A/N: This was my submission for the Puckurt BigBang, but circumstances led me to post it separately. Hope you all enjoy!

Warning: This story contains graphic violence; major and minor character death on a war front; pre- and full-on slash; male pregnancy; suggested albeit mostly one-sided twincest.

Disclaimer: The original world of Avatar belongs to James Cameron, though it is more than slightly altered here. The Prologue and Chapter 1 were betaed by MorganMcl, and all of the breathtaking artwork - from the story and fanmix covers to the maniped banners and dividers - was all done by the amazing MariMcsly, my personal cheerleader. I can't thank either of them enough!


Prologue: Al Niente: To Nothing, Fade to Silence


Before…everything.

Before he was asked to fill Mark's shoes. Before he found out that a fucker with a gun took his brother's life, when it should have been him. Before a big hole had been blown through the middle of his own damned life…Back, before—before he was unlucky enough to be drafted, and Mark was lucky enough to join the WMHS program. Back before their parents, after years of hiding, had to separate them according to some stupid law, forcing them to live two separate lives instead of one joined at the hip. Way back, when they were just two boys with the same face, the same hopes, and the same fascination with the dying world they'd been born into.

Way back then, he and Mark would have the same dreams.

Some people would blame it on that special connection between twins—the one where they could empathize and sync with each other—so interlinked that their thoughts were the same. Twin telepathy, or some crap like that. Whatever the explanation, they both used to dream in color.

More often than not, they only dreamed in the color palette of the Earth as they'd always known it to be: the gray of ash clouds and smog-bleached skies. Processed food, and unfocused eyes, and lackluster skin. The brown of stale leaves, dry earth, and rusted blood, the white of faded edges, and the black of the darkness always looming on the horizon, no matter the time of day. There was even red: the scorching tongue of familiar, greedy flames that consumed anything in their path, the same flames that usually overwhelmed their dreams.

But sometimes, when the monsters in uniforms kept their long, metal arms to themselves and stayed at the back of their subconsciousness, he and Mark had been able to dream freely—like the children they should've been allowed to be. They dreamed in the colors of the Old Earth, as it was told to them in stories, during the nights back when their parents could hide their identical existence.

Stories of green grass and greener leaves, of air uncontaminated and smelling of something called pine. Air that didn't have to be filtered before vents could be opened. Stories of clear, drinkable water, and the deep, deep blue of old oceans that used to cover most of the planet.

They dreamed of the blue sky that used to smile at human life, laced with pure white clouds promising paradise. He and Mark used to be captivated by the tales of creatures that roamed freely, before the EPA deemed them endangered and contained them in reservations (or before they became extinct altogether). They dreamed of a planet teeming with color, of greens and blues and purples everywhere, of scales and wings and fur and feathers. Of orange and yellow that wasn't fire, of red that wasn't blood, and stripes and sparkles and hopeful light. They dreamed of a planet that lived, not just survived.

They dreamed in rainbows of a planet that sang with life.

But the Earth in those dreams was only a fairytale, after all. The Earth they knew was too fucking monotonous to have ever been so animated. It was much easier to believe that the stories were actually of another place, far, far away from Earth and its deathly halo.

Pandora.

It plagued the media as the only topic not having to do with war and crime and "natural" disasters – it was the planetary-body said to literally "sing" with life and beauty. There were stories of breathtaking sunsets. Of how the lack of pollution and thin atmosphere provided astonishingly clear views of nearby celestial beings; the swirling purple and greens of Polyphemus and its other moons suspended in deep violet space. The untouched forests of Pandora were rumored to be vast, threatening to swallow you into its abundant greenness, with its innumerable amount of colorful flora and the most exotic, deadly fauna you wouldn't live long enough to appreciate.

Most importantly, though, rumor had it that absolutely everything to ever live on the planet possessed its own song.

Of course, most people dubbed the "information leaks" as hype to earn money for the space programs. But, as children, he and Mark believed the scientists' reports that all the tree roots on Pandora pulsed in a single, drum-like, heartbeat-like rhythm. That the leaves whistled tunes in the wind. They believed that, if they listened, they would hear the flowers calling, or that each species of animal could compose a symphony. They believed it when they heard of the Singers, the humanoid natives of Pandora, who could croon euphonies that healed the sick.

He and Mark believed in Pandora's magical power of song, which was said to control a planet-wide neural network of living and dead, past and present – because it meant that all hope wasn't lost. Believing in the magic of Pandora, the "Musical Moon of Polyphemus", gave the young twins an escape from the destruction that was their reality

Back then, before…everything. It had been the twins' color filled dream to go to Pandora one day. They'd been ten year olds with stars in their eyes, and unpredicted futures ahead of them.

…Twenty years had passed since then.

He was finally fulfilling their dream. Only, now his hazel eyes were hardened from more recent dreams, memories, of shrapnel and fire, and blood and hopelessness. They knew numbness and the stress of uncertainty, and the pain of dying a death that wasn't their own. They knew the weight of the emptiness of total darkness, if only for a few moments, and the overwhelming sense of loneliness that came with severing such an enrooted connection.

And Mark's eyes…well, Mark's eyes were ashes in a jar now, but he knew that his brother's eyes never lost those stars. Maybe, if they hadn't had to be separated, if the law had been different and he'd been able to follow his dream too, he would've still believed in the magic of Pandora. He would've still believed that Pandora could be any different from Earth, the "Dying World".

Maybe, if things had been like how they were before, he would've been more shocked to discover that Pandora was nothing like they'd imagined.

"...I love you, Noah."