Chapter Text
Inside Ronal’s marui, the commotion of the village had faded to a distant rumble.
Hurried footsteps pounded across the walkways. Voices called from one dwelling to another. Someone was asking for waterskins. Farther away, a warrior shouted that they were still short on arrows.
But inside, everything seemed slower.
More contained.
Ronal worked at the center of the marui.
Several bowls had been arranged before her with perfect precision. Dried roots. Medicinal leaves. Clean bandages. Small vials filled with colorful decoctions.
Her hands never stopped.
Sorting.
Grinding.
Mixing.
Tying.
Every movement was exact.
Beside her, Tsireya tried to keep up with the same rhythm.
She grabbed a handful of leaves.
Too many.
She put some back.
Then hesitated and removed a few more.
Her pestle struck the rim of the bowl instead of landing in the center. A few fragments scattered across the mat.
Tsireya hurriedly gathered them up.
She added water.
Too quickly.
Some of it ran over her fingers.
She wiped her hand on a piece of cloth and started again.
Ronal did not look up.
“Speak.”
Tsireya froze.
The pestle remained suspended above the bowl.
Silence settled between them.
In another part of the marui, separated by a curtain, So’lek lay on his side on a mat.
His breathing seemed slow and steady.
Tsireya slowly set down the pestle.
“Lo’ak told me about his nightmare.”
“Finally,” Ronal replied.
A trace of irritation hardened her voice.
“That man knows how to fight the Sky People. Ride a Tsurak. Defy his father in front of the entire village. But it takes him four years to speak to his own mate.”
“Mother…”
“I am not saying he is not suffering. I am saying his pain does not give him the right to leave you alone with the fear it causes.”
Tsireya looked away.
She hesitated for a few seconds before finally speaking.
“He sees Spider.”
Ronal tilted her head slightly.
“The Pinkskin?”
“His name is Spider!”
The shout rang through the marui.
Ronal’s hands stopped.
For the first time since the conversation began, she turned toward her daughter.
Tsireya’s eyes were wide.
Her ears were pinned flat against her skull.
Her chest was rising too quickly.
The silence that followed seemed heavier than her shout.
Tsireya immediately lowered her gaze.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that.”
Ronal studied her face.
Then the strip of cloth slowly slipped from her fingers.
“No… I am the one who should not have spoken of him that way.”
Tsireya raised her gaze slightly.
Ronal turned fully toward her.
The remedies could wait.
“Tell me.”
Tsireya drew in a breath.
“At first… it’s never really a nightmare. It always starts with a dream, one that changes almost every night. Lo’ak is still a child. So is Spider.”
A faint smile crossed her face.
"Sometimes, they ran through the forest."
They laughed.
They shoved each other.
Spider cheated.
Lo’ak protested.
And then they laughed even harder.
For a moment, Tsireya could almost hear their laughter inside the marui.
The laughter of two children who had no idea yet how much they were going to lose.
Her smile faded.
“Sometimes, they got into trouble. Sometimes, nothing happens at all. He and Spider are just lying on the ground, breathless from playing too hard.”
The two boys stared silently up at the sky as the clouds drifted slowly overhead.
After a while, Spider spoke…
“Do you think I’ll ever really be part of your family? I mean… really?”
Lo’ak turned his head toward him.
To live with them.
To sleep near them.
To have someone waiting when he came home late.
To have someone come looking when he disappeared.
To have parents who would hold him in their arms.
Who would gently stroke his hair.
To be their son.
To be a Sully.
Lo’ak gave him a gentle bump with his shoulder.
Spider finally looked up.
And Lo’ak replied with the absolute certainty only children could still possess.
“One day, Mom and Dad will see that you already are. I promise.”
Spider didn’t answer right away.
He looked down at his hands.
His fingers, too human.
His skin, too pale.
Everything that set him apart from the others — even when he tried to forget it.
Then he looked back at Lo’ak.
As though he wanted to believe him.
As though he needed to.
But also as though some part of him already knew that a promise could become just another way to get hurt.
“They were so happy…” Tsireya whispered. “So happy.”
Her fingers tightened around her knees.
“But no matter how the dream begins, it always ends the same way.”
The laughter stopped.
The wind died.
The animals fell silent.
Everything slowly faded — as though something were devouring the dream from its edges.
Then Spider disappeared too.
Lo’ak reached for him.
His fingers found only empty air.
The forest collapsed around him.
The trees dissolved.
The ground vanished beneath his feet.
The light went out.
And there was nothing left.
Only darkness.
Darkness so deep that Lo’ak no longer knew whether he still had eyes.
Then something reached him.
A smell.
Blood.
Smoke.
Burning flesh.
Lo’ak opened his eyes in the middle of the forest.
But he was no longer a child.
His body had grown.
His hands were those of an adult.
Of a warrior.
Around him, the trees rose like black silhouettes beneath an ash-colored sky.
“He hears screams,” Tsireya continued.
Her fingers were trembling now.
“He gets up and runs.”
Flames burned in the distance.
Lo’ak followed them.
Branches clawed at his arms. Roots tried to catch his feet. The smoke grew thicker with every step.
Still, he ran.
Because somewhere beyond the trees, someone was screaming his name.
When he finally emerged from the forest, he did not find the Omatikaya village.
He found the ocean.
The reef.
Awa’atlu.
In flames.
The walkways were burning.
The marui were collapsing.
Bodies floated in the water.
Some Metkayina ran toward the sea.
Others did not move at all.
“Lo’ak searches for our marui,” Tsireya whispered.
The first tear rolled down her cheek.
“He calls for me.”
Again.
Again.
He ran through the burning village.
“Tsireya!”
No answer.
He reached their marui.
It was empty.
The mat lay overturned.
Baskets torn open.
Blood on the floor.
But no body.
For one second, Lo’ak allowed himself to believe she had escaped.
That she was alive.
Then he heard something.
A breath.
A moan.
Or perhaps only wood cracking in the flames.
It came from the family marui.
He ran toward it.
Tsireya’s breathing grew unsteady.
“And he finds us.”
Ronal watched her without interrupting.
“Jake. Neytiri. Kiri. Tuk.”
Tsireya’s voice grew quieter with each name.
“Me.”
Her lips trembled.
“We’re all on the ground.”
Motionless.
Blood had soaked into the woven floor.
Kiri lay against the wall, her eyes open but seeing nothing.
Tuk was beside her.
Too small.
Always too small.
Neytiri lay motionless on the floor, one hand outstretched toward her daughters.
Jake lay in the center of the marui.
Lifeless.
And Tsireya…
At first, Lo’ak refused to look at her face.
He recognized only the beads in her hair.
Her necklace.
The curve of her tail lying still against the floor.
He dropped to his knees beside her.
His hands searched for a breath.
A heartbeat.
Anything.
But he found nothing.
“And that’s when he sees him,” Tsireya breathed.
At the back of the marui stood a figure.
Smaller than Lo’ak.
Thin.
Tangled hair.
For a few seconds, the figure stood with his back to him.
Then he slowly turned.
Spider.
But not the child who had been laughing with him only moments before.
Spider at sixteen.
The Spider Lo’ak had last seen before Quaritch tore him away from them for the second time.
Before Lo’ak was told he was dead.
The same face.
The same hair.
The same body that had never had the chance to grow any older.
As though those four years had never existed for him.
As though death had trapped him forever inside that final memory.
Lo’ak could no longer breathe.
“Spider?”
His voice barely left his throat.
He looked at the bodies around them.
Then at the knife in his brother’s hand.
“Is… is all of this real?”
Spider stared at him.
No anger on his face.
Not yet.
Only an immense sadness.
Almost calm.
“It’s your fault.”
Lo’ak shook his head at once.
“No.”
“You lied to me.”
Spider took a step.
“You promised.”
Another.
“You said that one day, I’d be part of your family.”
“Spider, wait—”
“You said you’d never leave me. That you wanted to be there for me.”
His gaze dropped to the bodies strewn across the marui.
“But you weren’t there.”
Lo’ak tried to get up.
His legs refused to move.
“I wanted to—”
“You never protected me.”
“That’s not true.”
“None of you did! You chose to flee to the Metkayina while the RDA tortured me!”
Spider looked up at Jake.
Then at Neytiri.
At the family he had spent his entire childhood chasing after, without ever truly becoming part of it.
“I waited.”
His voice had become that of a child.
A tired child.
“I waited for you to love me.”
Lo’ak felt his heart break.
“I loved you.”
Spider’s eyes snapped back to him.
The sadness vanished.
Only hatred remained.
“YOU’RE LYING!”
Then he charged.
Lo’ak had no time to back away.
Spider slammed into him with his full weight and pinned him to the ground.
The air was knocked from his lungs.
He tried to raise his arms.
His body would not respond.
His fingers remained still.
So did his legs.
He could only watch.
Spider climbed on top of him.
One knee pressed into his chest.
The knife held high in both hands.
“I hate you.”
Lo’ak shook his head.
A tear slipped toward his temple.
“Spider… please.”
The blade trembled above him.
“I hate all of you.”
Then it came down.
Tsireya brought a hand to her mouth.
Her story broke off.
A sob shook her shoulders, one she tried and failed to hold back.
Ronal immediately moved closer.
“And then he wakes up,” Tsireya managed to say. “Always at the same moment.”
Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now.
“He wakes up gasping for breath. Sometimes, he doesn’t know where he is. Sometimes, he pushes me away before he recognizes me.”
She buried her face in her hands.
“Why does he see this?”
Her voice broke.
“Why would Spider do something like that to him? They were brothers.”
Ronal remained silent for a moment.
Her gaze briefly shifted to the remedies before returning to her daughter.
“Dreams sometimes borrow the faces of those we have lost to speak the truths our hearts refuse to admit.”
Tsireya slowly raised her head.
Ronal brushed a tear from her cheek with her thumb.
“Lo’ak isn’t only afraid that Spider hated him. Part of him believes he deserved Spider’s hatred.”
Tsireya shook her head.
“But he loved him.”
“Yes.”
Ronal’s voice was softer now.
“And that is precisely why he suffers so deeply.”
She paused for a moment.
“From what I have heard, Spider spent his entire childhood alongside Jakesully’s family. But never truly as one of them.”
Her daughter’s ears lowered.
Ronal’s mouth tightened.
“Despite the games, the meals, the nights he spent with them, Toruk Makto and his mate never truly claimed him as their son.”
Tsireya looked down at her hands.
“Lo’ak promised him that would change…”
“And Spider died before that promise could ever be fulfilled,” her mother finished.
Silence fell again.
“Your mate isn’t only mourning his brother,” Ronal continued. “He condemns himself for the promises he failed to keep. For not being there. For not protecting him.”
She placed a hand against her daughter’s chest.
“That guilt is here. It feeds his anger, which gives him the illusion of strength. It is easier for him to cling to that anger than to face the shame. Holding on to it gives him purpose. It makes him believe he can still fix what was broken.”
Her gaze shifted toward the entrance of the marui.
Toward the village bustling with preparations.
“But it lies.”
Tsireya held her breath.
“Anger can keep a heart alive when it has nothing else left.”
Ronal turned back to her.
“But if Lo’ak keeps feeding it, eventually it will burn the very people he is trying to protect.”
Tsireya thought of Awa’atlu in flames.
The bodies.
Her own face, motionless in her mate’s dream.
“So, the nightmare is a warning…”
“Yes.”
Ronal took her daughter’s hands in hers.
“A warning about the path he is on.”
Tsireya lowered her head.
Her shoulders slowly hunched as she folded in on herself.
“How am I supposed to soothe his heart? I’ve been trying for four years. Four years of talking to him. Of staying by his side when he doesn’t want to say anything.”
A sob escaped her.
“I love him so much, Mom. But there isn’t a single day when I’m not afraid.”
Tsireya looked up.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
“I’m afraid every time he leaves to train. Every time he goes to fight the Sky People. Every time he says Quaritch’s name.”
Her breath caught.
“I’m afraid that one day his anger will carry him so far away that he won’t find his way home.”
Ronal moved closer.
Tsireya sank against her the way she had when she was a child.
The Tsahìk wrapped her arms around her daughter and rested one hand on the back of her head.
For a few seconds, she said nothing.
She let her cry.
“Listen to me,” Ronal finally murmured. “You cannot enter his heart and fight this battle for him.”
Her hand slowly slid through her daughter’s hair.
“You cannot tear his pain out with your own hands.”
She pulled back slightly to look at her face.
“But that does not mean your love is useless. You cannot bring someone out of the darkness by forcing them into the light. You stay close enough for them to still hear your voice. You remind them that there is still a place to come back to.”
Tsireya drew in a shaky breath.
“And if he doesn’t come back?”
“Then you keep calling to him. Not because you are weak.”
Silence.
“Because true love does not look away when someone loses their way.”
Tsireya collapsed into her mother’s arms again.
Ronal held her tighter.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Behind the curtain, So’lek was awake.
He could not have said for how long.
Maybe since Tsireya’s shout.
Maybe before that.
His body felt heavy.
Ronal’s decoction numbed his limbs and slowed his thoughts. And yet every word carried through the curtain with cruel clarity.
Lo’ak.
Spider.
Brother.
Promise.
Anger.
So’lek stared at the thin lines of light slipping between the hanging fibers.
Another face came back to him.
Wawen.
His mentor.
His protector.
The one he had always thought of as an older brother.
The one who stepped in front of him whenever danger came.
The one who always looked back to make sure So’lek was still following.
Then the Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains had taken everything away.
So’lek could still remember Wawen’s body in his arms.
His blood running between his fingers.
Warm.
Impossible to hold back.
Wawen would never look back at him again…
After his death, something in So’lek’s heart had gone hollow.
Anger had filled the space.
It had given him a reason to live.
Kill.
When the RDA returned to Pandora, So’lek let his rage burn through everything in its path.
He hunted human soldiers.
Tore the dog tags from their bodies.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
In time, he came to be known as…
The Dog Tag Warrior.
He had believed that every kill would make Wawen’s death easier to bear.
He had believed that if he put enough blood on his hands, eventually he would stop feeling his brother’s.
But Wawen’s blood was still there.
Invisible.
Impossible to wash away.
Anger had promised to ease his pain.
It had lied.
It always lied.
So’lek closed his eyes.
He saw Lo’ak on the beach again.
His hand on So’lek’s shoulder.
His calm voice.
He knew almost nothing about him.
Only his anger.
His grief.
And the path he was walking.
But So’lek knew that path.
He still carried the scars it had left behind.
I won’t let him become what I was…
The sound of the horn suddenly carried across Awa’atlu.
The preparations were complete.
So’lek heard Ronal rise.
Then Tsireya.
He immediately closed his eyes again.
Slowed his breathing.
Let the tension leave his face.
A few seconds later, the curtain was drawn aside.
Light fell across his closed eyelids.
“Up, Sarentu,” Ronal ordered. “They’re ready.”
So’lek waited a moment.
Just long enough.
Then he slowly opened his eyes — as though waking from a deep sleep.
Tsireya stood behind her mother. Her eyes were still slightly red, though she had wiped away her tears.
She held out a hand to him.
“Can you walk?”
So’lek looked at her palm.
Then at her face.
“Yes.”
The Tsahìk folded her arms.
So’lek took Tsireya’s hand anyway.
She helped him to his feet.
His legs trembled, but they held.
Ronal picked up the basket of remedies and nodded toward the entrance of the marui.
“Let’s go.”
So’lek gave a small nod.
Then the three of them made their way toward the beach.
Lo’ak sat on Payakan’s broad fin.
Around them, the ocean stretched all the way to the horizon, calm, barely disturbed by the slow rhythm of their breathing. Awa’atlu looked tiny in the distance.
The sun had begun to sink.
Its light skimmed across the waves, casting golden reflections across the Tulkun’s dark skin.
Lo’ak stared at the horizon without speaking.
He wished he could stay there a little longer.
Just a few minutes.
A few seconds.
The sound of the horn carried across the reef.
Lo’ak lowered his head.
“It’s time.”
Payakan let out a low rumble. His fin shifted slightly beneath him — as though trying to keep him there.
Lo’ak slipped into the water.
He swam to the Tulkun’s head and rested one hand near his enormous eye.
His other hand moved naturally through the familiar signs as he spoke.
“Take care of yourself.”
His thumb slowly brushed over Payakan’s skin.
“And don’t do anything stupid on the battlefield.”
An amused rumble vibrated through Payakan’s body, followed by a few clicks.
“You still don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Lo’ak frowned.
“I’m serious. I won’t be there anymore to fight by your side. To protect you when you need me.”
Payakan answered with a deep song.
Almost offended.
Lo’ak did not smile.
His hand remained against him.
His signs came more slowly now — almost hesitant.
“You’re the last brother I have left.”
The sounds stopped.
Even the waves suddenly seemed quieter.
Lo’ak briefly looked toward the sun.
Neteyam.
Spider.
Two brothers he had failed to save.
His throat tightened.
“I don’t want to lose you too.”
He looked back at Payakan.
“So promise me we’ll see each other again.”
His spirit brother remained still for a long moment.
Then a deep song rose from his body and traveled through the water to Lo’ak.
“I promise.”
Lo’ak closed his eyes.
The tightness in his chest eased only slightly.
Another rumble answered him.
Slower.
More serious.
“But you have to promise me something too.”
Lo’ak opened his eyes again.
“What?”
Payakan gave several short clicks before releasing a deeper song.
“Don’t lose yourself when you fight.”
Lo’ak said nothing.
His hands remained still.
His gaze drifted toward the village.
Toward the beach, where the others were probably already waiting for him.
“Promise me.”
Lo’ak’s ears lowered.
He wanted to.
To say the words.
To form the signs.
To give Payakan the same certainty he had just been given.
But he knew the anger living inside him.
He knew what it became whenever he thought of those he had lost.
He could not promise something he was not sure he could keep.
At last, his fingers moved.
“I’ll try,” he murmured.
Payakan let out a displeased rumble.
Lo’ak rested his forehead against his skin.
“That’s all I can promise you.”
The horn sounded a second time.
Longer.
More urgent.
Lo’ak let his eyes fall closed.
“I really have to go.”
He moved closer.
His arms could not wrap around Payakan’s enormous body.
So he pressed both hands against him.
Then his chest.
His face.
His whole body.
As though he could somehow hold him anyway.
As though he could carry a little of his warmth with him.
“I’m going to miss you.”
A gentle song traveled through the water.
“I’ll miss you too.”
Lo’ak’s fingers tightened against his skin.
Payakan added a few quieter sounds.
“Take care of yourself. And your family.”
Lo’ak slowly nodded.
“Thank you, brother.”
He stayed against him for one more second.
Just one.
Then he pulled away.
“Goodbye, Payakan.”
The Tulkun released one final song.
Lo’ak turned away before his courage failed him.
Then he swam toward the beach.
Without looking back.
After several strokes, Lo’ak finally broke the surface.
The beach was crowded.
Warriors hurried between the Ikrans, checking saddles and harnesses one last time. Baskets of food, weapons, and waterskins had been secured to the mounts.
Everything was ready.
So was his family.
Jake and Neytiri were speaking with Tonowari and Ronal near the shoreline.
Tuk stood beside Pril, one hand resting on the muzzle of her young Ikran.
Farther away, Kiri was with Aonung and Tsireya.
So’lek, meanwhile, slowly stroked the neck of his mount. The Ikran pressed its head into his palm with a soft rumble.
As Lo’ak approached, the Sarentu turned his gaze toward him.
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Yeah. I’ve got everything I need.”
So’lek studied his guarded expression.
“I wasn’t talking about your gear.”
Lo’ak’s ears tilted slightly.
He was about to answer, but So’lek had already turned his attention back to his Ikran.
“When we get close to the Frontier, stay near me.”
Lo’ak frowned.
“I know how to fight.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
So’lek tightened one of the straps.
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
He walked away before Lo’ak could question him further.
The moment he was gone, Tsireya stepped forward and stopped in front of her husband.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she simply wrapped her arms around him.
Lo’ak pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her hair.
For a few seconds, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
Tsireya pulled back just enough to rest a hand against his cheek.
Then she kissed him.
Softly.
As though she were afraid that any sudden movement would make their separation real.
“Come back to me,” she whispered.
Lo’ak rested his forehead against hers.
“I’ll come back.”
Their fingers intertwined.
“Everyone, mount up!” Jake suddenly called. “We’re leaving!”
Around them, everyone began moving toward their mounts.
Tsireya stepped back.
But their hands remained joined.
One step.
Then another.
Their arms stretched between them.
Their fingers held on until the very last moment.
Then the distance pulled them apart.
Lo’ak made his way to his Ikran without taking his eyes off Tsireya.
Kiri mounted her own.
Neytiri did the same.
Tuk climbed onto the back of her young Ikran under Pril’s watchful eye.
Jake was about to mount his own when Tonowari placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ll have to take on the role of Toruk Makto throughout this mission. But don’t forget what I told you this morning. What your family needs most is their father.”
Jake’s gaze briefly shifted to Neytiri.
Then to his children.
He nodded.
“I’ll remember.”
Tonowari removed his hand and stepped away.
Jake mounted his Ikran.
“So’lek! Lead the way. We’ll follow you.”
The Sarentu gave a nod.
His Ikran spread its wings.
With one powerful beat, it lifted off the sand and climbed above the water.
Jake launched after him with a shout.
Neytiri followed.
Then Kiri.
Tuk.
And finally Lo’ak.
The riders’ cries mingled with the beating of wings as they headed out over the open ocean.
On the beach, the Metkayina raised their weapons and hands toward the sky.
Cheers rose up to meet them.
Lo’ak looked back one last time.
Awa’atlu was already receding behind them.
He found Tsireya among the crowd.
One hand was raised toward him.
Lo’ak raised his own.
Then he had to turn back to follow the others.
They had almost reached the open sea when the ocean exploded beneath them.
An enormous shape burst from the water.
“Payakan!” Tuk cried.
The Tulkun soared into the air before falling back into the water in a burst of spray.
A few seconds later, he breached again.
Higher.
His fin slapped the surface as he dove back under — a final farewell.
Tuk waved both arms.
“Goodbye, Payakan!”
Kiri leaned over the side of her Ikran and raised a hand as well.
“Take care of yourself!”
Lo’ak watched the circles of foam spread across the surface.
“Goodbye… brother,” he murmured.
As though Payakan could still hear him beneath the water.
So’lek slowed his Ikran slightly, allowing everyone to draw closer.
“It’ll take us four days to reach the Western Frontier,” he announced. “As we approach, we’ll need to be even more vigilant. The RDA has increased its patrols, and Amay has stationed warriors to watch the skies.”
Amay.
Lo’ak’s gaze hardened on the horizon.
The Prince of Fire.
Quaritch’s protégé.
Heat rose in his chest.
Burning.
Familiar.
His Ikran shuddered beneath him — sensing the sudden surge of emotion through their tsaheylu.
Lo’ak tightened his grip on the harness.
Tighter.
Tighter.
Until the leather buckled beneath his palms.
I will kill you, Amay.
And then…
You’re next, Quaritch.
Alpha Centauri A was sinking ahead of them, setting the sky ablaze.
The Ikrans flew on.
And their silhouettes slowly disappeared into the light of the setting sun.
This is where it all begins…
“Spider…”
Drip.
A heartbeat.
Silence.
“Spider…”
Drip.
A heartbeat.
Silence.
“Spider…”
“Who’s there? What’s happening?”
Drip.
“Spider… wake up.”
My body… why does it feel different?
Silence.
Again.
Damn it, I don’t get it.
Why is it so dark?
I can’t see anything.
“Spider…”
A heartbeat.
“Wake up.”
Why do I feel so good?
Drip.
I’m warm…
It’s so warm, I…
I feel good.
“Spider… wake up.”
A heartbeat.
No… I don’t want to.
I want to stay here.
Leave me alone.
Drip.
Silence.
The ethereal whisper fell silent for a moment.
Then the voice returned.
Firmer.
“Wake up.”
A deafening roar exploded in his ears.
Thunder shook the ground.
Spider’s eyes flew open.
And he inhaled…