wake you up tomorrow a little before dawn — it’s when the ilus wake up. If you need anything, that–” he points to a nearby pod, “–is my marui.”

He stops for a moment and looks at you, sitting on the sleeping mat. “I’m sorry about your father and what happened to your people.” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “Thanks.” You avert your eyes and wrap your shawl a little tighter around you. “Uh… goodnight, Tonowari.”

He nods, a sad smile on his lips as he moves outside of the tent, still holding open the curtain serving as door. “Goodnight.” 

He closes the blind, and you’re left to your thoughts. 

Tonowari laughs. “Your swimming form is funny.” 

You pout. “If you're here to poke fun at my survival-level swimming form, I’m sure Nala would be happy to teach me how to instead.” 

His laugh gets even louder, and he raises his hands up. “I said it was funny, not bad! It’s like… watching a child take their first dive out of their mother’s womb.”

“Are you really saying that a kid might swim better than me?”

The son of the Olo’eyktan has at least the decency to stifle his chuckles now. “No, no, I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough.” 

This morning, the villagers were astonished to find out that the chiefs had basically sneaked you into the village overnight — but sure enough, their spirits changed when you started distributing the gifts you had brought for them. The Tsahìk seemed pleased with the necklace your mother had made her, claiming it to be of beautiful manufacture, as her people raided your baskets for the shawls and armbands your friends had stitched for them. Yovo fruits were gone in a matter of seconds, and Arvak had to set aside the dried meat you brought to assure that everyone got a piece for dinner. 

(As for Arvak’s gift, you gave it to him once the crowd dissipated. You told him it was from Toruk Makto, who even after proper Omatikaya training, unfortunately still had to work on his carving abilities. He took the dagger nonetheless, pleased that Toruk Makto himself took time out of his day to make something for him.)

Despite your gifts quietening the protests of your arrival, the villagers still stared a little too hard sometimes — no wonder, they’ve never seen a forest Na’vi before. Most of them are nice or at least cordial to you, but a few doubtful stares still linger as Tonowari tries to do his best in teaching you the ways of the Metkayina. 

You start spending your mornings — from before dawn up until lunch — with the Olo’eyktan son, learning how to juggle the currents and hold your breath, and your afternoons with the clan elders, weaving baskets and learning how to stitch seashells into body pieces. 

(The first time you asked if you could help weaving the growing side of the marui pods, they gasped, scandalized. Apparently, it’s strictly the men’s job around here.) 

After a few days and horrendous tries, you finally manage to finish your first armband — Priya, an old woman wearing the feather chest piece that one of your friends had made, insisted on it. It’s decorated with a few shells you managed to collect while diving with Tonowari, and as she inspects it closely, she hums, clearly pleased with your work. “I’m sure your mate will be delighted to wear this, one day.” 

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “My mate?”

The other elders nod convincingly, passing around your work. “In Awa’atlu, the first piece a girl makes is always a stitched armband," she explains, revealing why she had pressured you so much in starting off with one. “The mother makes sure to save it, and when the time comes, it will be given to her husband to wear. He, in return, will give her a carved comb, usually decorated with anything that pleases the woman.”

You think about it for a moment, “So, the first ever piece the men carve is a comb, too?”

The women laugh like the mere thought is hilarious. “Of course not!” Priya hollers, “The first piece a woman stitches is important because in her life, she will make numerous beautiful works. The men give them the most beautiful comb they make, because it’s already a miracle if they manage to make one singular, decent comb.” 

At this, you laugh with them, thinking about that wobbly knife Jake made for their Olo’eyktan. Then, you snort, “This wasn’t my first armband, though,” yes, you had to learn how to properly position shells and have them not fall off the strings, but this isn't your first time stitching.

One of the other women shrugs, “So what?” She says, “It’s the first one you make here — as a future proper Metkayina — that counts as first.” 

Later on that night, back in your marui, you observe the armband and store it inside one of your woven travel bags, hoping that one day, the man you dreamt about will be able to wear it.

Whenever you are free from both weaving lessons and Tonowari’s constant nagging, you delve deep into the forest that the island offers, collecting herbs and fruits. Apparently, the Metkayina have learnt to make the most out of what the sea has to offer, and subsequently rarely explore the forest except for harvesting fruits. The seaside forest is a bit different from what you were used to, but fortunately the plants do not differ that much. 

The first time you show the Tsahìk how you used to make disinfectant salves in the forest, she stares at the concoction like it has just clicked something in her brain. She smells it, tries it on one of the hunter’s light scratches and notes how he doesn’t lament any stinging. “Why don’t you come with me and my tsakarems one of these days?” She asks finally. “I’m sure we could teach you something, as well as learn from your… peculiar ways.” 

The next day, you ask about the tsakarems to Tonowari as he gently hoists you up to an ilu. “Here, when the Tsahìk doesn’t have a daughter, she takes various apprentices under her wing,” he explains, showing you how to place your feet to avoid falling off of the creature’s back. “And then, either the most talented or the one the future Olo’eyktan chooses becomes Tsahìk, while the others go on to become healers.” 

You still fall off of the ilu’s back, but it doesn’t really matter — because Tonawari is there, ready to catch you, and immediately steadies you as you come crashing onto him. You’ll learn, he signs, still underwater. Do not worry, you’ll learn. 

The two of you have grown significantly closer since your arrival, and you try not to notice the way his touch tentatively lingers over your hips as he brings the both of you back to the surface. The two of you stare at each other then, his hands still atop your waist, and just as he’s about to say something, the moment is broken by Nala — and either she’s obsessed with his biceps at least half as much as you are, or she’s really just a little, fat bugger. You both laugh as she slobbers all over your face, his hands leaving your body, and you have to convince yourself that you’re not missing his touch to continue the riding lesson. 

Your weak spots are the signing lessons and the apnea training, mostly because your complete attention on him is needed to actually learn something. 

The first time he pushes his hand into your belly to show you how to breathe with your stomach, you thought you would’ve been able to faint right here and there — or swoon, depending on how you see it. And whenever he shows you new signs and their meaning, unfortunately all you can think about is what exactly his fingers can do. 

After lunch, you join the Tsahìk and the tsakarems in their dive for medical algae; a girl named Ronal shows you the best shells to pick to add to plants to make a paste, and the fishes that you have to follow to find a certain type of anemone with incredible healing properties. She’s a little ruffled by your presence at the lesson and you can tell, but you don’t find it in yourself to judge her; you’re pretty sure that when Jake was learning your ways, you were far more suspicious of him than she is of you.

Weirdly enough, the Tsahìk comes looking for you when you don’t show up to her lesson the day after. You come to find out that what you thought was a once-and-done offer was meant to be a more permanent position among the tsakarems, and now your evenings are filled with her lessons about spirituality and healing, too.

But the best thing about Awa’atlu is, by far, Eywa’s presence: she’s everywhere, in the waters you swim into the bonfire Avrak lights when it’s time for dinner, and for the first time in months, you feel safe. Even Ry’ia does, and it’s evident in the way she made herself a nest atop one of the highest trees in the forest.

You’ve made friends with the elders and two girls close to your age, Wali and Em’a, and the curious glances that the Metkayina sent you on that first day you spent here are nothing but memories now, as they have seemed to accept you as one of her own. 

Ironically enough, you start noticing how close Ronal and Tonawari are just now that you know her. 

Nothing much, but still noticeable, because most of the women in the clan are not close enough to him to be touching him — but she does. And for some reason, a lingering touch on his arm here and two grazing knees there are all it takes to ruin your night. 

You know it’s stupid — a lot, actually.  You’d already figured that one day, Tonowari will have to choose a beautiful and probably Metkayina woman to mate with to become the Tsahìk when his mother won’t be able to be anymore. Ronal is smart, definitely the prettiest tsakarem out of Tsika’s group, and above all, an established Metkayina in the clan. You, meanwhile, still have to properly mount an ilu, and Eywa forbids a skimwing.

When the fire dies out and it’s time for everyone to go to sleep, you sneak away from your friends to find refuge in that same rocky coast you landed on the night you arrived, and find yourself looking at the stars.

The next morning, after yet another slip down the back of your ilu, you’re ready to pack your bags and go back to wallowing in your pity in the remains of the Hometree, but Tonowari stops you by the tail and drags you back into the water, already hoisting you up the ilu’s back again. “Come on,” he encourages you, getting on the saddle right behind you. “Make the bond– I'll worry about not making you fall.”

Your eye twitches. Just how are you supposed to stay focused on the ilu when you can feel his chest pressing against your back, and his arms basically engulfing your own as he holds onto the saddle? He blinks at your staring, acting oblivious. “What?”

By some miracle, you manage to focus on your mount. The ilu’s speed causes you to completely lean on Tonowari for support, but he doesn’t seem to mind — the opposite, actually. One of his arms wrap around your midriff to keep you more stable, and while underwater you can feel his chin rest on your shoulder, when you rise back to the surface it’s his breath that you can feel on your cheek — and you know for a fact that he’s doing that on purpose, because he’s much taller than you, and he has to be crouching to be almost your height. 

“See?” He whispers in your ear. “It’s not so hard.” Well, of course it isn’t with him assuring you don’t fall. Slowly, you lift your head up to look at him, a brow raised in amusement. “Not with you here, mister.” 

Your sultry gaze makes him blush — an absolute hunk of a man who has surely had his fun playing with your closeness up until now, defeated by the batting of eyelashes. Unbelievable. His index finger traces a little pattern over your side, his eyes not leaving yours, “Then I’ll be here for as long as you’ll need me.” 

Wali and Em’a tease you endlessly about your lessons with Tonowari, and although they are terrible at catching fishes with the nets, whenever the two of you are out in the water they’re suddenly the most interested in fishing, even if their eyes are directed to anything but their supposed catches. They insist on rebraiding your hair in the Metkayina way when your braids start growing out, picking the prettiest shells and beads they can find to intertwine them in your strands. Considering you ditched your feather tops for their net-and-shell ones a while ago, if it weren’t for the colour of your skin and your tail you could probably pass as a reef Na’vi without too much trouble. 

But the main problem remains — you are not a Metkayina, not in the true sense of the word. And you are reminded of that as you see Ronal drag Tonowari away from the bonfire during dinner. 

Your mood shifts visibly. You play around with the fruits on your bowl, completely bummed, and Em’a and Wali share a knowing look. “Maybe she just wants to talk to him,” the latter whispers, as her friend nods. “Yeah, they butted heads allll the time when we were kids. I’m sure he just did an ugly marui pod and she wants to point out every single mistake he made with the weaving.”

You huff a bitter laugh, “Yeah, because I’m sure that that kind of stuff requires an immediate discussion.” 

You go back to watching the stars atop the rocky coast that night — it’s a habit by now, because even if you feel happy here, you still miss your mother and sister. The thought of the three of you watching the same sky always manages to comfort you. Alas, now it’s helping you overcome how stupid you’re feeling, because you know that Ronal is perfect for Tonowari. 

She’s been a tsakarem for longer than you, has grown up with him, knows how to ride an ilu perfectly and knows the way of the water like the back of her hand. She doesn’t come from who-knows-where, where trees grow as tall as the stars and far away from their beloved ocean, doesn’t have a useless tail for swimming, and doesn’t need to resurface constantly for a breath of air as much as you do. Wanting to be with him is selfish, because you’re fully aware that there’s already someone perfect for him out there. 

Still, that doesn’t mean it hurts less. 

The next day you opt to avoid Tonowari’s lessons, staying close to Em’a and Wali to help them stitch a wedding gift for one of the village’s couples on one of the empty, woven platform just above the water surface. The chief’s son had looked confused when he’d found you with the women instead of in your marui, but his questioning glance was met with a shrug. “Well, they need this gift done before the end of this week. I won’t be able to ride an ilu properly any time soon, anyways.”

His shoulders sag a bit and he looks like a grounded ikran, but he still nods and goes his way, back to the beach. “What?” you ask Em’a when she stares at you, gaping. “He looked so sad! Why didn’t you go with him? Me and Wali could’ve finished this alone!” 

You go back to your stitching, fiddling with the strings. Your mind takes you back to the other day — the way his finger traced your skin — and still, a little part of you can’t help but wonder how things would be if he didn’t like another girl already. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude between him and Ronal, you know.”  

Your friends stare at each other, not knowing what to say — it’s not like they can rebuke without knowing what the two of them talked about — or did — last night. 

You spend the day avoiding Tonowari like they pay you for it, running errands in the forest for the Tsahìk and finishing baskets with the elders, and by the time dinner time arrives, you can’t evade him anymore without half the clan wondering what happened between you two. 

You’re sitting beside Em’a — who’s arguing with Priya about what shells are best for a chest piece — when someone tugs at your braids as gently as possible. “Hey,” 

Of course, it’s him. He looks a bit sheepish, a weird leather pouch over his shoulder as he lets your hair go and sits beside you, brushing a fallen braid behind your ear. “I like the way you did your hair– it’s really pretty.”

Well, if Priya and Em’a weren’t listening before, now they definitely are. It’s a miracle Wali is on cooking duty tonight, because otherwise, you’d have three very nosey listeners instead of two. You blush, “Um– really?” Damn him and the effect he has on you. One day, he’ll be Ronal’s — but you decide that it surely won’t be a problem if you have his attention, just for tonight. 

He nods, a smile gracing his features. “The prettiest,” for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about the braids anymore, but you’re not brave enough to point it out aloud. “You know, I was thinking that we could try again with the ilus tomorrow. Don’t let a few falls discourage you — I’m sure I fell a lot when I had to learn, too.”

You scoff, swatting him on the arm. “Really? Big, bad Tonowari beaten by a skimpy ilu?” 

He rubs the back of his neck, “Well, actually, I don’t really remember — I was little — but I’m pretty sure my bad memory is just because I probably hit my head really hard while falling.” 

That manages a laugh out of you — and it’s like he can go back to breathing properly, because he had really thought he had done something that offended you in some way or the other. He was more stressed than he let out this morning, when you refused to come with him to see the ilus. 

The night goes on and you laugh like you haven’t in months. He sure knows how to make great company when he wants to, and his arm — leaned on the sand behind your back — sometimes brushes against your spine, causing pleased goosebumps to etch over your skin. Eywa, you want him to be even closer so bad. 

And it’s just when he leans down and scoots a little closer, his hand tentatively resting on your back, that you notice her. 

Ronal is glaring at you from the other side of the bonfire, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently. The charm wears off — you remind yourself that you can’t exactly pretend she doesn’t exist for a night, because even if you don’t owe her anything, you don’t want to cause any rift between her and Tonowari. It’s not like he’ll ever mate with you, anyway. 

So you gently pull away, trying to ignore his hurt stare as you get up from your previous sitting position. “I– did I do something? Are you–”

“Sorry, I just need a breather,” you disappear into the forest, but not before seeing Ronal stomping angrily towards Tonowari, surely ready to yell at him. Priya and Em’a cast worried glances at your back, but you’re too distraught to actually notice. 

The rocky coast is quiet in contrast to the continuous chatter of the bonfire, as the sound of the waves is the only thing breaking the silence. You hug your knees close to your chest, staring at the stars, wondering what and how Neytiri is doing right now — cuddled up with Jake, no doubt. Well, if Ronal wasn’t so perfect for Tonowari, you think you’d like being cuddled up to him, too–

A hand on your shoulder nearly makes you jump out of your bones — were you really so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the same man you were just daydreaming about approaching? Embarrassing. If your father were alive, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

Tonowari sits beside you again, and you hug your knees just a little closer. “I, um,” he stutters, and you can’t believe a man of his size is able to get embarrassed. “Today, when I went hunting outside the reef, I got you something.” He grabs the pouch slinged over his shoulders, opening it to reveal a beautiful conch shell. 

You’ve never seen one so big — it’s probably the size of your head, if not bigger. The outer shell is iridescent, reacting to the bioluminescence of the waves that crash underneath you, while the inside is streaked in blue and purple. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you gape at the sight. “Tonowari, what…”

“I saw it and it just reminded me of you,” he explains, his cheeks a pleasant indigo. He holds it out for you to take, and if you weren’t sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, you’d say his hands were trembling slightly. “And so, as it is tradition, I thought I should’ve gotten it for you– if you will accept it, that is.”

You’re too dumbfounded by the seashell to really listen to him. You take it in your hands, tasting the weight of it, admiring its colors and wondering how something so beautiful could have reminded him of you. At last, you find yourself hugging it close to your chest, even if its spikes poke a little into your arm. “Thank you, Tonowari,” you say, feeling as full as anyone can be. 

He perks up, his ears twitching like he’s in disbelief, his tail moving happily in the sand. “…Really? You accept it?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” It's a gift, and you don’t plan on giving it back to him anytime soon. It’s too beautiful to even sit anywhere near his man-cave. 

The grin he makes takes up his whole face. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. Fantastic, even.” 

Gently, he touches your arm. “So, how about riding those ilus tomorrow?”

The next morning, you manage to mount an ilu properly — without Tonowari behind you for support, that is. It’s nothing much, but it’s still a step forward into life in the reef, and from the way your teacher claps and hollers, you’d think you’d tamed an akula. 

Later that evening, you’re still helping Em’a and Wali with their wedding gift, as well as recounting last night’s events to their flabbergasted faces. “A conch shell?” Wali asks to confirm, her thread and beads long forgotten. 

You nod, mimicking the size of the shell with your hands, “Yeah, a thing this big,” 

Em’a squeals, “No way! I didn’t think he was so straight forward!” 

Confused, you ask, “What do you mean? He was just being nice,” 

They look at each other, gaping, then back at you, “What do you mean, he was just being–”

They’re interrupted by someone sitting down next to you without asking permission, and you blanch when you see Ronal. “Oh– oh, um, hi.”

She blinks at you like it’s no big deal, then picks up a spare thread and needle and begins helping you with the netting. “So, what did Tonowari tell you last night?”

You hesitate. “Oh, um, you know — lessons stuff. A few tips on how to balance my weight on the ilus better. Um… in a– friendly way?” 

She perks up an eyebrow suspiciously, her ears twitching in annoyance. “Lessons stuff, huh?” she repeats, stitching a shell in the most aggressive way you’ve ever seen — even Neytiri bad-mouthing Jake never reached these levels of hostility. “In a friendly way? Is that so?”

You share a panicked glance with your friends, laughing awkwardly. “Yes?” It sounds more like a question than a reply, and that’s probably what tips her over the edge. Her eye twitches, and she doesn’t even bother to put the needle and thread where she found them as she rises back up to her feet while grumbling, “If you’ll excuse me,” 

“She didn’t even try to be sneaky,” Em’a mutters as soon as she’s out of hearing range, “what’s up with her?”

Your stomach churns, “Well, it’s probably the fact that–” 

A loud slap echoes from the village, making the three of you flinch. A second slap ensues. When you look up, you notice that Tonowari is standing on the shore, holding his jaw with his cheeks already turning an ugly purple, and Ronal is marching away, fuming. 

…Yeah. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that shell thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he was going to marry her anyways. 

You wonder what exactly is between them, but can’t find it in yourself to ask him — mostly because you aren’t brave enough to tell him that you like him. Em’a and Wali can keep telling you that there’s nothing between them, but recent events continue to prove them wrong. 

That night, at dinner, you mostly keep to yourself, deep in your thoughts, and even if Priya tries to drag you out of your misery, it’s all futile. For one reason or another the fruit you’re munching on tastes bitter, and you’re not sure if Tonowari’s absence around the bonfire helps or worsens your mood. It’s only when Ronal herself pats your shoulder and gestures for the beach that you get out of your haze. 

She tugs you by your arm down onto the shore, as silent as ever. “Listen, I’m really sorry–”

“Did you do anything you need to apologise for?” she asks, jumping off a rock. You stumble, “I– well, I know you and Tonowari probably–” 

“Stupid forest girl,” she huffs, not even looking at you, “thinks I want him like he’s some kind of trophy when he’s stupid like a baby–” 

“Hey! That’s not nice–” 

She tugs you roughly one last time only to let your arm go as you reach where the ocean meets the sand, and you fall down in the water, wetting your — newly made, you must add — loincloth. You groan, rubbing your backside, “Ow– I get that you’re mad, but this seems a little too much to me–”

Ronal points to somewhere behind you, looking tired of you. “Go.” 

You blink, confused — and then you turn, only to catch sight of Tonowari, only a few klicks behind, mounting an ilu. He raises a hand to greet you, the smile on his face nervous, and you notice that he’s got that pouch slung over his shoulder again. 

Hesitant, you turn to Ronal — looking for what, you don’t know. She raises an eyebrow expectantly, “What are you waiting for? Go.” 

You’re not sure you want to know what kind of game she’s playing, but something tugs at your tail. It’s Nala, you come to realize, and she’s trying to drag you off to Tonowari. 

You relent, following the zukzuk and mostly letting yourself get carried by the current until you’re in front of him. He gestures his fingers to his forehead as a salute and then holds his hand out to you, “Care for a swim?”

Still hesitant, you look at the ilu, then back at him. “No baby akulas trying to eat me this time?”

He laughs, “No, not where we’re going.”

You allow him to hoist you atop the ilu — because even if you're capable of doing it yourself, he always does that — and then climbs up in front of you, holding one hand behind your thigh to keep you steady and the other on the reins. “Hold on tight.” 

You have to admit that riding at night is beautiful. Other than the moons and stars above you, the only light comes from the bioluminescence, and you remove one hand from his waist to brush the surface of the water, in awe. Nala swims beside you, holding up with the pace with some effort, but still looking very happy to see you and her carer together. 

Tonowari stops the ilu when floating rocks and boulders — like a miniature-size Hallelujah Mountains — start to appear in the sky. “Where are we?”

He turns to smile at you. “You came here for Eywa, didn't you?” he asks, “Well, you could say we're going to visit her.”

He dives and you follow him, still a bit reluctant. He stops to let you catch up to him when he notices that you’re a bit behind him, a hand coming up to hold your smaller one — and suddenly, all of this feels very familiar. The fishes twirling around the two of you, the rocks and algae shimmering, the life you can feel buzzing within the water– 

Tonowari lets go of your hand as you stare all around you, but it’s just to sign something. Come with me, our Spirit Tree is this way. His hand comes up to the small of your back, and if you weren’t holding your breath, you’re sure you would’ve sputtered. 

If he notices the way you’re staring at him — like you just discovered a whole new person — he doesn’t mention it. He just guides you through the swarms of nocturnal fishes until you see it — the Spirit Tree. 

Never in your life you would’ve thought that something like that could’ve existed underwater. It looks like it’s made out of dreams, shining upon anything that comes close to it, and Tonowari’s hand slowly leaves your back as you approach it — he’s letting you have some space, you realise. 

Meeting the ancestors is like going back home — maybe it’s because in the spirit realm the Hometree and all the people that came down with it are alive, or maybe it’s because you didn’t do it for a long time. Either way, once you come back from it — you have to, the air in your lungs is starting to feel less and less every second that passes — you come to find out that finally, you feel truly at peace. 

You swim up to a rock covered in moss to catch your breath, taking a moment to admire your surroundings — you’ve swam up to an open cave, it seems, painted and engraved with stories from the start of the Metkayina clan to the new days. Tulkuns, ilus and Na’vi twirl across the stone, set for an endless dance across generations, and you hear the water crinkle beside you. 

“Do you like it?”

You nod, “It’s beautiful. Our Spirit Tree, back in the forest, doesn’t really offer any space for carvings.” 

Tonowari nods, looking at the artwork scattered across the walls. “This is the Cove of the Ancestors. It’s where we bring the dead to rest, where newborns have their first contact with Eywa and ceremonies are held.”

You hum, already imagining him in full Olo’eyktan attire, his father passing down his spear to him. The man clears his throat. “I… I also brought you here for another reason other than the Spirit Tree — Ronal suggested I might’ve wanted to… clear things up a bit between us.” 

You feel your heart skip a beat. Ah, there it goes. “There’s nothing to clear up,” you assure him, even if your chest feels like it’s imploding. “It’s okay. I know you have responsibilities — and we both know that Ronal’s the best tsakarem out there.”

He blinks, confused. A beat passes, slowly. Then, “But I don’t want Ronal.”

Oh. Oh.

You stutter, wondering if he’s joking — and from the way he’s looking at you, he’s not. “But– I thought you two had a thing. She dragged you away from the bonfire the other night — she’s always so close — she slapped you this morning just because we talked last night.” 

Tonowari’s laughter is sincere and without any malice behind it. “What? No!”

He removes his pouch from his shoulder, and opens it to reveal another conch shell– even bigger than the last one. It’s different, though: this one reminds you of him, all turquoise and light blue accents, and you wonder just how many hours he has spent looking for it. “Here in Awa’atlu, gifting a big conch shell symbolises the start of a courtship,” he explaines — embarrassed, perhaps? “I got so used to having you around that I forgot you weren’t born Metkayina, and probably didn’t know of the tradition. Honestly, I was too happy you had accepted it to ask myself if you knew about it — and for that, I owe you my apologies.” 

You soften visibly, but still hold a little resistance. “But Ronal–”

“Ronal is a friend,” he empathizes the word, “if anything, she sees me as a brother she can’t get out of her hair. All this time, she’s pressured me to make my move on you — before the other skxawngs in the village noticed all your qualities. That day at the bonfire? We kept arguing over what compliments I should’ve used for your hair.” 

You blush, “I kept telling her I should’ve just told you that you were beautiful — which was true — but she kept insisting for a subtler approach. And when we came back, you weren’t there.”

You fiddle with the shells of your chestpiece, “Well, I thought you went to have some alone time with her or something,” you mutter.

Another laugh. “So, you escaped to watch the stars every time we were a little too close? I’m flattered that you kept looking at me,” 

You push at his arm, “Then why did she slap you this morning? Your cheeks are still swollen, by the way.”

He snorts, “Ouli — the ceremonial tattooer — gave her a conch shell a week ago, and she has accepted it. She can’t wait to be absolved from tsakarem’s duties, but they can’t step down until the Tsahìk — and the future chief — choose who, one day, will guide the people spiritually.” Two of his fingers come up to your chin, holding your head up to stare into your eyes softly, “She was waiting for me to choose you. I told her I’d propose the shell to you yesterday, and then she found out that apparently, you saw it as a friendly talk. Needless to say, she was pissed.”

“But– I’m not even fully trained yet. She’s better at–”

He shakes his head, “I don’t care what she’s better at — I know you’ll learn everything about our ways, eventually. You’ve already proven yourself worthy enough.” he raises the shell again, his hand moving up to your cheek. “So, what do you say if we try this once more? I found another shell just to ask you again.” 

You take the shell in your hands, admiring it for a moment before throwing all your self-control out of the picture, jumping in his arms so abruptly that he falls down on his backside. The kiss is mind-shattering, his hug is everything you imagined it would be, and his body is just as warm as it was in the dream where you saw him for the first time. 

The funniest thing is that once you pull away, you both are gasping for air — something you’ve never seen him do, even after diving sessions that seemed to be hours long. Tightening the hold of your arms around his neck, you press your chests even closer, your noses brushing. “Is this the answer you wanted?”

He huffs a chuckle, his eyes already looking down at your lips again, “I don’t know– seemed a bit too friendly to me. But maybe, if you do that again, say, three or four times more, I might grasp the concept fully…” 

You’re pretty sure the two of you could’ve stayed there kissing all night — and maybe even more than that, with the way you could feel him pressing against your crotch — if it wasn’t for Nala, who, by the time you went back for seconds for the fourth time, already had enough and positively jumped over the two of you, breaking the sweet moment with barks and flaps of her tail. 

That doesn’t stop you from sharing quick, frenzy kisses whenever she’s not looking, as by the time Tonowari accompanies you back to your marui, your lips still feel swollen and are surely flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you, pressing one last peck to your cheek. You nod, giving his hand one last squeeze, “‘Course,”

You decide to take things slowly — you still don’t know the Metkayina’s ways to their full extent, after all. The next few months are made of exhausting training, as now you’re the only tsakarem and still have to pass your iknimaya, and you don’t want to let anyone down. You know the expectations that everyone has about the Tsahìk, and you surely have no intention to make Tonowari look bad as Olo’eyktan when the time comes. 

And about him, he surely makes the intensive training easier. 

Everytime he notices that you’re a little too stressed he makes sure to bring you a trinket from his hunts — let it be a weird rock that looks like a heart or a basket full of shells you can make your chest coverings with. He finds flowers to put in your hair during meal times, and just swings you over his shoulder like a pouch full of water when he decides that you’re overworking yourself a tad bit too much, dragging you to his marui for a well-deserved nap.

The day of your iknimaya marks your formal entry in the clan — one who later on becomes even more real thanks to your mating ceremony. 

It’s a quiet affair — quieter than it is usual for the son of the chief — but neither of you resent the lack of festivities or celebration, because the most important thing is that you are now mated for life. Per Metkayina tradition, you rebraid each other’s kuru braids, picking beads and shells perfect for each other just for the occasion, and when the time to exchange your wedding gifts comes, you think back to Priya’s words and wonder just who she married — because the comb Tonowari carved out of coral is nothing short of stunning. 

“I’ve never been to your forest,” he tells you as you brush the swirls of the flowers and trees etched along the smooth side, “but I’ve tried imagining it so many times, I can only hope I brought it justice.” It may not be completely accurate to the forest, but the thought he put into it is more than appreciated nonetheless. In exchange, he wears your armband like it’s a badge of honor, even if it’s a little too tight on his bicep. (Not that you’re complaining — the sight is scrumptious, and you can’t believe you get to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.) 

You quickly settle in the marui Tonowari built with his father in the months of courting, and after a few months of blissful marriage, you don’t even notice when your belly starts to grow. 

You just assumed you were getting a little too comfortable in your new life with him and maybe put on a bit of weight — after all, the Metkayina are much softer than the Omatikaya, so maybe your body’s just adapting to the environment. You think so, until Tonowari points it out. 

One morning, as he’s tying his braids back, he stops to look at you — still lying half-asleep on the mat you share, barely awake yet. He crouches to stare weirdly at your belly, then pokes at your bellybutton like he’s trying to study a new species of fish. “Oeyä Tanhì,” he starts — my star, a nickname he has taken a liking to calling you since your wedding. 

You hum non-committedly. “Yes, Ma Wari?” 

He keeps poking at your stomach, and keeps doing so even when you try to swat his hand away. “Stop it, Tonowari, it tickles.”

He kisses your cheek, and continues doing so all the way to your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face as he leans his cheek over the top of your head. His chuckle is full of disbelief as he whispers, “My love, I think you’re with child. Your belly is rounder and stiff.”

A moment passes. Then, “Are you calling me fat first thing in the morning, Tonowari?” 

A terrifying silence and a visit to Tsika later, it’s confirmed — you are pregnant, already four months along. You’re confused, mostly because your people don’t show up until five months, but one look at your hunk of a husband is all it takes to explain your questions. 

Your second tattoo is to celebrate the pregnancy. While the first was above your eyebrow and went down to your cheek, this one cups the upper part of your belly and continues to your sides, still leaving some space for eventual other tattoos on your lower belly and hips. 

At night, you sit on the step going onto the ocean of your marui, letting your feet float in the water as Tonowari sits on a banked canoe below, rubbing ointment on your freshly-done tattoo. “The arch symbolises the first pregnancy,” he mumbles softly, “the sides, protection for the firstborn. If another pregnancy occurs, a piece will be added here,” he brushes against the empty, rounded sides of your belly, “for protection of the second born, and then one for the third, and so on.” 

You laugh, playing with one of his braids. “I think you’re getting too full of yourself, mister– let me give birth to this one before talking about other children, will you?” 

He rests his head in your lap, almost purring when you start tracing lines over his face and scalp, “And when the child is born,” he adds, a hand still over your stomach, “the father gets a tattoo over the heart, one that turns into a spiral as more children come.” 

A hum, “Maybe we should start thinking about names first, Ma Wari.” 

The agreement is, he chooses the name if it’s a boy, you choose if it’s a girl. He picks the name Aonung; you opt for Tsireya. 

His father’s illness comes as a bitter surprise to all. 

It starts with a cough, then he’s getting groggy when he moves a little too much, until no remedies the Tsahìk, you or the healers try to use work, as he lies bedridden in the marui him and his wife have shared for decades. 

Tonowari is understandingly broken up about it — the man who he grew up idolizing, who offered you a refuge in your grief, who helped him build the marui where you’ll be raising your child and every other one that might come after them. He won’t be meeting his grandchild, and even if Arvak insists for you to sleep properly in your own pod for the wellness of the baby, you’re not going to leave him or your husband alone in this difficult time. 

You and your mate spend every night by his side as Tsika prays and chants for Eywa, not getting a blink of sleep herself, until the inevitable comes, and Arvak’s hand finally goes limp in hers. 

The period of mourning doesn’t seem like nearly enough for Tonowari to handle his grief — he spends every night curled up into you, resting his head on your lap, trying to find comfort in you and his unborn child. He’s so big that if the situation was a little different, you would’ve laughed; instead, you just hold him close and sing him to sleep. 

But life doesn’t stop for grief, and you know that well. Soon, he’s named Olo’eyktan and you Tsahìk, Tsika stepping down from her position with tears in her eyes as she gives you her headpiece. 

Time in the village goes fast — people to heal, ceremonies to make, salves to concoct and prayers to hear. Months pass and your belly starts feeling impossibly big, so much so that the kids of the clan start following you everywhere to help their increasingly more tired Tsahìk. Tonowari always laughs when he sees them, going on about how Nala now has competition for the place in your heart reserved for children and animals, and the otterfin herself brings you a gift everyday — let it be a polished rock she found while swimming or a type of seaweed she thinks to be delicious. 

The contractions start at night. You toss and turn in pain but try to avoid waking up Tonowari, just in case it’s a false alarm like the ones you had in the last three days. It’s only when he nudges you with a gentle hand — hair still mussed a bit with sleep — and tells you that the mat is wet that you understand that your child is coming. 

Tsika and Ronal — now one of the best healers in the village and happily mated to Ouli — don’t spare any minute after your husband calls for them, and immediately have him carry you — now almost delirious with pain — to the birthing pond, where the water is warm and Eywa’s presence strong. The sigh you let out when your husband gently positions you against the rocky wall of it is one of pure bliss, and your clammy skin now surely doesn’t give you any problem. 

Aonung is born hours later at dawn, resurfacing out of the water by himself like tradition, crying out for his father to take him. Tonowari takes one good look at him, hears his strong wails and immediately passes him to your tired, waiting arms, “A boy,” he says breathlessly, brushing your braids out of your face, “a healthy, strong boy.” He presses his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek, “Thank you, Oeyä Tanhì, thank you.” 

“Aonung,” you call out sobbing, as the babe stops his crying and latches onto your breast. “Hi, my sweet, hi,” he’s a little bigger than Omatikaya babies, but you love him nonetheless. He nestles over your chest as soon as he’s done feeding, and chooses that that’s now his favourite place to be. 

In the next few weeks, your son reveals himself to be a real mama’s boy. During the day, he stays curled up in your chest in the netted wrap that Em’a and Wali had made for you, and Eywa forbid Tonowari tries to help you by taking him — because he will cry until his ears beg for mercy, only to go back to being an angel as soon as he passes him back to you. 

The children coo and poke at him when you bring him to meet them, and one of the older ones jokes about how he looks just like your husband, but can only stand you. You laugh at that, because it is true — Aonung is his father’s copy, and maybe that’s why he likes you so much. 

It’s only when he reaches three months of age that you gather enough courage to ask Tonowari to visit the forest — not because you’re afraid he’ll say no, but because you’re not sure if you’re ready for it. It’s been almost two years since you left now, and while you aren’t exactly ready to see the remains of the fallen Hometree again, you want Aonung to meet his grandmother and aunt, and your husband to see where you grew up. 

Of course, the latter could never deny you anything, and a week later you get on Ry’ia with him behind you and set sail for the forest of the Omatikaya. The village is left to Tsika’s hands, and Aonung babbles happily against your chest as he flies for the first time in his life. 

The village is in the same place it was two years ago — it’s just grown a lot since then, marui pods where the branches once weren’t even steady enough — and you laugh when Ry’ia leaves you immediately to go back to the ikrans’ nest, ready to meet her old friends no doubt. You keep one hand over Aonung’s small back and the other in Tonowari’s palm, guiding him through the branches and groves as he stumbles many times. 

You laugh, “How does the forest feel, reef boy?” 

He pales as he stares down the branch you’re standing on, wondering just how many people die here from falling down into the void. “Dangerous, my love.”

Neytiri screams when she first sees you — alerting all the other villagers about your arrival. She runs to hug you tight, not even noticing your son nestled between you two or the reef Na’vi awkwardly standing behind you until you pull back, a soft smile on your lips. “Sister, it’s been so long–”

You laugh, nodding. “It has been, sister. I wanted to introduce you to Tonowari–” the man salutes her with his fingers going to his forehead and then gesturing towards her as you take Aonung out of his wrap and into your arms, “and little Aonung.” 

You don’t notice the way her face falls instantly. Your boy coos at her, gesturing his fat little arms towards her, and the moment is interrupted by Mo’at, far more pleased than her elder daughter at the turn of events. When your sister takes her nephew in her arms and your mother hugs you, she stares at his turquoise skin, larger tail and wide forearms with worry, “He’ll never be able to move fully in the forest with these,” 

You chuckle, still in your mother’s embrace, “A good thing we live in the reef then, no?”

Her eyes skim over your sturdier arms, the tattoos over your body and the seashells braided into your hair– and before you know it, she leaves Aonung in Jake’s arms and storms off.

Being back home is nice — because while Awa’atlu became your home in the last two years, here in the forest still live your friends and family, and it’s where you grew up. Your mother spoils Aonung rotten and watches him as you go hunting on your ikran with Ninat and Peyral, while Jakesully — upon Tonowari’s insistence — tries to show him the way of the forest. Your friends chuckle every time they catch sight of your husband, asking if every Na’vi in the reef is as big as him, and if you know any Metkayina men willing to marry in the Omatikaya. 

Neytiri, who you found out to be pregnant the day you arrived, mostly stays by herself, pondering, and whenever you ask if she wants to do anything with you she refuses, lamenting nausea or other pains. 

You talk to Mo’at about it, worried, but she just gives you a weird look. “She’s grieving, child.”

Your eyebrows rise up to your hairline, “What do you mean, grieving? Who died?”

“She thought you were still traveling,” she whispers, caressing Aonung’s curls while he munches on the beads of your braids, “and that once you were ready, you would’ve come back to living here. Seeing you with a mate and a son… it broke her heart, because now she knows you’re not coming back.” 

You think back to all the times you two talked about how your children would grow up together, being best friends and close just like you did — and your heart breaks a little, too, because in all of this, you hadn’t considered how she would take the fact of you never fully returning to the forest. 

That night, you leave Aonung with Tonowari — as your son has finally started to appreciate his father a little, too — and go looking for Neytiri at the Tree of Souls, knowing that at this hour, she usually prays and chants her songcord. 

She stops when she hears you approach, her ears perking up. You smile softly, “I thought we could pray together– like the old days?” When your father was still alive, your sister still arranged to Tsu’tey, and the both of you were less complicated. When she could still become Tsahìk, and you had no reason to. 

She scoffs a little, “Like the old days,” she mutters, “am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t turn your back on me?”

You grimace, taking a seat next to her, “Tiri…”

“Don’t ‘Tiri’ me,” she hisses, “you have no right– I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to come back–” her voice cracks — pregnancy emotions; you know them too well. “For you to come back here and marry one of our men like our ancestors did for centuries. Instead, you marry a reef Na’vi and– and move Eywa knows how far from here without saying anything–”

She breaks down, and you shush her gently, cradling her head on your shoulder. This feels familiar, because when you were kids, she was usually the one comforting you. “Why did it have to be the Olo’eyktan?” she cries, her tears wetting your skin, “Couldn’t you find someone less important — someone you could come here to live with?”

You shake your head, pressing your cheek on the crown of her hair for comfort, “I didn’t choose him, Tiri,” you say softly, “I fell in love. That’s not something one controls, and you, out of all people, should know that.”

Still in denial, she sobs harder, “What will it be of our kids?” she asks, pressing a hand over her slightly swollen belly, “Will they grow up as strangers, like they’ll be to our father and sister? Will they look at their aunt and wonder if she’s an outsider?”

“Never, sister, never,” you hush, “we’ll visit — you and Jake can visit, too.”

As her cries die down, she asks, “Does the thought of living here still scare you so much?”

And for that, to your horror, you don’t find an answer. 

Tsireya comes a little over a year after her brother, and this time, she looks like you. She still has her father’s Metkayina features — the tail, her forearms — but one good look at her face, and it doesn’t take a Tsahìk to guess that she’s your daughter. Ironically enough, she prefers her father's chest over yours — unless we’re talking about feeding time, because, let’s be real, Tonowari will never be able to beat you at that for obvious reasons. 

Aonung has started to waddle a while ago, and has been restless since. He goes from your marui to his grandmother’s, visiting Ronal and Em’a on the way, falling at least twelve times in the meantime. He loves swimming with you and his father, constantly bugs his sister when she’s stealing the milk that he’s convinced should be his, and plays with Nala on the shore when the zukzuk starts following him around. 

He’s a sweet boy who brings you flowers and pieces of fruit when he notices the smallest frown on your face, and loves cuddles from mom and dad before and after going to sleep. And even if he’s a little mean to his sister sometimes, you know he loves her very much from the way he begs you to let her swim with him or wants to share his food with her. 

You visit Neytiri a few more times, but the visits slowly come to an end when you realize that she has no intention of ever coming to the reef to see the life you’ve built here. While Mo’at visits frequently, bringing the children gifts and swarming them with affection, your older sister seems to have accepted the fact that in her eyes, you’ll never be truly close again. 

You accept the notion with far more ease than you could have ever imagined — because you have a family now, and people that look up to you for guidance. If Neytiri doesn’t want to see that, it’s okay; you’ll never manage to love her any less for it. 

The kids grow quicker than you realize, because soon, Tsireya is waddling behind Aonung too, and the excruciating process of weaning her off starts. 

Her brother had been even more difficult, so you’re actually quite relieved to see that she at least does not cry herself to exhaustion every night like he did. But every time she lets out the smallest whimper, you find Tonowari’s big eyes boring into yours, with that look that says, we could resolve the problem by just having another baby. You always glare at him when he suggests that, because two kids under three already feel like more than enough now, and you have no intention of having another one so soon. 

But as she often does, Eywa has a different plan for you. 

Tonowari hurriedly wakes you up one night as you’re resting on the sleeping mat, nearly asleep as the kids quietly snore beside you. He’d been out all evening to help his mother with some herbs while you watched the children, so you’re worried to find him so distraught. “One of the Ta’unui’s women died in birth,” he whispers, careful not to wake up Aonung or Tsireya, “they need to feed him, but none of the women in their village is nursing. Could you…?”

He doesn’t even have to ask, really, because five minutes later you’re sitting in the Tsahìk’s tent, nursing little Rotxo while the Ta’unui Olo’eyktan shares worried whispers with Tonowari. The newborn is a little chunkier than Aonung and Tsireya were, but that just means that his mom, while she could, took good care of him. 

“He’s an orphan,” you hear the chief say, “his dad died a little while ago on a hunt, and he’s only got his grandmother now — but frankly, she’s old, and I doubt she’ll be able to take care of him for long…” 

The solution seems clear in your eyes, and after talking to Rotxo’s grandmother about her new place in the Metkayina village, you introduce Aonung and Tsireya to their new little brother. They don’t ask why you didn’t have a big belly like the other pregnant women in the village, or why his skin isn’t a little bluer like theirs, and instead take to him instantly, putting shared efforts to find nice shells and smooth little rocks to put in the woven crib where he naps. 

Everyday, you bring him to his grandmother so that she can have a piece of her daughter back with her, and slowly, she takes a liking to your children as well. They start calling her grandma like they do to Tsika and Mo’at, and you don’t miss the way she seems to be rejuvenated by being around such lively children. 

“No more kids, huh?” Tonowari teases you gently one evening, the sun fading into the horizon, as you breastfeed little Rotxo while watching Aonung and Tsireya play with ilu cubs in the water. 

You swat his arm, so tired but so full of love. “Oh, shut up, Tonowari. The next kid we have, we’ll have in at least ten years.” 

He raises an eyebrow, amused, “Oh? So, we will have another kid?” 

You blush — incredible how after having two of his kids and being bare for him so many times, he still manages to get a reaction out of you. “Maybe.”  

He hums, an arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Yeah? And what do you want to call them, if it’s a girl?”

You look down to little Rotxo, his hand opening and closing around the curve of your breast, his chunky belly pressing against your ribs. It’s ridiculous — the way Tonowari can get you to think about another baby while already having three small children. 

The baby slept quietly against you, comforted by the connection of your kurus, no longer wailing at the audacity of being forced into the world. He was round and soft with all that human fat that had caused you too much trouble the last few hours, thicker in ways normal na'vi babes would be slim.

Lo'ak's eyes searched that round little face, moving from his chubby cheeks to pouty lips, then higher up above his eyes.

No brows.

Lo'ak's chest stilled, breath hitching.

No brows.

The babe's face was devoid of any extra hairs that had plagued Lo'ak's face his entire life. For a second, a palpitating sense of relief washed over him, relief at knowing his child would not be subjected to the cruelties of words those hair brought on. The mocking, the sneers, all of it. The kind of silent scrutiny that lingered in crowds wherever he went.

Then his eyes traveled down. And there on the babe's clenched fist were five fingers. Five, short, stubby little fingers, each barely larger than a mealworm.

A disorienting flurry of feelings surfaced.

First it was fear for his son, of what the people might say or do, of what he might endure as he grew. The shame and self-hatred.

But then…there was adoration, quiet and fluffy, settling right in the middle of his chest in a ball of fuzzy warmth. Because looking now, at that little fist that housed that tiny pinky, Lo'ak knew, with all the certainty in the world, that finger could not belong to a demon. Attached to that pinky was a small, chubby newborn baby; someone who was the complete embodiment of love, the product of two hearts joining as one. That finger looked so soft and gentle and pliant. Something incapable of harm.

Pride came rushing in. Pride that there was part of him seen in his son. Pride of knowing indisputably that the babe was his—not that there was ever any doubt— and that finger was not what anyone ever told him it was. That it was not something vile and eldritch but rather adoring. How could he have ever let anyone make him believe otherwise when the truth was so clear before his very eyes?

Tears clouded his vision. It was not a burning that rushed along his waterline in quiet heartache. It was a fast and bubbling rise that quivered along his lower lashes in release of that suffocating feeling that surfaced whenever he looked at his hands.

"Ma Lo'ak"

Your hoarse voice broke him out of the spell his son had cast over him. His eyes found yours instantly. You held the babe up to him, arms lifting as much as the exhaustion that had settled in your joints would let you.

Instinctively, Lo'ak's hand raised, only slightly before stopping mid-air. It was the hesitation of a man who never knew if what he was doing was right. Hesitation that did not exist when he was a reckless boy. Hesitation that was born of blood and death and war. His hand stayed still, shackled by an invisible chain of his own making, holding him back, stopping him from crossing the distance despite your silent permission.

His eyes found yours again. Your wide, beautiful eyes, so different from his smaller ones. Those eyes that looked at him with all the adoration in the world. Those eyes that had seen him and chosen him despite what others whispered. Those eyes that softened and fluttered and gave him all the love he had craved his entire life, genuine and surreal.

"Lo'ak," your voice was a blanket, always so careful with him, wrapping him in pillowy warmth. Your lips were pulled back, smile sweet despite the corners drooping from tiredness. "You can hold him. It is okay." Lo'ak always listened to you. You were his rock, the one thing in his life that considered him completely, that held him up when his own legs refused to, folding under the pressure of his own doubt. Lo'ak owed you more than his life. Your love had saved him in ways he could not express in words. Whatever you wanted, he gave it, because you gave him everything the day you chose him. Even now, you still give him more than he deserved in the form of a sleeping babe.

Lo'ak's hand trembled, pulling against the self-imposed shackles, freeing himself and finally breaching the space between him and his son. You passed the baby off with ease, him only stirring slightly when you unlinked your kurus. The baby's weight settled in Lo'ak's arms nicely. Heavy and real. That pale blue skin of new life was plush with human fat, feeling so cushiony against his arms. The babe's rounded cheek was squished against Lo'ak's chest, his pouty lips letting out a quiet, content sigh. Lo'ak wondered if his son could hear the deep thudding of his heart, if it was comforting to his tiny ears.

Lo'ak's hand went to the babe's fist, smoothing his large thumb over the little one's knuckles. He naturally focused on that small pinky that was barely longer than his own nail, carefully opening the little hand so he could stroke it with a reverence he never thought he would have towards the finger that was just like his own. His heart skipped a beat when the babe curled its hand around his finger—his pinky, so large that those small fingers struggled to fully wrap around it.

It was then the tears finally fell, brushing against his cheek in a light, cool rush. He tipped his head down, bringing his lips closer to the babe's ear, and with a soft whispering voice laced with willowing devotion, he welcomed his son.

It was the first ball of the new season and some of the most prominent figures and families in London's high society were present. The event was being held at Aubrey Hall, home of the prestigious Bridgerton family. The grand hall was alive with the sound of excited chatter, lively string music and hopeful couples dancing together. Among them was young Eloise Bridgerton and her mother, Viscountess Violet Bridgerton. Eloise didn't particularly care for these events, she'd much rather be at home studying than making small talk or frolicking in an itchy dress. She was a self-proclaimed spinster and couldn't be less interested in finding a husband, but Violet wasn't going to give up on her so easily and was determined to find her a match. "For heaven's sake stand up straight Eloise!" Violet muttered to her daughter as they entered the hall. "Stupid dress, I keep tripping on the hem it's so low!" Eloise complained, fidgeting with the hem in question. "Oh do stop grumbling and smile" Violet said and put on her best smile for the guests. Eloise forced a smile that could have been mistaken for gas, Violet just rolled her eyes.

About an hour or so into the party Violet lost sight of Eloise and went to search for her, praying she wasn't up to mischief with one of her brothers again. She eventually found her talking with an unfamiliar figure. They were facing away from Violet but Eloise seemed thoroughly interested in what they had to say. They were a few inches taller with shoulder length brown waves and sporting a navy blue tailcoat with silver trim. Violet's heart lifted with hope when she saw her daughter happily chatting away to this young man. Normally Eloise was only ever this engaged in conversations with her siblings or friends, but here she was talking the ear off a stranger. "At last! Thank goodness!" Violet thought to herself and walked straight over to the pair. "Mother, there's someone I'd like you to meet..." Eloise said excitedly. You turned around and Violet was stunned into silence by what she saw, she had been expecting a handsome young man but instead she saw a striking young woman. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to figure you out but her brain has short circuited. You were dressed like a man but your features were unmistakably feminine; pretty pink lips, high cheekbones and sparkling eyes with dark lashes. On the one hand she was disappointed that you weren't the suitor she'd briefly imagined for her daughter, but on the other hand your attractiveness was undeniable and it stirred something new inside her. "...this is Lady Y/N Y/LN" Eloise introduced. "Lovely to meet you Lady Bridgerton" you said politely and gave a little bow. "Y-yes a pleasure Lady Y/L/N. I don't believe I've seen you around here before" Violet mused. "I'm fairly new to this part of London but Eloise has done a wonderful job in welcoming me". "I imagine she has. Forgive me but I almost mistook you for-" Eloise quickly interjected. "Mother!" "It's quite alright" you said with an amused chuckle, "I often get that mistake but it doesn't offend me". "Oh that's a relief" Violet said as her shoulders relaxed, "you are quite unconventional but it's rather refreshing in a way". "Thank you, I appreciate that. Not everyone is so accepting" you said, scanning the crowd and noticing a few people looking in your direction with disdain. Violet and Eloise followed your eye-line and Eloise tsked while her mother felt a sudden urge to protect you from scrutiny. "Don't let other people's small-minded opinions get the better of you dear. You seem like a delightful person and clearly my Eloise thinks the same" Violet assured you. "Exactly. Your appearance is nothing compared to some of the scandals that happen in the ton" Eloise said slyly and Violet shot her a look. "Oh well you'll have to fill me in on the latest gossip then!" you joked. Eloise opened her mouth ready to spill the beans before Violet cut her off. "Nevertheless, you're always welcome at Aubrey Hall Y/N". Your chest felt warm as her words touched you, not even your own mother had been this supportive. "That means a lot to me, Lady Bridgerton". Violet gave your hand a little squeeze and smiled at you, getting momentarily lost in your eyes. "You know even from behind I could tell you were handsome, I mean pretty! Sorry, attractive! Oh heavens..." she sputtered. Eloise groaned in embarrassment, "mum! For god's sake..." You laughed, "I enjoy your choice of adjectives my lady". A faint blush appeared on Violet's cheeks while Eloise held her own face in her palm.

-

In the weeks that followed you formed a good friendship with Eloise and became a regular visitor to Aubrey Hall as well as Bridgerton House. Your presence did not go unnoticed by Violet and she would often stop to chat with you about everything from the weather to philosophy. You were surprisingly mature for your young age and Violet found herself looking forward to your visits. Eventually your small talk became laced with flirtation and Violet was certainly a sucker for your charm. She started to notice little things about you that made her heart stutter; the adorable dimples in your cheeks when you smiled, the low humming noise you made when you ate cake and the way your fingers brushed over the pages of a book like a delicate caress. God what she wouldn't give to be that paper.

One day you came to the house to return a book to Eloise, but as you entered the hallway you saw Violet chatting with an astute looking woman with a ladies top-hat and cane. "Y/N! How lovely to see you!" Violet beamed. "And you my lady, I just came to return this to Eloise. Is she here?" "No she's off riding with Benedict, but may I introduce you to Lady Danbury?" Violet was practically giddy with excitement showing you off to her associate. You bowed and shook Lady Danbury's hand, but she spoke before you could properly introduce yourself. "Well well, aren't you a dapper young lady" Danbury purred, there was no condescension in her tone just fascination. "Um...thank you my lady". Lady Danbury chuckled, "it's a compliment dear I assure you. We need more young'uns like you around here, ones who aren't afraid to go against the norms and embrace their true selves". "Y/N actually has a keen interest in philosophy and politics, perhaps you could invite her to one of your lectures sometime?" Violet queried. "Oh absolutely!" Lady Danbury seconded, "I bet the women of the ton will be in a real tizzy when they see you". "My lady Y/N is not some circus act to be paraded for show" Violet snapped. "I know that! I'm just a little sadistic in that sense" Danbury retorted with a wink at you, you snickered but poor Violet looked horrified. "I would be delighted to attend Lady Danbury" you said then glanced at your pocket watch, "oh do excuse me ladies I must go. Farewell". You said your goodbyes then hurried out the door. "You can stop staring now Violet" Danbury said. "Wh-what? I wasn't-" "Oh please, you don't fool me old girl" Danbury teased, "I saw the way you were looking at her, like she was the most tempting treat in a candy shop". "You're being ridiculous" Violet said dismissively but the red flush on her neck said otherwise. She cracked her fan in the hopes of disguising it but nothing escaped the watchful eye of Lady Danbury. "No one would blame you for having a little fun you know and Miss Y/N is quite dashing". "I couldn't possibly. I'm old enough to be her mother for goodness sake! Besides Edmund-" "Would want you to be happy" Lady Danbury interrupted, "he would want to see you live". Deep down Violet knew she was right, but the thought of being intimate with someone new after all these years terrified her. You were more than half her age and a woman no less! Lady Whistledown would have a field day with the scandal if it ever came out. "I'll think about it" she conceded. "I know you will" Danbury said knowingly and left Violet fanning herself once again.

-

Over the next few days Violet's mind was occupied with constant thoughts of you. You hadn't been back to the house since your last encounter and quite frankly she was starting to miss you. Lady Danbury's words echoed in her ears, she had been a dutiful wife and mother when Edmund was alive and kept up that appearance after his untimely death so surely she deserved to indulge herself. But she kept telling herself you were just far too young and would never be interested in an old widow like her, how wrong she was.

Each time you visited the Bridgertons it wasn't only for Eloise, it was an excuse to cross paths with Violet. Your heart beat a little faster whenever you heard her melodic voice greeting you along with those kind eyes and welcoming smile. You admired her for being the matriarch of the family and you found her natural authority rather appealing. You couldn't help but notice the shape of her curves in her dresses, particularly when her corset emphasised the swell of her breasts. You tried so hard not to stare and luckily she never caught you, but Eloise did. "Stop staring!" she whispered as she elbowed you in the ribs. "Ow! I'm not!" "You bloody are! Do you have a crush on my mum or something?" "N-no. I was just...admiring the embroidery on her dress" you lied and Eloise wasn't buying it at all. "Oh my god you don't you?!" she realised then burst out laughing. "Shut up! She'll hear you!" Eloise wiped a tear from her eye, "that's too funny. Although I can't say I blame you, she is quite beautiful and she's barely aged". You hummed in agreement, if Violet was this beautiful now she must have been absolutely stunning in her youth. "Must be where I get my pretty face from" Eloise mused, waiting for you to agree but you were too lost in thoughts of young Violet. "Ow!" you yelped when Eloise stamped your foot, "yes you get your looks from her. Happy now?" "Very" she said smugly and went back to her book.

One evening Violet attended Lady Danbury's latest lecture about the roles of women beyond marriage. She tried to tell herself she was going to engage in the subject but really it was in the hopes of seeing you. When she arrived she mingled with the usual faces but occasionally scanned the crowd. It was only when Lady Danbury greeted you with a loud "ah hello dear!" that she spotted you, you were wearing a black silk shirt with silver embroidery along with smart trousers with boots. You'd undone a few buttons teasing your chest and cleavage and Violet's mouth went dry at the sight. She immediately excused herself from her conversation and made a beeline for you. "Y/N dear, I didn't expect to see you here tonight" she said, all lies of course. "I received an invitation a few days ago and thought I'd come along. I'm quite keen to hear this lecture". "Well Lady Danbury's talks are certainly very inspiring if a little...bold". "I like bold". "I know you do. You're the very definition of it, bold and beautiful" that last part slipped out by accident but luckily Violet was saved as people started to take their seats. "Come on dear, you can sit by me" she said, taking your hand in hers.

You took your seats and listened intently to Lady Danbury discuss everything from the class system to women's rights. Throughout the lecture you were acutely aware of Violet's presence next to you, you could smell her sweet jasmine perfume and feel her eyes casting sidelong glances at you. She wanted to make some sort of move on you but she was hesitant because she was so out of practice. Eventually she threw caution to the wind and placed a gloved hand on your knee, she gave it a squeeze then very slowly let it glide up your thigh. She heard your breath hitch and smirked to herself, her plan was working. "You look gorgeous tonight darling" she whispered, her breath tickling your skin. "So do you" you replied in a shaky voice. "You knew exactly what you were doing when you wore this shirt didn't you?" "I don't-" you almost yelped when she gripped the flesh of your inner thigh, "I-I wore it for you". "I knew it". Seeing your partially exposed chest heaving as you struggled for composure made Violet feel emboldened in a way she hadn't done for years. "You're a walking temptation, I really ought to punish you for it" she husked. "Oh god..." "Does that scare you or excite you?" "Both I think". She let out an evil chuckle, she had you right where she wanted you.

For the remainder of the lecture she continued to touch you discreetly and whisper in your ear, reducing you to a trembling wreck by the time it was over. "Come to the house for tea tomorrow night. 9pm" Violet said during the applause "don't you dare be late" and just like that she was gone leaving you utterly bewildered and dying for more. Tomorrow night's tea was going to be very interesting.

The next evening, as 9pm approached, Violet paced around her bed chamber. She'd tried on all of her most revealing nightwear but everything seemed to scream desperation, in the end she decided on a pale blue number with a matching silk gown. "What the hell am I even doing?" she thought, "I'm a bloody Viscountess not some brazen floozy!" But it was too late to back out now, you were already on your way and you had no idea what to expect. "What if she rejects me? Laughs in my face? Tells the whole of London?!" she panicked. In the midst of her fretting she spotted a small portrait of her late husband sitting on her dressing table, she picked it up and stared into his eyes. She could just hear him now, "life's too short to remain proper all of the time" he used to say and deep down she knew he was right. She kissed his handsome face then placed him back on the table, face down.

Just then Violet heard footsteps. She'd given her maid strict instructions to send you straight up when you arrived. She quickly positioned herself on the end of the bed leaning on one elbow in a seductive, yet slightly awkward, pose. She shrugged her robe off one shoulder in an attempt to entice you further, but the way her corset pushed up her breasts did that already. You gave three soft taps on the door. "You may enter" she called out. The doorknob turned and Violet held her breath, you stepped into the candlelit room and when your eyes landed on her you froze. A moment of stunned silence passed, neither of you quite sure what to do next. "Lock the door" she ordered in an attempt to sound bossy. You did so then turned back to her, "my god you look...wow". She blushed under your wanton gaze. "So when you said 'tea' you meant..." "Yes" Violet nodded, "I am the tea you are having". With that you darted over to her and she met you halfway in a kiss that was most definitely improper.

In between heated kisses you shed your coat and Violet practically ripped your shirt open. "Someone's eager" you murmured. "Damn right I am, been waiting too long to get my hands on you" she breathed. You pulled her robe off and tossed it away, planting more kisses along her freckled shoulders. "Mmm now who's eager?" she hummed. "Can you blame me when you look like this?" She gasped as your lips attacked the sensitive spots on her neck. "I suppose not, I did make a special effort for you". "Then allow me to show my appreciation, my lady". She giggled at the formality, "mmm please do". She shoved you onto the bed and straddled your hips, the light from the candles made her skin glow and the desire in her eyes gleam. You ran your hands up the sides of her corset, your fingers gliding over the intricate laces at the back. You were tempted to untie them but she looked delectable in it so you wanted to savour the sight. The light sensation made her hips buck and she found a surprisingly pleasant friction that made her gasp. "Do that again" you said, "harder this time". She hesitated then rolled her hips again...and again...and again... "I need to feel more of you" she said and clambered off you to remove your trousers and boots, leaving you on the bed in just your underwear and torn shirt. She took a moment to just look at you then let her own lace panties fall to the floor. She took her place on your lap again and rolled her hips more vigorously. "Ohhhh!" she moaned once she found a rhythm, "I...I never knew it could...feel...so...good!" You sat up and she held your head against her bosom as she rode you, but you too needed more. You pulled at the laces on her corset and freed her from its constraints, she gasped as the cool air hit her bare skin and on instinct went to cover herself. "Don't you dare" you demanded and moved her hands away, peppering her breasts with kisses and light licks.

Violet was almost overwhelmed by the flurry of sensations coursing through her body, she hadn't felt this alive since Edmund and she didn't want it to end. She was hurtling towards her climax at full speed but there was one more thing she wanted to do before it came. "Taste me!" she pleaded and in an instant you switched your positions, kissing down her body until your head was between her luscious thighs. You hummed at her sweet taste and it didn't take long until her legs were clamped around you as you lapped at her slick folds with fervour. "Yes! Yes! Right there!" She reached her pinnacle with a cry to the heavens and her body continued to convulse as you worked her through it, but just as she was coming down from her high another sudden wave shot through her and flooded your mouth even more. "Oh! Good god! I'm s-sorry! That's n-never happened before!" You placed your hand on her stomach to soothe her panic, "shhh it's ok. It just means you enjoyed yourself". "But I've made such a mess-!" You crawled back up and put a finger to her lips to hush her again, "do you hear me complaining?" Violet laughed breathlessly, "no but if anyone asks I'm blaming you". "I will gladly take full responsibility" you growled and nuzzled her neck.

A few hours later you and Violet lay together tangled up in the sheets and each other, a light sheen of sweat clinging to your skin. "Goodness!" Violet exclaimed. You laughed, "goodness? That's all you have to say?" She gave you a playful smack, "don't get cheeky!" When the laughter died down you turned onto your side to face her, "you're an incredible woman you know that?" Violet lifted a hand to stroke your cheek, "you're very sweet". "I mean it". "I know you do, that's what makes it sweet". You smiled then kissed her much more tenderly. "So...would you like to come over for 'tea' again sometime?" she asked coyly. "Absolutely my lady, I say we make it a regular occurrence in our diaries" you suggested with fake innocence. "I'm sure I can squeeze you in" she purred. "You better" you said and pulled the covers back over you both for another round of delicious tea.

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