Almost Human — Chapter XXVIII
High Camp — Morning
Amidst the unforgiving glare of the infirmary's fluorescent lights stood the Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya. His customary slouch, the slight bent neck which had become something of a vestige of his paternal responsibilities, was notably absent. Instead, Jake adopted a stiffer posture, arms crossed in a manner befitting his newfound demeanor while carefully maintaining a sense of resolve without betraying any hint of stagnation that could be used against him later. Even his usually expressive tail hung listlessly behind him, adding to the transformation from a loving father to a black-site interrogator—a role he found far more preferable lately.
The frustration simmering behind Jake's hardened gaze became a reactionary modus operandi towards the self-proclaimed diplomat who was all but utterly ignorant of the basic courtesy of communication. If last night was any indication, flipping the bird would have suffice over the complete disregard of disconnecting during Jake's questions.
Then again, maybe that was his way of doing it.
Suppressing the burgeoning anger that lash out, Jake remained stationed near the entrance of the room, his eyes fixed on the motionless form of Rayan's avatar—contemplating his next move. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors served as a silent countdown in his mind. Only when the imagined countdown reached zero did he reluctantly advance towards the medical bed, fists clenched with barely contained tension.
"I guess you got your way, Rayan," Jake's tone mused along the edge of anger.
The digital clock on the wall told him that it had been six hours since Rayan last disconnected. No one has heard or seen from the man since and with the clock on the run, Jake was sure they had seen the last of the man. Because while it made sense to kill the avatar, Jake more so needed Rayan to come back, to finish answering his questions, to know what the RDA was doing and not to indulge in strangulating the avatar as much as Jake would love to.
Those who knew what was going on knew Jake was furious about what had happened to Kxeyìn. Amanti vocalized her displeasure to see her daughter in such a state but Jake? The Omatikaya Olo'eyktan wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of the avatar. To rid them of this miserable leech once and for all. But it wouldn't fix the problems the currently had. Namely the problem with Ardmore and what was done with Kxeyìn during their little detour at the RDA base. This was why such emotions like the one burning in Jake's gaze remained where it was. Anything more and the emotional turmoil would become more of a bane than a boon.
As Jake halted by the edge of the bed, he found himself caught in a loop, replaying the events preceding Rayan's disconnection. Every attempt to probe him with a question resulted in a shift in Rayan's behavior, his responses skirting the truth with trained knowledge of resisting interrogation. But he was close. So close in fact that Jake swore he got the diplomat to answer him. That was when the whites of Rayan's avatar eyes rolled back, signaling an instant disconnection. While Jake had witnessed his fair share of disconnections in the past with other drivers, this was the second time this had happened with Rayan and at the most convenient time imaginable.
The perpetrator behind these disruptions seemed to possess an uncanny ability to intervene precisely when Jake was on the brink of uncovering his answers. It hinted at a conspiracy yet failed to fully—perhaps not at all—account for Rayan's abrupt return mere seconds later. There was a primal glint in his eyes, almost predatory, as if he had found his prey but hadn't anticipated the impending severance of his connection with the avatar. When Rayan disconnected again, Jake experienced an odd mixture of relief, but also renewed anger, unsure how to interpret or respond to the situation. His first instinct was to drag the avatar into a cold bath and drown it. And he very nearly got his wish when Norm insisted that something else was wrong. The backpack read that the signal was still strong. Whatever was happening seemed like it was beyond Rayan's control.
Maybe this was why Jake came here to see the man. To see if he would crawl back into his avatar again.
A dither of a sigh left Jake's lips as he stirred from his spot, moving closer to the side of the bed to which the umbra shadow blocked the harsh fluorescent light bathing the avatar. As the shadow draped over the figure, its darkness triggered a biological response, causing faint white dots to glow on the face. Suddenly, the Olo'eyktan's golden eyes softened into an inquisitive gleam as Jake's gaze settled on Rayan Asher's lifeless visage in the avatar.
Where are you, Rayan?
The empty expression on the avatar's face brought to mind Mo'at's teachings about the universe's design, or whatever concept the Na'vi held in its place. She spoke of two types of fates: the unchangeable and the unstoppable. The latter, she named "inevitable fate," a sentiment echoed by the twitch of Jake's tail. She likened it to a waterfall; when caught in the river's current towards the falls, resistance was futile, and surrender became the only path to avoid drowning.
An antithetical antidote in a time such as this.
At the time, Jake had no idea what the hell she was talking about. Though to be fair to Mo'at, her riddles always made zero sense to him. Even less sense was Neytiri's own explanation. She tried to explain what they meant, to give meaning behind her mother's words, but Jake, a human from a world where metaphors were a theme within poems he never read in public schools, simply didn't grasp them.
But in this appropriate circumstance where the entire world felt flipped upside, he started to understand… if just a little.
Shifting his weight to one side, Jake argued to himself that he wasn't one to submit to fate. He was the disrupter of fates. Without him, the Na'vi would have fallen by the RDA. But fate also had a hand in moving him like a pawn on a chessboard. Where he fought, fate pushed back. For every two inches that he stood his ground against the overcoming forces of… whatever, Jake would find himself at the gates of hell where his own ego placed him. Simply because the Marines didn't teach him any better. So when fate came knocking—Jake answered and told it to go screw itself.
Fate doesn't guide me, he thought.
Jake immediately discerned the diplomat was not fate incarnate either; he was a man sent by the UNE under the guise of a white flag, striving for a naive concept like peace between Na'vi and human.
Whether he aided Kxeyìn or not, whether he attempted to do good, it didn't matter; his mission had its own agenda, one that didn't include the Na'vi.
Much like I did.
The long tail behind the Olo'eyktan twitched, then snapped. But I saw the error of what I was going to do. Rayan doesn't.
The muscle in Jake's jaw tightened. Rayan wasn't him. Rayan was a nobody. But Jake, breathing in the recycled air, felt as though he was indeed seeing some part of him in Rayan. Was it some need to prove himself? The Olo'eyktan's tail flicked no. He didn't know what to call it. Selfless and selfish sometimes blurred as one and the same, and Jake wasn't about to pass judgment on what was driving Rayan to do the things he did.
Jake stepped closer to the bed and inspected the haphazardly strewn, crinkled mylar blanket shaping crudely around the contours of the body. Its reflection cast a diffused, grotesque image of Jake's face as he leaned over for a better look at the avatar. It covered most of the body except for the head, making it appear as though Rayan's avatar was sleeping peacefully. On closer analysis, however, were clear signs that the body underwent dramatic trauma. A small, red scar, nicked by the blade of a Tipani spear and knife of the Olo'eyktan's mate wasn't properly healed. Shame they couldn't finish him off, Jake thought. Then there were the ugly purple bruises that bloomed like poisonous flowers across the cheeks, creeping down the neck and fading beneath the dirty shirt the avatar wore.
Several more lacerations marred the profile, clustered near the ears, likely remnants of the rough landing it took. Jake's attention then darted, seeking clues that might unveil what transpired during their disappearance. Amidst his scrutiny, he noticed grimy bandages protruding above the collar, hinting at injuries to the torso. A subtle misalignment of the nose suggested a fracture. Jake almost felt sorry for the avatar if it didn't belong to a man who was determined to play his way into the 'hearts and minds' of the Na'vi.
What are you doing, Rayan? Jake questioned behind his glare.
The hiss of the infirmary door suddenly punctured Jake's thoughts as it slid open. In the doorway stood Norm, back in his human body. Tablet clutched possessively in his hand, he furrowed his brow in concentration as he scrolled the screen with an index finger, his attention glued to the data coming through from the recent update from Max. He mumbled something under his breath, then looked up, startled to find Jake still here.
"Oh," Norm blurted, the surprise momentarily breaking his focus. "I thought you'd be…" His voice trailed off, searching for the right words to correct his intrusiveness, but Jake cut him off with a curt, "It's okay, Norm."
"Well, since you're here," Norm continued, a hint of something – curiosity, maybe? – inflecting his voice, "we got some interesting news about Rayan's avatar."
Jake's tail twitched, betraying his outward stoicism. He then tilted his head slightly, the shadows deepening as he narrowed his eyes on Norm. It was hard to tell, but a moment of concern, or perhaps a sliver of hope, might have sparked within them. Regardless, he remained silent, letting Norm take the lead.
Norm briefly conducted a routine check of the monitors standing bedside of the avatar. "The vitals are holding steady," he announced, more to himself than anyone else. "That's good."
"The news, Norm?"
Norm blinked, ripped from his internal analysis. "Right!" he exclaimed, a sheepish grin breaking across his face. "The news is…"
For the next thirty minutes, a torrent of scientific jargon (most of it sheer mumbo-jumbo to Jake's ears) poured out from Norm's lips. He brandished his tablet like a drug dealer laying out the best drugs on the market by the amount of chemical names slipping right passed the Olo'eyktan. Each time his finger traced a diagram on the tablet, Jake squinted, pretending he knew what he was saying. And although Jake was trying his hardest to pay attention, Norm's voice subconsciously took on a singsong quality, a professor in his element, as he rattled off complex theories about what was happening to the biochemistry of the avatar. He ultimately left Jake's attention to spiral into a trance where the golden eyes of the big blue Marine fell into a silent stampede of blankness.
Terms like "medulla oblongata" and "conscious superposition" bounced around his skull like pinballs in a tilted machine, making a confusing racket that was impossible to really glue his thoughts to. When Norm paused to flip to the next screen on the tablet, Jake refocused again, nodding occasionally as though he never left.
But such ruse was never going to last. After Norm was finished, he looked up and grinned. "You don't get it, do you?"
Jake forced a cool smile on his face, the effort tensing the muscles around his eyes. "Well..." His tail swaying rapidly, the movement betraying him. "...no," he finally admitted, the frown he'd been trying to suppress fully forming.
"Okay," Norm said, hardly bothered by the truth. He always knew when his lectures typically gravitated his audiences towards the singularity of boredom. Hoping to pull Jake out, he continued in a more layman's terms.
"So… the program calls it 'safe mode.' Very generic name or at least, that's what I think they were calling it, last I remember. Could be called 'last resort' for all I know." He lifted a hand, scratching thoughtfully at the underside of his chin where a two-week-old beard now resided in a patchy mess. "Anyways, the idea was: if there was a risk of brain damage, the avatar automatically keeps a portion of the driver's consciousness behind, so if the driver managed to reconnect, there wouldn't be brain damage from the sudden tug-o'-war between two bodies it was connecting to. Highly complicated stuff and if I recall right, they haven't worked out all the bugs."
Jake bobbed his head slowly, trying to process the information. "Makes... some sense, I guess," he mumbled, the words barely audible.
Norm tapped on the tablet once again, he wanted to show Jake further evidence behind his words and this time the screen showed a line graph that thankfully wasn't completely crap as he offered it up to Jake. "These lines?" Norm said, pointing. "They shouldn't be up whatsoever. Avatar's don't have a conscious mind this active. They run on the subconscious parts. You know? The medulla oblongata that controls breathing, heart rate, that sort-a thing."
"Now," he said, jabbing his index finger repeatedly at the screen to zoom in on a specific section of the graph. The segment displayed a distinct time frame – the period encompassing Rayan's disconnection, reconnection, and subsequent disconnection leading up to the present moment. "See that yellow line?" Norm asked, waiting for a confirming nod from Jake before continuing. "That yellow line tracks brain activity during rest, relaxation, or sleep. Think REM, you know, the dream stage? When you're out, your brain is still buzzing. It's going through a real complex car wash to get rid of waste, and usually, that yellow line also represents those quiet moments when your mind isn't actively racing. It makes sure everything runs smoothly. But this…" his finger hovered over to the blue line on the screen. "That's the conscious mind, wide awake. Normally, these two lines run parallel when you're awake, and during sleep, the yellow takes over. But what I'm seeing here is something bizarre—the yellow and blue lines are defying the pattern, suggesting a state beyond anything we typically expect."
Jake took the mask around his neck, breathed in another round of carbon before staring between the lines on the tablet. "So, what does that mean? He's…?"
Norm shrugged. His act of obliviousness wasn't patronizing; he knew that if he gave an answer that was beyond understanding, he could never take it back if it turned out to be wrong. He needed to be careful.
"I… don't know."
Jake thinned his lips, saying: "After all that scientific voodoo you just said, tell me, what's really going on with him—the avatar?"
Norm glanced over at the avatar, contemplating his next choice of words. If he told Jake what he really thought, who knew what the long-term ramifications would be—especially regarding avatars in general. But on the flip side, if he left some details vague, Jake wouldn't be able to fully piece together the idea that the avatar, without a driver, was somehow conscious. Not until Norm was able to better understand what was happening with the avatar himself and that required extensive research.
Then, and only then could he come to Jake with a more rounded answer that didn't make him sound nutty.
Looking back up to the Olo'eyktan, Norm confessed again, "I don't know." Before Jake could express his frustration, Norm continued, "But what I do know is: whatever happened to him and the avatar isn't good."
Jake licked his lower lip, stepped back around the bed, and stared out the window at the cave roof. He knew Norm wasn't being completely honest, but if there was a reason for Norm's reticence, Jake wasn't about to press the issue. "We just need to make sure the avatar is healthy enough for Rayan to jump back in."
Norm nodded in agreement behind Jake. "I'm with you on that, Jake. We'll make sure it is."
F.O.B. Ticonderoga
"He's coming to!"
Ripped from her idyllic dream of gliding over the cool, crystal-clear lake water by the shrill crack of Wade's voice, Danielle's eyelids snapped open. She knew it wasn't the figment of her dream calling out to her—otherwise, she would've fallen back asleep—but something far worse, scraping against her skull.
Blinking past the harsh afternoon light knifing through the room, she watched motes of dust swirl in front of her, creating a moment of disorientation. And for a split second, she believed she was back on Earth, convinced her experience on Pandora was just a distant dream. But as reality sat in, she quickly realized where she was—the living quarters, on Pandora.
Not exactly the dream she had imagined.
"Okay," she breathed. Pushing herself up on unsteady, wobbling arms against the cot, Danielle shook her head sharply to clear the haze clinging to her vision. "What?" she yelled.
"He's waking up!" This time, she recognized the voice—Wade, her dear friend. It was resolute, filled with excitement and positivity, but it didn't quite alleviate her worry yet. There was still the matter of phantoms of her sleep that she knew could be clouding her judgment, and relying solely on his tone wasn't enough to set her mind at ease about…
Mr. Asher!
Scrambling out of her cot, Danielle left the thin mattress wheezing metallically behind her. She half-wobbled and half-ran into the next room, nearly tripping over her own feet, not knowing where the rooms were going exactly. She ended up in the room across the short hall where she found herself practically hitting several boxes on the way in. Huffing, Danielle navigated carefully around the boxes left on the floor from the previous night before reaching over to Wade who was currently sitting on an unfolded chair.
Rubbing her weary eyes and with her vision still blurry, she blurted out, "What's wrong?"
"Our big boy is awake," Wade answered, a hint of laughter chasing the bit of sarcasm underneath his words.
"Is that so?" Danielle commented, yawning and relaxed slightly. She clearly cared about his well-doing but after having a good solid sleep, she really wanted to go back to the dream world that now felt… forgotten.
"Well, how are you feeling, Mr. Asher?" she asked, blinking passed her blurry haze.
A groan escaped Asher as he roused himself, blinking away his own disorientation. He focused on the ceiling momentarily before a looming face with a penlight filled his vision.
"Stop it," Asher mumbled weakly, then answered her question. "I'm doing okay, I guess. What about you, Miss Danielle?"
"Gotta check, sorry bud," Wade muttered, the penlight flicking from eye to eye. Asher swatted weakly, but as his pupils responded normally, a sigh of relief escaped from Wade.
The worst, it seemed, had passed.
"I'm doing well, thank you," Danielle managed, but a yawn, loud and unwelcome, erupted from her before she could fully suppress it. A hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she mumbled an apology.
Asher smirked.
Danielle, who had been right behind Wade, slumped her shoulders in relief as he spoke. "He's good," Wade said, "really good, actually."
Suddenly, without warning, Asher's jaw creaked open in a cavernous yawn that stretched wide enough to swallow his exhaustion. It seemed he caught what Danielle had.
"Well," Danielle said as she crossed her arms. "That proves it. He's alive. Which is a relief, to say the least. We seriously thought we lost you there, Mr. Asher."
Asher rolled his head slowly, a gesture that seemed to take immense effort, until his gaze landed on Danielle. "Lost me? How... how long was I... uh-out?"
Danielle stifled a grin and checked her watch. The digital display blinked: 13:25. Friday.
"Short of twenty-four hours and it's the afternoon," she pointed out, emphasizing. "But forget about that. How are you feeling, Mr. Asher?"
A whole day… gone? Asher flinched at the news. Time, it seemed, warped while he was gone, and yet, a dull ache settling in his back confirmed her words. She wasn't lying (although she had no reason to) but he felt cheated nonetheless for having missed out on a full day. A day he could've used to work out. Eat. Use a shower. All those good things a normal person would do. Except he couldn't.
Damn.
Slumping back onto the cot to stare back at the ceiling above, Asher turned to her next question. Except this question lingered a lot longer than the previous one. Because as he knew, her questions was layered with tripwires masquerading as mocking sarcasm. Anytime he answered a question she didn't like, it would set off an explosion of snark, followed by a matter-of-fact statement to kick him down a peg. He noticed how much she enjoyed it. So when she sauntered back, repeating the same question with a tilt of her head, Asher found himself genuinely scrutinizing her. Perhaps, beneath the usual layers of snide amusement, there was more to this story than just a missing day.
"Okay guys, you have to tell me. What happened to me exactly?"
Wade stood up and exchanged a look with Danielle. It was the kind-of look in his eyes that suggested she be the one to explain.
"Well," she began, the word catching slightly in her throat, "Mr. Asher, do you remember anything at all from your time… in the avatar?"
Asher squirmed under her intense gaze. He tried to rise, but the wires snaking around him snagged the attached monitors. Wade darted behind Danielle, a blur of concern, and secured the monitors before they toppled. "Easy, buddy! Take it easy!"
Asher traced the wires back to their points of connection on his body. Some monitored his chest, while others, to his surprise, encircled his head. He plucked one loose and raised it toward Danielle with a bewildered expression. "What's this?"
Danielle's face sobered. "We weren't certain you'd pull through," she admitted gravely.
Asher's confusion deepened. "What do you mean?"
Wade, having secured the monitors, straightened and addressed Asher. "Basically, your vitals were tanking. Dangerously close to, well, more like they were flatlined."
"Wh-what?!" Asher cried. That couldn't be. He felt fantastic. Invigorated, even. Push-ups were practically calling his name. "No. I feel great," he declared.
Danielle's voice held a hint of worry. "Are you positive?"
Asher chuckled; a touch exasperated. "Yeah, absolutely. How many times do I gotta say it?" He couldn't help but think of Norm peppering him with the same questions earlier.
"As many times as we need," Wade interjected. "This is serious, bud. Your body, your mind. They were very close to just," he made a sound with his mouth, "being dead."
"Yeah, okay. I get what you're saying but…," something blue caught his eye. He looked down to find his hand… blue.
Suddenly, Asher went from being confused by the notion that he nearly died, to horrified that his hand—no, his arm—was blue!
"HEY! What the hell is this?" He shouted at them. Danielle and Wade looked at one another with Wade saying, "What?"
"This!" He shouted again and now thrusting his hand at their faces. "It's—it's blue! It's Na'vi!"
Panic settled in Asher and before anyone had time to respond, he leapt out of the cot, pulling the monitors crashing down over the floor. He scrambled to run past Wade but Wade was barely strong enough to hold him back. Barely.
"Buddy! Wait! Hold on!" Wade cried back. This time, he couldn't keep holding onto Asher who squirmed his way out of the man's grip. Danielle also tried to help him but she was tripping over these damn boxes.
Yanking the wiring from his body, Asher bolted to the only bathroom they had. The compartment was no bigger than a small cubicle, originally designed to hold equipment and hastily outfitted with a usable toilet. Asher sealed and locked the door behind him with a resounding click that echoed his finality. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the effort of his escape.
His eyes darted around the cramped space, finally landing on the mirror. The reflection that greeted him was almost unrecognizable. The medical gown they had put on him hung loosely from his thin frame, but it was the color of his skin that drew his attention. Slowly, as if fearing the truth, he lifted his gaze to the mirror.
The hands were blue. The arms were… blue. His face…
A wave of horror crashed over him, drowning out every coherent thought. It was as if the world around him dimmed, the sounds muffling until all he could hear was the distant toll of church bells—funeral bells—ringing out his fate. His knees threatened to give way, and he clutched the edge of the sink for support.
A hesitant hand rose, trembling, until it touched his bioluminescent cheek. The cold, alien feel of his skin sent shivers down his spine.
He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.
He was the…
Avatar.
High Camp — Afternoon
A thick, cottony fog, too dense to be dispersed by the southerly breeze, rolled in like an unwelcome tide over the entirety of Ayram Alusìng. Slowly engulfing the intricate network of vines binding smaller boulders together until the once-proud mountains became mere phantoms against the beryl sky. The method by which it crept along the distant horizon was why no one at the Omatikaya camp was able to notice it until it was too late.
The Na'vi who were able to come and stand at the plateau's edge watched as this unknown variable of nature blinded them from seeing anything beyond an arm's length. What was once a breathtaking panorama of floating mountains and vibrant ecosystems was now a suffocating cocoon of muted tones.
Leaving them trapped in a claustrophobic bubble.
Their tails whipped and whirled to the indisputable variable that has crippled their ability to descend down the mountains to find food. Any chance of doing so was an immense risk. One that told of possible death for whoever was willing to risk their lives to venture into this suffocating blindness.
Some of the inexperienced younger males were already brimming with more bravado than their empty stomachs could handle. Explains why it played foul to the invincibility of their youth as they boasted and pound their chests with the claim of an unknowable prowess to take on the unimaginable and impossible task. They were ready to lead a group to find food, but such confidence could only take them so far. Immediately souring the atmosphere of the crowd of their distasteful behavior, the parents of these young males stepped in to reprimand them with a slap on the back of the head or a tug of the arm to take them away for further admonishing.
No one liked a cocky person, especially ones who were undeserving to behave in such a way.
The truth was: it was simply a matter of reality. Anyone willing to recklessly endanger their lives would call upon death to take them. And no one was ready to do that, especially the younger ones now realizing their foolish ideas.
But staying silent was not going to solve the problem at hand. To remind everyone else about the dwindling food supply, the other Na'vi insisted under a heavy tone of urgency that something needed to be done before they were left starving by mid-fertile season of the next moonrise.
Ideas came quickly, almost desperately: they should use ikrans to reach the bottom, but to fly them through this thick fog without knowing if a mountain lay hidden in its depths was a risk no respectable rider was willing to accept. The thought of losing more of their kin, swallowed by the unforgiving mist, was too much to bear. Another idea was to wait it out, and while such an idea might sound reasonable to those whose stomachs ached with emptiness, the uncertainty of how long the fog would last loomed large. In Earth's terms, when it used to have a stable climate with observable seasons, they would be in what was called 'winter'.
The reason being was that Pandora was currently undergoing numerous changes to the weather at this time: meaning they were in what would be considered monsoon season. Heavy rains, followed by thick fogs. It was expected and for the longest time, Jake was prepared for it. What he wasn't prepared was how much RDA was going to pour resources into actually setting up a siege against the Na'vi. Now a week of waiting was a death sentence rather than mere inconvenience.
Thus the responsibility fell on Jake to figure something out. And usually he had something figured out by now. But the tension was spiraling out of control on the plateau. Voices grew louder, tempers shorter, and the bonds that held their community together began to fray.
"We need to use the ikrans!" One Na'vi yelled, his voice cracking.
Another, more desperate Na'vi turned sharply, shoving his finger into the face of the one who yelled. "No! It is too dangerous!" His eyes were wide with fear, his breath quick and shallow. He was right but deep down, the suggestion to use the ikrans also sounded right.
The first Na'vi swatted the finger away, eyes narrowing in determination. "More dangerous than starving?"
The desperate Na'vi's face twisted with rage. With a snarl, he pulled out his knife, the blade catching the dim light. "More dangerous than having you around!"
Before the confrontation could escalate to a deadly duel, Jake stepped forward and placed a firm, yet gentle, hand on each of their shoulders. "We'll use our best hunters to make the climb."
A hush fell over the crowd. All eyes turned to the Omatikaya Olo'eyktan. Among them was Tsmupxa, who hesitated, half-hidden behind another Na'vi.
The Na'vi before him suddenly spoke, causing Tsmupxa to bow his head away from the eyes of Jake Sully. "Olo'eyktan. The fog. It is—"
Jake cut him off gently, his expression solemn. He knew what the risk was and what fear was capable of doing in a time such as this. But they were out of options. "I understand your fear, brothers and sisters..."
He held the rest of the answer at bay while he watched the reluctancy of their body language fade somewhat off their tails.
"This is not quest for volunteers. I will choose who will go." Jake would've been the first to lead this party, but knowing he had other duties to attend here, namely that of Rayan, he couldn't spare himself.
He saw the parents who had earlier chastised their younger ones shrink away from the crowd, their fear for their children evident in their eyes. Others stood their ground, confusion distorting their faces. They were unsure who Jake was going to choose.
Jake remained standing for a minute, studying their expressions and gauging their reaction. And from what he was able to see… he didn't like doing this. The gut-wrenching feeling of picking people to go on a dangerous mission twisted his insides. He had done it once before—back on Earth, under a different sky, amidst different landscapes, and with a different set of circumstances.
Is this no different?
He could almost say no, but he never got used to it. Truth was he hated it. Hated doing this and no matter how often he tried to convince himself that what he was prepared to do was right, he was still facing down the barrel of guilt, remorse, and anguish. Each of them fully loaded and ready to put a hole in his soul.
He tried to cope with it. Either by drinking, or by keeping himself isolated long enough to wrestle the demons until he could compress them down into something manageable, something he could understand at a molecular level. By that point though, he was able to muster the composure needed to present the orders to his men.
Then they would go off and execute the mission to the professionalism that was expected. Often times without ever being hurt. And other times… with a new friend of tinnitus or a broken bone or two. But there were missions that were so hairy that he did lose one or two in battle.
This time, he wondered, was he able to do it again?
To send not human but Na'vi to their deaths?
Only time and the prescient nature of the universe would know.
It didn't take very long for him to pick eight of his own. Five of whom were warriors with the rest being hunters. Amanti, through a messenger, reported that they were willing to volunteer six of her own. They were all hunters of their own unique skillsets.
Afterwards, he ordered them to meet him by the cave where he would see them off, alongside their families. The anticipation of the farewell was a specter looming over him. He imagined the tears, the lingering hugs, and the whispered promises of safe return. But of course, Jake steeled himself, knowing that he had to maintain his composure, for their sake and his own.
It didn't take long to hear muffled sorrow fill the air as the hunters, with the warriors, descended from the cave to the thick fibrous vines. The scene was a mosaic of raw emotion: children clung desperately to their parents, their small hands gripping onto whatever part of their loved ones they could reach; mates exchanged long, tearful gazes, trying to embed their faces into each other's memories; friends shared firm, wordless embraces, the weight of their silence speaking volumes. And Jake… he simply watched in silence, his own heart aching with each goodbye. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him, but he forced a reassuring smile, even though it felt as fragile as glass.
They were supposed to be back by the afternoon hour. But the afternoon came and went and now the sun was on its descent, bathing everything in the melancholy hues of twilight. The anxious tension in the air grew more palpable with each passing minute, spreading like an infectious disease among the People.
Those who tried to keep busy immersed themselves in their tasks, singing songs of old and exchanging bits of wisdom in an effort to distract from the tortured worry. Their laughter was strained, their smiles forced, but they persisted nonetheless, clinging to any semblance of normalcy.
Others, however, couldn't mask their unease. They huddled in the corners of the camp, their shoulders hunched and their eyes averted, avoiding the gaze of the elderly who sat sternly nearby. The elders, ever composed, chastised the younger ones for their impatience and doubt, reminding them that fear was a luxury they could ill afford. Yet, despite their harsh words, even the elders' faces betrayed flickers of concern.
Jake Sully was among those struggling to keep his mind from spiraling into worry. The group of Na'vi who had ventured out to find food had not returned, and Jake's thoughts were haunted by the grim possibilities: what if they were dead or captured? The tip of his tail twitched. The reports from the scouts had been ominous: the RDA presence around the mountains was growing. Intensifying to the point that Jake feared of a possible attack. They had no other means of defense except for what the mountains were made of. And besides, he noted, he chose the best warriors to defend them. If need be, they knew the quickest routes to retreat back to camp in the event things went sour really fast.
Because like any good Marine, he wasn't about to let them go on their own without backup plans.
Turning his attention elsewhere for now, Jake spent the rest of the morning helping around, trying to keep spirits up and giving advice to his sons about the finer points of love. An apparent assumption taken from their father after spotting his eldest—Neteyam—eyeing a young girl across the family marui. Jake started to get a sense that his son didn't know how to approach her or what to say by how he ogled her whenever he could. Knowing from his own experience, the mind of the young teen was flip-flopping more than the fish they used to catch.
Jake offered the simplest advice a father could give to a son. 'Just go up to her and talk to her, Net,' Jake suggested. Standing beside Neteyam, Lo'ak couldn't help but laugh at the suggestion, but his amusement was swiftly quelled by his father. As they grew older, the seriousness of romance became increasingly apparent; finding a mate required more than just casual conversation. But like any discussion involving romance or sex, the topic was met with comedic disdain by Jake's sons.
After attempting to engage them to no avail, Jake redirected their attention to tasks with their grandmother, sensing nothing but boredom in their response. As they departed, Jake lingered, arms crossed and a contented smile adorning his face as he reflected on the blessings of his life. Yet beneath this serene surface, a prickling unease began to stir, unsettling him.
Tilting his head, Jake's ears twitched with the sensitivity of a startled animal as he sought to identify the source of his disquiet. Suddenly, a flash of memory pierced his mind like a nantang's bite: Neytiri's face, elfin and curious, bathed in sunlight as she looked up at him. Her playful smile and the innocence in her gaze swam into focus, stirring something deep within him.
A white-hot spike of guilt drove a physical wedge into Jake's gut. It tightened, mimicking the clench of his jaw as a barbed hook, forged from his own forgetfulness, yanked him back towards the marui dwelling. He swore under his breath that he didn't forget about her. She was asleep for most of the day and knowing that she was utterly exhausted from the previous two days, Jake didn't find reason to wake her. Except for the fact that she hasn't eaten either. He was worried. Worried that when she'll wake, she'll be moody, annoyed, and everything else in between.
He needed her happy.
He was running at full speed, veering towards and stopping by the Avatar tent where a makeshift table for the Na'vi was laid out. An assortment of food, all made to be edible for both avatar and Na'vi, was arranged for anyone to pick up while they waited for the foragers and hunters to return. His fingers hovered over each one, eyeing their label until he came across one 'raspberry oatmeal'. It was a favorite comfort food from his past life, albeit made with the fruits of Pandora and served by an oat-like ingredient that he wasn't sure where it came from. Maybe this will help, he thought and scooped up two bags to make oatmeal out of them.
At the marui, Jake's calloused fingers hesitated for a moment before gently brushing aside the beaded curtain separating the entrance from the marui's interior. He squinted through the dimness, his golden eyes partially obscured by the furrow in his brow as he scanned the room and confirmed his suspicions: it was empty.
Good, Sam must've taken them away, he mused and slowly but quietly tiptoed in. He instantly spotted Neytiri on the bed, her back facing him and her tail limped across her leg, suggesting that she had only moved a few times in her sleep. The hard rocky floor never gave way to his presence but knowing Neytiri, her ears were already sensing his movements. He had to be delicate. Careful even if he was to deliver the food without disturbing her until he was closer. He hated waking her up, especially when she had done so much for the clan, but right now, he needed her to eat.
Crouching low by the bed to face Neytiri, he observed the ghostly tendrils of steam, fragrant with the scent of warm fruits, dancing upwards from the saucer he held in his hands. The foreign smell passed Neytiri's face, tickling her out of her slumber. A delicate twitch rippled across her small, blue nose, as heavy eyelids, fringed with thick, dark lashes, slowly opened, revealing the mesmerizing auric eyes beneath that struggled to make sense of the blue form kneeling beside her.
"Hello sleepy-head," Jake said, his voice silken and warm. "Here, I've brought something for you to eat."
She yawned and stretched out the sleep from her muscles. After taking another look at this man who she knew was her Jeyk, Neytiri rolled away from him and curled an arm underneath her head, her tail flicking at him.
She rebuffed his offer, prompting Jake to straighten up, a mixture of amusement and mock seriousness playing in his eyes. "That's not a nice way to say no," he remarked. She swatted the air dismissively with a slender hand adorned with intricate woven bands. "Leave me, ma Jeyk," she mumbled, her voice husky with sleep.
"I will, as soon as you eat," he countered, rising from his crouched position beside the bed. Moving around to the other side, Jake kept a watchful eye on her as he nudged the saucer toward her. "C'mon. Eat."
"No," she muttered under a drowsy state that wanted her to take her back to a dream she had been having. It involved her and Jake. They were chasing each other. He suddenly stopped, turned around, grabbed her and pulled her in for a kiss. She loved that. And just when it was getting to the good part, she felt something prodding her on the mouth. She opened her eyes again. It was Jake with his saucer and this smelly food. She looked at him, then to the food and sniffed it, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
She regarded him, then the unappetizing meal, her nose scrunching in disgust. "It smells… vile," she declared after a confirming whiff.
"It's good for you," Jake insisted, a playful glint in his eyes. "Try a bite."
Neytiri squeezed her eyes shut, resisting his plea, while Jake's playful frown carried a subtle challenge. "Suit yourself then," he shrugged, "but… if you don't, I will." With exaggerated slowness, he stirred the spoon until her tightly shut eyelids finally fluttered open.
A triumphant grin spread across Jake's face as he lifted the spoon to his mouth, ensuring she saw every deliberate movement. Neytiri couldn't help but watch, a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity swirling within her. With a loud slurp, Jake devoured the spoonful, his eyes widening in exaggerated delight.
"Mmm!" he exclaimed; his voice thick with mock-enthusiasm. "Tastes really good!"
Neytiri's lips pressed into a thin line. She flicked another glance at the saucer, the pale, mushy contents sitting sadly within. It couldn't be that bad, could it? As if in agreement, her stomach rumbled loudly, a sound that brought a fresh wave of amusement to Jake's face.
"See? Your body agrees with me. C'mon. It's not that bad. I think you'll like it."
Neytiri pushed herself upright, and with Jake, who couldn't contain his eagerness, felt his hand thrust into hers, the palm open and the spoon revealing itself to her. She looked at the spoon as though it was some kind of trick—a mistake—and reluctantly took it with a touch of suspicion in her eye. The metal had a dull sheen to it and when she looked at it closer, she could see her reflection mirrored at the round bottom. She appeared exaggerated, elongated, diffused. But this wasn't why the spoon was made.
Frowning, she dipped it into the mushy contents of the saucer, watching in disgust as it coagulated around the utensil. Though nothing was inherently offensive, it looked repulsive.
Observing her, Jake finally inquired, "Are you going to eat it or what?"
Neytiri made an irritated sound with her nose, clearly telling Jake to stop pushing her as she brought the saucer closer to her face. A wisp of steam rose, carrying with it an unfamiliar scent that tickled her nose. There was a smell she could pick up out from this mess. A fruity flavor. One she had plucked many times, but she wasn't sure what it could be. It wasn't connecting with her tastebuds or her eyes.
Setting the saucer down, she pushed it back toward Jake. "I-I cannot, ma Jeyk," she admitted.
"If you don't," he teased, his words laced with playful admonishment, "I'll tell Kiri what you did to her bear I made for her."
Bear. The brown creature with a snout and two eyes? Neytiri shot up a look at him, the flesh brow curling to annoyance. "I destroyed it because it is a creature that will scare her."
"Oh but a palulukan is okay?"
Her tail struck the bed, her voice tightening. "The palulukan is a symbol of strength."
"She loved that bear. She named him Big Bear and you took it away from her."
"I gave her a wooden palulukan," Neytiri retorted. "She loves the palulukan. She named him Lightning."
"I'm still gonna tell," Jake said with a smirk to reinforce his threat.
She tilted her head, her eyes still on him, studying how the smirk offended her more than his words, and with a flick that spoke more than her huffed, "Fine!" Neytiri conceded. She took back the saucer, lifted the spoon and watched the mush, pale, formless blob drop back down with a heartless thud. "Your victory, ma Jeyk. I will eat your…," she raised the spoon again, this time with the oatmeal as her focus shifted back onto her mate. "…food."
Neytiri brought the spoon up to her mouth but paused before taking a bite. She needed to ensure it was palatable first. Sticking her tongue out, she tasted a morsel. Immediately, her ears flattened, her face scrunched, and her tail flicked again.
"It's not going to kill you!" Jake chuckled between his words.
Neytiri returned the hardened stare back to Jake before. He must learn to be patient. I will not be pushed around like… like some… animal!
She steadied her breath. Then, slowly allowed the spoon entrance into her mouth before closing around it. She was immediately hit with an unusual texture that was not connecting in her mind. It was unlike anything she'd ever eaten—a mushy, lukewarm glob that clung to her tongue, to her teeth, and to the roof of her mouth! But to her surprise, the initial apprehension gave way to a surprising neutrality—eventually to pleasure. There was no bitterness, no pungent spice to assault her taste buds. It was warm and fruity.
Emboldened by this new taste, she spooned a larger portion, the oatmeal clinging to the spoon like a thick past as she brought it to her mouth. She savored the strange combination of flavors, the sweetness, the wetness and the earthiness of the unknown grain. Chew after chew, a smile came upon her features and a wide-eyed child who discovered something no other Na'vi had.
He was right. She did like it.
Jake smiled and nodded to her. "I'm really happy you like it."
"I want more," she blurted, the words tumbling out that bypassed the filter of propriety. Shame soon tinged her cheeks, but the unfamiliar urge within wouldn't—couldn't—be denied. She tipped the saucer back, spooning the remaining mush into her mouth in a single, hurried motion.
Jake rose and sat beside her, interjecting, "By the way, I found her bear and I think I'm going to give it for her birthday."
Neytiri stopped and stared at her feet for several moments, a bit of oatmeal matter sliding from the corner of her mouth as her eyes narrowed down to annoyance. He tricked me! Neytiri then looked back up to her mate and swatted him on the arm.
"Ow!" Jake yelped, feigning hurt and rubbing the spot theatrically.
"You," she hissed, her voice laced with outrage, "the Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya, tricked me into eating this?" She held up the saucer with the remnants of the strange food visible for Jake to see. It was as if she was presenting it as an offering to some unknown deity of bad taste.
He grinned.
"You are the most devious creature I know," she declared, her voice softening despite the playful accusation.
"I know."
"But…" she looked away, the locks of her hair hiding her elfin profile, except for a glint of gold in her eye that Jake caught. "I thank you for introducing me to this…" She glanced at the saucer with alien intrigue.
"It's called oatmeal. Raspberry flavor. Though I'm sure it has fruits from this world."
Raspberry. She couldn't even pronounce the word, let alone understand what it was. No matter, she was hungry and seeing as there wasn't much left she used a blue finger and scooped the rim before placing it in her mouth. She allowed her tongue to assimilate the texture, searching for a familiar match to the real world of flavors. It was somewhat difficult but when her mind was able to process it, the tip of her tail twitched. There was indeed something, but what it could be, she needed more. "Yes, there is something..."
She swirled the food on her tongue, a sweet and tart explosion that defied recognition. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her taste buds waging a war of identification. Where had she encountered this flavor before? She thought it might've been somewhere close to home but… how? The question lingered, drifting between neurons, letting the tip of her tail to twitch even more as her curiousness drew her further away from the present. Then came an unexpected warmth cupping her cheek to pull her back. Her eyes instinctively darted up the length of the blue arm, thinking Jake wanted her to see something but it ended with her meeting his gaze. She was trapped. For the first time in her life, she felt… cornered. His usual smile, a source of comfort in this strange time, held a new intensity today but it also caught her off guard. It wasn't just the teasing crinkles at the corners of his eyes or how the edges of his lips did that sly curve, but a deeper spark that ignited a warmth in her chest, an instinct that she couldn't explain. It unexpectedly pulled her closer to him. She felt a desperate breath caught between her tongue and throat. Whatever it was she was going to say, died the instant she felt her mate's lips caress her for a kiss.
The kiss was sensual. Gentle. She was lost to his ways, melting to his demands that Neytiri felt another hand push away her braids, revealing the soft contour of her cheek to him. She didn't turn away this time. She gave him access to the pulsing vein running down along the length of her neck, disappearing somewhere in the flesh.
Some rational part of her reached out and elicited a rebuke: "Ma Jeyk. The children. We cannot…"
She felt something warm squeeze her thigh. His hand.
"…you know," he said more mischievously as he pulled away to see her reaction.
She wanted to say something, to tell him this was not the right time, but instincts, warmer and hotter than any fire in a hearth, overrode the sensibility embedded in her brain. She was now merely a mate; motherhood was on pause. The world around them faded into nothing, for now.
Neytiri reached around Jake's head to pull him back towards her lips. Jake continued his exploration of her mouth, feeling a similar urge, stronger than hers. He lifted her back onto the bed, the saucer she once held falling away, hitting the rocky floor with a sound neither of them noticed, twirling before settling.
Their breaths grew hotter, more intense, as though racing towards an escape. Their hands explored neglected places, lost in each other. Neytiri needed this—to feel the supernova of love explode within her. But then, her ears lowered, and she paused. She didn't want this moment to slip away. She wanted to savor it, to make it last until the end of time. She pulled back just enough to catch Jake's eyes. She felt his breath, ragged against her skin. He was lost in passion, but when he saw her gaze, he returned to the Jake she knew.
"Neytiri?" he said, almost solemnly, unsure if he had upset her.
"Ma Jeyk," she whispered. Her words felt hot against his lips as she leaned in for another kiss. She needed him to stay in this moment a little while longer. "Ma heart," she murmured. "It…"
Jake's eyes softened, his concern for her swiftly transforming into a gentle reassurance. "It's okay. I'm here," he replied, his voice steady and comforting, a promise that he would hold onto this moment with her.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, a tender gesture that brought back many memories. She missed this, as did he. For Jake, he looked into her eyes, seeing the depth of her vulnerability and the strength of her love reflected back at him. He never wanted to leave her.
"I see you," he said, his voice filled with sincerity and understanding. It was more than just words; it was an acknowledgment of her soul, a recognition of her true self.
And Neytiri knew this.
She felt it in the depths of her being, a warmth spreading through her chest, as if his words had unlocked a hidden chamber in her heart. Smiling, a tear slipped down her cheek, glistening in the soft light of the marui as her voice trembled with brimming yet hesitant joy. "I… see… you." She was fearful of each word, knowing they were more fragile, more earnest than the last, but the power, the power that filled the syllable of her words, was stronger than the most powerful weapon in the universe. It was a declaration of their bond, an affirmation of their connection that transcended the physical and nothing, no man or fate could destroy this moment.
Not even death itself.
This was…
…eternal.
The Forest, Ayram Alusìng — Late Afternoon
After many hours of hunting, the hunters began to emerge one-by-one from the dense thicket of the forest located near the center of the makeshift camp. Their movements continued to convey a certain level of fluidity typical of the Omatikaya and Tipani, and yet, the sluggishness of the day's hard work weighed them down enough to where even their own feet were stepping on the twigs of the ground.
They knew better but carrying the extra weight between the dehydration and hunger wasn't making them the professionals that they were known to be.
The sound of snapping wood alerted the Na'vi at the camp to raise their heads from the plant bowl, their faces drawn towards the source as the tips of their ears focused on the minutia of the forest ambience. When they realized it was their own, they lowered their guard and returned to scooping water from the bowl with their hands; refreshing themselves in the coolness as the sun above bloomed across the blue skies.
Carrying both the bow in one hand and the kill in the other was by no means, an easy task. Especially for their newest hunter-to-be: Zäo. Head strong, intelligent, and possessive, the Omatikaya hunter was chosen to lead the party as a way to teach him the finer points in what it meant to be, hunting in a group. Not every sunrise was a hunter-to-be given such an opportunity, and today, he wasn't going to foul it up before his elders who were far more experienced. The size and weight of the yerik swung with the motion of their march back to camp as Zäo lead them to the makeshift camp. He pushed aside a massive leaf blocking their view with the frame of his bow when another younger Na'vi walked up to them, helping them with their kill.
"You made it!" The Na'vi practically exclaimed under the subdued atmosphere of the moment. Zäo simply smiled and ushered the others to the slab of rock, directing them to lay the yerik over it.
Tail whipping behind him, Zäo then side-eyed the young Na'vi, inquiring about the comment with a playful tone: "Are we late?"
The young Na'vi shook his head and pointed passed Zäo's nose to the center of camp. Following the finger, the Omatikaya hunter-to-be found more Na'vi huddled around, laying baskets down and inspecting their fruits they've collected. With another flick of his tail, Zäo understood what he meant by 'you made it'.
"They have beaten us," Zäo commented with a slight hint of remorse for not pulling through at the last minute. Straightening his chest, he pushed aside the feeling, knowing that he still felt proud for his group in what they were able to do.
The animals, it seemed, were no longer as abundant as they were days before. Just finding a single yerik like the one they did required the skill of a seasoned hunter. Skills he didn't have. Not to be left out of his element, the other hunters pulled their knowledge together and found only a single pair of tracks far from the camp. They managed to track the old yerik trying, strangely, to find his way out of the forest. He was so close to the edge that they believed to have heard the machines of the Sky People.
Thankful to Eywa, they didn't encounter the Sky People. Only exhaustion.
After a fair share of greetings, welcomes, and several hugs to complement the hard work, the young Na'vi turned and took a step towards the yerik sprawled out before him and kneeled. Seeing the wound above the neck, he hovered his palm over it, careful not to touch it but to sense the lingering life force that had so recently ebbed away. He felt compelled to bow his head and whispered a blessing of thanks to the brother of the forest. That his life would not be wasted but would give them sustenance so that their own lives would flourish beneath the canopies of the forest. Such was the ritual filled with reverence that the others felt shame for not having done so previously and quickly fixed it by whispering their own blessing to Eywa and to acknowledge the spirit of the yerik and the sacrifice it made for their survival.
As soon as the young Na'vi completed his ritual, he withdrew his hand back slowly and rose to his feet, casting one last, lingering glance at the yerik before stepping back to join the others.
"Your skill with an arrow is improving," remarked the Na'vi to Zäo standing near him. His tone carried both admiration and a hint of friendly competition. By next month, he too will have completed his own rite of hunting, joining him with Zäo and the others of the Omatikaya.
Hearing his words, the hunter flicked his eyes to him, then to the yerik before unslinging the bow and collapsing onto a nearby rock, a sly, triumphant smirk tugging at his lips. His success brought a sense of accomplishment that he couldn't hide, prompting him to say: "Irayo."
A nice gesture but one that didn't truly feel earned.
He knew it took more than mere skill to make that kill—a fact made more painfully obvious by how much blood was over the body of the other hunters who were taking their equal measure in sitting around their kill. The chase had been intense, and the struggle along with it was evident in the crimson streaks that marked their skin. And after sensing the young Na'vi's stare at the yerik that seemed to last longer than it should have, the hunter reminiscence the hunt with a sense of weary pride, explaining how they had chased the old yerik down a narrow corridor of trees until it was cornered.
The younger Na'vi turned to face the hunter. Intrigue settled over his eyes, fascinated by the tale of the hunt. He had always admired the hunter's prowess and was eager to learn from his experiences.
"He knew his time on this world was finished," Zäo explained as he dropped his shoulders and flattened his arms across both knees. "But I missed."
The young Na'vi contorted his face, puzzled by such a revelation, but before he was able to pursue this curiosity as to how or even why, the hunter added that the stress of the bowstring had failed him. It was not tight enough and therefore caused him to misjudge his shot.
"The arrowhead went past his head," he said with a motion of his hand. He could see the other hunter's hiding their smirks as he continued. "The next shot… my shot… I made sure to make the kill," he stressed, his voice firmer.
"And that you did, ma friend," a fellow huntress reassured him, her hand squeezing his shoulder with a firm, comforting grip as she walked around the circle. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, finding a glimmer of understanding and support. She sat across from him, unslinging her own bow but not setting it aside. Instead, she carefully extracted one arrow from the bundle clutched in her hand and scrutinized the tip of the arrowhead. "It is chipped," she observed, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced back at him, "did you?"
He knew what she meant and laughed, tail flicking, "no!"
They had been flirting with one another for the past couple of days, their playful banter a welcome distraction from the harsh realities of their lives. But today was just another day that she couldn't get him to come out of his shell completely. Too bad, she thought. She would need to try harder. Maybe she'd even try cornering him like he cornered his prey, relentless and determined. The thought stirred inside of her, eliciting a subtle grin on her lips, a hint of something more in her eyes that was barely noticeable without the light from the skies above to shine on them. Yes, that is what she'll do.
As the day bled into afternoon, sunlight speared through the leaves in erratic bursts. Each pierce of light was hot, creating a humid wall of air, and turning the space into a stifling chamber of heat. The air felt thick and heavy, wrapping around them like a dense, invisible blanket. Sweat beaded on brows, tracing paths down dusty, stained cheeks, but no one seemed remotely bothered by the heat. Some even basked in it, their faces turning upwards as they felt the warmth seep into their muscles.
Among the gathered faces stood Tan Jala. The wrinkles around his eyes spoke of a lifetime spent at war with the Sky People, each line a chapter of struggle and resistance. His hair, now streaked with gray, framed a face that had seen countless battles and endured untold hardships. He straightened his tall frame, the motion causing his joints to creak softly, a sigh escaping his lips that ruffled the insect blade wings around his necklace. A memento of his experiences, each wing representing a victory or a lesson learned in combat. And unlike the Omatikaya whose own symbols were that of the forest, Tan Jala's jewelry, as it were, represented the life experience on a different part of the forest. One now scorched by gunfire and explosions of the Sky People.
A sharp intake of breath hitched in his throat when he noticed that those among the group of Na'vi, were missing.
Who are we missing? Silently, he started the count, his attention lingering on each face to make sure they were here but the tally remained stubbornly short. While the realization dawned on him that they were, in fact, missing people, his ears flattened against his skull, and his tail swished anxiously behind him, signaling to his friend that something was wrong.
"Is everyone here? Are we missing someone?" his voice boomed, a tremor of concern lacing the words. Heads whipped around, murmurs rippling through the crowd like wind through dry grass. Confused frowns creased faces. No one seemed to understand what troubled the elder. "There were two Tipani and one Omatikaya," he pressed further, remember instantly who was missing.
Blank stares returned to meet his gaze. As far as anyone could recall, fourteen came, and fourteen remained. Was the old man's memory starting to fail him?
"We are all here, Tan Jala," someone spoke from the crowd.
Tan Jala's jaw clenched, a muscle flexing beneath his wrinkled skin, almost visible if he moved his head into the beam of sunlight. Seeing that he was not convinced, another Tipani, this one younger than Tan Jala with his brow perpetually furrowed with concern, materialized beside him, placing a comforting hand on his elder's shoulder to bring his attention onto him.
"Tan Jala," the man murmured, "we are here. Every one of us."
The elder spun on him, his golden eyes blazing with sudden fire. "No," he rasped, his voice shaking with a tremor that had nothing to do with age. "Three are missing. I counted them myself, every single one, before we left camp."
"Three?" The younger Na'vi questioned, his tail swishing.
Tan Jala could see that the younger one did not believe him. "There were seventeen of us."
The tail swirled from the man, unsure what to make of this new number. "W-who are the three?" he stammered, the question tumbling out in a rush. Tan Jala took a deep breath, stared back at the man. He didn't have an answer.
His silence deepened the uncertainty in the air, casting a shadow over the gathering. The other younger Na'vi's brow furrowed further, his gaze darting between Tan Jala and the others. "Tan Jala," he said gently, "perhaps you made a mistake. It has been a long journey, and the mind can play tricks when we are tired."
Tan Jala shook his head vehemently, his eyes narrowing. "I did not make a mistake," he insisted, his voice firm despite the quiver. "I know what I saw. I know who I counted."
The crowd's murmurs grew louder, a chorus of doubt and concern. The younger Na'vi, sensing the growing unrest, raised his hands to calm them. "Everyone, please," he called out, his voice steady. "Let us take a moment to recount. Maybe we missed someone."
As they began to count again, Tan Jala's mind raced. He replayed the events of the day, every step they had taken, every face he had seen. He could still see the faces of the missing, their names just out of reach. But the count came back the same. Fourteen. The same faces, the same number. The younger Na'vi turned back to Tan Jala, his expression one of gentle pity. "We are all here."
Tan Jala's shoulders slumped, a wave of helplessness washing over him. "No," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else as he looked back to his friend. "They are real. They were here."
Somewhere deep in the forest… three Na'vi were running towards the borders of Ayram Alusìng.