Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

THE WAY OF THE SARENTU is simple. We are a peace-loving people, known far and wide as diplomats. Makers of art, tellers of stories. Or, at least, we were.

The Sky People—humans, they call themselves—are small, pinkish creatures much like the Na'vi. And yet, they are nothing like us in spirit. We are often told that the Sky People seek to take hold of our home, to leech it for all that it is worth, all the energy held in a fragile balance by our Great Mother, Eywa. Those from the stars have no respect for our Mother. How could they, when they have so brazenly killed their own?

The Na'vi can no longer be a people of peace. We have far too much to lose. They say setting stone against stone is a direct affront to the will of Eywa. That She claimed as much during the time of the First Songs, long, long ago. But could Eywa have foreseen the death and destruction brought by the Sky People? Does Eywa want that for all her children?

I am called rash for my ideas. They say I am quick to anger—to violence. My response? I cannot help it. It is simply how I was raised.

For I am not like other Na'vi. Though it was against my own will, I am the product of two peoples. My heart may be Na'vi, but my mind is distinctly human.

This used to disgust me. I thought I could never fit in, never learn the ways of the clan I was born to. But now? Now, I celebrate this difference. With it, I stand to bring an end to terror brought by humans.

I am Na'vi. I think like the Sky People. The blood of the Sarentu flows through my veins.

My name is Tamtey te Alma Kataru'ite, and I will not be beaten.

Chapter Text

SOMETIMES I STILL THINK ABOUT the day I woke up. How my limbs were as heavy as logs, threatening to pull me down as I slid from the cryo pod. I could still see their faces—so many faces, all around me. Alma, trepidatious. Teylan, ecstatic. So'lek, solemn, as I would soon learn, was his default.

And then, just as soon as I woke, blasts sounded all around us, ushering in another familiar face.

John Mercer.

Just as it did each and every time I lay eyes on his hateful, twisted features, my heart leapt to my throat. Looking upon Mercer brought me back to the day my sister died, bleeding out on the cold metal floor, so far from our ancestral home, the words of our songs long forgotten.

I hid, terrified, as his goons searched our empty cryo pods. And once more, Mercer issued the order to kill us. And so, I made a break for it.

The facilities were in ruins, a labyrinth of collapsed walls and rusting doors. But I ran for my life, determined that I would not meet my end within the walls which tried to break me.

And then I heard the voice of the Na'vi warrior who had gazed down on me as I woke: So'lek. He, too, was the last of his people. He understood our struggle keenly, perhaps more so.

So'lek’s steady voice got me out. So'lek was my guiding light.

Now, to think about how I had idolized him caused a heat to spread across my cheeks. So'lek simply saw me as a child, stomping unaware through the forest, no better than one from the sky.

Had I saved his life when he was surrounded by RDA soldiers, wounded? Sure. But that did not make me a warrior. That did not mean I had suddenly become Na'vi.

Even so, when I emerged into the forest from the darkness of the TAP buildings, my heart raced. I was learning and remembering all at once. Now, here, I was truly waking up.

༻𓆸°—｡༉⟢-´ཀ`—｡˚𓆰-⋆˚꩜｡⋆ೃ࿔—༗-ᯓ°—｡𓇼༺

I often wonder about my place in life. My clan is no longer, save my friends and I. For years, there was no songcord at my belt, my mother’s stolen from me by Mercer. The words of our songs have been forgotten. I have become a passable archer, I am good with animals, and I have an almost overwhelming desire to be of help to others. But none of these qualities assign me a task, a position amongst the people.

In truth, I was thrown into the ranks of the Resistance just as I was forced into TAP. I admired their mission, their ultimate goal, but I frequently found myself disagreeing with their methods. So much seemed to set me apart from others that I found it difficult to feel a sense of belonging.

And yet, for all my doubts, I found myself trudging through the Kinglor forest, keeping an eye out for the largest tree I could find.

The Aranahe Hometree.

Though I hated to admit it, the forest still made me a little jumpy. After all, I suppose it had only been a week or so since we were pulled out of cryo. I was not quite sure, really. The days were beginning to bleed together, clouded by the never-ending threat of the RDA and the pressure to learn years of knowledge in the span of only weeks.

I was trying my best out here. The forest inspired a sense of awe within me that I had never felt before. I knew I would have, had I been afforded the opportunity to grow up amongst my people like other Na'vi children. But my reluctance, my jumpiness, was yet another reminder that I was different. The animals here, the plants, the way that the people were in touch with everything around them…it was all as foreign to me as if I had just landed on the human’s planet and was asked to make myself comfortable.

And yet, there existed within me this strange sense of knowing. It was like a string was being tugged. A string which was tied somewhere deep within me, and if I found that source and followed the string outward, I would somehow discover, well, everything.

I considered the prospect, closing my eyes and allowing myself to absorb each and every sound around me, just as So'lek had taught me. Ferns fluttered in the gentle breeze. Far off, syìl chirpped, prancing through the underbrush. And as the wind whispered—

Wait. Was that the wind?

I tilted my head, willing my heart to slow to a gentle thrum which would not drown out my senses. There it was again, that soft…voice. Yes, that was definitely a voice. A Na'vi voice.

My eyes flew open and my legs jolted, carrying me toward the lilting tones. As I drew closer and the voice turned into many, growing louder and louder, I crouched within the brush. What if I frightened them? What if they frightened me? Would I be well-received, a stranger from an all-but-extinct clan? Would they even recognize me as a daughter of the Sarentu?

I edged closer, closer still…one of the Na'vi looked up and met my gaze, their ear twitching. Then they simply returned their focus to what was held in their lap: a dish of grilled fruits, which they happily continued to munch on. I straightened, awkwardly adjusting my bow over my shoulder and striding toward the group with feigned confidence. And as I came to stand amongst them, not one looked up from what they were doing.

I gulped, taking in the unfamiliar faces around me. Each bore thick, colorful stripes of paint across their foreheads, cheeks, and shoulders. Their hair was braided intricately; some even had wooden beads worked in. The sight suddenly seemed nostalgic to me, like something out of a dream. My fingers drifted toward the songcord I had recently tied at my waist, the solitary wooden bead braided toward one end of the brightly-colored strings. So'lek had crafted the piece for me, to ensure that I felt that I belonged amongst the Na'vi.

I had doubted him, just slightly, when he presented me with the songcord. Part of me longed for my mother’s discarded cord. Part of me was sure I had not earned the honor of wearing one, still more Sky Person than Na'vi. Another still was caught off guard that So'lek had even thought to make me the piece, much less add the first bead. For my newly won freedom from the RDA, he had explained.

But still, I trusted So'lek’s word. His renown amongst the Resistance, as well nearby clans. The Sky People up at HQ wove great tales of his heroism, but also of his woes. His insatiable need for vengeance.

Later that night, sitting around the fire with Ri'nela, Nor, and Teylan, I showed off my new songcord. And my cheeks flushed once again to learn that none of the three had been presented with such a gift.

Thumbing the bead had quickly become a mindless habit of mine. Something which brought me comfort, stability.

“Well?” came a gruff voice. I looked down to find an aging Na'vi’s eyes upon me. “Are you going to eat, traveller?”

“Forgive me,” I said softly, taking a step back. “I did not mean to intrude.” Never mind I most certainly had, walking straight up to their camp without so much as a greeting.

The old man merely chuckled.

“You must be hungry,” spoke another. I turned to find the purveyor of grilled fruit. “Come. Sit. Eat with us,” she beckoned.

I lowered myself between the two, crossing my legs.

“Here,” said another, holding out a bowl of blackened meat. I took a thin strip, watching as the woman slowly rolled her piece, then carefully copying her movements. She popped the roll into her mouth all at once, and I followed suit. My mouth was bursting with flavor, the meat seasoned and charred to perfection.

“What brings you to Aranahe lands?” The old man asked, reaching for his own strip of meat.

Once I had finished chewing, I said, “I seek out the Aranahe Hometree. I was invited by Etuwa.”

“Our Tsahìk?” The fruit woman hissed, regarding me with unfettered curiosity.

“Yes,” I nodded, gratefully accepting another strip to roll. “We met while fighting the RDA.”

The old man bristled. “The Aranahe are not warriors,” he proclaimed with a hmph.

“The RDA has changed our way of life,” the meat woman argued. “If we do not adapt, we will not survive. Is that not right, Sarentu?” My heart hammered within my chest. She must have seen the mark of my clan upon me.

I flushed as she turned her gaze on me, awaiting my answer. “I-I do not know that I am the best one to speak on such a matter.”

The meat woman’s lips pulled into a straight line. “Of course you are,” she insisted, though her voice had softened. “You are one of the last 'ite of your clan. Without your presence here, they would only be remembered within the songs of neighboring clans. I do not wish for the same fate to fall upon the Aranahe.”

“Nor I.” The fruit woman resolutely shook her head, arms crossing over her chest.

“This is not the way of the Na'vi,” the old man murmured, though his words had lost their vigor.

“If we do not fight,” I said, willing my voice not to shake, “we cannot protect the ways of the Na'vi.”

Meat woman’s hand came to rest over my shoulder. “Our ways,” she corrected. “The ways of all Na'vi people. Your clan is gone, but it need not be lost forever, child.”

Fruit woman nodded encouragingly.

“Go and speak to our Tsahìk if you must, traveller,” the old man grumbled. “Perhaps you may be of help to us.”

And I was off again, stomach full as I slinked through the forest. Each wave of a palm leaf seemed lighter. The animals no longer scurried away as I neared. Whenever sounds were unfamiliar or unnerving, I ran my thumb across the surface of So'lek's bead. If I closed my eyes tight enough, I could almost see the hint of a smile which had tugged at his lips as he presented the cord to me.

The cry of an ikran tore through the sky, accompanied by the nearly-deafening flap of strong wings. Looking up, I caught sight of its green form hurtling through the sky. I followed its path, running to keep up. Staring at the belly of the creature, I saw two blue feet gripping its sides, in line with the criss-crossed leather straps securing a rider’s saddle. The ikran’s tail fluttered gracefully behind it as it flew. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I could have sworn that the creature—or its rider—had noticed me in the brush below, slowing just slightly to allow me to catch up.

I pumped my arms as my chest heaved, legs carrying me through the forest. Moss squelched underfoot. Branches lashed at my arms. The wind tousled my hair. But I felt alive in a way I never had, free to use my body in a way I never could have were I still locked within the TAP facilities.

And there, just before me, rising out of the lush clearing like a beacon, stood the Aranahe Hometree. I was entering a new world, forging a new path. Here, now, I had to decide for myself—was I ready?

Chapter Text

SO'LEK DID NOT WASTE MUCH time thinking about the future. Why should he? Ever since his clan was wiped out fifteen years ago, he had been wandering Eywa'eveng alone, untethered, not even entirely sure that he should be devoting all of his efforts to Hawnutu'un’s vision, the ‘path of the promiser’. But over the years, he had fulfilled every task, almost losing his own life more than once. He had learned much—that was undeniable. And when he agreed to join Alma Cortez’s ragged band of the Resistance on the western front, So'lek even fancied himself a sort of teacher.

He had climbed the tallest peak after the Battle of Ayram Alusìng, seeking lortsyawll blooms—from that point above all he had known, he found that the Vitraya Ramunong still stood, easing just one of the many burdens which weighed on his heart. Then, after years of patience and dedication, So'lek finally tamed a palulukan with the help of the Anurai. The accomplishment earned him a place within the clan, but still he felt adrift, refusing their heartfelt offer. So'lek had revived his confidence, his sense of self, but he did not feel at liberty to settle down.

Endless months on his own in the forest should have driven him mad. Seeking one of the Tipani to teach him how to craft armor from a txursum shell nearly proved to be his downfall, more difficult even than soothing the mighty palulukan. After they finally appeared, So'lek grew closer than he intended to his instructor, a woman by the name of Rimu. But the continuation of the path meant that his feelings were never voiced. From time to time, So'lek still wondered if he should return to those sun-dappled grounds in search of her. In his more sensible moods, he knew that such a journey would be in vain.

Though his clan had been lost for some time, his nightmares thrust him back into the mountains as if the battle had occurred only the day before. Even as So'lek grappled with his all-consuming sorrow, he was determined to complete his journey. Yet another close brush with death brought him to the Tawkami, learning the art of healing from the masters themselves. Here, So'lek briefly reconsidered his goals until he and his Tawkami instructor were called to the aid of three injured gatherers, exactly where So'lek had practically met his end. The experience renewed his faith in the path, and so he surged on.

The last task of the promiser was to bear witness to the western aurora, a spectacle which could only be seen once every four years. And so, So'lek made the long journey west, braving a new land, unknown peoples, and a forest which was simultaneously familiar and completely unique. But to his horror, So'lek discovered that after fourteen long years, the Sky People had returned. The animals of the forest raced from their arrival in terror, and familiar feelings of rage stirred in So'lek’s chest just as he had accepted the peace he so desperately desired. Blinded by his fury, So'lek slaughtered all aboard one of the RDA’s Samsons; the subsequent crash left him unconscious.

When he roused, So'lek was chained in a glass cell beside a human. The Sky Man, Alex, had a way with words, though. After sliding So'lek a small disc of glass in which to view the aurora, Alex persuaded his cellmate to rally to his cause and join the human Resistance. They wove a path of destruction through the RDA’s base, and it was here that So'lek began collecting the tags from around human necks as a trophy for each kill. 

Their escape brought him to Alma Cortez. After months of forming her researchers into passable soldiers, So'lek was invited on a different sort of quest: a recovery mission. Alma explained the extent of it as they trudged through the forest, careful to avoid RDA detection. “I…I worked with them, So'lek,” she had said, her voice small, twinged with shame.

“I know that, Alma,” So'lek reminded the dreamwalker. Though she wore the skin of a Na'vi, her expressions and manner were entirely human.

“I was a teacher once, too. To Na'vi children. They were without their families, without their home, and we…we protected them,” she nodded, clutching her rifle close to her chest as if the wretched thing could provide her comfort.

“What of their clan?” So'lek wondered, his brow furrowing.

Alma’s gaze fell as her gait quickened, effectively blocking her from So'lek’s view. “They died,” she said simply. “It was a tragedy.”

“Died?” So'lek echoed. “In the war?”

“Yes,” she answered, but her voice was too soft, leaving So'lek with more questions than answers.

“And what clan were these children of?” he pressed, something like fear stretching its claws around his heart.

“The Sarentu,” Alma breathed, knuckles white where she gripped her rifle.

So'lek nearly stopped still. “The Sarentu?” he gasped. “Bu-but they disappeared.” 

The Sarentu were one of the nomadic clans, their reach spanning many other peoples, various continents. They were beloved by all; their unexplained silence unsettled many. So'lek’s mother once told him stories of one such traveller that had stayed with the Trr'ong for a time. All knew her as a kind, gentle woman, never without an encouraging word or warm smile. The year of So'lek’s birth, the Sarentu had left for her clan’s yearly Limang, a great gathering and sharing of adventures. She never returned, his mother lamented. The Trr'ong had felt her loss keenly, insisting that she had become one of their own.

“Not all,” Alma shook her head, the words pulling So'lek from his memories. “The children needed us—needed me. I was the only thing between them and the RDA, their only constant.”

So'lek’s eyes creased. “You raised them,” he murmured.

“I taught them,” Alma corrected with another shake of her head. “And when the clans rallied together…they were in danger, that much was certain. And so, amidst the chaos, I hid them.”

Rather breathlessly, So'lek asked, “All this time? How have you contacted them?”

Finally Alma turned toward him, causing So'lek to grind to a halt. Her face was etched with an emotion he could not read—or, perhaps he could, and was simply too afraid to name the misdeeds of the woman he had come to consider something like a friend. “It isn’t like that. They have been asleep, So'lek. For fifteen years. I placed them in…well, in boxes. And they went to sleep. For them, it’ll be as if they are waking up the next day. And yet, for us—”

“For us it has been years,” So'lek finished for her, suddenly feeling oddly lightheaded.

“Exactly,” she nodded, resuming their course, seeming to avoid the scrutiny of So'lek’s gaze. He gave her space, unable to prod her with more questions even though his mind raced.

Years. What must it have been like to have slept for years? So'lek could not wrap his head around the idea. Had he been put to sleep following the battle, only to awake this very day…no, he could not fathom such a concept. He shook his head as if to dislodge it.

Yet still, the thought gnawed at him. What would these Sarentu be like? Without the comfort and security of their clan…was it possible that they were as lost as he had been?

“We’re here,” Alma announced to the small group of liberators she had assembled, waving them inside. The humans filed through the rusted doors of an RDA structure, their air masks hissing with each labored breath after their lengthy trudge through a forest too vast for their stumpy legs. So'lek took up the rear of the group, scanning the lush valley below. But all was as it should be—he pulled the creaking door behind them, leaving only a sliver of light between the two dented panels.

The group silently crept through the building’s hallways, long since reclaimed by Eywa. Thick vines snaked through air ducts; moss covered glass and metal walls alike, cloaking everything in a dusty haze of green. So'lek kept his rifle up, ears tuned to any unnatural noises or sudden shifts. The answering quiet was all-encompassing, if not exactly reassuring.

Alma pressed a trembling hand against a small pad. To So'lek’s surprise, the surface activated, drawing back a glass-paned door. She dipped inside the dim room it revealed, slinging her rifle over her shoulder, hands twisting before her. “This is it,” she whispered as the others spilled in after her, gazing around the dilapidated room in wonder.

Just as she had said, half a dozen long boxes lined either wall. Within each lay the slumbering forms of Na'vi, their limbs almost unnaturally straight, faces slack. So'lek hovered above one such box, studying the young woman inside. Dark auburn hair framed her face and settled in a fringe over her forehead, the braid of her kuru coiled over her thin shoulder. It was odd, staring down at someone who, to anyone that didn’t know better, appeared to be dead. So'lek’s chin tilted, wondering what the young woman would be like.

“So'lek! Over here,” Daniela called. As he turned toward her, she waved him over. Alma punched away at a keypad adjacent to one of the boxes, jaw tensing as the top slid back with a snick. They all leaned over the box, anxiously awaiting the flickering of the contained Na'vi’s eyelids, a groan of artificially-induced exhaustion, anything. And yet, the young man never stirred.

“No,” Alma breathed. “No, no, no.”

Hajir’s small hand slid within Alma’s, but she pulled away.

“It didn’t work,” she gasped. “It didn’t work.”

The faces of the humans collectively scrunched into matching expressions of dismay. “Try another, Alma,” Jin-young urged.

“I could run some tests…” Hajir murmured.

“This one?” Daniela wondered, finger hovering over another of the keypads.

Though So'lek couldn’t make sense of why, Alma turned to him, eyes creased with grief. He nodded once, swallowing hard, and she repeated the gesture for Daniela, instructing her as to which buttons to push.

The second box opened, and once more, they all looked on in apprehension. But this time, fingers twitched. The Na'vi’s mouth pulled down. Then, finally, his eyes flew open. Though it took him a moment to focus, to adjust to the dim of the room, his gaze eventually flitted between those hovering above him. He suddenly jerked to the side, crying out with a strangled sort of moan.

“Nor! Nor, it’s okay,” Alma cooed, holding her hands out. The young man shrank from her touch, bearing his teeth but unable to produce a hiss. “Mawey, ma'Nor. Mawey,” Alma tried. His ears folded back as his eyes once again danced between everyone gathered. When finally they landed upon So'lek, the young man sat straighter.

“You are Na'vi,” he croaked, voice soft from over a decade without use. It almost made him sound more childlike than the size of his body suggested.

“Kaltxì, ma'eylan,” So'lek nodded in greeting. He watched as the boy’s muscles loosened. Though begrudgingly, he began to cooperate with the requests of Alma and the other humans. Hajir drew a blood sample and checked his vitals as Billy dug around for food, producing a small white bag. The young man—Nor—scarfed down the contents, though not without complaint.

To So'lek’s immense relief, Nor did not seem to notice Alma and Jin-young standing over another opened box. Judging by the lack of commotion, So'lek guessed that this one had failed to wake, too. His heart ached for the lost Na'vi, even if he couldn’t make sense of what had truly gone wrong. 

The pair made another attempt, Alma breathing heavily as she gazed down at the young woman. Her limbs twitched and her eyes blinked once, twice, three times—a sigh of relief escaped So'lek unbidden. “Alma?” she wheezed, her voice grating like stone set upon knife.

“Oh, Ri'nela,” Alma cried, crushing the girl into a hug. Her arms slowly rose to encircle Alma’s waist as she, too, glanced around the room, trying to make sense of the scene before her. Though her gaze tripped over the two motionless boxes, she held her tongue. The only indication of her understanding was the subtle tick within her jaw.

“Here we go,” Daniela announced as the lid opened on another box. One more young man woke, propping himself up on his elbows, blinking warily. As he caught sight of his old teacher, his lips creased into a smile. “Alma,” he breathed in wonder.

Her hands cupped his cheeks as tears spilled over her own. “My sweet Teylan,” Alma whispered.

“It is good to see you,” the boy answered, pulling her into his embrace. Alma’s laugh brought the softest of smiles to So'lek’s lips.

‘Aw, mune, pxey, tsìng, mrr…

So'lek turned, once again facing the box holding the young Na'vi with auburn hair. “One more,” he said softly, gazing down at her peaceful face.

Alma suddenly appeared beside him, hand flattening over the glass lid as Daniela punched away at the keypad. “Please,” Alma breathed, gulping down a shuddering breath. So'lek unconsciously took a step back, though he watched on.

Somehow, even before the cover slid back, the young woman began to stir, placing her hand against the glass just beneath Alma’s. “You made it,” Alma chuckled in awe, smiling down at the young woman. The glass which separated them parted, and Alma took the girl’s hands in hers. “I thought I lost you,” she croaked. “All of you.”

The young woman shook her head, blinking rapidly. “Wha-what’s going on, Alma?” she whispered. “What happened?”

“You’ve been asleep for a long time, honey,” Alma answered. “A long, long time.”

As she sat up, still holding Alma’s hands, the young woman’s brow creased. So'lek inadvertently edged forward once more, his hand sweeping down from his brow. “Oel ngati kameie,” he murmured, his gaze never straying from the young woman.

She looked up at him as if recalling a distant memory, wondering just how to place it. Alma fussed over the young woman, pulling her tswin over her shoulder, adjusting the way her clothing draped across her neck. Though she clearly wished to escape Alma’s roving hands, she lacked the energy.

“Must you poke and prod at her like this?” So'lek grumbled softly. “If she can walk, let her. The rest we will have to leave,” he reasoned, even though an ache had built within his chest at the mere consideration of abandoning the others.

Alma inhaled sharply as So'lek turned, waving forward the other three. They gazed at one another in wonder, sharing smiles and weak claps on the back.

“But the RDA left, didn’t they? We were going to be safe,” came the soft voice of the last young woman. “And…you left us here. So that they wouldn’t find us”

So'lek spun around, unable to mask his discontent. “The Sky People have returned, Sarentu,” he murmured, suddenly angry with Alma for her unexplained silence.

“Sarentu,” the young woman breathed, eyes widening. “No one has ever called me that, not ever,” she said, shaking her head.

Nostrils flaring, So'lek’s words were firm as he answered, “The Sarentu are your clan—a mighty one at that. We all thought you were lost to this world,” he said, regarding the others as well, “but this uniltìranyu thought to lock you up in this…box.”

Alma flinched at the title given to her, but So'lek couldn’t find it in himself to care. She was hiding something, and the weight of it nagged at him even if he didn’t know its extent. 

He made for the other side of the room, eager to put as much distance between himself and Alma as possible. To So'lek’s surprise, the other Sarentu fell in line. “I promise I’ll explain everything once we’re safe,” he heard Alma tell the young woman. “But for the time being,” she said, “take it slow. Your body will be weak; it’s still waking up.”

As So'lek eased into a corner, back against the wall, he busied himself with inspecting his knife. But really, he studied the four Na'vi, eager to learn their quirks. Nor held himself as if heavy buckets of water hung from his shoulders. His yellow gaze slipped to and fro, skeptical of everyone around him. Ri'nela, though…her gaze was one of open curiosity. She never strayed far from the boys, and she smiled easily. Teylan, who So'lek could tell was the youngest, was undoubtedly the most inquisitive of the bunch. His mind ran a mile a minute, producing questions faster than the humans could answer them. And yet the young woman…

She sat at the edge of her box for a long moment, head hanging low, the curtain of her hair obscuring much of her face. Though So'lek wanted to know about each of the Sarentu, his attention seemed to linger on her. When finally she stood, his gaze quickly dropped. “Did everyone make it?” she asked softly, bracing her hand on her box as she wearily shuffled toward the group. “Telisi and Yefti? What of Okni, or Yuayt?”

“I’m here,” Ri'nela cooed, holding her hand out to the young woman. She instantly took it, offering Ri'nela a warm smile. “Nor and Teylan are all right, too,” Ri'nela nodded to either young man. “We are all safe.”

“And we are getting out,” Nor laughed. “Finally, it is really happening. We are all getting out—together!”

Teylan nervously glanced around the room, seeming to shrivel in on himself. “How come it looks so different in here?” he asked, voice wavering.

“Can we get a move on?” Billy urged, tapping away on his glass which displayed images—something else So'lek failed to grasp. “More RDA units are en route. We don’t have time for this—you can all hug and laugh later,” Billy griped.

So'lek cast the human a glare that he shrank back from. “Come, now, eat. You will need the energy,” he urged, corralling the Sarentu around the rations which had been rounded up.

Still, the young woman hung at the edge of the group, waiting until the others were handed their portions. Anger bloomed within So'lek’s chest as Nor reached for the last, his second helping. But the young woman merely backed away, trying to melt within the group, going unnoticed.

“They found the rations over in the canteen,” Teylan chirped, noticing the slight but not condemning it. “There’s probably more in there. At least, I think there should be.”

The young woman nodded, taking a few more steps back. So'lek’s gaze lingered on her once more, watching as she drifted into the hallway. He discreetly followed, posting himself beside the doorway, lowering into a crouch. Just in case she needed anything, he told himself.

Distantly, he heard Ri'nela ask, “Where are Yefti and Telisi?”

So'lek’s jaw tightened. How far was this canteen?

“Did Alma send them to a different cryovault? We’ll probably go get them in a minute,” Teylan answered absently.

“You would dare to touch me with that?!” Nor exclaimed. So'lek couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I…looking after Na'vi wasn’t exactly part of my training,” Hajir stammered.

“Come on, people, we gotta move it!” Billy pleaded. So'lek’s ears flicked toward the urgency in the human’s voice.

“Who are all these…humans? Are they Mercer’s people?” Nor asked accusingly.

Yet Teylan sounded hopeful when he asked, “Oh! Is Mercer here, too? I would like to see him.” It would take So'lek a long while to make sense of the dynamic between the Sarentu and Alma.

“No, Nor, don’t worry. These are friends,” she assured them. “My friends. And we’re going to get you all out of here, all right?”

“Why do my limbs feel so stiff?” Ri'nela grumbled. “How long were we asleep, Alma?”

But Alma dodged the question once again. “Just focus on regaining your strength for now. We don’t have much time.”

As a string of bangs rang out, So'lek rose to his feet. The young woman still hadn’t returned. He peered anxiously down the hallway.

“Backup is here,” Billy warned. “We should get out!”

“Everyone, come on, let’s go!” Alma instructed, waving them toward the door. So'lek’s heart began to race; how had no one noticed that the young woman was not among them?

He ducked beneath the doorway, but a hand caught his wrist. He turned to find Ri'nela, eyes round with worry. “Go,” So'lek urged. “I will find her.”

No sooner had she nodded her understanding than a blast split the air, leaving So'lek’s ears ringing.

Chapter Text

AS THE DUST SETTLED, SO’LEK pulled himself up with a groan. It took him a moment to make sense of his surroundings, smoke seeping through the vent overhead. The blast had thrown him into a cramped, crumbling pocket, a sheet of concrete closing him off from the cryovault.

From the young woman they had left behind.

Hands skirting along the wall of concrete, So’lek desperately searched for an opening.

“The Na’vi kids,” a muffled voice called out. So’lek’s roving hands fell still as he listened, hardly even daring to breathe. “They’re still alive!” the unseen woman exclaimed.

So’lek was still close to the vault, then. That was good, he assured himself.

“Cortez,” a male voice spat. “She always thought we were making them into her little pets, not soldiers.”

That must be Mercer, So’lek thought, lip curling in disdain.

“Eliminate them,” Mercer ordered gruffly. So’lek’s hands took to their frantic search once more, fingers sliding down a crack he could not see in the darkness. He slowly pried a smaller chunk of concrete aside, shimmying through the crevice it created.

“There’s one!” the woman called, followed by a wave of gunfire.

So’lek instinctively ducked, thinking for a moment that maybe he had broken out into the vault. But as he clambered down an abandoned hallway, his heart lurched.

The young Sarentu. They had found her, not him.

There was a bang which seemed to reverberate through So’lek’s bones. “Open it up, now!” the woman with Mercer demanded.

“Can’t! It’s jammed!” called another voice.

So’lek sprinted down the hallway, skirting the wall. Luckily, the blast had not lost him—or even managed to damage—his weapons; he tugged at the strap of his rifle, its familiar weight settling in his grasp. As he rounded a corner, his breaths sawed in and out of him.

“Shoot all Na’vi on sight,” came Mercer’s voice. But it seemed to echo from everywhere—above him, to all sides, even below.

The light above a far door turned red as the metal slid down, closing off the hallway. “Wiya!” So’lek hissed. He would have to find another way. Distant gunfire urged him on. Finding a jammed door down another hall, he crawled through the space, the butt of his rifle scraping against the concrete as he wriggled along.

On the other side of the door, Ri’nela and Daniela turned to him with matching wide-eyed stares. “Oh thank god,” Daniela breathed. “This way,” she urged, furiously tapping at a keypad along the wall. Yet another door slid open, and the three ducked through.

“Over here!” Alma called out, her arm around an ashed-faced Teylan. The last of the humans stood beside her, Jin-young connecting a mess of wires, snapping at one of Billy’s trademark quips.

“Where are the others?” Ri’nela asked, voice wavering.

“I-I don’t know,” Alma breathed.

So’lek ushered Ri’nela and Daniela toward the group, reaching for his rifle once more. “I will find them,” he nodded. “You all need to make your way out.”

Just as she had before, Ri’nela’s worried eyes found his. He nodded once more for her benefit before ducking back through the doorway. So’lek traipsed throughout the compound rather aimlessly, ears straining for any sign of the two Sarentu, or even the RDA.

His ears twitched at the muffled sound of male voices. “How the hell did you miss that blue?” one asked as So'lek crept down the deteriorating hallway, whorls of dust kicked up with every inch he advanced.

“She was too fast,” another grumbled.

“Fast?” the first scoffed. “The damn thing is so big. Easiest target I've ever seen.”

“Oh yeah? Then where were you?”

“Trying to get a better look at her—”

Before the miscreant could finish his sentence, So'lek sprung from the shadows, the blade of his knife cutting the man from ear to ear. His companion hadn't even gotten the chance to react before that same blade was lodged within his breastbone. He looked down at the massive hilt protruding out of his chest, eyes wide. As he slumped to the concrete, So'lek retrieved the knife from his victim with a squelch. The human’s dogtags rested in the blood pooling over his chest; looping his fingers around the chain, So’lek pulled the tags free with a snap. He crouched over the other man, doing the same. 

Wiping his blade on the human's chest guard, So'lek gazed upon them both with disgust. He started at a loud clatter, eyes frantically scanning the dim around him. But as a blur of blue fell through an exposed air duct, So’lek huffed a sigh of relief. Bloodied fingers pressing down on his comms, he said, “I found one, Alma.”

“Thank god,” Alma’s voice crackled in response. “We’re almost to the southern exit—I think.” The connection ended with a pop.

“I am here!” So’lek called, waving the Sarentu forward. As they stepped into the blinking fluorescent light, So’lek’s muscles loosened: it was the young woman. Irayo, Eywa. “Are you all right, Sarentu?” he asked her, gaze running along her frame in search of any damage.

She nodded, but failed to produce a verbal answer, eyes wide and dazed as she came to a halt before the crumbling wall which separated them. Bits of metal protruded from the concrete at odd angles, creating a sort of iron jaw.

“Take this,” So’lek murmured, reaching through the maw. He handed her his beat-up radio, a spare ever since Alma had found the set of functional comms pieces at an abandoned RDA camp.

The Sarentu’s fingers closed around the device, turning it over. She nearly dropped the waterlogged earpiece he had looped around the antenna. It was a dated model—according to Alex, at least—but it would still do the job.

“Put that in your ear,” So’lek instructed. “It runs on our frequency. If you need me, I will be listening.”

Her gaze fell to the bloodstained bodies around him, brow bunching. “Looks like they were down on their luck,” she sighed as she slid the piece into her ear, tugging on it until it fit comfortably.

“They were going after you,” So’lek breathed. “But they found me.” The Sarentu’s lips parted, but before she could say anything, So’lek urged, “You need to go—right now.”

He turned to make his way back down the corridor, but at the young woman’s cry of, “Hold on!” he stilled. “Please, tell me your name.”

He gazed at the wide green eyes, rounded with shock. Her trembling bottom lip, her stiff posture. “I am So’lek te Elusa Kiro’itan, among the last of my clan” he answered softly. “I have come here to make sure that you will not be the last of yours,” he nodded.

She brushed her hand over her heart in a silent gesture of thanks.

“Go on,” So’lek ordered. “You must be quick, and silent. Go!” He waved her away, and the Sarentu skittered off like a frightened yerik. Oddly, an ache settled in So’lek’s chest to see her go. He could only hope that she would find her way. That she would remain safe.

He turned down his own stretch of hallway once more, rifle resting over his forearm. Reaching for his comms, he asked, “Can you hear me?”

The connection buzzed in his ear. “Yes,” the Sarentu answered. “But those soldiers…they’re everywhere,” she said softly, her voice wavering.

“Mawey, it is all right,” So’lek assured her. “Just breathe. Focus. You must find a way out.”

As the connection clicked off, So’lek’s throat tightened. But he refused to assume the worst. Trudging on, he nearly ran into a pocket of soldiers. But as they scampered off in pursuit of some distant bang, he raced along the corridor, slipping back into the darkness.

“So’lek? Are you there?” the Sarentu’s voice hissed in his ear. “What happened to everyone else? Did they escape?”

His jaw ticked. They certainly had found their way, not bothering to spare even a backwards glance for her. All except Ri’nela, that is. “I will ensure that they do,” he promised her. Then, after a moment, he dared ask, “And you? Are you safe, Sarentu?” He was surprised by how small his voice suddenly sounded.

“I am for the time being, I think,” she answered, doing nothing to ease his concern.

“Okay, that is good. You let me focus on the others, yes?” So’lek said. “Just keep going. Do not stop.”

No sooner had the connection ended than So’lek slammed into something. Or, rather, someone. He stumbled back, reaching for his rifle, but quickly calmed himself. There, sprawled on the moss-covered concrete, was the insolent one. Nor.

“Wiya,” So’lek croaked.

Nor huffed a ragged sigh of relief, clutching his chest. “You nearly killed me, didn’t you?”

Though So’lek’s lips pulled into a straight, rather irritated line, he did not deny the boy’s accusation. “Are you all right?” he asked instead, offering Nor his hand.

The boy took it, and So’lek hauled him to his feet. “All right as I can be,” he quipped. So’lek resisted the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.

“Do you know your way out?” he asked Nor, dusting his hands off.

“Well, it looks a bit different around here, but…I think so,” was his answer.

A simple yes would have sufficed.

“Go, then,” So’lek urged, “but take this.” He drew his knife from the sheath he wore over his breast, pressing the hilt to Nor’s chest. As the boy’s hand closed over So’lek’s, he grabbed hold of the weapon, testing its weight in his grip.

“Know how to use it?” So’lek questioned, gazing at the boy down the length of his nose.

“Well enough,” Nor nodded. “Thank you.”

So’lek waved his hand. “Off with you,” he murmured. “The others should be making their way out of the south exit.”

With a nod, Nor scurried off. In truth, So’lek was glad to be rid of the boy. Waking the Sarentu meant a great deal to him, but something was not right within that boy’s heart, his demeanor. And yet, So’lek couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

Mercer’s voice echoed throughout the space once more. “Do not let them get away!” he bellowed. “Aim to kill.”

A hiss slipped through So’lek’s teeth unbidden. He would not let any of the Sarentu fall to Mercer’s cruelty, or that of his soliders. Ducking beneath a fallen metal beam, So’lek pushed on.

“Ugh,” the Sarentu suddenly grumbled over the comms. “The entrance to the gym is shot. I’ll have to find another way in.”

So’lek bit the inside of his cheek. “Stay on your guard,” he warned her. He sprinted from corner to corner, heart hammering as he awaited an update from the young woman.

Finally, she said, “Okay, made it through.”

With a deep exhale, So’lek answered, “All right. You must get to the south wing. You should find the others at the exit there. I will be along shortly.”

He waited for her response. After far too many breaths with no reply, he said, “Sarentu? Did you hear me?” Nothing. “Sarentu,” So’lek pleaded.

Now he would allow himself to fear the worst. So’lek tried to imagine the building’s blueprints. Where exactly had the gym been? Though he wasn’t confident in the memory, he thought he recalled the large space being separated from the childrens’ classroom by a winding network of hallways. The Sarentu was likely within those corridors, maybe even within the classroom itself. But then…where was So’lek?

He slid to a stop, gazing around him. The human symbols painted on the walls made no sense to him; all of the compound’s halls looked alike. How would he find her?

A resounding crash opened a pit within So’lek’s stomach. The sound was near—too near. He fell into a crouch, slinking along the wall until he reached the end of the hallway, its path splitting in two directions. A dim red light pooled within the space, casting everything in an eerie glow. As he reached the corner, his grip over his rifle tightened.

A soldier in an AMP suit had their back turned to him. And there, just before the suit, stood a masked woman, gun drawn on the Na’vi struggling beneath the suit’s metal foot. No.

“Gotcha,” the woman sneered, drawing back the safety on her pistol. The Sarentu sucked in a sharp breath.

“Way to go, Harding,” a familiar voice praised. A grey haired man stepped forward, kneeling over the young woman. “Huh, we don’t have to worry about this one,” Mercer crooned. “Unlike it’s sister, it has no fight.”

So’lek’s blood boiled, lip curling back.

“Murderer,” the Sarentu gasped.

Harding’s finger slid over the trigger, the barrel far too close to the young woman’s temple.

“Lot of good it did her, huh?” Mercer said softly, the words hissing through his mask. “Damn shame, is what it is. You could’ve been of use to me, at one point. But now we have no need for Na’vi ambassadors—all I see are Na’vi obstacles.” Mercer flicked his hand, stepping away.

So’lek’s heart lurched and he dove from his hiding place. His feet pounded as he raced down the hallway, gun raised. Just as Harding stepped over the Sarentu, So’lek fired. “GO, RUN!” he yelled, gaze catching the young woman’s for only a moment.

She scrambled to her feet, ducking under his line of fire.

He continued shooting rather aimlessly, sending Harding behind a splintered wall of glass. The AMP remained, the driver’s voice muffled as they cried out, reaching for their own rifle. But So’lek, fueled by rage, punched his hand through the suit’s glass dome in a single blow, fingers curling around the driver’s collar. He yanked the tiny human free, letting the man dangle before him, watching the terror in his eyes as So’lek held the barrel of his rifle to the man’s stomach and pulled the trigger. He dropped the body with a satisfying thump, a growl ripping from So’lek’s throat.

“FNAWE’TU!” he bellowed. “Where are you?”

A line of bullets whizzed from around the glass wall. Though So’lek dove for cover, pain flared through his shoulder. Grunting, he dragged himself around the corner, toward an open door. With one last pull he was through the doorway, and then—

His stomach dropped as he plunged through the air, bouncing off of the concrete below, the breath knocked out of his lungs. So’lek wheezed as he rolled onto his side, clutching his aching shoulder. Blood trickled over his fingers, the sensation rendering him a bit woozy. Push on, he told himself, sivako.

A narrow shaft stretched out before him, soft light shining at its end. It would have to do, So’lek decided. Extending his good arm, he dragged himself into the shaft, stomach sliding along the cool metal. The thought of the Sarentu urged him on. He had to ensure that she made it out, that she did not finally wake from years of sleep simply to be cut down by the same greed-driven man who had served as her captor all her life. A shallow gasp slipped from So’lek as he snaked forward, the movement pulling on his wound. But for her…for her he would push through the pain. She deserved that much.

The light grew brighter the further he advanced, until at last, the rusted, stuffy smell of the human compound faded away. All things green and bright washed over him, filling So’lek with a sense of untold peace. Reaching the end of the shaft, he could just see the tranquil forest through the grate. He pushed on the screen with all his might until it finally gave way with an obnoxiously loud groan.

Loud enough to draw in more soldiers, unfortunately.

At the sound of voices and mechanical whirring, So’lek stumbled out of the shaft and broke into an unstable run. Within no time at all, bullets were flying past his ears. He slid down the muddy slope, tugging at his rifle strap, pulling the weapon into his grip. As the soldiers crested the hill he fired upon them, sending them scrambling for cover. One of their AMP suits got caught in his path. As a bullet struck the suit’s air vent, the contraption exploded, sinking to its metal knees and flopping to the forest floor.

So’lek pushed himself up, arms pumping as he skirted the edge of the lake. More shots rang out; So’lek twisted, firing on a second AMP, grinning to himself as this one, too, was engulfed in flames. He made a mental note to return for their tags later on. As So’lek whirled around, he nearly ran into another AMP. His finger pressed over the trigger, but nothing happened.

He was out.

With a snarl, he threw back his rifle, the strap circling his shoulder. So’lek ducked as the suit threw a punch, joints whirring. Grabbing hold of his bow, he deftly notched an arrow, letting it fly. The head lodged within the air vent, instantly destroying the AMP. A fourth barreled toward So’lek, but he cut that one down, too. Yet, as he became less adept at ignoring the pain burning through his shoulder, he trudged up the hill toward an old RDA site.

Huge barrels littered the perimeter; a rusted shack stood toward one edge, vines twisting over its rotting carcass. Despite the site’s age, there might still be a medical kit stored within the shack. Just as So’lek rounded the side, eyes searching for the door, a metal hand closed around his kuru. He was hoisted into the air, flailing all the while. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” the driver sneered, voice distorted by the metal skin they wore.

Another AMP pounded toward them, rifle held within its artificial hands. “A blue!” the second driver crooned.

“This will be fun,” grinned the first.

Though he knew it would hurt, So’lek used the predicament to his advantage. He swung forward, sending his foot through the glass dome. The human gasped in shock, choking on the air. Drawing the oversized knife from the suit’s mesh holster, he drove the blade through the driver’s chest. As the suit crumpled in on itself, dropping So’lek, the other driver sent out a wild spray of bullets. So’lek pulled his bow from over his shoulder, sliding an arrow in place and letting it fly. It stuck within the second driver’s chest, their mechanical hands wrapping around the shaft before they collapsed in a heap.

Free of danger—at least for now—So’lek stumbled toward the tree towering over the site. He slumped against its trunk, sliding to the ground. He could manage little else.

Chapter Text

IT SEEMED AS IF SO’LEK had been asleep for ages. Logically, he knew he had only closed his eyes for mere moments. The dull, throbbing pain of the bullet wound overwhelmed him, dragging him under. At least he could be here, in the forest, under the open sky and with the dank of soil and water and green to fill his nose. He tried to inhale deeply, but his breath caught, rendering him a coughing, choking mess. The awful tang of blood coated his mouth.

Just as he imagined that all hope might be lost, a flash of blue barreled through the brush. So’lek looked up, heart racing, expecting another wave of soldiers and their metal suits. Instead, he was met with the wide eyes and ragged breaths of the Sarentu.

“I am here, Sarentu,” he called to her, voice strained. “At the tree.”

“So’lek!” she cried, stumbling toward him. He was pleased to find that she had fared much better than he. Though her arms and cheeks were scraped up, she did not seem to have suffered from anything worse.

The young woman fell to her knees beside So’lek, fingers flexing as she reached toward him, but then seemed to think better of it. Her anxious gaze lingered on his bloodied shoulder. The Sarentu’s face plaed.

“Do you see now? This is everything they kept from you,” So’lek sighed. “This is Eywa’eveng, your home.”

“You saved my life, So’lek,” she whispered, shaking her head.

So’lek tried to sit up, but a bright flash of pain radiated throughout his body, causing him to cry out.

“We have to patch that up,” the Sarentu said, her voice trembling. Before So’lek could stop her, she pulled his bow from his grasp. “I will save you. Let me save you.”

Something told So’lek that were he to argue, it would be in vain. “I am out of arrows,” he grunted. The young woman stood, running her slender fingers down the length of his bow, plucking at the string as if it were an instrument. So’lek almost smiled. “You can craft more. The reeds in the underbrush are best, very pliable,” he told her. “You will find them, just over there. Calm yourself—trust your senses.”

She stilled, gazing down at him with a furrowed brow. “My senses?” she echoed.

So’lek sighed. “They might have taught you to think as a human, but your body, your heart…those are Na’vi. Focus. Allow the forest to speak to you.”

Though the Sarentu looked unsure, she shut her eyes, tilting her head back and letting the wind wash over her. With a deep inhale, she opened her eyes once more, looking all around her. She slowly spun on her heel, scanning the brush. When finally her gaze snagged on a cluster of archer’s thicket, her ears flicking in recognition, So’lek grinned.

“There you go, that is it. Do you hear her? Eywa, the Great Mother…she will speak to you,” he murmured soothingly. “If you let her.”

She crept toward the thicket, kneeling before it. As they had with his bow, her fingers crept down the length of each reed, testing its flexibility. She snapped one off at the base, inspecting the piece before turning toward So’lek for reassurance.

“Trust yourself,” he urged with a nod.

The Sarentu broke off one reed after another, gathering a small pile. “Okay,” she breathed. “I think I get it.”

“The reeds can be sharpened to pierce through the sky metals,” he instructed. She gathered the bundle into her arms and made her way back toward the tree, sitting beside So’lek once more. He watched as she whittled the tip of each reed with a small human knife, the tiny hilt held awkwardly between her long fingers. The first few she held up for his approval. After a while, she simply slid the arrows into So’lek’s quiver, one at a time until each reed had been adequately prepped. “Tsamsiyu in training,” So’lek murmured with a soft smile. The Sarentu’s gaze met his, her chin dipping into a determined nod. 

“I need to get you out of here,” she said warily, pushing to her feet and dusting off her legs. “Do you have the strength to stand? You can lean on me.”

So’lek shook his head, jaw tightening. “Paywll,” he muttered. “There is a plant, down by the water…” he paused to suck in a shallow breath, grip tightening around his still-bleeding shoulder, “its pods can help us heal. I need a paywll. Then I can stand.”

“Okay, I’ll bring you one,” the Sarentu promised. “Don’t worry.” She spun around, bow in hand, lurching toward the brush.

“Near the shore!” So’lek called. “Be careful, Sarentu!”

He watched as she disappeared from sight, skidding down the hillside. And with her absence came a nearly unbearable silence. Her presence had been calming, grounding. So’lek leaned his head back, closing his eyes, trying to focus on each breath he drew in.

“So’lek?” the Sarentu’s voice crackled in his ear. “I found the paywll. You didn’t tell me it would be so sticky, though. I’m on my way—”

Her words were drowned out by the buzz of an RDA Scorpion. So’lek looked up, chest tightening. His fingers flew to his comms. “Listen to me, you need to stay away,” he said, voice quivering. “They are here. Stay where you are, Sarentu.”

When there was no reply, So’lek’s heart began to race. “Do you hear me?” he demanded. Still, nothing.

Ropes unfurled from the deck of the aircraft. Boots appeared overhead, drawing closer and closer as three soldiers slid down, each landing in a crouch. The Scorpion hovered lower, allowing yet another AMP suit to leap to the ground. Passengers unloaded, the Scorpion took off.

“There you are!” one of the soldiers sneered, rifle aimed, pinning So’lek in place. The others followed suit, each staring So’lek down with twisted grins.

“Knew you couldn’t get far,” another scoffed.

So’lek stayed silent, his thoughts racing. He had given his knife to Nor, and his bow to the Sarentu. He was out of ammo. He had nothing left, nothing he could use to defend himself. His only hope lay with the return of the young woman—her burgeoning skills with a weapon she had quite possibly never used before. Though So’lek was already rather inexplicably fond of the Sarentu, he did not have much hope for his survival at present. And he would be damned if these cowardly Sky People took him captive. That only left one outcome.

And So’lek refused to go down without a fight.

Chapter Text

I HAD NEVER FELT AS much fear as I did cresting that hill, seeing So’lek surrounded by RDA soldiers, rifles in hand. My breath caught as my heart seemed to plummet through my chest, swallowed up by the dark chasm which had opened within my stomach. “So’lek,” I gasped, diving behind a rusted barrel.

My hands shook as I watched on in terror. What should I do? What could I do?

Something—anything. So’lek had saved me in there. I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed anything to happen to him out here. Squaring my shoulders, I raised his bow, adjusting my grip until it felt right. Felt natural.

Okay. I can do this.

I loosened, scurrying toward the bushes just ahead, drawing closer to the soldiers. Hang on, So’lek. 

“Look at him! He can’t even get up!” one of the men jeered. My nostrils instantly flared.

“You’ll still need to cuff him,” a woman insisted. “I’m not sitting next to a blue without cuffs. It's a long way back to base.”

Another man whipped out a strip of orange I recognized well. Even now, I could feel the rough fabric of those nylon cuffs grating against my wrists in a phantom ache. I swallowed hard.

But I had to keep moving.

Silently as I could, I crept through the brush. My hand dropped to my side, one of the newly-crafted arrows drawn from So’lek’s quiver. Awkwardly poising it between my fingers, I held it against the wood of the handle, grip sliding toward the arrow's shaft and curling around the bowstring. I can do this, I can do this. The mantra repeated through my head on loop as I willed my heartbeat to slow. So’lek needs me. I can do this.

Once I was close enough to see the self-assured grins on each of the soldiers faces, I drew back the bowstring, fingers brushing my cheek. And with a deep breath, I let the arrow fly.

To my eternal surprise, it lodged within the back of the female soldier; she instantly crumpled to the ground. The others whirled on me, bullets falling down like rain. I scrambled down the hillside, calves scraping along the rough patches of stone. With some luck, I landed on a small ledge, flattening my back against its edge. Ragged breaths tore through my lungs like fire.

“Where’d you go, blue?” one of the soldiers called. I shut my eyes tight. I can do this.

Just to my right wove a narrow footpath leading to the lake. First, a shadow lumbered down the way, bobbing with each step. When finally a boot came into view, then an arm, then the rest, I quickly notched another arrow and let loose. The sharp head cut through the man’s throat, dropping him in an instant. I cried out as the last soldier rounded the corner, firing blindly. Somehow, I managed to duck at just the right moment, drawing out another arrow—the one which would mark him for death. Seconds later, the reed was protruding from his abdomen like a fifth limb.

I clambered back up the hill, all too aware of the AMP suit I had yet to face. Slinking from bush to bush, I anxiously scanned the perimeter, to no avail.

“So’lek!” I hissed, inching toward him. But as I caught his gaze, his eyes widened. Before he could call out in warning, a blade whooshed toward me. I flattened to the ground, narrowly avoiding the strike. Tail swishing, I crawled behind the AMP, struggling to escape his line of vision so that I could scramble to my feet.

The driver swung at me again. “Come on, alien! Let's get this over with!” he sang, driving the knife toward me in a powerful thrust.

I leapt back with a yelp, shaking fingers reaching for another arrow. It took me too long to notch it. With another hissing swing, the AMP suit’s knife cleaved my arrow in two. I gasped, almost losing my grip over So’lek’s bow.

“Use your fists!” So’lek called.

I nearly turned to gape at him. My fists? But it gave me an idea.

I feinted right; the AMP followed, driving his knife forward once more. I used the moment to drop into a roll, coming up behind him before he could turn, clambering up the back of the suit. I perched at its top, my legs flung over his metal shoulders. The driver raised his arm, aiming the knife for my neck. I caught his mechanical wrist in one hand, arm shaking as I struggled to hold it steady. With the other, I drew a bow from the quiver, stabbing it through the suit’s glass dome. Poisonous air rushed in through the crack, and the driver gasped and choked. As his hands clawed for his neck, mechanics following suit, I used his arm as leverage and swung myself forward, punching an even larger hole through the glass.

The soldier’s face turned red, then purple. Once his futile gulping subsided, the suit tipped over. I slid down from the metal body, sprinting toward So’lek.

Though his face was ashen, he grinned. “You are a fast learner.”

I was hardly able to calm my breathing; still I gave him a smile of my own. “I have a good teacher,” was my soft reply. My hand dove into my pocket for the strange fruit from the lake, holding it out to him.

“Irayo, Sarentu,” So’lek sighed, lifting the fruit as if making a toast. He sunk his teeth into it with a groan, and after he had devoured all the sticky flesh, he smeared the remaining juice and seeds over his wound. So’lek hissed at the contact, but a few moments later, he was breathing more easily, and his face had regained its color.

I stood, holding my hand out to him. With a steadying inhale, he wound his fingers through mine, allowing me to pull him up.

So’lek’s gaze travelled from my face to my wrist. “Where is your songcord?” he murmured, dropping my hand.

“We—my sister and I—we had our mother’s. But Mercer…he stole it. Called it ‘trash’,” I said softly, holding out his bow and unlatching his quiver from around my thigh.

His jaw ticked as he took the items. “I can change that.” Before I could respond, he turned on his heel, trudging through the brush.

“Hold on!” I cried, brow bunching. “What now? What do I do?”

“Do?” So’lek echoed, turning to face me once more. “You are free to live as you wish, Sarentu. They do not control you anymore. You are quick, agile—you would make a valued hunter within any clan you choose.”

My eyes misted over. “I don’t know any clans,” I whispered.

So’lek stepped closer; so close, in fact, that he had to dip his chin to meet my eyes. “All things come in time,” he whispered back. “Until then…join the Resistance. They could use your insight, and I will be there to teach you the ways of the Na’vi, yes?”

I nodded eagerly, and a slow smile tugged at his lips. But it faltered almost as soon as it had taken form.

”Listen to me, Sarentu. Those humans…they face the same enemy that we do, but they do not have the same goal. Their minds,” he said, fingers brushing along his temple, “they are different than us. This is our home. They have killed theirs.”

Blades cut through the sky overhead as a Scorpion whizzed by.

“Oh, no. They will find the base,” So’lek breathed, wide eyes following the aircraft. “Go!” he ordered frantically. “I will meet you there. Follow the waterfall. Up, Sarentu,” he pointed.

And with that, he melted into the forest.

Chapter Text

THE SCORPION DIPPED BELOW THE ridge, only a few clicks away from Headquarters. So’lek watched its steady descent, the treetops thrown into disarray as the aircraft hovered above the ground. With a cry, So’lek called out to his ikran, Ìley. The creature was never far; such was the loyalty of an ikran, eager to assist their bonded and keep them out of harm's way. As Ìley settled upon the rocky ridge, tucking his mighty wings close to his sides, So’lek scrambled into the saddle. With a yip, they were airborne. “RDA is close,” So’lek alerted his allies over the comms. “They have brought a kunsìp. I am going to take it down.”

“Be careful,” warned Priya, perhaps So’lek’s favorite amongst the humans of the Resistance. Her easy, carefree nature had gradually chipped away at So’lek’s often cold exterior. Every once in a while, she could even dredge up the faintest of smiles from him with her ridiculous jokes.

Ìley dove toward the swaying trees. Wind rushed past So’lek’s ears, overwhelming his senses. Txay. The ikran leveled out, flapping his wings to hold himself steady, giving So’lek the perfect window. He slid his rifle forward, wincing at the subtle pull in his shoulder, and fired directly between the Scorpion’s blades. One of the large rotors burst into flame, then the other, sending the aircraft careening toward the ground. It exploded into a ball of fire, sending yerik and a group of tslikxyu tsawlak scattering. So’lek and Ìley watched over the site for a moment, ensuring that the flames did not take to the brush, and that no RDA soldiers stumbled out of the burning heap. 

Once So’lek was satisfied, Ìley burst through the treetops, wings cutting through the breeze, carrying them back toward Headquarters. The ikran took the long way, swooping down over the lake’s rippling surface to catch a fish in his maw. So’lek patted Ìley’s neck, whispering soothing words to him, thanking him for his years of companionship. They trailed the cascading waterfall, Ìley’s talon slicing through the turets. He suddenly spread either wing wide, curling over the waterfall’s head, zipping along the bubbling streams and nearly brushing the lean-to’s scattered all around HQ.

They landed in a cloud of dust, So’lek slipping from the saddle. The Sarentu was nowhere to be found, he realized with a start. He whirled, eyes dancing between every nook and dark crevice, searching for her auburn waves amongst the greens and blues of the forest. 

Before So’lek’s finger pressed down on the comm’s receiver, the Sarentu appeared down the path, her pockets stuffed with shelter fruits. So’lek smiled to himself, his shoulders loosening.

As she neared, he nodded his head toward the entrance, and the young woman fell in step beside him. A cluster of yerik near the doors scampered away, the Sarentu’s eyes trailing their escape. “Beautiful,” she whispered. So’lek released a quiet breath of a laugh. He would quite enjoy witnessing the young woman discover the forest. Rather distractingly, he started composing a mental list of everything he would get to relive through her.

“Just here, then?” the Sarentu’s voice cut through his reverie.

In answer, So’lek pounded his open palm against the door. Peering through the windows, he could see Priya stepping into view, her mouth moving. With a sigh, So’lek grumbled, “We cannot hear you, Priya.” He glanced back at the Sarentu, who sported an amused grin.

Once the doors slid open, they both stepped inside. Vents hissed while the air was cleared of excess methane, a gas which was toxic to humans. Why they were fighting so hard for a world which was constantly trying to kill them, So’lek would never understand. The second set of doors whooshed open, revealing the dim corridors of Headquarters.

“My bad!” Priya chirped as So’lek ambled in, the Sarentu in tow. He veered out of the way of what he knew would be Priya’s endless questioning, and the human’s eyes fell upon his companion. “Oh,” Priya breathed. “Another of the Sarentu! I am so glad to meet you!” She thrust out her hand, but the young Na’vi only stared at the offering, brow creased.

“Oh, s-sorry. Again,” Priya stammered. But her beaming smile immediately returned. “Oel ngati kameie!” she cried in wavering Na’vi, hands clasped before her.

With a soft, shy smile given in return, the Sarentu dipped her head. Priya glanced toward So’lek for reassurance, but all he could do was chuckle.

“What?” she asked incredulously.

Shaking his head, So’lek merely answered, “Glad to be back, Priya.” This seemed to set her back to rights. After leaving the Sarentu with one last grin, Priya shuffled off with Anqa, murmuring something about looking over the other woman’s injuries.

The Sarentu’s eyes met So’lek’s, a question dancing within them. He couldn’t help the smirk which pulled at his lips. “And how are your injuries?” the young woman asked, gaze dipping to his shoulder.

So’lek’s fingers absently brushed along the mending wound; to his relief, there was only a brief spark of pain. The dapophet juices had taken care of the rest. “Much better, thanks to your quick thinking,” he murmured.

“I’m glad for it,” she said softly.

“Would you…do you need someone to show you around?” So’lek wondered. “A guide?”

Just as the Sarentu opened her mouth to answer, Alma exclaimed, “You’re here!” She bounded over, still wearing her false skin, and wrapped the young woman into a crushing embrace. 

Though the Sarentu’s eyes met So’lek’s once more, he stepped back, giving her a parting nod. “Hayalovay,” he mouthed. Yet as he edged into the poorly-lit hallway, her gaze never faltered. 

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Tamtey.

That was her name. So’lek had eavesdropped just long enough—pretending to be fixated on cleaning his rifle—to hear Ri’nela say it in casual conversation with Nor. And ever since, the name ran on loop in So’lek’s head.

Tamtey.

The name suited her, he thought. Simple, but lovely. And as he circled the skies near the drill site she had volunteered to disable, ensuring that she did not find herself in too much trouble, he allowed his thoughts to wander. Something he hadn’t done in years.

Each time Ìley drew close enough for So’lek to see Tamtey, he studied her. Though her movements were stilted, made awkward by years of sleep and an unfamiliarity with the world around her, her instincts were strong. So’lek found himself silently cheering her on as she slinked around the site. When the tower spewed black clouds and Tamtey fired a grenade-tipped arrow at it—a modification provided to her by So’lek himself—he nodded his approval, though she couldn’t see him. Didn’t even know he loomed above at all.

“Great work! We heard the explosion all the way up at HQ,” Priya laughed over the comms.

“That was…a lot,” Tamtey answered. But she had held her own down there. She was more Na’vi than she realized.

“Hello, Tamtey?” Teylan’s voice cut in. “Can you hear me?” he asked, sounding out each word. So’lek snorted. 

“I hear you, Teylan,” she responded, slinging So’lek’s bow over her shoulder. Just before Ìley veered out of sight once more, So’lek saw the Sarentu throw open a chest, rummaging through it for supplies.

“What was that bang? Are you all right?” the young man questioned.

“Yes, Teylan, just fine,” Tamtey assured him, the hint of a smile in her voice even over the static of the comms. “I took down the drill site. The RDA shouldn’t bother us in the Bowl for a long time.”

“Oh…okay,” Teylan said brightly. “Well, I am with the others. We climbed up high, and we…well, we found something. I think you need to see it, too.”

“On my way,” Tamtey promised. So’lek took that as his cue to return to HQ, switching off his comms. As Ìley came around the bend once more, So’lek urged him on, leaving the night-drenched grounds of Dyer’s Bowl to the last of the Sarentu.

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It was nearly dawn by the time Tamtey and Ri’nela returned, quietly giggling as they traipsed down the darkened halls of HQ, arms linked. The boys, So’lek noticed, were nowhere to be found. Just as he was fixing to slink off without a word, leaving the common room to the young women, Tamtey’s green eyes fell over him, widening.

“So’lek,” she whispered. “You’re still awake?”

He let one shoulder lift in a shrug. “Had a few things to take care of,” he whispered back. As his gaze met Ri’nela’s, he nodded in greeting. The young woman’s eyes crinkled at the corners, almost as if she could see straight through his lie. So’lek had been sitting here for hours, toying with the spare parts of weaponry he used to craft new materials, but he hadn’t actually made anything. He was too busy thinking, waiting for the four Sarentu to return.

“It’s been a long day. I think we all need some sleep.” Tamtey smiled at him, and So'lek's heart clenched. Something about her…he felt an overwhelming urge to do anything he could to protect her. To make her happy.

“I think I have had plenty,” Ri’nela laughed.

Tamtey stuck out her tongue at her friend. “I don’t recall you taking out an oil drill on your own.”

Ri’nela’s smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared. “You do not need to be volunteering yourself for such dangerous endeavors,” she said softly, tugging at Tamtey’s arm. So’lek quite agreed with the young woman. “You do not need to impress anyone here. What if you had gotten hurt?”

With a roll of her eyes, Tamtey returned her attention to So’lek. Help me, she mouthed. Though the corner of his lips twitched, he shook his head in silent refusal.

“I mean it, ma txeylan,” Ri’nela murmured. She pulled Tamtey close, whispering something in her ear before placing a quick peck over her friend’s cheek. “I am going to see where the boys ended up,” Ri’nela said, eyes skirting to So’lek as she folded her hand over her heart. Finally releasing Tamtey, she set down the hall.

Tamtey let loose a gentle sigh, fiddling with the bowstring over her shoulder. Suddenly remembering just what that string was attached to, she hefted the weapon over her head. “Oh, right,” she breathed. “Here.” Tamtey held the bow out to So’lek, but he shook his head once more, pushing her hand back.

“It is yours now,” he said softly. “You have better use for it than I do.”

“Don’t you need it?” she questioned, brow creasing.

“I have another,” was his reply. “Please. I want for you to have it.”

Tamtey wrapped her other hand over the grip, holding the offering close. “Tha—irayo,” she murmured, cheeks coloring. 

Before he could stop himself, So’lek blurted, “You did well with the drill,” afraid that she might’ve followed after Ri’nela had he stayed silent.

The Sarentu’s lips immediately creased into a lovely smile and So’lek’s heart stilled for a moment. Her gaze dropped, brow furrowing as if considering something. So’lek didn’t immediately recognize his slip up. By commending her…now she knew that he had followed her. 

But when finally she looked up at him, she asked, “Did you learn how to shoot a gun from the Resistance?”

Though it wasn’t the question he had expected, it threw him, dredging up old memories he would rather keep buried. So’lek swallowed. “No,” he said, voice tight. He braced himself for the familiar, terrible images of slaughter, fire, and destruction. Yet for once, they didn’t come—didn’t consume him. “I watched as the RDA decimated my clan,” he murmured, the words like bile on his tongue. “Their bullets cut them to pieces. Their fire set my village ablaze, as if the Trr’ong had never existed at all. That was lesson enough.”

Tamtey’s eyes widened, ears folding back. For a moment, So’lek regretted painting such a vivid picture with his answer. But she, too, had known great violence, great loss. If any could understand, it would be her and her friends; first their clan was taken from them, and then their identities, their entire childhood. “I understand the pain of being one of the last of your people,” So’lek said, his voice softer now. “The humans are no different from their guns, I have often found. Both arrived here to inflict pain. Destruction.”

She nodded, face creased with sorrow. “These humans, the Resistance…they had been part of the RDA, too,” Tamtey murmured.

So’lek’s chin lifted. “Your presence here shall be a constant reminder of that fact, as mine has been.” The familiar flames of rage began to lick at his heart. “They might be aligned with us now, but they do not fight for Pandora—not truly. This is our home. They have killed theirs.” He wondered if the Sarentu yet saw Eywa’eveng as such—her home. She had every right to it, and yet she had been denied it all her life. She knew nothing of the forest, of other clans, or even her own. It pained So’lek to consider it. For all that he had lost, at least he still held the memories of his people, of their ways. She, young as she still was, had nothing.

“I guess Mercer won after all,” she mused, the words bitter, spoken so softly that So’lek wondered if they hadn’t even been meant for his ears. Her brow creased again as she bit out, “We are his soldiers, not even Na’vi.”

So’lek shook his head, resisting the sudden urge to reach for her hand, brush his fingers over her shoulder, something. “That is not true,” he said softly. “You will always be Na’vi, even if it takes time to recognize it—to learn what that means. You will find your way, your place. Let this serve as a starting point.” So’lek’s heart hammered away as he rummaged through the pouch tied to his belt. He pulled out a cord, so empty, without all of life’s memories and accomplishments. He willed his fingers not to tremble as he held the cord out to her. “I made it for you,” he practically croaked.

Tamtey merely gaped at the offering for a moment. “My own songcord?” she breathed, studying the piece. As she slowly reached for it, the smallest of smiles danced upon her lips. So’lek’s chest tightened to the point of pain. The Sarentu held the cord before her, gaze traipsing over the tiny beads. She coiled it in her palm with reverence, eyes sparkling. “It’s just like my mother’s,” she whispered.

So’lek, trying to regain his composure, murmured, “This one is for your own memories.” He watched as she tied the cord about her wrist, holding it up to admire the pattern once more.

“My mother’s had so many beads on it,” she said softly, face falling at the memory.

Desperate to keep such a look from creasing Tamtey’s features, So’lek went on. “You can add anything you want to it, even memories from your past. And then…new travels, achievements, friendships, connections.” Before he could think twice, he reached out, grabbed hold of her wrist, and turned it up. Pointing to the small blue bead toward the end, he murmured, “I added this first one for you. To represent your freedom from the RDA.” Was it his imagination, or did Tamtey flush? So’lek’s gaze dropped as his fingers slipped from her wrist. “Create more memories,” he urged her, “more beads. In time, it will be just as full and colorful as your mother’s.”

“We will add more—I know it,” she nodded, and though he should have merely voiced his agreement, his thoughts tripped over the word we. Luckily, before So’lek could turn himself into a stammering, gaping skxawng, Tamtey continued on. “Ri’nela is eager to learn, well, everything. Teylan is hesitant, but…Nor remembers some things from our clan, being the oldest now. He knows more of what it means to be Sarentu, I think.” Oh, of course. Despite himself, So’lek’s heart sank. That was not the type of ‘we’ he had imagined, however foolishly. 

“We found the Tarsyu flower, and we all connected to it,” Tamtey murmured. “But I don’t think we were shown the same thing. Nor seemed distant afterwards, like whatever he saw disappointed him."

As So’lek regained his focus, making sense of her words, his ears flicked back. “Eywa sees into us—into our hearts,” he said softly. “She shows us the past, as well as our present, and sometimes the many paths which may lay before us.” He absently ran his thumb across his own songcord, a bead which was nearly worn smooth. “She can show us what we have lost, too. That can be a lot to shoulder, the reminder.”

Tamtey nodded her understanding. “He shouldn’t be alone,” she nearly whispered.

“Perhaps Ri’nela has found him,” So’lek suggested. “But if not…if I were him, I would seek the quiet of the cliffs. There are many secluded spots not far from here,” he murmured, tilting his chin in the direction of the back exit.

“Irayo,” Tamtey breathed, folding her hand over her heart, her steady green eyes seeming to gaze upon his very soul. “For…everything.” Though she turned away quickly, So’lek was glad for it.

At least she hadn’t seen the way his cheeks colored.

Chapter Text

SO’LEK HARDLY MANAGED TO SLEEP, his mind running through the events of the last two days. How very much had changed, and so suddenly. Though part of him was terrified to admit it, many of those thoughts stumbled over Tamtey—her easy smile, despite all she had faced; the way that she seemed somehow…removed from the others; her immediate willingness to give her all to the Resistance; the gleam in her eyes as So’lek had handed her the songcord.

He rolled over, hugging the lumpy thing Priya had called a pillow to his chest. After a fitful rest through the morning, then some quiet reflection—followed by hours of training, weapon repairs, stats discussions, and a bit of hunting—So’lek had finally slipped away for an attempt at a nap. But still, sleep did not find him easily. He flopped onto his back, staring at the metallic ceiling above him.

His comms buzzed. “So’lek, are you there?” Tamtey asked, voice soft. He sat bolt upright, the pillow falling from his arms.

So’lek sucked in a steadying breath before pressing his finger down. “I am here,” he answered.

“I found Nor,” she announced. That is good. “But I don’t seem to have the right words for him.” Oh.

“Why do you say that?” he wondered.

There was a rather long moment of silence before she finally responded. “I think…I think he would benefit from talking to you. Of hearing about your clan.”

But before So’lek could agree to the idea, Priya threw aside the curtain, eyes wide as her chest heaved. “Alma is going to the western camp,” she huffed. “We haven’t heard from Hajir since you guys made it back from TAP, and she’s worried. But now I’m worried, because I’m getting RDA signals from the area. It seems like they’re closing in on the camp. And if they haven’t already found it, they will soon.”

So’lek slid his legs from the cot, holding his hands out. “Priya, breathe,” he murmured. “I will go with her. She has not left, has she?”

Priya shook her head. “Anqa is going to take her in the Samson.”

As he pushed to his feet, So’lek’s fingers curled over Priya’s small shoulder and her ushered her back toward the common room. “Then I will ride Ìley,” he assured her. “We will check on the camp, and evacuate everyone there.”

“Okay,” Priya nodded. “Okay, yeah. That sounds good.”

As they came to the monitor station, Priya turned, her gaze meeting So’lek’s. He kneeled before her, offering a small smile that he hoped was something near reassuring. “Keep an eye on the camp for us, yes? Let me know if they draw any nearer, and I will take care of it.”

Her eyes creased as her brow furrowed. “Be careful, So’lek.”

“I always am.” He chuckled at Priya’s answering frown of disbelief.

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So’lek quickly saddled Ìley, loading his weapons and ammo into their proper spots before offering the ikran a platter of hastily-sliced dawn fruit. “Sìltsan ‘evan,” he cooed, patting Ìley’s long neck. As he finished, So’lek set aside the sticky platter and placed his foot over the stirrup.

“I would like to go along,” a rather small voice said.

Plopping in the saddle with more force than he intended, So’lek looked up, huffing a sigh. “Ri’nela,” he breathed, “I do not think that is a good idea.”

The Sarentu awkwardly tugged at her shirt, the oddly-shaped image on the garment seeming to glow in the afternoon light. “Tamtey makes herself useful, I would like to, also.”

His jaw feathered, just slightly. “You do not like when she lends a hand,” So’lek pointed out. Neither did he, in truth.

Teylan rounded the corner, a smile lifting his lips at the sight of them both. “Hey! What are you guys—”

Sighing, Ri’nela argued, “Yes, but I—”

“Hey, is anyone there?” Priya’s voice crackled over the comms. So’lek shushed them both, closing his hand over his ear. “The situation at the western camp just got worse. They’ve been found by the RDA, and Hajir sent a distress call. He mentioned injuries,” she said, voice frantic.

But before So’lek could answer, a voice said, “I’m here, Priya.” His gaze immediately found Ri’nela’s, their expressions matching pictures of concern.

Tamtey. So’lek’s breath caught. 

“Oh, thank god,” Priya sighed. “There’s more RDA on the way. You guys need to get there—fast,” she added before the receiver clicked off.

“Wiya,” So’lek hissed. “I am going, too. You,” he pointed between Ri’nela and Teylan, “stay here.”

“No, I will go,” Ri’nela pressed, reaching for her knife.

But So’lek held his hand out to stop her. “Do not,” he said sternly. “You have no ikran, no bow, and I will not ask you to wield a rifle. You must stay—both of you. Protect HQ, each other. We will be back soon, I promise.”

As So’lek barked out a yip, Ìley flapping his large wings, Ri’nela cried, “Wait!”

Ìley plopped back down to the grass, tossing his head. Ri’nela ran up to them, fingers curling over So’lek’s wrist. “Keep her out of danger?” she rasped, eyes pleading.

“You know I will,” he murmured back with a nod.

With another cry, they were off, shooting into the clouds.

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Ìley soared through the sky, barreling toward the dark column of smoke blotting out the faint glow of Naranawm. So’lek prayed that he would reach the camp in time. That he would reach it before Tamtey—and the others—would face more trouble. He knew he was racing against RDA Scorpions; his only hope was that the wind would favor his ikran, and that he would not be faced with a sight he was too afraid to even imagine.

As he neared the camp, his stomach dropped— it was engulfed in flames. Alma, still cloaked in her false skin, dragged the humans out one by one, coughing and sputtering. Ìley’s wings fanned the thick clouds of black, causing Alma to whirl, eyes wide. “So’lek!” she cried, laying one of her groaning researchers against an ash-coated barrel. “Help me with them!”

He slid from the saddle, darting into the burning shack just behind her. Groans echoed throughout the darkened space, the stink of oil assaulting So’lek’s nose. “We need to be quick,” he warned. “With the fire…this place will not hold.”

Looping her hands beneath a human’s arms, Alma vigorously shook her head. “They need care now. If I move them before Anqa circles back, we’ll lose them, and this will all have been for nothing.”

So’lek snaked his arms under a soot-streaked Hajir, cradling the human in his arms like a small child. “And if we wait here for the RDA to find us, we will all be lost,” So’lek grumbled.

Alma ignored him. “These are the last two,” she announced, easing out of the small doorway and into the ash-cloaked light of day. They lay the humans in the burnt grass, So’lek doing all he could to make each victim more comfortable until Alma could assess them. When he reached the last, a woman he had only met in passing, he was faced with pale, unblinking eyes.

Though she had not been one of his own, it felt wrong to allow the woman to slip away without some sort of acknowledgment. So’lek dipped his head, the familiar words falling from his lips in a quiet mantra. “Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmuke, ulte ngaru seiyi irayo.”

Exhaling through his nose, So’lek turned to face Alma. Her hands flew over one of the researchers, wrapping their abdomen, pressing a soaked cloth over their wound, whispering calming words. But the man was obviously past saving, lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Alma, it is no use,” So’lek tried to reason.

She didn’t even seem to hear him. “No, no, no!” she grunted, fingers pressing over the human’s stomach, crimson pooling to her wrists. “God dammit!” she cried, her shoulders rolling forward.

So’lek kept his head on a swivel, cautious of every sound in the charred brush. With the crush of footsteps and the sway of a palm frond he started, but the sight of Tamtey barreling through the undergrowth immediately calmed his heart. He let loose a heavy sigh of relief, muscles relaxing.

“How did they even know we were here?” Alma wondered aloud as Tamtey knelt beside her, pulling the Avatar’s hands away from the researcher she still crouched over. “Their patrol routes are nowhere near this camp.”

Human voices sounded just over the ridge, gruff and simmering with the promise of violence. “Alma, more are closing in,” So’lek said warily, raising his rifle.

As Hajir groaned, Alma rushed to him, nearly tripping over her own boots. “All right,” she cooed soothingly, “You’ll be just fine, yeah? Look at me, Hajir. You’ll be all right.” Tamtey followed her lead, hovering just behind her teacher, seemingly unsure of what to do.

So’lek eased toward Ìley, pulling his staff sling out of its holster and untying a netted bag of trip grenades. As he lumbered back toward the women, Tamtey looked up. He held the items out to her, and she slowly rose to her feet. “Take these,” he said softly. Her eyes danced from him to the weapon. “Ever used one?”

Tamtey shook her head. “Um, never,” she answered, voice wavering.

“Do not worry,” So’lek murmured, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips in a futile effort to reassure her. “It is easier than wielding a knife.” He quickly mimed placing one of the grenades within the basket, whistling as he pretended to fling the load. Tamtey took the sling as he held it toward her once more, testing the weight of the weapon within her grasp. Reaching forward, So’lek slung the bag of trip grenades over her shoulder, casting her another encouraging smile.

He turned back to the blaze, wondering how much closer the humans would be now. “We do not have much time,” he warned Alma.

She nodded, gulping. “I just need to get him stable. Then we can move,” she insisted.

Though So’lek’s jaw ticked, he merely said, “Try to be quick.” His eyes slid back to Tamtey’s worried face and he gently placed his hand over her slim shoulder. “The RDA has an oil refinery nearby,” So’lek said, voice low. He hated himself for even having the idea, wishing he could stay planted right here to keep an eye on Tamtey like he had promised. “I will make sure it becomes their main focus. Alma and Hajir are in your care,” he instructed.

Though Tamtey nodded her understanding, her eyes were wide, breaths sawing in and out of her.

“You can do this, Sarentu,” So’lek whispered, squeezing her shoulder. “I will not take long.”

He could feel Tamtey’s eyes on him as he turned, made tsaheylu with Ìley, and slid onto the ikran’s back. They shot into the sky in an instant; he used the sudden surge in altitude to his advantage, finding Tamtey within the burning camp. What he wasn’t expecting was that her gaze hadn’t wavered, almost as if she was as loath to be parted from him as he was from her.

It was an effort to look away, scanning the smoke-blackened treeline for the RDA’s position. He found them almost immediately, what with their loud engines and fire-blowing torches, coating the land in a blanket of chaos. They were drawing in from the north, maybe two klicks from the refinery.

Ìley sped toward the site like a bullet, sensing So’lek’s desperation to create a diversion, and quickly. Reaching toward his comms, So’lek warned, “There are more soldiers headed toward you.”

His chest tightened as Tamtey’s frightened voice crackled, “What? Where?”

“Just breathe,” So’lek coaxed. “Use the carnage they have created to your advantage. Look for pockets, and lay your traps.” With a small smirk, he added, “They will not know what hit them.” He knew she could handle it. Despite everything, the school had taught her how to fight. And, she had the added benefit of knowing the humans and their methods very, very well. More than that, So’lek reassured himself, he was still close enough to swoop in if needed.

After he blew up the refinery, that is.

As the site came into view, Ìley swooped low, wing stretching over a flat plane of earth. So’lek slid from the saddle, rifle in position. Lucky for him, the site was nearly devoid of humans. For a good while, he planted explosives discreetly; the half dozen or so left to guard the refinery were none the wiser. But then a guard turned sooner than So’lek expected, tripping the alarm.

Bullets whizzed by his ears as he dove behind an ammunition chest, taking deep breaths to center himself and calm his thoughts. Once the rain of metal slowed to a mere drizzle, he switched off the safety and abandoned his hiding spot. With a whooping cry, So’lek loosed a spray of bullets. All but two of the guards never even got the chance to race for cover, cut down by his fury. The last shouted commands between one another, sending blind shots out from separate perches. As one rounded the corner, So’lek felled him. The other wavered for a long while, likely wondering how far he could make it if he simply deserted his post.

He decided against it, apparently. As So’lek saw a foot come around the crate his adversary hid behind, he braced himself. The human slinked out, stealthy as could be, but it wasn’t enough. So’lek was faster. One shot, and he was alone at the refinery, only the far off noise of fighting at the camp to fill his ears.

Setting the rest of the explosives, So’lek went back and forth on whether or not to radio Tamtey, checking up on her. But, he reasoned, the continued din of combat surely meant that she was giving the RDA a run for it. And he would never forgive himself if his concern for her proved to be a dangerous distraction.

As if she had read his mind, Tamtey’s voice sparked to life in his ear. “So’lek! Another Na’vi has come!” she said, exuberant. “They’re helping!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm, silently thanking Eywa that she was holding her own. “That is good,” So’lek smiled. “The explosives have been set. They should be more than enough to hold off any incoming soldiers. You only need to worry about those who are already there.”

A distant cascade of gunfire brought down an RDA Scorpion in a ball of flames. That seemed answer enough for So’lek. He shook his head, laughing to himself once more as he hoisted himself onto Ìley’s back. His trill sent them skyward, circling the refinery. With the press of a button, So’lek created his own fireball. And, as predicted, two more Scorpions headed for the camp changed course.

Ìley banked, veering south. “So’lek, the Na’vi who helped? She is Etuwa, Tsahìk of the Aranahe. She invited me to her Hometree. Do you think this is how we’ll get the Aranahe to join us?” Tamtey chirped over the comms. Just imagining the elation in her face made So’lek’s heart soar. She was finding her way, the Sarentu.

But So’lek knew this battle well; the seemingly insurmountable challenges they faced almost constantly. More than that, he knew the Aranahe were still grappling with what they lost the last time they agreed to lend a hand to the Resistance. The skirmish had left many of their strongest hunters dead. It even claimed the life of their previous Tsahìk, Etuwa’s mother.

He pressed his fingers to the receiver. “I would not count on it,” So’lek grumbled. “I have discussed it with them already. It did not end well.” His jaw ticked at the memory. “Their Olo'eyktan, Ka’nat, demanded that I leave. He is stuck in his ways.”

“Doesn’t he fear what the RDA will do?” Tamtey questioned, her disbelief nearly palpable.

Though she could not see it, So’lek shook his head. “It is not that; the humans have already caused him grief. He aims to guard his people from more sorrow.” The words were laced with bitterness as he added, “That, I quite understand.”

Ìley skirted over the treeline, branches swaying. “The Aranahe are known for being in agreement on all matters, but this war has divided their elders from their warriors,” So’lek went on. “In remembrance of easier times, some would rather ignore all that is happening around us. But you, Sarentu,” he said, unable to fight the grin tugging at his lips, “you might be exactly what is needed to make them see.”

“Maybe,” he heard over the comms, Tamtey’s voice alight with laughter. “I think I’ll take Etuwa up on her offer.”

For the first time in a long while, So’lek’s smile didn’t fade. “Be safe. Should you need anything, you know where to reach me.”

“You too, So’lek,” she answered, and the connection clicked off.

Chapter Text

I WAS ENTERING A HOMETREE. An actual hometree.

Though I could not remember what life amongst my clan was like, I wanted to imagine it felt as warm and comfortable as the Aranahe’s home. The scent of grilled fruits and meats wafted down the long corridor weaving through the tree’s gnarled roots. All around me, voices chattered and laughed and sang. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw small blue faces in what seemed like every nook and cranny the tree provided. The packed dirt pathway turned into buoyant, woven thrush matting. The matting led us through Hometree—me, and my guide, a woman who had introduced herself as Nefika, master weaver.

Though I had graciously accepted her offer to introduce me to some of her people, I was admittedly drowning in nerves. I had never been amongst so many Na'vi in my life. Or, rather, I am sure I had been at one point or another, and simply could not recall. Their presence simultaneously calmed my senses and made my heart race. 

How could that be?

The magnificence of the gigantic tree left me speechless. Colorful stretches of silk seemed to decorate every spare corner, adorning the space in light and color. Na'vi churned great vats of dye, eyeing me with curiosity as we passed. Nefika talked and talked, laughing to herself every so often. I tried to listen, but I was so caught up in all that was utterly new that I found it difficult to focus.

“Our kelutral has heard many tales,” Nefika said with an air of finality. I was starting to feel more than a little guilty over missing the brunt of her musings. “We have lived many lives through the words of the Sarentu, almost as if we have visited these other clans as your people once did. They were our treasured guests, your ancestors. Our friends.” She suddenly paused before a woven platform; I nearly collided with the woman. “Not a single Sarentu ever managed to resist our bold silks,” Nefika grinned, a glint in her golden eyes.

I returned her smile as her hand flattened against my back, pushing me forward.

“Za'u, meet my weavers,” she coaxed. A young woman turned toward us with a bright flash of teeth, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Koranu, paskalin, meet our guest: she is a Sarentu, the last of a lost people. You would not remember their visits, but they were marvelous. Their stories made you feel as if you had walked beside them, seen the very same scenes yourself.”

Koranu’s kind eyes creased as she inched toward me. “The lost Sarentu?” she echoed, reaching for my hands and holding them up, frankly assessing me as Etuwa had done after coming to my rescue at the camp. It was a similarity that, in truth, instantly left me at ease with the women of the Aranahe.

“Koranu can assist you with your…unfortunate appearance,” Nefika grimaced, gaze travelling from my windswept fringe to my faded TAP tank. My cheeks flushed.

“I welcome the distraction,” Koranu giggled, dropping my hands. “I have been trying to perfect this piece for hours. I think I need to take a break, return to it with fresh eyes.”

“I am incredibly grateful,” I nodded.

Nefika waved her hand. “Nonsense!” she bellowed. “We would not leave a Na'vi in need to fend for herself. Would we, Koranu?”

The younger woman instantly shook her head. “Za'u,” she beckoned. “Allow me to show you a few of my designs.”

I turned to Nefika—for what, permission? Encouragement? I wasn’t quite sure, but I suddenly found myself missing Ri'nela’s warm smile, Teylan’s bright laughter, Nor’s quiet assurance. Even So'lek’s steady gaze. My cheeks pinked once more. “Salew,” Nefika nodded. “I will be close by. When you two have finished, we may continue your tour.”

I nodded my thanks as Koranu took hold of my arm, pulling me over to her work station and regaling me with all sorts of details on dyeing, weaving, and crafting that I did not quite understand. But I humored her all the same, listening more intently than I had to Nefika, simply glad to have met more Na'vi.

To begin to feel like one myself.

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I was introduced to clan cooks, weapons crafters, and scouts as the day dragged into night. With each interaction, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was being mildly insulted, but I laughed along anyway. Each passed on some advice on how to impress Ka'nat, their prickly leader. Part of me wondered what I had thrown myself into; another part hoped that by earning the clan’s favor, we’d be another step closer to driving out the RDA. 

The best suggestion yet was to seek out Itu, one of the Aranahe’s taronyu. If I could manage a successful hunt by his side, I would prove that I was not simply the Sky People’s plaything. Before that, though, I knew I had a little time to kill. 

Wandering through Hometree, I found a small, dark corner tucked away from the hustle of the Weaver’s Den. I sat against the rough bark, finger pressing down on my comms. “So'lek?”

He wasted no time in responding, making my lips curve into a smile. “I am here,” he said, voice crackling over the distant connection.

“I found the Aranahe Hometree,” I announced, fiddling with the hem of the shorts Nefika seemingly found so atrocious. She was right, of course.

“I knew you would,” So'lek answered. My chest swelled with an unfamiliar warmth.

“You were right, they are…reserved. But one of the weavers is determined to take me under her wing—Nefika. She, and some others, are going to help me sway Ka'nat toward the cause of the Resistance,” I told him. “They think I should start with a hunt, familiarizing myself with Na'vi weaponry.”

“A hunt?” he echoed. “Ngaytxoa, Sarentu. I should have shown you the way myself.”

I waved my hand in dismissal, though he obviously couldn’t see it. “Don’t worry about it. Nefika says I can learn from Itu, one of the clan’s taronyu.”

So'lek was silent for a beat. “Watch yourself, Sarentu. It is not necessary for you to prove yourself to them. What you do not know…none of that is your fault. You are a daughter of the Sarentu. That should have been enough for Ka'nat.”

“Irayo, So'lek,” I said softly, unable to fight the near-giddy smile which split my face at the determination in his voice.

“Kea tìkin,” he insisted. “Should you ever need me, I will be at HQ, srane? You are never alone.”

Before I could answer, the connection clicked off, leaving me with a faint fluttering in my stomach.

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The forest was so different at night, glowing beneath the light of Naranawm. The air was sweeter, fresher. Nocturnal sounds were both frightening and exhilarating. And the faint smell of bonfires on the breeze scratched at long forgotten memories. I savored the peace they brought me—the gentle, lulling sense that I belonged here. That somehow, everything would turn out just fine.

That I truly wasn’t alone.

I was upon Hunter’s Rest before I knew it, the small camp awash with warm lamplight. At its edge rested a tsawksyul-blue ikran, towering over her rider, head turning at every small sound emanating from the forest. I, unfortunately, was not so small a sound, and as I neared, she squawked in warning. Her rider straightened from his crouch, turning toward me. His yellow eyes flicked over my form, brow furrowing.

“She’s beautiful,” I breathed, nodding toward the ikran.

The young man rose to his feet, glancing toward her. “That is ma Zomey. She is ma txeylan, and who I trust most in this world,” he said, a proud smile dancing upon his lips. “If you are here simply to gaze upon our magnificence, I would not refuse you.” His smile creased into a smirk.

“Um, not exactly,” I answered, huffing a rather awkward chuckle. “I’ve come in search of Itu, if you could direct me.”

“So, my reputation precedes me,” he drawled. Itu leaned toward me, gaze falling to the zeyrel under my eye. “Quite a thing, to be known by one from a lost clan.”

I jerked back, resisting the urge to cover my mark.

Itu merely laughed. “Our meeting would seem to have been orchestrated by Nefika, tucked away in the kelutral. Her lessons are monotonous—they only show you one side of a clan. To understand our ways, you must live them, I say.”

So'lek’s words fluttered through my mind—his apparent agitation at the lack of acceptance I had been shown so far. The onslaught of differing opinions had become a bit maddening, by now.

“I was actually hoping you’d teach me how to hunt,” I said softly. “I don’t intend on learning everything through stories. I want to see how to do it myself.”

Itu’s eyes widened. “A Na'vi who does not know how to hunt?”

Despite myself, my cheeks colored. “I…did not grow up within my clan.”

But Itu did not seem too interested in my tale of woe. “No matter,” he sighed. “You will find some children practicing over there with the heavy bows. There are plenty of targets for you to use.” And with that, he crouched down once more, returning to his task.

I gracelessly lumbered off in search of my practicing peers, more than a little humiliated. The targets were situated in a half circle just beneath the lowest platform of the camp. Lamps blazed alongside either shield, painted to resemble forest creatures I had only seen on computer screens—usually alongside warnings of their inherent danger. Each of the children brandished a simple bow, the wood worn and scuffed from continuous use by many hands. I selected the last such weapon leaning against a gnarled stump, desperately hoping that no one else would return to claim the piece. A tall basket of arrows had been propped up between the children; deftly, I drew three from their stock.

Notching the first, I stared down my first target—the image of a yerik. Drawing back the bowstring, I noted the added weight of this weapon; the tightness of the string compared to So'lek’s nimble longbow. As I let the arrow fly, it buzzed more than sang. All the same, it met the woven shield with a solid thunk, piercing the lung of the painted yerik.

I notched the next, facing down the dark swirls of an imagined nantang. My arrow lodged within its heart. As I notched the third arrow, I turned toward the largest of the shields. On it, a painted talioang. I sucked in a steadying breath, knuckles brushing my cheek. And then I let fly. My arrow sliced through the creature’s neck; I grinned, rather ridiculously pleased with myself.

Slow clapping sounded behind me, making me jump. “Not bad,” Itu admitted. “Are you certain no one has ever taught you to hunt?”

So'lek’s encouragement echoed through my mind. Briefly, I imagined what it might feel like to have his hand brush over mine, correcting my hold. Or to feel his touch skim across my stomach, adjusting my form. His lips at my ear, telling me to breathe.

“Not a soul,” I answered, hoping the light of Naranawm was not bright enough to illuminate my flushed face.

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I had gotten my wish: from Itu’s—however…brief—instruction, I successfully took down a great talioang. In all honesty, I hadn’t had much confidence in myself. The creature was absolutely enormous, and I had so seldom used a bow. Much less the bulky heavy bow thought of as a sort of toy of Aranahe children. And yet, somehow, my arrow had struck true, protruding from the creature’s lung, dropping him in an instant.

Just as Itu had taught me, I hovered over the animal, thanking him for his sacrifice, promising that he would return to Eywa. I tried my best to feel the words, the sentiment behind them. Instead, I was left to consider how, were So'lek my teacher, the lesson might’ve had a greater impact.

Itu was impressed; said it was a clean kill. Even helped me dress the animal and carry the meat back to Hometree. I presented the gifts to Nefika, who smiled broadly at my success.

“Za'u, za'u,” she beckoned. “We will share this meat with Relun. Perhaps he can show you how to make something tasty.”

He did, in fact. The stew he concocted smelled marvelous, though I wasn’t sure I’d truly remember the exact recipe. My heart lightened at the sight of children and young apprentices gathering around us, bowls in hand, all eager to try the ‘Sarentu Stew,’ as they called it. I didn’t have the heart to correct them; Relun scowled at my inability to decline the credit. But, his distaste for me softened as I complimented his skills with the dish, telling him that the meal had warmed my soul as much as my belly. Nefika got a laugh out of that one, claiming that I was more charming than any Sarentu before me.

She and Koranu helped me put the salvaged talioang hide to use. Under Koranu's instruction—and Nefika’s watchful eye—I managed to craft a rather attractive tsyokxtilmam. The bright violet hues of Koranu’s dyes paired nicely with the deep tones of my sil, and I turned my wrist over again and again to admire the piece. Finally, something I had made. For far too long, I resented having to wear ill-fitting clothes that represented TAP. Aha'ri had told us stories of the Na'vi crafting their own garments, each piece carrying meaning for the wearer, constructed from materials they had gathered or been gifted. Scratchy, screen-printed tees didn’t really carry the same significance.

“There, ma'yawntu. Now you look more like one of the Sarentu,” Nefika murmured, her smile warm and affectionate. “Perhaps we could show Ka'nat your work. The old man has not seemed to grasp the fact that our friends have finally returned to us, and that he should be thankful for your presence.”

I nodded my agreement, allowing the woman to lead me through Hometree, up the swirling incline, past chattering friends and curious children. Beneath the archway to the Aranahe council room stood two guards, bodies freshly painted, spears in hand. I eyed them warily, but Nefika stalked past them as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Ka'nat!” she called.

The rather grouchy Olo'eyktan turned toward us, jaw tense. “What is it, Nefika?” he sighed, not even bothering to look my way.

Nefika slipped behind me, her hands rounding over my shoulders. “Our guest has been making herself useful,” she announced, her grin evident in her voice. “Not only has she already made many new friends amongst our people—” I tried to keep my brow from furrowing, unsure of the validity of her claim, “—but she has single-handedly brought down a talioang.” That, at least, was true. “Young Tamtey has shared the bounty with us, and from the creature’s hide, she has crafted a lovely piece.” Nefika’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, thrusting it before Ka'nat’s narrowed eyes.

“I see,” he grumbled, though his gaze hadn’t so much as dipped. “Nefika always gets her way, I suppose.” Finally, his yellow eyes swiveled, coolly assessing me. “No matter. The loss of your people was painful for the Aranahe. Your return is a parul, for which we are thankful.”

“Eywar, ma Ka'nat,” Nefika grinned. “A stxeli indeed, this 'eve.”

“Your people once offered us valuable council,” Ka'nat went on. “But you are young. I doubt you possess the wisdom of those before you.”

My ears immediately flattened at the casual affront. “There is sense in fighting the Sky People,” I countered. “Their greed, their violence—it threatens our way of life.”

Ka'nat’s eyes creased once more. “Is this truly what brings you to us? To speak these words amidst the warmth of our kelutral? Your ancestors would be ashamed, 'eveng.” I flinched at the words, their implication. “Stay with us for a time. Learn what it is to be one of the people. But while you still wear the garments of the Sky People, butchering our tongue as you speak to us, I do not wish to turn my ears to your ideas of war.” He stalked from the room, nearly knocking into my shoulder as he passed. My face flushed as my veins buzzed, caught somewhere between resentment and mortification.

“Well,” Nefika sighed. “I have had yet to see someone get such a…strong reaction from the man.” She saw how my jaw clenched, the pink rimming my ears and cheeks. “Ngari txe'lan mawey livu,” she murmured. “Our Olo'eyktan might be a hard shell fruit to crack, but our Tsahìk is on your side. As am I,” she said, placing a warm hand over my shoulder once more.

Nefika left me on my own in the dim light of the council room, a myriad of doubts swimming through my mind.

Chapter Text

THE NIGHT PASSED UNEASILY INTO morning. I was afforded a small hammock in which to sleep, surrounded by strangers, comforted only by the intriguing sounds of the forest. To my surprise, I found myself missing HQ—the metal walls, low light, and stiff bunks which reminded me so much of my days at TAP. Though, really, I knew I was truly longing for Ri'nela’s gentle voice, or Teylan’s endless babbling. Even Nor’s cold assessment of our changed circumstances.

Most of all, I yearned for the opportunity to coax fascinating stories from So'lek. Tales of a life so different from my own, spent within forests I had yet to understand.

I sighed, flipping over within the stretchy, woven slope of fabric. Though it was foolish, part of me wished that So'lek’s voice might crackle over the comms, providing me with a much needed distraction. Even more foolishly, I considered calling him myself. But it was late, and he no doubt needed the rest. To curb my curiosity, I ripped the piece from my ear, tucking it away within the small pack Rajinder had given me. Somewhere between fretting and fantasising, I finally drifted off.

The Aranahe did not bother to wake me. Judging by the bright columns of light etched through the colorful panels of silk which shaded the sleeping area, I had dozed until nearly midday. Yet another stain on my reputation amongst the clan, surely.

With tired, aching limbs, I trudged up the spiraling walkway, past the family spaces and the council room, toward the ikran landing, then further still. The enormous tree was quieter up here, more secluded. The din of voices and music and busy hands had long since faded away. Now, there was only a subtle buzzing.

The walkway ended in a wide, brightly lit area. Small, winged creatures flitted to and fro, filling the space with a gentle hum that seemed to reverberate through me. Though I instantly felt comfortable within their presence, I could feel a twinge of their unease—how they bounced against the bark which enclosed us, almost as if they were trapped, agitated.

Etuwa stood along the far wall, her back turned to me as her hands worked over a cluttered table. She whirled as I approached, lips pulled into a frown, eyes creased beneath her nikroi. “The kìnglor have not known peace for many months,” she said, eyes catching one of the moths as it buzzed by us. “Once, the na’rìng was theirs. But now? Now the RDA threatens their livelihood, as well as our own.”

My brow furrowed. “This nest, in Hometree…is this all that they have?”

“At the moment, yes,” Etuwa nodded, the brightly colored feathers in her hair quivering. She held up a smoking bundle of moss and leaves, allowing the fumes to drift and spiral all around us. “There are too many kìnglor here. The wood is weakening. Kelutral cannot house so great a number.”

As her gaze followed the largest of the moths, Etuwa sighed. “Their queen is born knowing how to protect those under her care.”

I understood what it was to feel like every move, every decision, was the wrong one. More than that, I, too, had been at the end of Ka'nat’s judgment. The urge to fold Etuwa into a hug washed over me, but I held back. “The kìnglor queen knows her place. As do you, ma'eylan,” I murmured.

“Do I?” she questioned, letting loose a mirthless laugh. Her jaw tightened. “There was something my mother often said—‘a steady heart sees steady wings.’ The kìnglor—and my people—trusted her. She always walked the right path, but I cannot seem to follow in her footsteps.”

“Perhaps you must carve your own path,” I suggested softly. 

Etuwa’s golden eyes slid toward me, a barest of smiles dancing upon her lips. “Perhaps…so must you,” she answered. As the kìnglor grew more restless, swarming around us, I took a step back. “Mawey, ma'eylan,” Etuwa murmured. “They will not harm you. They are merely anxious.”

“From what?” I asked, eyeing the moths warily as they skidded and collided midair.

“The RDA, I should think,” Etuwa grimaced. “Ever since their return, they have been like this—restless, nearly inconsolable, crowding within our kelutral. They cannot go on in such a state.”

I stepped toward the Tsahìk once more. “What can I—”

“Have you seen Itu?” a sharp voice interrupted. I nearly jumped from the presence suddenly beside me. “Ka'nat requests his presence, but he is nowhere to be found.”

“Vefilu,” Etuwa nodded by way of greeting—and introduction. “Should he not have now returned from his hunt?”

The young woman shook her head. “He should have, but…it has been hours, Tsahìk. I worry for him.”

Once more, Etuwa’s jaw ticked. I suddenly felt as if I were intruding.

“I will find Ka'nat,” Vefilu said, turning on her heel. “He must—”

“Pey!” Etuwa called. “We will find him—the three of us. My father need not know. It will only upset him.”

Though Vefilu’s brow furrowed, she nodded her agreement. “I will go after him, then. You are Tsahìk—you should stay in kelutral.”

Etuwa stepped forward, intending to follow despite Vefilu’s warning. But I held my hand out. “She won’t be alone, I promise. I’ll look with her. But Vefilu is right: you should stay, ma'eylan.”

“You would do this for us?” she questioned.

I couldn’t help but smile. “You came to my aid, without question, when I didn’t even know that I needed your help. Allow me to lend a hand this time.”

To my surprise, Etuwa’s expression crumpled with something like disappointment. “Sran. I will stay where I belong,” she said softly, dejectedly. The far off look in her eyes haunted me as I turned away. It dredged up old memories, old images.

It reminded me of my own expression, the distance within it each time I looked in the mirror back at TAP. Trapped, helpless.

Alone.

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The High Loom camp stood before me, bathed in the light of the setting pxetsawke. As my heart thundered within my chest, I took to climbing the stairfoot tree. Though it was probably an exaggeration of my nerves, it seemed as if every Aranahe in my vicinity turned to look at me. I caught sight of Vefilu, tucked back within the shaded den, her eyes narrowing as I approached.

“Etuwa sent you, did she?” Vefilu rasped.

I swallowed. “Not exactly. I offered my help, so that she could remain at your kelutral.”

“Tsahey,” she grumbled. “Always trying to hide things from her sempul. I do not wish to be a part of her endless scheming.”

A knot formed between my brows. “She is only trying to be a strong Tsahìk—to choose her battles,” I argued.

Vefilu snorted. “You truly are a Sarentu, content to play the diplomat.”

Though it was meant as an insult, the comment invited a strange sort of pride. “I suppose that depends on if my words are heard,” I countered. “Allow me to help you search for Itu.”

The young woman weighed my request, yellow eyes snaking from my head to my toes. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “The Aranahe are not aytsamsiyu, only aytaronyu, at best. I think that, now, we are in over our heads.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “What makes you say that?”

Drawing closer, Vefilu murmured, “Each day, the Sky People draw closer to our kelutral, every 'awm. We have tried to keep them back—Etuwa, Itu, and I. We keep quiet so as to not alarm Ka'nat. But the task has become more than we can handle. Itu went out on his own, against our wishes, and now it has been too long.”

My throat felt uncomfortably dry. “Could he have been—”

“I do not know,” Vefilu interrupted, shaking her head. “I hope to Eywa he has not, but…it is possible. That is why I need to find him, and quickly.”

“Then I will come with you,” I insisted.

“You have no ikran,” she sighed. “It is too far.”

“All right,” I nodded, milling through every possibility. “Then…then you take the farthest stretch, and I’ll search closest to the 'awm. No ikran needed.”

Vefilu’s lips stretched into a thin line. “It is possible,” she allowed. “You might want to start near the stone pillars, just down this hill. We have a rest spot there we use while on hunts, tucked away in a cave. Make sure you have plenty of arrows, Sarentu,” she warned. “You will need them.”

Which is how I found myself crouching behind a stone ledge, eyeing the dark recesses of a carefully-concealed alcove. As I shifted, a stray branch cracked underfoot. My entire body chilled, just waiting for my discovery.

“Did you hear that?” a soldier hissed.

“For the fifteenth time, no. Why the hell are you so jumpy?” another growled.

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe because we just fought off a feral blue to get this far? Just a guess, though.”

“Whatever,” groaned the second.

“I can take ‘em,” bragged a third from inside his AMP suit, lifting his gun for emphasis. I ducked behind the ledge, heart pounding so hard I was sure they’d hear it.

“Amen,” jeered a fourth.

Four against one. My odds didn’t seem great, all things considered. Especially with that AMP. At the drill site, I had bided my time, carefully watching their rotations so that I could slip in with my SID, disabling their machines before they had realized I was there. By the time So'lek’s grenade-tipped arrow was whizzing into the flare chute, the small unit was already retreating. Likely imagining that they faced far more than just one skinny Na'vi fresh out of cryo.

But here? No way would I be that lucky. The humans all crowded around the mouth of the cave, not moving very far as they assessed the site. I knew even less than they did—chances were they had Itu and Zomey cooped up in the darkness, injured. Or worse. I took a deep breath in a rather futile attempt to calm myself.

Itu needed me. If I never shifted from this spot, too afraid of my own shadow, he would face the worst outcome imaginable. Drawing So'lek’s bow from around my chest, I held firm, notching an arrow and taking aim. The arrow whizzed through the air, lodging within one of the soldier’s throats. Before the woman beside him could notice, I stuck another arrow through her heart.

The AMP suddenly turned, spraying bullets with abandon. I ducked behind the ledge one more, breaths sawing through me. “Shit,” I hissed as a bullet chinked the stone just above my head.

“Come on out, alien,” the AMP taunted. “My roster’s a little light this month!”

Creeping toward the other end of the ledge, I notched another arrow. And with a deep breath, I whirled around the corner. I let fly, the arrow punching through the glass dome of the suit. The driver huffed and gasped as he searched for his exopack. I took advantage of his struggle. One arrow to the other side of the dome, and the glass gave way. A third sliced between his ribs. The man’s hands fell to the wound, forgetting all about his futile quest for the mask. He shuddered, gulping down poisonous air before he finally went limp.

I scanned the grounds for the fourth soldier. Where the hell were they? At the sound of a cry, a rifle discharged, bullets flying all around me. I dove for the other side of the ledge, but I slipped, falling down into the bowl. The last soldier had the high ground now, and her rifle was aimed directly at me. With a shaky breath, I wildly fired an arrow. To my eternal surprise, it hit true, dropping the woman sooner than I could register what had happened.

Scrambling against a boulder, its rough surface biting into my back, I tried to collect myself. But as my gaze flicked between each of the bodies around me, each of the deaths I had orchestrated, it began to feel as if the earth were swallowing me up. These weren’t my first kills—I knew that. The first lives I took had been up at the fueling station, when I was the only thing which stood between So’lek and certain death. No matter how many times I told myself that this was the same, it didn’t quite feel the same.

Before I could think twice, my bloodstained fingers fumbled for my comms. “So'lek?” I breathed.

For a moment, there was only silence, the sound of my stuttering heart drowning out all else. Then, “Sarentu? Are you all right?”

The tightness in my chest eased a fraction. “So'lek, I…I took a life,” I whispered, unsure of why I was even bothering him with such a thing. “I-is it supposed to feel like this?”

His voice was soft when he asked, “Like what, Sarentu?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying once more to calm my breathing. “Just…bad,” I huffed. “Is there something wrong with me?”

Another moment of crushing silence passed. Finally, he murmured, “I would be more concerned if you felt nothing, or if you took pleasure in the act. It is not supposed to feel right. But sometimes the act is necessary.”

“Necessary,” I echoed. “Yeah. No, I understand. Had I not, they would've killed me.”

“Sarentu?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you all right?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, I think so. I will be,” I answered, plastering a wobbly smile across my face. “Don't worry.”

“I am sorry I cannot be there,” So’lek said softly.

“That's okay,” I assured him. “I need to figure this out on my own, I think.”

“Rutxe, Sarentu, be careful,” he pleaded. “Should you need anything, I will find a way, sran?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Okay. It'll be fine.”

Though my knees shook, I pushed to my feet. Everything would be fine—I would be fine. Because if I wasn’t, I’d never survive this life.

Chapter Text

AS MY VISION SLOWLY ADJUSTED to the dimness of the cave, my stomach fell. Signs of a struggle were strewn everywhere: broken arrows, a snapped bow, long claw marks along the wall. A shattered ikran headpiece. My breath caught at the sight of blood splattered across the exit.

“Hold on, Itu,” I whispered, scrambling from the cave. I sprinted across the forest floor, dodging fallen logs and uneven boulders, ducking under ferns and vines. The faintest whiff of the taronyu and his ikran lingered on the breeze, the only hint for my rather aimless search. Until—

A screech echoed through the forest, followed by steady gunfire. Oh no. As I sped through a narrow ravine, a funnel of smoke rose above the treetops, blotting out the lingering light of the pxetsawke. As gunfire continued to rain down upon my unseen allies, it felt like each shot was another moment closer to failure. Until great, leathery wings flapped overhead.

Zomey.

Reaching for my bow once more, I charged toward the attacking soldiers, crying out. Sometimes the act is necessary, I repeated again and again, the thought becoming a sort of mantra which spurred me forward, guiding my hand. One shot, one victim. Then another, and another. As one of my arrows sliced through a soldier’s arm, I quickly notched a second, driving it through their stomach and turning toward the next target.

Again and again and again. One soldier after another. More lives taken by my hand. My…rage. But there wasn’t time to dwell on it.

A Wyvern droned overhead, promising backup. With a deep breath, I notched another arrow, but then it…flew away. What the hell?

Distant, hollow banging had my ears swiveling toward the far side of the gorge, toward a smoking Scorpion. “Ayfnawe'tu!” roared a voice from inside. “Aytspangxtu! Leave her alone! I will kill every last one of you!”

I nearly tripped. “Itu?” I called. “Itu! It’s me, Tamtey, of the Sarentu!”

“Sarentu? I am trapped inside this…this metal!” he answered.

“Hold on, Itu! I’m coming!” I gasped as wings beat just above me, swirling the clouds of smoke. Zomey landed at my side with a pained shriek, tossing her head. “Don’t worry girl,” I cooed, “I’ll get him.”

As if she understood, Zomey took off again, circling over the downed Scorpion, no doubt keeping an eye out for RDA reinforcements. I tried the latch on the belly of the aircraft, but it wouldn’t budge. “I think I need to find another way,” I yelled above the crackling of the burning brush all around us.

“Sarentu, how did you know I was here?” Itu called.

I drew my SID gun from my belt, calibrating the system. “Etuwa and Vefilu were worried when you didn’t return. We came to find you—I just happened to be searching in the right spot.” Aiming SID toward the latch, I fiddled around with the system, trying to unlock it. But the connection buzzed somewhere near the aircraft’s side; just above the fuel cap, I discovered. Though I was able to unlock the system, the coding wasn’t recognizing a power source. “Give me a few more minutes, Itu!” I said, scrambling atop the Scorpion.

Zomey had landed over the rotors at some point, and as I crested the edge, she roared. “Easy, sìltsan'eve,” I urged her, slipping the SID back into my belt and holding my hands out. “I’m just here to help.”

As she launched into the sky, my hands fumbled for my device. I didn’t need the sensor to tell me where to look this time. Sparks crackled from a gash in the metal, emitting a strange smell. “Got it,” I huffed, crouching before the wires. I forced them together, twisting the caps until they sealed. With a hum, power returned to the Scorpion. A triumphant grin tugged at my lips. Jumping down the side, I pulled the release lever, and the hatch opened slightly. I crept over the edge, hoping my weight would help the damaged hinges. “Itu!” I called into the darkness.

A distant screech had me whirling just in time to face an inbound Scorpion. Shots rang out, bullets clanging through the metal cabin. I stumbled back, losing my leverage over the hatch. It sealed shut once more, trapping me inside.

With a groan, I pushed myself up. Itu stumbled toward me, his face creased with worry. “We are stuck in this metal creature,” he rasped.

I shook my head, my regret a palpable thing. “Ngaytxoa,” I murmured. “I meant to—”

“Zomey, is she safe?” Itu sputtered, drawing nearer.

“I think she’s still fighting them,” I admitted. “We were helping each other against the RDA.”

“The RDA,” Itu spat. “Those ay kalweyaveng…they cornered me in this bird, separating her and I. They were laughing at her pain, mocking her bravery. They do not deserve to live,” he seethed.

“We need to leave, to help her,” I pleaded.

“She will not last long on her own,” he agreed, voice raw.

I placed my hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “We can do this.” Turning back toward the hatch, I crouched down, searching for a button, a lever, anything. 

“Fire, Sarentu, move!” Itu wrenched me back, his eyes wide, the flames reflected within them.

“But that’s our way out!” I argued, rather petulantly. “I just need to get the door open again.”

My SID buzzed in my palm. As my gaze followed the direction it was pointed, my ears perked up. “There!” I breathed, scrambling toward a connection box. Holding the gun over the keypad, I calibrated the system, hacking into the code. It released, a side hatch lowering with a groan of weakening metal.

“Come on!” Itu urged, jumping through the crevice without a moment’s hesitation. But as I followed, the Scorpion tilted. I lost my footing, sliding out of the hatch, flipping through the air until all around me was…

Wet. 

Water. I had landed in water. Pumping my legs, I broke the surface, gasping and sputtering. Itu stood at the shore, one arm braced around his abdomen, the other reaching toward me. “Are you all right?” I wheezed, coughing up the last of the water I had inhaled.

“Sran, you?” he asked, looking me over.

“Think so,” I nodded, hands flitting over myself to ensure I hadn’t lost any of my gear. To my immense relief, everything was still in its place. My fingers dragged over So'lek’s bead, whispering a silent prayer of thanks to Eywa. 

“Quite the victory, Sarentu, even if we barely escaped,” Itu grinned.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Guess so.”

With a shrug, Itu said, “You cannot know life until you have come close to death.”

Wringing out my kuru, I murmured, “I don’t think I like being that close.”

“Still, irayo, 'eylanay. I would not be here without you,” Itu nodded, his hand folding over his heart.

As my cheeks warmed, I waved my hand in dismissal. “Most of this was Zomey’s doing, not mine.”

“Then at the very least, we make a good team,” Itu laughed, but immediately winced.

“You were hurt?” I gasped, reaching for him as he doubled over.

“I will be fine,” he insisted, starting down the narrow path which wove along the river. “I just need to find Zomey, and then we can return to kelutral.” He called out to his ikran with a whoop, but she did not answer. 

Voice wavering, I said, “At least let me take a look. Maybe it's something I can quickly patch.”

But Itu ignored me. “I should not have allowed them to separate us, leaving her on her own. What if the worst has happened?”

Though he was turned away from me, I shook my head. “Together, we will find her. Don’t lose hope.”

“We must,” he urged. “Until you bond with an ikran of your own, you cannot understand the bond—its intensity. We move, think, and breathe together, Sarentu. Zomey is part of my soul.” As Itu stepped over a branch, he cried out, falling to his knees.

“Itu!” I gasped, crouching beside him. “We can’t go on.”

“You can, Sarentu. Rutxe. Look for ma'eylan. Make sure she is all right,” he begged.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Okay, I’ll find her. I promise.”

I lurched toward the trees, desperate to catch Zomey’s scent on the wind. But it was so clouded with smoke that it was difficult to pick up the smells of the forest, of Eywa’s creatures. I ran blindly, stumbling about, hoping that I would find something. As I crested an overgrown ridge, I found a lump too darkly colored to be amongst the flora. “Itu!” I called. “She’s here!”

Kneeling beside Zomey, I gently ran my hands down her neck. “Shhh, girl. It’ll be okay,” I whispered. “You’ll be fine.”

It seemed as if ages had passed before Itu’s footsteps thundered behind me. He collapsed over his ikran, a broken sob clawing its way out of his throat. “Zomey.” He lifted her head into his lap, running his fingers over her leathery forehead. “I am here, ma'tìlor,” he cooed. Itu reached for his kuru, binding it to Zomey’s in tsaheylu. “Allow me to shoulder your pain, ma'Zomey.”

I scrambled back, chest aching at the sight. Was this what life was, truly? So much hate, so much greed, resulting in the deaths of innocents. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head as if to dislodge the image, the feelings which resurfaced at such callousness.

“Ngaytxoa, ma'eve. Do not leave me,” Itu begged.

As my eyes flew open, I pushed to my feet. I shouldn’t be here, seeing this. This was…private. I had no part in this—not when I had been too slow to help them. To save Zomey.

“Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmuke,” Itu murmured. “Ulte ngaru seiyi irayo. Ngaru hu Eywa, salew tìrea.” He disconnected their kuru with a soft snick, bending toward her as a sob rolled from his chest.

“If there’s anything I can do…” I whispered, pain clawing at my heart.

Itu sniffed. “Tell Etuwa and Vefilu that I am safe,” he said, voice low and ragged. “I am alive only thanks to you.”

“I will,” I promised. “I will.”

“Perhaps, someday, we can celebrate Zomey’s last fight.”

“Nìlun,” I agreed, backing away into the brush, not wishing to intrude on Itu’s grief any longer.

༻𓆸°—｡༉⟢-´ཀ`—｡˚𓆰-⋆˚꩜｡⋆ೃ࿔—༗-ᯓ°—｡𓇼༺

I hardly even processed my journey back to Hometree, what with my head hung low, feet dragging. In my mind, the image of Zomey held within Itu’s arms as she took her last breaths played over and over and over again. I couldn’t help being reminded of when Aha'ri lay within my own grasp, the life ebbing out of her. It felt as if her death were only yesterday. Considering how little I could recall since that moment, I suppose that wasn’t so far from the truth.

Up in the kìnglor nest, I bumped into Ka'nat—literally bumped into him, much to my embarrassment. “N-ngaytxoa,” I stammered, “I thought…I thought I would find Etuwa up here.”

But as I turned to leave, he grumbled, “Pey, Sarentu.” I stopped short, glancing his direction. “Will you not speak with me?” he asked.

Coming to stand before him once more, I folded my hands in front of me, unable to meet his stony gaze.

“Last night, when Nefika brought you to me…I spoke out of anger, 'eveng. And for that, I hope you forgive me. I was unkind, and I did not respect the great loss you have faced. Your return reminded me of the death of ma'muntxate, Etuwa’s sa'nok, Asahe. Ever since she was taken from us…I cannot bear the thought of losing anyone else to the Sky People, especially not maite.

“It is clear to me that you and maite walk the same path, and that frightens me. But I can no longer hold her back from Eywa’s will—nor can I deny the joy we Aranahe have felt at your return,” he nodded, folding his hand over his heart. As his fingers drifted toward his brow, he murmured, “Oel ngati kameie, Tamtey…forgive me, 'eveng, but I do not know your soaia.”

My heart swelled at the unexpected apology, his acknowledgment…both a much needed balm to my heart at present. “Tamtey Kataru’ite,” I answered, mirroring the greeting. “I do not remember my family name, but I know my mother was Kataru.”

Ka'nat reached for my hands, folding them between his own. “I am grateful for you, Tamtey Kataru'ite. Irayo for returning to us, Sarentu'ite. Kop irayo for encouraging maite.”

“Me?” I laughed, shaking my head. “Encouraging Etuwa? She is the tuté I aspire to be, fearless and true. She has inspired me.”

Ka'nat’s smile was as warm as it was elusive. “That is not how maite tells it.”

“I was not the one to swoop to the rescue at the Resistance camp—that was all Etuwa,” I beamed back.

But the Olo'eyktan’s smile faltered. “What is this of camps and rescues?” he asked.

My body instantly chilled as I realized my mistake. Uh-oh.

I couldn’t imagine how I’d lie my way out of that admission. “Etuwa saved my life, is all. And I am eternally thankful,” I murmured.

He suddenly released my hands as if my touch had burned him. “You are leading maite into danger,” Ka'nat seethed, brow furrowing. “Before you came, she was happy here, caring for our kìnglor.”

Though I wanted to snap back, to tell him how very wrong he was about his daughter and her happiness, I bit my tongue. It wasn’t at all my place. “Danger will come to the Aranahe if you only sit here and wait for it,” I retorted, unable to stay completely silent. “Etuwa sees that—why can’t you?”

The man’s chin lifted; he gazed at me down the length of his nose, eyes suddenly hard and cold. “I misjudged you. I thought I recognized your people in you, their peaceful nature. Clearly I was wrong. Your clan is well and truly dead.”

Chapter Text

EVER SINCE TAMTEY’S VOICE HAD crackled over the comms, sounding terribly weak and broken as she called So'lek’s name, it felt as if his heart had been lodged squarely within his throat. He constantly went back and forth on whether or not he should take Ìley to the Aranahe kelutral, demanding to know where the Sarentu had found herself, and why she had been thrown into such immediate danger. But in his more reasonable moods, So'lek knew that she could handle herself; that he would mortify them both by raging before the Aranahe.

That would be a scene he could never live down—not the way Nefika and Kitangi gossiped.

And so, he took to pacing the halls of HQ, likely setting everyone on edge. When even Alex eyed him warily, though he knew full well that So'lek was often mulling over one thing or another, So'lek moved his pacing outside of HQ.

He initially sought the quiet of the cave, knowing that he could stare into the crackling fire and lose himself to his thoughts for hours. But as he tripped down the ledge, running his hands through his hair, he stopped short.

Ri'nela sat before the popping flames, her legs hugged to her chest. To So'lek’s relief, the young woman had shed her ill-fitting human clothes. Someone—probably Raj—must have given her something better suited to a Na'vi. A lighter tewng, though clearly made by human hands, sat at her waist. And instead of the oddly-patterned chest covering that bore the same insignia painted all over TAP's crumbling facilities, a delicately woven shawl now hugged her shoulders.

Sitting across from her, So'lek gently cleared his throat. Still, Ri'nela jumped, eyes widening as she glanced up at him. “Oh, So'lek! Forgive me, I was—”

“Far away?” he suggested, folding his legs before him and leaning back on his hands.

The young woman smiled, shaking her head. “Yes, in truth. I was wondering what Tamtey might be up to.”

As was I.

But instead, So'lek asked, “Do you mind if I join you?” Nevermind that he already had. Were she to say yes, he would stand in an instant, finding his own place of refuge.

“Please, sit,” she murmured, then laughed since he was already sitting. “How do you think she is? Amongst the Aranahe, I mean.”

So'lek thought of Tamtey's eagerness to impress the clan—though she shouldn’t need to—and then her jarring words earlier. Though his stomach twisted, he said, “I think she will hold her own.”

Ri'nela seemed satisfied by his answer, which only made the lie sting more. “Of us all, she was always the one who—”

“She called for me,” So'lek blurted. Realizing how that sounded, and as Ri'nela’s eyes widened, he elaborated. “Over the radio. She called for me—twice. I worry for her,” he admitted.

Ri'nela’s knees dropped as she sat forward, her brow creasing. “Worry? What is it? Has something happened?”

As So'lek leaned forward, too, he shook his head. “I do not know. She mentioned a hunt, and said that the clan was…difficult to please. I fear that she might have had some words with their Olo'eyktan.” His eyes flicked up, finding Ri'nela’s. He thought it best not to repeat Tamtey’s concerns—how she had torn herself up over the deaths of RDA soldiers, even though it had been self-defense. “Did she…has she ever put herself in harm’s way to prove a point?”

The young woman’s face paled; it was the only answer So'lek needed.

“I will go,” he said, pushing to his feet.

So'lek made his way from the cave, almost instantly cloaked by night. A gentle rain had begun to fall, allowing a chill to settle deep within his bones. He hadn’t even noticed that Ri'nela followed until she asked, “When did she call?”

Looking down at her startled golden eyes, So'lek breathed, “It has been hours, Ri'nela.” His breathing quickened as his heart hammered within his chest. “I should have left the moment I heard her voice.”

“Take me with you,” she nodded.

“No, I—”

“Take me with you,” Ri'nela pressed. “I was not asking.”

So'lek huffed a frustrated breath, but he relented. “You may need a weapon. Do you know where I keep my supplies?” he questioned.

“Y-yes,” Ri'nela blinked. “I will find them.”

“And I will ready Ìley,” So'lek nodded. “We should not delay any longer.”

They broke, Ri'nela scampering toward the doors as So'lek pulled himself up onto the roof, feet sliding over the rain-soaked metal. But there was another sound over the soft patter of raindrops, something like—

So'lek’s heart stuttered at the soft echo of crying. He scanned the darkness of the rooftop, easily finding Ìley’sshadowed form. The ikran was alert, tossing his head. And there, just at the roof’s edge, a small figure was folded up, damp auburn hair hanging limply over her thin frame, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

For a moment, So'lek considered leaving her be; he could simply go inside and let Ri'nela know that they were no longer needed at the Aranahe kelutral. For if he interfered…what if Tamtey was insulted, or embarrassed? But then, recalling all the times he had been utterly alone and in want of a listening ear, So'lek eased toward her. “Sarentu?” he whispered into the gloom, keeping his steps light.

She whirled toward him, breath shuddering and catching. “So'lek?” she whispered back, hiccuping. “What are you doing up here?”

He slinked closer, offering a gentle smile as he lowered himself beside her. “I think the better question is what are you doing here?” He searched her green eyes, red and misty from crying, and his chest ached. “What of the Aranahe?”

Tamtey’s shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “They don't seem to want me there,” she said softly. “Alma should send one of the others.”

So'lek’s throat constricted. If his past dealings with Ka'nat were anything to go off of, not to mention Tamtey’s words to So'lek soon after her arrival at the kelutral…he could only guess what had sent her back to HQ. “Yayl,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I would not judge anything—or anyone—by the opinion of an Aranahe.”

Swiping her hand under her nose, Tamtey sniffed. “Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “You aren’t a disgrace of a Na'vi.”

As his eyes narrowed, jaw tightening, So'lek had to turn away from her for a moment to collect himself. What the hell had that man said to her? Swallowing hard, So'lek knocked his shoulder into hers, plastering a tight smile across his face. “I go against the will of Eywa, remember? Daily, in fact.” he quipped. To his immense relief, Tamtey huffed a quiet laugh.

She shook her head, hair falling over her shoulder to curtain her face. “I’ve messed things up so quickly,” she lamented, legs sliding to hang over the roof’s edge.

“Such as?” So'lek prompted, his voice soft.

Again, she shrugged, though he could no longer see the expression she wore. “Each time I tried to help, everything got worse, or I’d say the wrong thing and open old wounds.”

So'lek’s chin tilted. “Your own, or others?”

With a sigh, Tamtey answered, “Both, it would seem.”

His heart wrenched for her, for all that she seemed unwilling to say. He wondered if she knew that she bore her heart for all to see, even if she did not name the emotions which tore at her. But if they were anything like his own struggles, his own questions…well, then So'lek knew she was quite miserable indeed. Unbidden, his tail snaked toward her, coming to rest against her own. Neither of them made note of it, nor did they move away. They sat in comfortable silence for a long while, simply content to listen to one another’s breathing amidst the nighttime symphony of the rain-soaked Kìnglor Na'rìng.

Chapter Text

AFTER MY RETURN FROM THE Aranahe, it felt a bit like So'lek had become my shadow. I hadn’t asked what brought him up to the roof in the rain; he didn’t ask why I had walked miles and miles without ever mentioning that I was coming back. Or what, exactly, had even sent me back in the first place.

I enjoyed quiet days spent at Ri'nela’s side, gathering herbs, fruits, and materials for crafting. I’d listen to Teylan as he explained the intricacies of one device or another at great length, beaming all the while. And I often stopped to chat, or play a game, or climb the cliffs behind HQ with Nor. These shared moments reminded me of our childhood—other than the grating difference of our finally being free to roam the na'rìng.

What added to the difference was the near-constant presence of So'lek. Ri'nela valued his knowledge on local plants. Teylan was desperate to impress him with his knowledge of all things electronic, convinced that his next display would be the one to change So'lek’s mind about human inventions. Nor…I think Nor just liked having another Na'vi around. One who didn’t grow up enclosed in glass, clothed in polyester, or with metal in their hands. Though, So'lek certainly dealt with his fair share of metals now.

In all honesty, I was beginning to wonder if my friends were that invested in So'lek, or if he were simply keeping an eye on me after finding me that night.

If he was, he was actually rather discreet about it, dividing his time frighteningly easily amongst all of us Sarentu. As Ri'nela marvelled at his mastery of herbs and tinctures, he merely shrugged, crediting his attentive teacher. When So'lek finally—perhaps begrudgingly—showed a flicker of interest in the string of lights Teylan had repaired, my friend had a bounce in his step for the rest of the day. Nor’s constant questions about all things Na'vi never annoyed So’lek. He answered each with the patience and care an older brother might show, the softest of smiles dancing upon his lips at Nor’s abundant wonder.

And with me…with me it was all passing glances, brief conversations, and something rather odd. If I struggled with pulling out a root, So'lek was suddenly there to show me a better angle. As I aided Teylan in his fiddling with my lagging SID, So'lek somehow knew just when I had need of a screwdriver. While Nor, So'lek, and I passed the afternoon with some weaving, the seemingly-stoic warrior shifted, gazing at my work over my shoulder, complimenting my steady hand.

If his goal was to distract me, to occupy me, he had certainly succeeded. I was so distracted by his intervention, in fact, that when Priya appeared above me, I nearly yelped. “I didn’t know you were all out here crafting,” she said, pulling at my wrist so that I’d give her a better view of the little sling which was starting to form between my braiding fingers. “Nice,” she breathed with a grin. I could only return the smile, my hand folding over my heart in thanks.

Though Nor was silent, So'lek asked, “Would you have joined us?”

“Oh, sure,” Priya nodded. “Though, I’m not all that creative. Maybe Tamtey needs to become my teacher,” she added, throwing me another grin.

“I don’t know what I’d have to teach you,” I laughed.

“Plenty,” So'lek murmured. I glanced at him, my face warming, but his eyes were glued to his work. Part of me wondered if he had been teasing me, but…unless he was really unfamiliar with the art of sarcasm, he had sounded entirely genuine. My heart stuttered within my chest.

“We’ll have to set up some classes!” Priya chirped. Then she perked up, eyes brightening. “We still on for Tuesday Movie Night?” she asked, walking backwards so that she could still face us. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how she managed it—usually she was the clumsiest being I had ever seen. And when compared to Teylan…that was saying a lot.

“Of course!” I answered, nodding. “What’d you choose?”

“A super old one called Casablanca. I saw it once back on, well…anyway, I remember liking it, and I was pretty stoked to find it shoved in a crate,” she nodded.

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

We had all grown a little tired of our crafting as the daylight dimmed. Nor was the first to slip away, mumbling some excuse before he melted into the foliage which cloaked HQ, heading toward the quiet cliffsides he had come to love so much. I folded my half-finished sling within a bit of cloth, tucking it away in my bag. Before I could push to my feet, though, So'lek held his hand out to me. Lacing my fingers within his, I tried to keep my cheeks from pinking.

“Irayo,” I whispered as he pulled me to my feet, my hands smoothing over my tewng in a desperate attempt to hide their shaking.

He nodded, but then his brows bunched. “What is this…Moving Night?” So'lek asked.

I huffed—no, more like choked—out an unsteady laugh. “Movie Night—A human thing. Priya got me to watch one with her a few weeks ago. It’s kinda hard to describe until you see it, really. Are you…are you coming?”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, golden eyes roving across my face. “I suppose I do not have anything else planned,” he murmured, knocking his shoulder into mine.

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I was so fixated on So'lek’s silent attention that I nearly didn’t notice how quickly time had passed. Shrugging on my shawl—a gift from Nefika before my impromptu departure—I barreled down the stairs, relieved to find that the movie had not yet started. The common area was loud and alive; not a soul saw as I slipped in through the crevices between gathered groups, finding myself a solitary spot along the far wall, close to the doors.

As Jin-young and Billy tied up the tarp which would serve as our screen, members of our little Resistance began getting comfortable in the mess of pillows and quilts Priya and Anqa had gathered. Teylan watched the process with interest, eyeing the projector. I knew that would be his newest toy after tonight—Alma had likely seen the same signs, smiling at his open curiosity from her perch on a stool, probably dragged over from Hurit’s work desk. Ri'nela and Nor chatted over various bowls of food, her nose scrunching as her gaze flicked over something white-ish and fluffy. I kept to the perimeter, content to observe everyone, utterly unnoticed. Listening to snippets of conversations, my heart warming at laughs shared and smiles offered.

“Are you going to join them, or just watch them?”

I turned to find So'lek leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. Unable to fight my own grin, I shrugged. “You learn a lot from a life spent around the edges of things.”

So'lek’s brow creased. “I know that reality well,” he said, voice soft.

Pushing away from the wall, I asked, “Should we join them, then?”

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could’ve sworn that his eyes widened, just slightly. He nodded, falling in line as I edged toward the group. I chose a little corner at the back end of Priya’s mountain of soft things, plopping down over a lumpy pillow. Though he looked more than a little unsure, So'lek lowered himself beside me, eyeing his own cushion as if it might swallow him alive. I stifled a snort at that—boogeyman of the West, afraid of a threadbare bag of stuffing.

As Jin-young—and, now, Teylan—fiddled away with the projector, attaching the spool of film to its side, the laughing and talking and ruckus continued. So'lek shifted on his seat; his eyes slipped to me. “Yes?” I chuckled.

“Ke'u,” he shook his head. Then, as if he’d thought better of it, he murmured, “How was…do you wish to talk any more about the Aranahe?”

My jaw tightened, gaze immediately falling. “Maybe sometime,” I answered. “For right now, I just want to enjoy the night.”

Before So'lek could respond, Priya announced, “All right, everyone, get comfy! Show’s about to start.” She flicked off the lights, and the rowdy chatter dimmed to an excited hum. My gaze flicked toward So'lek just as his eyes fell over me. In the dark, what was visible of his tanhì illuminated the planes of his face, accenting the jagged scar across his cheek, the molten gold of his irises. My heart tumbled at the sight, and I let loose a laugh to hide how my breathing had hitched.

The projector buzzed to life, clicking as it rolled through the frames. Shapes and scratches gradually faded into the colorless image of a map, names I didn’t recognize printed over it. This film was harder to focus on than the last I had seen. That time, So'lek hadn’t been beside me, taut as a bowstring, his knee nearly touching mine. As the movie progressed, though, I was gratified to notice that So'lek was gradually loosening up. First, his legs unfolded, stretching out before him. Then, he leaned back on his hands, the muscles of his arms rippling in a way that I definitely had no business making note of. He laughed easily at the witty lines, a deep, warm sound which brought a smile to my face.

And yet, he grew quite somber as the characters admitted that they had never fallen out of love with one another; I couldn’t help but wonder if the movie had simply pulled him in, or if his mind were elsewhere. It suddenly dawned on me just how little I knew about So'lek, about his past. Hell, I didn’t even know his full name, or how old he was. The realization made my cheeks sting in the darkness, and I hugged my legs to my chest.

So'lek glanced over at the shift, his brow creasing. Though I offered him a pacifying smile, everything started to feel too loud, and too warm, and too close. I burrowed in on myself, hiding within my own racing thoughts until the movie ended. And when Anqa flipped the lights back on, bathing everything in an unnatural glow, I did not give So'lek the chance to hold his hand out once more before I had scrambled to my feet, slipping out the sliding doors and into the night. 

Desperate to subdue the unrecognizable feeling which thrummed through my veins. 

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I eventually fell asleep beneath the stars—though, only after wandering through the forest, comforted by its openness, the lack of metal walls and buzzing lights. My breathing came easier, lungs soothed by the chilled night air. Animals chirped and sang and hissed from the cover of low branches and scraggly brush. The glowing of eyes no longer unnerved me as it first had; rather, it reminded me that I was one small soul on a sweeping, wondrous moon. That seemed to soothe a bit of the tension which had pulled at every inch of me since I last spoke with Ka'nat. Maybe even before then, honestly.

Mindlessly, I walked and walked, gazing up at Naranawm, the twinkling stars, the sprawling treetops, luminous tawtsngal suspended from the limbs. Until I found myself at the bluff overlooking the now-silent drill site. Just as it had a week ago, the tarsyu flower at the cliff’s edge unfurled as I approached, glowing stamen stretching toward me, beckoning. I obliged, slipping my tswin over my shoulder. The ends of my hair slipped over my knuckles, exposing the tendrils of my kuru. They fused to the stamen with a soft snick; I closed my eyes, leaning my head back as my consciousness slipped away.

Everywhere was bright light and muffled sounds. As my vision cleared, I found myself in a small camp, fires blazing beneath the night sky. And there, just before me, spread on a woven mat, was Aha'ri. Were I in my body, my breath would have faltered, and I certainly would have fallen over my own feet. Suddenly quite unsure of myself, I crept toward her, my hands knotting together. “Tsmuke?” I whispered into the dimness.

Aha'ri looked up from the bundle of weaving within her lap, features instantly lit up by a brilliant smile. A smile which I had nearly forgotten in all this time without her. I fell to my knees in front of her, throat tight with years of grief, years of hiding myself away, pretending I hadn’t been utterly broken by her death.

She looked older, somehow. And yet, altogether ageless, in a way. The parts of her which seemed more mature felt intensely familiar, and I wondered if perhaps I was being reminded of what little I could recall of our mother.

“Tamtey,” Aha'ri breathed, holding her hands out to me. “You are here, finally.”

I edged closer to her, taking her hands in mine, wishing I could feel their warmth, the scrape of her palms against my own. “Ngaytxoa,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Ngaytxoa, ma'tsmuke. I should have come sooner.”

Aha'ri merely scoffed, my heart lifting at the sound I had, at one time, been so accustomed to hearing. “And how would you have managed that, kalintu? Not while you were still trapped between their walls of metal, that much is certain.”

But I shook my head again. “I have only visited the tarsyu once since we were freed. I should have tried again and again in the hopes of seeing you.”

My sister squeezed my hands, lips pulling into a straight line. “The others would have thought you a sudden fanatic,” she said with mock-severity.

I couldn’t help but breathe a laugh at that. “Do you watch over us all, truly?” I asked her.

“Nìlun,” she nodded. “I would not dream of letting ma'tsmuke roam free across Eywa'eveng and not be there to witness her adventures.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, my gaze falling. “Then you have witnessed my failings with the Aranahe.”

Aha'ri tugged at my hands, and as my green eyes met her blue once more, her brow furrowed. “All I have been privy to were the harsh grumblings of an old man and the continued burden placed upon all Na'vi by the Sky People. Nothing else, kalintu.”

Though I smiled my thanks at her reassurances, I quickly changed the subject. “You know of the others, then? Ri'nela, Teylan, Nor—they are all here, with me. They survived, Aha'ri.”

“I have seen,” she grinned. “It is wonderful to witness the new lives you all lead, free from our constraints. Though, it made me rather heartsore to find the others amongst the ancestors. I am glad to be with them again, but I wish they had been able to roam the na'rìng as you now do.”

My eyes misted over. “I was afraid that was the case. It was childish of me to hope that Alma would eventually go back for them.”

“Do not despair, ma'Tamtey. They have walked beside me for a long while. Nothing and no one could have changed their fate,” Aha'ri murmured, the words soothing.

“But had Alma come for us sooner?” I suggested.

Aha'ri shrugged. “Kxawm,” she allowed. “Though, it is best not to dwell on such things.” She pulled one hand free from my grasp, her palm sliding over my heart. “You must live in the present, tsmuke. If you fixate on what has already happened, what has been lost, you will miss what exists right in front of you.”

“And what is that?” I asked, my brow bunching.

With a brusque laugh, Aha'ri answered, “That is not something I can tell you. You walk this path, kalintu, not I. While I will always be here for you, within Eywa, I cannot travel at your side. That is the way of things.” She returned her hand to mine, our fingers braiding together.

“Can I ask you something, ma'Aha'ri?” I whispered.

“Sran,” she nodded.

I swallowed, eyes fixed on my fingers twined between her own. “There is… there is this man,” I started.

“A man? It has been a long time, tsmuke,” Aha'ri said softly.

“I-I don’t know that it's like that,” I murmured, though I was fairly certain that my expression—and Aha'ri’s resulting grin—was evidence of quite the opposite. “I just…I feel lost, Aha'ri.”

“Why is that?” she questioned, her head tilting.

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, I said, “I feel separate. It’s like…sometimes it feels like I’m not entirely one with the Na'vi—even with the other Sarentu,” I admitted. “I feel more Sky Person than one of the people, almost like I’m wearing a false skin as Alma has always done.”

Aha'ri’s tone was bordering on sharp as she blurted, “You are not Alma, Tamtey.”

I shrugged. “I just don’t feel like I belong. I’m struggling to adjust, to make sense of this world. In a way…everything has just been so confusing since they took you from me, ma'tsmuke.”

She lurched foward, wrapping me into a hug, though I could not feel the press of her against me, the weight of her arms over my shoulder and around my waist. My heart tightened at the realization. “Oh, how I have missed you, kalintu,” she sighed.

My breaths came in tearless shudders. “I feel adrift without you, Aha'ri.”

Shaking her head, she murmured, “You are exactly where you need to be. Allow your path to unfold before you, Tamtey.” Her light eyes searched mine, gaze sharp and imploring. Eventually, I nodded. “Now, what of this man?” she asked, lips curling into a grin. “Do you not feel at ease even in his company?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s just it—I do. But I wish I didn’t.”

Again, her brow scrunched. “Why?”

Huffing out a mirthless laugh, I shrugged. “He’s older than all of us Sarentu, he has seen war, lost much, and he knows everything, it seems. I feel like I can finally relax when he’s around, but…the moment he leaves, I realize I’m just a child with a stupid crush on someone who wants nothing to do with me.”

“You like him?” Aha'ri smirked.

“You aren’t listening,” I grumbled.

“Oh, I am,” she insisted.

“He’s an adult,” I countered.

“As are you,” she shrugged. “More than capable of making your own choices.”

“And yet I know nothing of our world, our customs. I’m pretty sure I would not actually be considered an adult by the Na'vi—not when I can barely hold a bow, or make my own clothes, or cook, and I don’t have an ikran.”

Aha'ri rolled her eyes. “You learn—you adapt. You were always good at that, kalintu.” Then, with a wicked grin, she murmured, “Perhaps this tsamsiyu can teach you all you need to know.”

My gaze fell. “He has been, more often than not. That’s half the problem.”

“I fail to see how this is a problem,” she muttered.

Sighing, I said, “You are incorrigible.”

“But am I wrong?” she pressed.

Sounding more than a little helpless, I whispered, “I don’t know why I even asked.”

Aha'ri shuffled closer, pulling our joined hands into her lap. “I am glad you brought him up,” she nodded. “It allows me to make sense of what I have seen of you.”

My eyes widened. “Just how much have you seen, tsmuke?”

“Enough,” she answered, smiling coyly.

I groaned, hanging my head. “This has suddenly become incredibly embarrassing. Forget I said anything—please. I’m sure it’ll all blow over in no time.”

With a frown, Aha'ri said, “If that is what you wish, ma'Tamtey.”

I nodded once, then again as if to convince myself. “I shouldn’t stay much longer,” I murmured. “I haven’t slept well lately. But I’ll visit you again, I promise.”

“Rutxe,” she whispered, blue eyes creased with something I failed to name. “Nga yawne lu oer, ma'tsmuke.”

“Nì'eng,” I whispered back, squeezing her hands before rising to my feet.

As my eyes opened, revealing the fading glow of the tarsyu beneath a sky full of stars, I curled onto my side, desperate for the oblivion of sleep to find me.

Chapter Text

SOMEHOW, I DIDN’T ROUSE UNTIL the pxetsawke was high in the sky. No one questioned me as I trudged back to HQ. I was only offered casual smiles and faintly murmured hello’s. Somehow, that felt worse. Had anyone even noticed that I was gone? Had anyone even cared?

The question ate away at me as I wandered the cliffs surrounding the base. I wasn’t really up for venturing inside—not yet. Chances were that I would be tasked with one thing or another, all around me utterly oblivious to the chasm which had opened within me, dark and swirling, ever since facing Ka'nat’s scrutiny. It was easier to be on my own, really. While my mind chided me, urged me to let go of my self-pity, my heart argued that I deserved to be understood; to have someone notice when my mood slipped and the smiles I gave too easily suddenly faltered. 

I was trailing my fingers around a scrappy patch of grass when sudden footfalls made me whirl around. “Ngaytxoa,” So'lek murmured, raising his hands in response to my wide eyes. He edged closer, pointing to the space beside me, asking permission. Not trusting myself to speak—what with my racing heart—I simply nodded. “You turned off your radio,” he said softly, lowering himself to the grass, allowing his legs to dangle over the cliff’s edge.

A brief shrug was my only answer as the wind whipped through our hair and danced along our skin.

“Everyone was worried,” So'lek added. 

Only a mirthless scoff escaped me. I could feel his eyes on me, willing me to meet his gaze, but I kept my attention on the soil beneath my palm, how it filled in the spaces between my fingers like the hand of Eywa herself.

“I was worried.”

Now I did turn to look at him, my brow furrowed. “Why?” I whispered.

His mouth pulled down at the corner as his golden gaze studied my face. “You have not been…all right. The others assured me that you would return, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“But what?” I prompted, the words little more than a breath.

So'lek inhaled sharply. “Perhaps I should not have listened.”

Again, I shrugged. “I’m fine,” I muttered. “As you can see.”

With a sigh, he said, “I would disagree.”

I was unable to keep the bite out of my tone as I replied, “You can go back to HQ, tell everyone I’m just up here. Nothing to worry about.”

“Sarentu,” So'lek murmured. He knocked his shoulder into mine. I glanced at him, for only a moment, yet the intensity of his gaze set my cheeks ablaze. “Will you talk to me?” he pressed.

I couldn’t help myself. “We are talking,” I muttered.

“Eywa, you are difficult,” he grumbled, though the words held a hint of amusement.

“Guilty as charged.”

So'lek shuffled, but I didn’t look his way. “You are not alone, you know. Here…or in this life.”

Another doubtful laugh.

The tips of his fingers brushed along my shoulder. “I understand, Sarentu. More than you know. And I will listen, should you let me, to anything that might be on your mind.”

Were I not so proud, so accustomed to going at it all on my own, my eyes would’ve welled with tears. Maybe if I were more confident in my looks, or the weight of my presence, I would’ve thrown myself into his arms just to see where it might take me. But instead, all I could manage was a tight nod. Experience convinced me that this would be enough to send him on his way—that he would never try to crack through my exterior with a myriad of questions again. A fundamental flaw existed in that theory, though.

So'lek wasn’t like everyone else. He was quiet and calculating, sure. But it seemed that he could be brash when he wanted to be, stubborn when he needed to. And despite my every attempt to push him away, to deflect his strange concern for me, he refused to budge. He sat there with me, in total silence, seemingly content to observe the edge of the forest, watching as the pxetsawke streaked through the sky. Once it reached its zenith, adorning everything in a glow that was almost harsh to the eye, he wordlessly pulled a cloth bundle from the pouch at his waist, untying the package to reveal pieces of sliced dawn fruit.

My lips parted and my cheeks warmed at the sight, though I wouldn’t meet his gaze. He held the bundle closer, urging me to eat, and I grabbed a small slice with unsteady fingers. How could this man, who everyone seemed to fear, who had only met me a week ago, be so attuned to everything around him? To…me? I munched on the fruit, throat suddenly as dry as when they’d make us run laps around the gym at TAP and wouldn’t allow us water until we beat our previous time. To my endless surprise, So’lek unclipped the skin of water from his belt and offered it to me.

“Irayo,” I whispered, the first word between us in maybe two hours.

“Nìprrte’,” he nodded, taking a swig himself once I had finished.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Maybe, just maybe, I did not want to push him away like I had everyone else.

But So'lek merely chuckled. “I am not,” he insisted. “I enjoy the view from up here.”

When I glanced at him my ears flicked, surprised to find his eyes already on me. Which led me to wonder if they had ever strayed at all. “Right,” I nearly croaked. “Not like I own the na'rìng.”

Again, he laughed. “You and your endless jokes,” So'lek shook his head. Had that been a joke? I hadn’t meant it as one. “They remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Oh?” I asked, ears swiveling toward him, tail wagging unbidden.

He nodded, laying the waterskin aside, balling up the bit of cloth still sticky from the dawn fruit we had polished off. “An herbalist, far from here, years ago. She made herself laugh so often I began to wonder if she was a bit…” So'lek’s fingers wiggled just beside his temple, “mad.”

I shoved his shoulder with a half-hearted hiss, making him laugh in earnest. “Leave me be, skxawng,” I scoffed.

So'lek’s answering laugh was one of sincere surprise. “Skxawng?” he echoed. “You wound me, Sarentu.”

“My condolences,” I murmured, my lips splitting into a grin.

His amber eyes narrowed, just slightly, as he assessed me. “You are back,” he breathed. The depth of his voice—the look on his face—made my stomach flip.

I hastily pushed to my feet, quite certain I had turned purple all over. “Look, um, irayo,” I said, gesturing to him, the cloth folded between his fingers. His face instantly fell. “Irayo for cheering me up, for noticing. But I think, um…I think I should be heading back.”

“To Kelutral.” His voice was soft, the words a statement rather than a question. He nodded, though I could’ve sworn his jaw tightened a fraction.

“They’ll be expecting me, and Alma…well, you know Alma. She’s counting on me.” It all came out in a rush as I tried to pry my gaze away from how his mouth slanted into a subtle frown. Subtle, but I saw it.

“Her wants are not your responsibility, Sarentu,” he grumbled. “And certainly not yours alone.”

Though I nodded, I answered, “But it is my responsibility to adjust to this life. If this is how I do it, so be it.” Before he could protest, I added, “And I don’t think it’ll help to be coddled.” I felt a twinge of shame at the words as soon as they fell from my lips.

So'lek’s chin snapped up, his eyes finding mine. “Coddled?” he practically hissed.

“No, I—” I ran my hands through my hair, fingers snagging on the few beads Nefika had braided in. “That’s not what I mean,” I sighed. “Ngaytxoa. You have been a great friend, really. But I’ve been sulking enough, and the RDA will not be waiting for my mood to improve.”

His brow furrowed. “The RDA never waits.”

“E-exactly,” I stammered, offering him an unconvincing smile. “I’ll see you, So'lek. And, rutxe, call me if anything comes up.”

I scampered away like the coward I was, not even giving him a chance to respond. Too afraid to acknowledge the frantic fluttering of kenten in my stomach, bashing about between my ribs. Too afraid to recognize the way in which the solid cage of glass surrounding my heart suddenly began to fracture.

Chapter Text

SO'LEK WAS BEGINNING TO FEEL truly mad. Never before had his world felt like this. It was unstable, and confusing, and…strangely intoxicating. 

Obviously, the war had completely altered the path of his life, with no regard and no remorse. He had wandered ever since, a part of no clan, son of parents who no longer lived, brother to a young woman lost to time. As he travelled between—and learned from—the peoples of the East and eventually the West, he began to find a strange sort of comfort in his loneliness. The use of his skills gradually became more important than the desires of his heart, until he very nearly forgot them altogether.

And then he met Tamtey.

Her presence had almost instantly unraveled him in a way which was as infuriating as it was alluring. And, to his shame, he had only felt such a great depth of emotion when it was pure, undiluted rage which flowed through his veins. He had certainly never felt this way around anyone else.

Not even Rimu.

Amongst the Tipani, racing through the forest with his karyu, things had been lighthearted—easy. He admired her skill, her awareness. Learning from her had been enjoyable and fulfilling. But ultimately, when the truth of what she meant to him was begging to fall from his lips, she had stopped him. So'lek was unwilling—unable—to give her what she wanted. And so he left.

That was seven years ago. He still had not returned to the Tipani, even if at one point he imagined he might. Now, he knew he never would. Not with the aims he once had, at least. For a time, maybe, the lithe, quiet Tipani woman had colored his dreams, his wandering thoughts. And yet, images of Rimu had not flitted through his mind since he joined the Resistance. She was not a thought at all once he met Tamtey.

Even so, So'lek was at war with himself. How could he ever bring himself to admit his clouded feelings to Tamtey? To ask such a thing of the young Na'vi? The entirety of her life had been structured, controlled, forced. Finally, she was free. He very much doubted that she would want a battered tsamsiyu whose heart had been a gaping, open wound since the loss of his clan. His soaia.

Maybe the words would never fall upon her ears. Maybe the lilt of her laughter, the crease of those green eyes, and the warmth in her voice would never mean anything other than friendship between them, even if So'lek very much wished for it to mean something more. Something he was not yet willing to identify. That was okay, he decided. He would survive it, just as he always had.

Alone.

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A wise man once told So'lek that he thought—and talked—far too much. Though he had long since learned to temper his words, letting slip only that which was of note, his mind still tumbled over itself with the same voracity, no end in sight. Which is exactly how he found himself sitting upon the cliffside, watching Tamtey as she stormed away from him, unable to think of anything to say which might draw her back.

So'lek had already said too much, in fact; been too much. Understandably, it scared her away. He had been overbearing, chose all the wrong words, probably even gazed at her far too often. It was not as if he could even blame her for her reaction—not when she was absolutely correct.

Coddling.

That was what she had said, the name she had used for how he hovered around her. In one breath, she had thanked him for taking notice. In the next, she insisted it was too much. Considering the long stretches of time in which So'lek would travel alone, his voice growing hoarse from disuse, he did not quite trust himself to be the best of communicators. The most reliable of friends.

Or, whatever it was he wished to be for her.

Already, he had completely foiled his foolish ideas. It would be best if he just left her alone for a while, returning to his normal state of—

“So'lek?”

He had to take a steadying breath before pressing his fingers to his comms. “Ri'nela,” he answered, “I am here.”

A silent moment dragged on before her voice crackled once more. “Tamtey just…left,” the other Sarentu said, her voice distant, almost as if she were entirely dumbfounded. He very much hoped his idiocy had not been the cause of heated words between the two.

“Ngaytxoa, Ri'nela. That…that is probably my fault,” he admitted, ears flicking against his skull even if Ri'nela were not physically beside him to witness his mortification.

But she did not press the matter, her only reply a softly huffed, “Oh,” which made So'lek wonder if he had been far more obvious than he had initially believed.

“I am returning to HQ now,” So'lek murmured, pushing to his feet, the sticky scrap of cloth still folded against his palm. For a short, fleeting moment he had been able to make Tamtey smile. To forget her worries. Why did he have to mess it all up?

Chapter Text

TO SAY I LEFT IN a rush would be an understatement. A major understatement.

By the time I heard Ri'nela’s voice over comms, alerting So'lek to my departure, I was already past the fork in the Threaded River, well on my way back to Kelutral. Obviously, seeing as I could hear their conversation, she had already forgotten how to switch over to a private connection like Teylan had taught us. Not that had Nor absorbed the information, either. He hadn’t touched a radio since we emerged from TAP’s crumbling walls.

I listened in even though the exchange made my ears burn. Tamtey just…left, she had told him, her voice unusually soft and stilted. Her obvious shock brought back the image of her wide, wounded eyes as I brushed by her to gather my things from our shared bunk. She tried talking to me as I shoved my meager possessions within a sack of my own making, and I had callously acted as if she weren’t even there, too self-conscious after my botched conversation with So'lek.

To make matters worse, So'lek then apologized to her. The man actually apologized, even though I had been the one who was too hasty, too awkward, so unaccustomed to someone’s kindness that his made my skin crawl, to my own dismay. I should’ve welcomed his company, the warmth of his words. For crying out loud, I had developed a pitiful, soul-consuming crush on the man in the span of one short week. It was embarrassing, and ridiculous, and something I definitely did not need to be focussing on right now. Not when the Resistance needed me.

Not when Eywa'eveng still had need of the Sarentu.

Unwilling to hear anything else from those I left at HQ, I switched my radio off, trudging into the sanctuary of the na'rìng.

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My thighs screaming, lungs burning, I came upon Kelutral just as the pxetsawke’s last rays painted the ancient tree in a wash of gold. As I passed under one of the massive, arching roots, Etuwa seemed to materialize from the shadows, practically making me jump out of my skin.

“Our own Sarentu hero has come back to us at last,” she beamed, taking my hands in her own just as she had done when we first met. Though this time, the same excitement, that wave of hope, was altogether absent from my chest. “Your ancestors smile upon you, ma'eylan,” she added gravely. For a moment, I wondered if she had gotten wind of the conversation between her father and I.

“Irayo,” I murmured, my voice so soft that the Tsahìk’s brow crinkled.

“Our taronyu told me what happened to poor Zomey,” she said, voice lower now. Nefika was walking by with some of her weavers. As her gaze landed upon me, she bid the others farewell, joining Etuwa and I within the dim. 

The older woman regarded us both with kind eyes. As her thin hand came to rest over my shoulder, her thumb swept across my skin in a comforting stroke. Not for the first time, I wondered if my Sa'nok would’ve been like Nefika. Sharp and witty, yet almost painfully adoring. The question made my eyes prick with tears.

Etuwa shook her head, the feathers woven into her hair sweeping along her temple. “These Sky People, they care nothing for beauty, the sanctity of life. They only think about what they might gain and the power they might wield. They cannot be allowed to pollute the lands of our Great Mother any longer,” she groused, amber eyes glinting. “The kìnglor are restless because of it—I have no doubt.”

Nefika’s lip creased as she caught sight of Etuwa’s expression. “Nari si, ma'Tsahìk,” Nefika warned. “Whenever your Sa'nok got that look, trouble always followed.”

Despite my sour mood, I found myself huffing the smallest of laughs. The sound apparently drew Etuwa’s attention.

“Kezemplltxe,” she breathed, her gaze flicking from my head to my toes. “You.”

I very nearly took a wary step back. “Me?”

“You can connect to the kìnglor queen,” Etuwa murmured, her eyes rounding. “She may show you what upsets her, and you will know best how to overcome her plight.”

My brow immediately furrowed. “According to…what?”

Etuwa shook her head, silencing my concerns. My very valid concerns. “I have already tried to see through her eyes, but I could not understand the strange shapes she showed me. But you, ma'eylan, so aware of the Sky Peoples’ ways. With any luck, you will know what to do.”

And with that, my heart sank. Of course—I would forever be seen as a plaything of the humans. Never Na'vi. Never one of the People, no matter how hard I tried. Utterly deflated, I asked, “Wouldn’t she reject me, as good as a Sky Person?”

Nefika’s gaze softened once more, this time in remorse. Etuwa flinched as if the question had been a physical blow. Her sudden regret at her choice of words was plain to see on her face. With an adamant shake of her head, Etuwa said, “You carry both sides within you, ma'Tamtey. It is a strength—not a burden. And that is why it must be you.”

The older woman loosed a wry chuckle. “I might face banishment for helping you, Asahe'ite.”

“Sempul would not be so foolish,” Etuwa smirked. “If we do not save the kìnglor, what is the purpose of the Aranahe?”

Nefika considered the words for a moment, glancing between us, her finger tapping her chin in contemplation. Finally, she said, “It must be the Glade of Light. Away from prying eyes and gossiping lips.”

“Nefika, you are the one who spreads gossip,” Etuwa reminded her.

She scoffed. “'Eve, are you unaware of how Kitangi’s tongue wags?”

Etuwa merely rolled her eyes.

“The ceremony will require supplies,” Nefika went on, her voice lowering. “We must all do our part if we hope to be quick, working beneath Ka'nat’s nose.”

With a curt nod, Etuwa murmured, “I shall escort the queen.” She melted from the shadows before I could even open my mouth to question the whole operation.

Nefika snorted a laugh. “No need to furrow that pretty brow, 'eveng,” she tutted, smoothing her thumb over the creases between my eyes. “It will only be the smallest of stings. When you awake, you will feast on niktsyey until you are set to rights once more.”

I swallowed hard. “A sting?” I echoed, even more unsure of the plan than I was a moment ago.

“Do not fret, ma'yawntu. You will hardly feel a thing,” she assured me. I rather thought that would be for me to judge, but I nodded anyway. “The nectar, for the niktsyey, must be gathered by she who hopes to wander with the queen. You can do it, dear Tamtey, I know you can. You are more Na'vi than you know. Run along, 'eveng. You will only find the nectar you seek deep within the meitayo.”

I stilled at the word. The wetlands? I could just see myself now, dotted with bug bites, skin flushed from the overbearing humidity of the marshes. And besides, I was not the one in search of the nectar. I was being forced to undertake this quest.

Nevertheless, I found myself rising early the next morning, packing what supplies I would need for my long walk to the swamp. Most importantly, a salve from one of the zeykoyu, Kayì, who Nefika knew would have some very settling words for me after being present for the loss of Zomey. He listened as I shared how the experience had rattled me, followed by my heated exchange with his Olo'eyktan. Kayì’s quiet words of encouragement and comfort were like a warm blanket draped about my shoulders. The tiny pot of salve, pressed into my hands with a fatherly wink, was just what I needed, though I had hardly even mentioned the sly plans of Etuwa and Nefika.

Even as I trudged through the na'rìng, quite miserably, I found myself smiling at the memory of his kindness. I adjusted my pack over my shoulder, the little pot strapped to its side rubbing against my arm. But the sudden crackle of the comms within my ear sent my heart to my throat. I had turned it back on when I set off, afraid that something might happen while I stubbornly ignored them all. Within the split second before the call came through, I feared the worst. Strangely, my mind immediately went to hearing So'lek’s voice over the line, and not an actual emergency.

“Tamtey, are you there?” Priya’s voice warbled. 

The tightness in my chest eased a fraction as my fingers flew to the button on my radio. “Yeah, Priya, I’m here. What’s up?”

“Oh, phew!” she chirped. “I’ve been trying you on and off all night.”

My cheeks immediately warmed. “Sorry about that,” I murmured. “I was…busy.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Tamtey?” Priya asked, her voice softer.

I swallowed. “Yeah?”

The few seconds before she answered had a nervous sweat beading over my skin. Then she whispered, “Are you okay?”

Plastering a rather unconvincing smile over my face, though she couldn’t see it, I answered, “Yeah, of course. Everything’s good, Priya. Promise.”

I could almost see the crinkle of her brows, the tightness of her answering smile. “Yeah, right, of course,” she breathed. “Well, anyway, I just wanted to check up on you. I know everything has been absolutely crazy, and when you left without a word, it made us all kinda nervous.”

With a tight nod, I managed to croak, “Thanks, Priya. I appreciate it. Really.”

Her bright, “You can always count on me, Tamtey,” set off an uncomfortable pressure behind my eyes. “You know,” she added, voice crackling as the connection wavered, “you do a lot of good for those around you. Like…well, no one has ever gotten So'lek to smile like that.”

Though my breath hitched and my head swam, I tried to play it cool. “I’d hardly call that a smile, Priya.”

“Oooookaaaaay,” Priya sang. “Whatever you say, Sarentu.” Her impression of So'lek’s deep voice was annoyingly accurate. I instantly rolled my eyes.

“Sure, okay,” I answered, laughing despite myself. It was a struggle not to imagine the exact smile she spoke of, slightly pinched around the corners as if the reaction had become unfamiliar over the years. Every time I saw it, hope flooded through me, and my heart beat impossibly faster. But that didn’t have to mean anything, did it? Friends certainly smiled at one another. I was just imagining things that would never actually exist. To satisfy Priya, I murmured, “I’ll…keep that in mind.”

“By all means,” she teased before ending the call.

Sucking down a deep breath to sooth my fluttering nerves, I tightened the strap of my pack once more, picking up my pace. I just had to accept that my interest in the hard-shelled warrior would never amount to anything. No matter how badly I wanted it to.