Chapter Text
Eywa did not come when Mangkwan’s Hometree was burning. The Great Mother abandoned its own people. The fire took everything and in turn gave the remaining people the hope. An advantage, more precisely.
Varang used this to remind her people that only fire could be worshipped, that the other goddess had no dominion here. Not over her or her people. She climbed her way up to become an Olo'ektyan. Or Tsahik. Both at the same time. Mangkwan people feared and adored their leader as she was the one who gave them reason and power to continue living.
At first, there was only pain and suffering, the fire burned everything: their home, loved ones, food and peace. Even after the disaster, its wrath left a trace, which could not be undone. Most part of the remaining Mangkwan clan died of wounds and healers were simply unable to deal with such amount of injuries.
The previous Olo'eyktan was weak and old. It made things easier. The poison was fed to him by his own daughter, Varang. After loosing her mother, sister and mate to the fire, she no longer had any reasons to keep her father alive. He was a burden that was needed to be eliminated in order to start a new cycle of life. Shortly after his death, Varang gave birth to a baby girl. She named her Kxeya’vra, her name representing a warrior who comes back stronger. The birth of a child during such difficulties helped Varang and Mangkwan to stand more firm on the burned ground. With or without Eywa, her people will survive. Or die as a sacrifice to the fire.
Varang made her people rise from the ashes of their burned souls. At the beginning, her authority was especially questioned, so there were casualties. Some clan members would die overnight, some end up falling from their ikran while trying to escape. The outcome was always the same. Listen and do whatever Varang says or die. And clan members listened to her with reverence, as she was the strongest among them. But more importantly, she gave them hope to continue living. However, only if you’re worth it. In Mangkwan understanding, the weakness was something you pay with your life for. Such emotions were just not affordable for them.
Growing up, Kxeya’vra thought her mother was perfect. Yes, she was vicious, cunning, merciless and evil, but perfect. Someone who is absolutely worthy of being called as Olo’yekte and Tsahik of Mangkwan clan. She was perfect as a leader. But as a mother, not everything was ideal.
Since gaining consciousness, Kxeya’vra was taught how are to be a daughter, who is worthy of Varang. At first, it was not difficult to follow every rule and listen to harsh remarks from her mother. As a child, she clinged to her and wanted to be close as much as possible it was, without interrupting her mother’s packed schedule. Kxeya’vra thought it could go on like this, where she would mindlessly follow her mother and cling to her warmth, while having no idea what she was doing as a leader. What atrocities she daily committed.
Kxeya’vra was 6 when she saw one of her older clan members being held down in front of Varang, her mother.
“VARANG, EYWA WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU, EVEN AS HER OWN CHILD!” - the elder trashed against hold, screaming so loud that it overshadowed the warriors’ growling and hissing.
Varang laughed at his words, slowly stepping forward, closer to him. The little girl behind her stayed silent, confused. Why would this person say such hurtful words to her mother? She never did anything to deserve such hatred, the girl thought.
“Eywa doesn’t exist, you fool.”
The next second, knife appears on her hand and in swift motion, part of the elders braid drops to the ground, the queue. Then, it was his motionless body on the ground.
The little girl stays frozen on the ground, shivers running down her spine and even the great desire to touch her own queue to make sure it’s still there, cannot let her move an inch. Horrifyingly enough, her clan members and her mother burst into laughter and emit happy chirps, like they usually did during festivals. It took seconds for Kxeya’vra to realize that they were celebrating the death of their clan member. Her heart was ponding too loudly, but it still wasn’t loud enough to cover the overwhelming sounds around. She watched her mother rip open his chest with the knife and pull out his heart, lifting it up so everyone could see. The crowd exploded with cheers and war cries.
Then came the smell.
Kxeya’vra knew this smell from times where she ran too fast and scrapped her knee, but it never was this strong. She watched as people around her took the body and just tossed it into a fire. Then people started dancing. They were laughing and dancing.
Her mother killed a Navi and was celebrating it. Nausea took over her small body and Kxeya’vra did what she could the best. She ran and ran, without looking back or wiping away the sudden tears. The image of a her mother’s bloody hands, clutching the heart was there whenever she closed her eyes, so she ran faster.
The lifeless ground soon changed into more soft and pleasant one, the sounds of voices also disappeared, leaving only forest’s. The girl felt so much tired that she could not stand on her feet any longer. The soft grass and moss welcomed her with open arms and she laid there, trying to catch a breath. The contact with living ground calmed her down a bit, but still not enough to stop weeping. Kxeya’vra was terrified to realize that her mother does such terrible things. The memory alone send shivers down her spine when she remembered the look in her mother’s face. She had such look when Kxeya’vra would diligently follow her words and complete all of her trainings before any other kid in clan. She was happy when she murdered one of the elders in her own clan. And Kxeya’vra was her daughter.
The girl cried so much that she couldn’t find strength to move at all. So she laid there for unclear how long, trying to steady her breath.
Luminous seeds were slowly descending to the surface, where the girl laid. Kxeya’vra stops breathing, when one of the atokirinas land on her nose, floating and twirling as if performing a dance. She was afraid to move when jellyfish-like creatures were hovering over her body, emitting a soft glow. Kxeya’vra knew that this was connected to Eywa, the elder who died showed her these creatures as a drawing in a soil, she remembers his tone he used when he talked about her. It was overflowing with subdued devotion, like it was a secret between them.
“What are you doing here?” - she mutters under her breath, extending her hand to atokirina which landed on her chest. The glowing seeds jump and make a twirl, like they’re sending signals of being happy .
The sooting effect that takes over her is too much to handle. All she could feel was relief, slowly swallowing her despair. When atokirina kept bouncing and floating around her until she calms down, they linger for some moment before rising up, to spread around the forest freely.
At that moment, Kxeya’vra realizes that Eywa did not actually leave them, the Great Mother was there this whole time, patiently waiting for its children to reach for her.
This is how Kxeya’vra became a silent believer, the follower of Eywa.
4 years later
Varang expected nothing but perfection from her child. There was no gentleness in her teachings, there was no room for love because it meant weakness. And weak Mangkwan die. Varang knows the false goddess will win if she looses her daughter in the same way she lost her family. There was simply no other choice for a clan leader. They will survive to taunt their enemies.
And other clans also turned their backs on them, preaching about false gods and their punishment for rejecting them. So she raised Kxeya’vra to be her, the one people could rely on when their beloved Tsahik was no longer with them. While raising her daughter, Varang did not understand how her mother was so soft with her children. Sometimes, she found it ridiculous. That same softness was her undoing. The fire took her and her sister as a payment for such foolishness. Varang lived to prove them how mistaken they were.
And Kxeya’vra was meant to be perfect. No mistakes to regret anything her mother still did. Kxeya’vra had no other choice but to excel at everything, the girl was only hers. That’s why Varang feels no remorse when she’s so harsh on her. She punished her more than any other clan member, to show them what happens when she is not satisfied. And that she treated everyone equally, setting up example of a true leader. And everyone believed her wholeheartedly. Clan members would follow their Tsahik into the fire once again if she asked them. Because they believed that she would burn for them too.
Kxeya'vra wished she could also see what others had when they looked at her mother, but the smell of blood clouded her vision whenever she tried. So she slowly gave up.
The rite of passage was scheduled for today. At only 10 years old, future Mangkwan hunters were eligible to go through with Iknimaya, the challenge of taming an ikran. The vast majority of kids would die in such process, Varang witnessed it many times. She anticipated it sometimes.
Olo’yekte Of Mangkwan casts a side glance at her daughter. Her lean body was painted in warrior colors and she stood with arrogance that was embedded into her by Varang. Kxeya’vra met her mother’s eyes, emotions hidden beneath as showing them was an act of weakness. Satisfied with what she saw, Varang saddled her Ikran, its wings spreading, ready to take off any moment.
“This is your chance to prove yourself, daughter.” - her velvet voice is falsely warm. Kxeya’vra knew this tone painfully well. She squeezed the knife in her hand a bit more tightly, the fear slowly crawling at her heart.
“I will not disappoint you, mother.” - she answers immediately.
These words seem to satisfy Varang enough to move her intent stare on ikran’s nest. The clicking and growling of these magnificent creatures filled strained silence. Before taking off with her Ska’avum, she smiles at Kxeya’vra. Not with love or any warm emotions like a mother would. Her smile is unsettling and too wide, making her eyes glow. The girl just lowers her head to demonstrate respect, but more so to avoid looking at her own mother.
“You can only come back with Ikran, ma Kxeya’vra. Or die trying.” - and then she took off.
When Ska’avum disappeared from the perimeter, Kxeya’vra was finally left alone. The company of creatures who could try to kill her were the better option, she solemnly thought, at least she would know what to expect from them.
Taking a deep breath, she holds the knife tightly, her knuckles turning white. During the whole time they were there, no ikran made any aggressive motion towards them, probably due to Ska’avum’s presence. Usually, his diet consistent of any animal meat or even tetrapteron, ikran included. Kxeya’vra was used to Ska’avum cruel nature as it reflected its owner, her mother. There were days when she could hardly resist from vomiting, when mother would feed Navi to her ikran. The paintings on him were made with their blood and stench was the worst. Kxeya’vra is not able to digest any meat for days after such scenes, but the desire to live always wins.
She shakes her head, shooing away such dark thoughts. She was at the end of her rite of passage and can’t let herself get distracted.
With no other Mangkwan around, she was able to take a breath and start slowly moving towards the nest, where ikrans were residing in groups. Some of them simply hissed at her and backed away, while others set off from the mountain. She clearly remembers that no Mangkwan should let an Ikran choose them, it should be the opposite. But there were not here. Her mother, too.
Grey eyes boring into the girl caught her attention. It was relatively smaller ikran, compared to others. Probably, on the verge on reaching adulthood. It hissed and raised its wings, demonstrating sharp claws on them but did not move and waited. Kxeya’vra understood that this Ikran was like her. Young and vulnerable. Scared.
It was the same fear that made the Ikran launch the first attack on her. Kxeya’vra tossed the knife aside and jumped under the creature, maneuvering to try landing on its back. Ikran’s wings spread wider and its claws scratched her neck, dangerously close to her jugular veins. The pain was more than welcome as it made her thoughts clear, bringing back to the present. An unbearable ache also served as a reminder. The only way to survive was possible through the violence.
When she jumped on its back, she hit its neck with precise motion and the creature stilled for a moment before trashing against her hold, but it was too late break free. Ropes were swiftly tied around Ikran’s head and tsaheylu was forced. Kxeya’vra exhaled, the feelings of the other were quickly taking over her own. However, this was not an appropriate time. The name of this creature appeared in her head as if it was a natural thought.
"Rha’kiri, let’s go for a flight." - her voice was uncharacteristically soft while talking to a ferocious beast.
Her newest companion chirped and spread its four wings, preparing for a take off. Kxeya’vra closed her eyes, concentrating on their bond so their first flight wouldn’t involve ankh of them ending up dead. She momentarily thought about her mother, but decided not to ruin the mood of her Ikran through their link. Finallly, the beast took off and the force itself could throw her to the ground if it was not for the tight ropes, securing both of them. Being in the air, Kxeya’vra felt the sudden relief, which made her close her eyes to bask in such rare feeling. Her ikran made satisfying noises, as their feelings were shared. The girl gently patted her neck, the skin under warm and pleasant. She could get used to this, she thought.
Behind the rock were hiding Navi and large ikran, the former proudly watching the girl as she completed her first flight.
During that day her clan cheered for their new hunter and celebrated till dawn. Kxeya’vra let herself get tagged into a dance by her friend, Zey’ren. He was the only one who was brave enough to approach Tsahik’s daughter, who was usually around her daughter. Varang silently watched them for some time, before averting her eyes to the clan members who needed her attention.
“Kxeya’vra, this is your celebration! Stop looking so serious!” - the boy laughed, dancing and calling for her.
“Skxawng.” - she barely smiled.
Kxeya’vra still took his hand and the boy’s laughter was filled with warmth ashis yellow eyes glowed slightly, a light that reminded her fire.
Zey’ren was the son of their best hunter, Ruk’xal. His wife died during the great fire and so their unborn child. That day left him with both scars on his body and soul, hardening him. Ruk’xal had no room for softness anymore, probably the reason why Varang chose him as Kxeya’vra’s tìkangkem, teacher. So, Zey’ren and Kxeya’vra particularly grew up together. But being Tsahik’s daughter and only heir did not leave time for her to live like a normal child would. As far as it was possible for a Mangkwan.
Lost in her thoughts, Kxeya’vra pulled away from the crowd and discreetly moved towards forest, away from everyone’s eyes. She did not notice that her mother was absent too.
When the noise from her clan could no longer be detected, Kxeya’vra relaxed her shoulders and called her Ikran. The sounds of the forest were blending into a symphony, as if welcoming her back.
Rha’kiri slowly descended from trees, gently bumping her rider’s head with her own forehead. She started to purr, when Kxeya’vra ran her fingers through the feathers on both sides of her long neck. Grey eyes were intensely looking at hers, the connection between them was still strong even without tsaheylu.
The music of the forest slowly turned its volume down, the glow of plants surrounding both figures.
When Kxeya’vra was laying on the ground with Rha’kiri’s head on her stomach, she saw the familiar tiny creatures descending upon them. Her ikran was too busy purring to notice them or simply did not care. Slight smile crept on her face, when a glowing seed with tendrils landed on her nose, twirling around.
“It’s good to see you again.” - Kxeya’vra said softly, not daring to touch them because for her it became something sacred. The jellyfish like creatures, twirled again, pulsing softly, as if it was understanding her words and trying to reply.
Varang silently watches the scene unfold before her eyes, long fingers wrapped around her knife tightly. Her breathing quickened when she heard Kxeya’vra’s voice filled with so much warmth and emotion, and it was the opposite of how she usually acted. Her own blood was going against everything she taught her. The sense of betrayal plagued her mind and she no longer could refrain herself from hissing. Her daughter needed a reminder, she thought.
Kxeya’vra jolted when she heard her mother. Her body moved on its own to shield her ikran. Varang doesn’t stop. Sharp, piercing pain exploded on the girl’s shoulder, knocking the breath out. She felt metallic taste of blood in her mouth, threatening to leave her lips. The strength in her body is just enough to squeeze her ikran tighter. The scene is almost amusing to Tsahik, but her rage was too intense to let that thought stay.
Varang purposely twisted the knife and pushed its tip deeper into her shoulder as punishment for her daughter’s greatest sin, disobedience.
Loud screams echoed through the forest as Varang pressed it deeper. Kxeya’vra’s pain was only fueling her fury and one injury was not enough to sate it. The girl’s ikran screeched and was actively trying to get out of her hold to help her rider, but her attempts were futile. She knew her mother will strike Rha’kiri next. Kxeya’vra could only hope her suffering would be enough.
Varang’s lips form a wide smile, her eyes glittering. Now she was slightly amused at this display of such naive “heroism”. The smile suddenly drops when the moments from the great fire flashed in her mind. This naivety caused her family’s death that day. She was losing her daughter like she did with her mate. To that false goddess.
Varang hisses, towering over the shaken girl as her long fingers grip the knife’s handle tighter.
“You betrayed our clan, ma Kxeya. Did you forget everything’s that I’ve taught you about this filth?” - she screamed the last words at her daughter and quickly pulled out the knife, causing another immense pain to Kxeya’vra.
The blood gashed from the wound, painting their bodies in red. Varang was aiming at her Ikran’s heart and it made the girl finally look up at her mother, her eyes barely opened as it was hard to keep focus with so much blood loss.
Varang’s scream echoed across the forest and she held up her knife higher, ready to strike. This was the moment when Varang looked at her, and saw fear and sorrow in her green eyes, so unlike her mother’s.
It was a well known truth that Varang never treated her daughter with mother like tenderness. The fire took it from her when her loved ones died. She was left with a child no one needed, who was just a burden to her and other clan members, at least that’s what she thought. Varang knew others would use her daughter as a way to hurt her and did everything in her power to raise her to be strong and more like herself. But the look in her daughter’s eyes reminded her so much of her late mate, that it made her hesitate.
She thought that even after all this time she still could not get rid of his softness, that was passed down to their daughter and hated it. Varang knew she was lying to herself when she was no longer clouded with memories from her past life where she was soft and vulnerable like Kxeya’s father. All this time her teachings were built on cruelty and power, so their daughter would not repeat her parents’ mistakes.
Varang was clenching the knife in her hand before dropping it on the ground. Kxeya’vra moved, not having a luxury to waste such opportunity.
This hesitance, a moment of weakness gave Kxeya’vra enough time to roll on her ikran and rise up to the sky, leaving while Varang’s eyes were fixed on her.
Kxeya’vra casted her a last glance, before closing her eyes. The pain was numbing. She used her belt to tie her torso to Rha’kiri’s neck so she won’t fall down when she looses consciousness. The pain was getting worse and bleeding didn’t look like it would stop for now.
Tears fell down, as the image of her mother’s motionless figure was the last thing she would see. Kxeya’vra thought that death by her mother’s hands was fitting enough for her ending. But she didn’t. Varang chose to let her escape.
Rha’kiri was devastated, unable to do anything to comfort her rider’s sorrow that increased tenfold. The smell of blood filled her nose, the anguish evident even in its scent.
Spreading her wings wider once again, she headed to east with unconscious body, bonded to her body.
After what’s been hours, Rha’kiri landed on a ground that was connected to water, seemingly with no ends. It was not too long before they were discovered.
Two tall figures looked at the ikran and body of a small Navi tied to it. It was a woman who made the first step towards the child and Rha’kiri couldn’t even emit a warning hiss as exhaustion took over and she collapsed on the sand, careful not to crush her barely breathing rider.
The male Navi with broad shoulders followed the woman, the look of worry evident on his face.
“Tonowari, she must be around Aonung’s age.” - her voice is strong and steady, looking at her mate as he gently lifts up the girl from ikran. The girl’s breathing was barely visible and her whole body was painted in blood and ash marking. However, this was not what surprised them the most.
Ronal gasps when they see a tiny glowing seed with tendrils that was pulsing inside her bleeding wound. Ronal and Tonowari exchange glances before rushing to Tsahik’s tent.
One thing was clear about the girl.
Eywa decided it was not her time yet.