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It takes more than just seeing the corpse of his late brother being returned to Eywa to get him to believe that everything has passed.

It did not matter that he'd been right there when he was straws away from death, it didn't seem to make anything easier to know that there was no way of denying it, because, even as he was watching his brother be put to a peaceful rest, he cannot bear to accept any of this as real. 

Seeing is not so simply believing. It isn’t as easy as that. It takes acceptance to start seeing reality as it was – but Lo'ak can't accept it no matter how much he knows that his brother is gone, that he will not be returning anytime soon, that he’s no longer there with him. His brother is dead . He saw his dead body. He was there when he died. And yet he still refuses to believe that he's no longer living.

So he begs. He begs and begs that this is all a nightmare, that he'll wake up and see Neteyam right beside him, scolding him whenever he suggests something stupid, holding him back from being entirely reckless. But that is an impossible plea. He pinches himself over and over and it hurts each and every time. The throb in his chest is real, and it's painful. The scars that litter his body are still fresh, and the ache is evident. If pain will not wake him up from this nightmare, then perhaps life itself is the dream he cannot escape.

He knows that denying it was futile.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that his brother is gone. He shouldn't expect to see him back at their residence when they walk back home. The natural laws of Eywa do not allow people to be revived. Coming back from the dead is unheard of, no matter how much Lo'ak prays that it was possible.

And yet he hopes. And yet he begs. And yet he pleads. Like the fool he is. ( “Skxawng,” a voice says, and his heart throbs at its familiarity.)

He wonders. Why is the Great Mother so harsh to their family? What had they done to deserve all of the unfairness they'd received just by existing? What did Neteyam do to deserve such a fate? To die in war, far from home, so young in his life?

No questions are answered because nobody had any. Everyone is quiet. 

His mother is silently preparing food, although Lo'ak is sure that nobody in the room currently has an appetite, her ears flat against her skull, eyes drilled focused onto her cutting board. His father sits by a corner, quietly tending to Tuk's wounds and whispering something to her, likely words of reassurance that no doubt has no effect because Lo'ak has never seen his younger sister look so upset before. Tuk is all sunshine and rainbows when they're not in danger, and she seeks out joy in every situation. He supposes the usual cannot be said about how things are right now. Kiri sits by the opening of their room, farther away from everyone else, her knees raised to her chin, eyes still glossy with tears. She has a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, though it seems to be providing zero comforts considering how much she's shivering.

Lo'ak wants to join her, but decides to stick to his own corner, quiet as his eyes shift from one family member to the other, until his focus finally turns to him. He stares at his hand, all five fingers, and breathes. Just breathes, more than usual, harder than ever, all while trying to keep quiet. Breathing is hard. But Neteyam cannot do that anymore, so he'll breathe twice as much for his brother, twice as hard so he can live through him.

Fire sizzles nearby, but it's sat uselessly in a corner where nobody is near. The air is cold, freezing , but his chest is numb to the temperature, and he can't find any energy in him to move closer to the warmth anyway. When his father is done caring for Tuk, the youngest Na'vi slowly walks over to the heat, sits at a safe distance and stares at the reds and oranges that dance in front of her.

"Kiri," his father calls gently, his voice rough and tired. His sister turns to look at him, eyes a ghostly shade, like she'd been possessed just moments prior, her hair a tangled mess that Lo'ak rarely ever sees it in because she takes care of her hair the best of all the Sully children. "Come here. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Kiri stays quiet. She inches quietly and slowly towards their father, allowing him to inspect her arm when he puts a hand out, before answering. "Only a bit. M-my arms and. Left leg."

Their father just hums, and begins to treat all the cuts and scratches on her skin.

Lo'ak is silent. He breathes.

When the food is done, his mother doesn't announce it the way she normally would. She simply walks over, crouches, and places plates in front of every family member, putting the meals closer towards the middle for everyone to take for themselves. She helps herself to a little bit of everything (his mother is not a big eater by any means, but he’s never seen her eat so little before), and helps Tuk take whatever she points at. Lo'ak stares at his empty plates and continues to breathe. He doesn't want to eat. Not if Neteyam isn't there to eat with him.

"Neytiri," his dad says, immediately getting his wife's attention. "Could you set a plate for Spider? He's outside."

The look on his mother's face has never been more agitated than then, a scowl taking over her features. Lo'ak doesn't understand why things are so tense between the family and Spider – After the ceremony had finished, it felt like there had been a line drawn between them that Lo'ak was not allowed to cross. Spider had been someone they all grew up with, and while he knew his mother was never fond of him, she had never outright shown such distaste for him.

There is something he's missing. He just doesn't know what. 

"Neytiri, please," Jake pleas, fatigue washing over his expression, looking up briefly from Kiri's arm to look at his wife. Lo'ak doesn't think he's ever seen him look so defeated before, not even when they were forced to flee the forest.

Not having the energy to argue, she simply sighs and nods. 

Lo'ak gets up to help his mother, deciding that it was better that he did this than waste his time staring into nothingness, ignoring the way she looks at him with large, watery eyes and— and there's a longing in them. She wants it to be Neteyam who's helping her, she wants to turn to the side and see his face, see her eldest son alive and well, but all she can see is Lo'ak. 

Really puts a whole new spin to 'I see you' , doesn't it?

"I'll go give it to Spider," he says in the gentlest, most patient tone he could muster, voice barely above a whisper, caressing his mother's hand and watching her as she nods slowly, her hair falling limply over her face. His heart swells painfully in his chest. It hurts to see her like this. He wants to hug her and make sure she knows that everything will be alright, but he'd never really been good at comforting people. That had always been Neteyam's job.

He stands up, a full plate in one hand, and walks out. He finds his human friend sitting on the edge of a bridge, feet swinging above the water, eyes downcast. Spider was no different in the way that Lo'ak had never seen him so upset before. It is a change he's not willing to endure, so he looks to the ocean full of little fish and plants as he sits beside his human friend, giving him the plate full of food while keeping his eyes glued to the bright blue waters. 

"Hi, dude," he greets, quietly, uncertainly. 

Spider nods, and Lo'ak can tell that he's looking at him, but he doesn't look back up. "Hey, bro."

It's quiet again. Lo'ak is starting to really hate the silence.

"I, uh," Spider begins, at the same time Lo'ak goes, "So-"

The two of them grin in amusement, a small laugh shared between them as Lo'ak begins to kick his feet in the water, splashing bits of it over the two of them, and it's cold but for once it doesn't hurt as much. 

"Hey, hey, stop! You're getting my food wet! I mean, not that I can eat it right now but– Ah!" Spider yelps, laughing even harder when Lo'ak turns sideways and lets his tail swing wildly in the water, allowing more water to splash over them. "Dude! The food!"

"Do something about it, monkey boy!" Lo'ak retorts, allowing himself to forget for just a moment about all that's happened, continuing to pretend and believe that everything was alright, that nothing bad is going on and that it's really all just a dream he'll wake up from. 

Spider attempts to reach for the water, but his height, or lack thereof, makes him tumble on the bridge and the motion knocked him down right in. Lo'ak was only able to save his food from falling down with.

Immediately, he breaks into a fit of laughs, continuing to splash the human boy by kicking his feet and swaying his tail around, yelping in surprise when he feels a sudden force attempt to pull at his ankles. And, while Na'vi were always stronger than humans, gravity still had its laws and when Lo'ak shifted a bit too far off the bridge, he fell down right on top of Spider, the food somehow miraculously surviving all of the commotions.

The blonde guffaws loudly in response, at his once-in-a-lifetime victory, though his laugh was cut short when Lo'ak slapped the surface of the water harshly with his hands, splashing it all over Spider's hair. Spider laughs, but the glint in his eyes tells him he won't be taking such a fall, and he swings his own arm forward, effectively pushing a small wave of water at the Na'vi. 

If he just closed his eyes and pretended that they were back in the forest, back at home, screwing around in a river with everyone else, then everything was almost as good as new. Kiri would watch from under the shades of the tree, only ever getting involved in antics if either of them physically dragged her into it, and so Spider would splash her in the face and she'd join in without a beat of hesitation. Tuk would be right on her shoulder, and nobody would allow her to throttle in the river while they were all running around, but she'd still be squealing and yelling in joy. And Neteyam would be hunting for the fish in the river, telling them to back away when his target was a little too close for comfort, eventually being coerced into joining them when they start yelling at him to get there.

He'd do the exact same here, as Spider is still obliviously splashing water over him, seemingly inattentive to the fact that Lo'ak's only form of attack had been reduced to just his tail. Neteyam would try to get them to stop screwing around, but he'd eventually fall into the water on his own, possibly dragging the food down with him, and then he'd join the water fight he had wanted to end just moments prior. 

But what he would do, he cannot. He can’t because, even if Lo'ak refuses to believe it, even if Lo'ak begs and prays for Eywa's mercy, even if Lo'ak can't bring himself to face reality, he knows his brother is not coming back.

He misses his brother. So much.

Why’d it have to be him?

“Uh. You good, man?” 

Lo’ak startles ever so slightly, having forgotten where he was, and runs a hand through his braids, dull yellow eyes meeting Spider’s only for a split second before looking away. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

The silence returns, twice as sharp, and Lo’ak cringes at its arrival.

Spider looks like he has a lot to say. His mouth keeps on opening, only to be clamped back close not even a second later. Like he’s contemplating what words he should say, could say, instead of everything that he wants to say. Lo’ak gets it. There’s a lot he wants to say as well, especially to his family. He wants to talk about Neteyam, about everything that’s happened, but, above all things, he just wants to apologise. 

It should’ve been him. 

Neteyam had worked so hard for everything he had. He’d done so much in the short life he’d lived, and he didn’t deserve to leave it so early. Lo’ak — Lo’ak hasn’t done anything like Neteyam. All he’s been is a nuisance, to his father, his family, his peers; Perhaps it was an even crueller way of thinking about it, but he believes the Great Mother had been aiming for him when she’d struck his brother. He just messed it all up like he always did.

It’s not fair. If he could trade his life for his, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Because Neteyam didn’t deserve to be gone, to no longer be able to be seen, to die. Lo’ak should’ve taken that bullet for him, instead of him, but he didn’t and now he can’t. 

Lo’ak’s head is racing with a million thoughts. Some tell him to have hope, tell him he might come back, that this is all just a dream, a really bad dream, and all he needs is for someone to wake him; some tell him to just accept the fact that he’s dead and move on, that some nightmares are impossible to wake up from, that no matter how much he thrashes and shakes and hurts, none of this will go away. But, despite the clashing views, he can hear one loud collective yell in the back of his head, screaming “it’s all your fault” . 

Because Neteyam is gone and it’s all his fault. He shouldn’t have gotten him to go with him, he should’ve taken that bullet for him. If he was just more like him, more responsible and sensible, maybe his brother would’ve survived, and maybe Jake had a point for the many times he’s scolded him. All those years that he’d worked his ass off to be recognised by his father, to be seen by him, only for the feeling to be more haunting than relieving. Was Neteyam’s life worth any of that? He would’ve lived 9 lives being ignored by his father over and over again if it meant his brother would live. 

The truth was as simple as it’s always been. He doesn’t deserve to be seen. Because he is nothing like Neteyam, and he deserved everything he had for working so hard, to be seen and looked up to by everyone else, but now Neteyam is dead and he’s not there for his parents to see, so they’re all forced to look at Lo’ak instead. Forced to acknowledge him, to see him, but not for good reason. An individual is expected to do something good to deserve to be seen.

‘You’ve done enough’. In truth, he’s done nothing good at all.

He really did bring shame to the family.

Lo'ak clears his throat, refusing to wipe at his eyes because he doesn't want to acknowledge the tears brimming in them, and climbs up back to the dock, helping Spider when he brings an arm out. He wants to apologise for having ruined the one happy moment they've shared in a long while, but decides there's not much he can do to fix it. He's done enough.

"I'll, uh, head back now. And you should too— to our pod, I mean," he says, awkwardly, arms wrapped around himself. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Spider is frowning at him, and he knows it’s from empathy but he hates it anyway. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He doesn’t turn to check on his friend, his brother– his only other brother now – and falls asleep with silent tears dampening the cloth beneath him.

“ Woah! ”

A sharp gust of wind sends his braids flying past him, nearly sending him falling with. He’d be more worried if his safety hadn’t already been compromised by himself since the beginning – he hadn’t exactly tied any safety ropes and he’d been the one to request his Ikran to go as fast as it could. He’s never really been scared of heights, anyway. And he trusts that his Ikran would dive in had he fallen.

Instead of concern, he feels a sense of liberty. It is freeing to be in the air, to be one within the sky and clouds, to be so free from the trees that’s never really felt like home for the years he’s lived there. He likes the forest. He’d just prefer to be seeing it from above, to appreciate its beauty without being shackled to it.

A laugh bubbles up his throat as his Ikran dives further down, the air whistling against his ear at his speed. It’s through that strong layer of happiness that he makes his first mistake; as his hand moves forward to manoeuvre his Ikran, he slips, and without much stable security, he slides off the animal with a scream and a curse, the tying bond between them coming undone. 

“Watch it!” he hears a voice chastise him as he’s caught by his wrist, looks up with his ears pinned to see the worried and absolutely terrified expression on Neteyam’s face. “You skxawng ! Are you trying to get yourself killed!? ”

Lo’ak, ever the most carefree Na’vi on Pandora, just chuckles, tail swishing back and forth in the air as his Ikran dives right below him so he has a surface to land on. “Hey, brother.”

It’s obvious that Neteyam disapproves of how careless and reckless his younger brother always seems to be. If not from his words, then his expression alone told everything a person needed to know. “You’re crazy, you know? Dad would tie your tail into a knot if he saw you just now!”

“What dad doesn’t know, he doesn’t have to,” he says easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Neteyam stares at him with a flat face.

Lo’ak laughs, the noise only cracking Neteyam’s facade as the older Na’vi’s lips quirked up into a smile. The surface beneath his feet continues to sway, and yet the sounds of his Ikran’s squawks and chirps fade into a distance, like he’s no longer there, and everything turns dark. A sense of dread floods his system, drowns his stomach, a sinking anchor lowering into his gut. Fear grapples onto him like shackles attached to his limbs, weighing him down, and he can’t fight them where he can’t see them.

Light returns and his vision blurs back to reality. He’s no longer in the freeing air above the forest, and Neteyam is no longer smiling down at him. His brother stands unresponding, eyes wide and glazed with fear but unblinking. Blood paints his blue skin red, looking purple in places where its volume isn’t so dense, but it is pure and bright surrounding the hole shot right through his chest. Lo’ak has never seen so much blood before. His brother’s chest is littered with it, and it does not move, not like Lo’ak’s. A breath is knocked out of him, and his throat tightens when he tries to gulp it back down. 

“Eywa, no,” he says, voice scratchy, fear overstaying its welcome as it claws all over his body. “No, no, no, kehe .”

His hand reaches forward, only to stop in place when his eyes land on the bright vermillion that decorates every inch of it. All over his fingers, all five of them, drenched in the same shade of red that Neteyam has lost. A shaky breath escapes him, and then another, and when another comes he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Oh, Eywa, what has he done?

His hands begin to shake with his breath, almost in sync, and his eyes are wide with terror as he stares at them. Red. It’s all red. Red and it’s all from Neteyam. It’s all over him. All over them . It’s all his fault. 

“No, no, no,” he continues to chant, like a mantra, his ears pinned and drooped, eyes beginning to water as panic seizes his every move. He shakes his head, slow, and then fast, like he could just deny it all away. “No, I– No, no, no, no, no. ”

He looks up, and he fears it may be his worst mistake yet. 

He can’t even continue his string of ‘no’s once he sees the lifelessness in Neteyam’s eyes. The way he’s unresponsive, and yet still looking down at him, almost fondly, and it twists at his chest like a rubber band. The corpse in front of him stares and doesn’t blink because it can’t.

Somehow, Lo’ak’s ears go even lower. He shakes his head yet again, tearing his gaze away from his brother, unwilling to look at him. “No, no… Great Mother, please, no .”

His feet begin to move on their own, slipping against the harsh rocks and sand beneath, but he’s only a few centimetres away when his back hits something solid, and suddenly he’s trapped in place, the air coming to a close as it claws tighter and tighter against his chest, like a bruising grip around his lungs. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he can’t tear his eyes away from his brother, because he knows he can’t breathe either.

The ground rumbles, like it’s about to crack apart, but he’s forced to stand as the invisible wall around him coddles him like a blanket. Neteyam’s not moving, he can’t move, but he gets closer and closer every time Lo’ak blinks, and panic washes over his every instinct. His tail is raised in alert, eyes wide, and he wants so badly to look away but he’s not allowed to. He’s forced to look at the result of his incompetence. Forced to look at the faults of his own hands.

A sob escapes past his lips and it rocks his entire body. All the fight leaves his body and the walls ease up, letting him wobble and fall to his knees, but it still suffocates him all the same. Every breath he takes makes the next one harder to inhale, even harder to exhale. Neteyam still stands above him, the shadow of his body blocking all and any possible light from shining atop Lo’ak, engulfing him in darkness. His body shakes and trembles as he gasps desperately for air, but the sobs that tear forcefully out of him make it impossible to do anything at all.

His brother — He lost his brother. 

Jake had warned him so much about this. About how his recklessness would always almost get his brother killed, about how he had to be more careful regarding these things, regarding life, because Eywa is kind but she will not bend the rules for anybody. And yet he never listens. And yet he continues to act out. And yet he fights against his words, trying over and over to prove himself worthy to his father, but nothing ever comes out of it. 

“I see you, son.” 

He doesn’t deserve to hear that. 

“Neteyam?” 

The heartbreaking hope in his father’s voice is a sharp pang against his chest. It hurts to shake his head. “No, dad, it’s Lo’ak.”

The disappointment that replaces it is a lot easier to get over. He is used to it. “Oh. Lo’ak.”

“I– I’m sorry, sir, about- Neteyam— it– that was all my fault.”

It was. It was all his fault. For being reckless, for being hopeful, for being useless; for being him. 

“Just– Focus right now!”

“I see you, son.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How he’s longed to hear those words from someone, anyone, and how undeserving it still feels even as it’s said right to his face. 

“I see you.”

He doesn’t deserve to be seen. He doesn’t know why his father hadn’t started yelling at that point in time, he doesn’t understand why his father said that. He’s not used to it. It makes his skin itch with discomfort, makes him want to claw at his arms until they’re covered in blood that’s not Neteyam’s. He’d wanted to hear it for years, but not like this. Never like this. He doesn’t deserve it, not yet, this wasn’t how he planned things out to be.

“I see you”, “I see you”, “I see you”. 

A sob knocks out the last breath stored in his lungs. 

“I see you because I can’t see him anymore.”

Neteyam’s eyes are lifeless but his corpse stares right at him. 

“I see you because I have to.”

And he sits there, crying, begging, pleading as breath after breath is forced out and back in, a waterfall of emotions coming out in ways he hadn’t ever wanted it to, with Neteyam’s dead body looking at him, seeing him, trapped between walls carved by his own sins, blood still stained over all of his fingers. A scream tears through his throat and he digs his bloody hand into the hard rocks. 

“I see you, son.”

He ignores it until it goes away. 

Lo’ak does not wake up screaming the way he thought he would. His chest is heavy with emotions and tears are streaming down his face as though he’s never stopped crying even after he’d fallen asleep, but he’s not screaming, not sobbing, not weeping like he was in his dream. The sky is still dark and littered with stars, and he can see his mother wrapped around Kiri and Tuk, all three of them looking like they weren’t too far off from having a dream just as upsetting as Lo’ak’s. Spider is asleep in the opposite corner, his face contorting with different emotions whenever he turns, and Lo’ak wonders briefly if he should wake all of them up to save them from what he’d gone through. 

He chooses not to. Instead, he wipes at his tears, even though they don’t stop, and slowly gets up, carefully removing Tuk’s tail and Kiri’s arm around his waist, careful to be quiet as he sneaks past the marui’s opening. 

The sky is beautiful. The ocean does it justice in its reflection of it, the lights in the dusk flickering like gems whenever he looks at them. The things he would give to fly in it, back at home, above the forests and on an Ikran. Maybe the air is cold, but the sharpness has always proven to be a comfort to him. 

He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to start flying around in the cold air of the night. For once, he uses his brain, and thinks like Neteyam would if he were to have suggested such an idea out loud.

“No way, bro, dad would hang us by the tail if he saw,” he can almost hear him say.

Lo’ak laughs, but it sounds bitter even to his own ears. He sits by the end of the bridge, just like he had with Spider a few hours prior, and lets his legs swim in the reflective water of the ocean. He doesn’t look at the mirrored view of him though. He does everything in his power to avoid it. He doesn’t want to see himself.

He’s tired. Fatigue is a lot more taxing after crying, and he doesn’t really know why that is. He wants to sleep but hates to think that he might see all of that again. Doesn’t think he can handle the sight of any more blood. He might stop breathing completely, and, even if he’s nothing but the crumbs left from Neteyam, he can’t have let his death be in vain for that. 

He chooses to focus on everything else around him instead. The trees, the other marui pods surrounding his family’s, an ilu playing with another in a distance. He breathes the view in, steadies his breaths, makes sure that Eywa, however cruel she may be, is still prospering through his veins as she would in all breathing Na’vi. 

Footsteps from behind startle him, the sudden alertness visible through his straightening tail and flickering ears, but the sense of danger leaves him the moment he recognises who they belong to. His father. 

His shoulders remain tense, despite having cleared himself from any real harm. 

A familiar weight joins him on his left, but Lo’ak pretends he doesn’t notice. His gaze is torn away, choosing to focus on a coast that he’d hung out with Tsireya on a few weeks back. Far before any of this had happened.

When a hand is placed gently on his shoulder, he can no longer ignore his father. The sudden contact causes him to flinch, but otherwise, he remains unresponsive. He’s used to seeing the look of disappointment on his father’s face, but he doesn’t think he can bear it at the moment. 

No angry words greet him though, no matter how long he waits in silence. He is quiet. His father is too. 

Somehow, the silence is even worse than any words he could’ve ever anticipated.

He hates the quiet. 

“ Maitan, ” his dad says, voice the gentlest it’s ever been when it’s directed at Lo’ak, and he hates how his heart stutters at the sound of it. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Nothing,” he says, still avoiding his father’s eyes, grimacing at his wavering voice but continuing to speak anyway. “I am just enjoying the view.”

It goes silent again. Lo’ak waits. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that his father is shuffling in place. They don’t have moments like these often; it’s no wonder that neither of them are comfortable. 

Silence. 

“Talk to me, parultsyìp .” His tone is pleading, his voice cracking, and Lo’ak hates the unfamiliarity of it all. It is strange to be cared for. It is strange to hear it coming from his father.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Lo’ak insists, because, surely, if he pretends that everything is alright, that nothing is happening, then he’ll be fine. “I'm fine.”

The look on Jake’s face is anything but convinced. 

But, just like Lo’ak, Jake isn’t exactly the best at handling his emotions. 

A sigh slips past his lips and sadness swims in his eyes. Lo'ak caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his vision, and he hates to know that he was to blame for it.

"A… About Neteyam," Jake begins, and Lo'ak tenses like he'd been whipped. They hadn't really spoken about him, or about what happened since it occurred. Lo'ak fears what is to come. He shrinks in size, readying himself to hear whatever his father had to say, because undoubtedly they would not be kind words. He did not deserve any of the care he’s been receiving. 

I see you, son.

His ears twitch up and down. It makes him want to claw them off. 

So much he wants to say. So much he keeps on hearing.

"I'm sorry—" the two of them start, at the same time, pausing in sync when they realise the harmony of words. But they don't laugh about it like he had with Spider. They keep silent, and Lo'ak finally turns to look at his father when no noise comes from him.

There are things he hadn't really liked about his dad, growing up. But he loves him all the same. It makes his gut heavy when he sees the pained expression on his face, and his ears pin completely against his scalp. Words bolt out his throat like a breath. Too fast to keep up with, and he can only stutter out whatever corrections he makes on the way.

"I- I'm so sorry, dad— sir, about N- Neteyam, and—"

"Hey, hey, " Jake interrupts, putting extra pressure on his son's shoulder, keeping him grounded as sympathy falls into view. "Calm down, baby. You can drop the sir, alright? This– This isn't—... I'm not a squad leader, okay? I'm your dad."

Lo'ak shakes his head, even though there's nothing that he disagrees with in his words. And he fights it. He fights the tears building in his eyes because, by Eywa's grace, he can't cry anymore. Still, he loses the fight. "No, no– I- I'm so sorry, sir —" his voice cracks, hard, and he'd be embarrassed about it had the floodgates not started to open. "It's my fault, it's my f— Sorry, I'm so sorry. "

"Lo'ak, baby, it's not your fault…"

The younger Na'vi shakes his head again anyway, finally finding what he disagreed with. He doesn’t need to hear his father try to soothe his thoughts because this is the only thing Lo’ak knows to be true. 

"You tried to— You told me t- that I would get him killed one day, and - and you're right— " a choked sob cuts himself off, but he recovers like he's used to it. "Neteyam— Te-," he sobs again, this time aggressively rubbing at his face because he's already so ashamed, he doesn't need more reason to embarrass his own fucking father. It's pathetic, the way he weeps and pretends. He just can't fight it off. " My brother, " he cries, wiping even harder. "I miss him— I want my brother, dad, I want Teyam ."

If not for the waves of the ocean hitting the poles that held the bridges and marui pods up, Jake is sure he'd be able to hear the sounds of his heart breaking into pieces. A shaky breath exits him, but he ignores it to focus on his son, pulling him into a hug, and it has to mean something that he can't remember the last time he'd held him like this. 

Lo'ak cries harder against his shoulder, voice now muffled as his face is tucked to Jake's side.

" I want my brother, " he wails, heart heavy, but this time he's not really sure why the tears are running. Maybe it's a little bit of everything. Neteyam, being cared for by his father, being in his embrace for the first time in years — thinking about it makes him feel so fucking pathetic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, dad. "

"Don't be, baby, don't be," Jake reassures in a faint whisper, holding his son tight against him, one hand around Lo'ak’s shoulder and the other soothingly rubbing at his son’s head. Tears are beginning to fall past the rims of his own eyes, but he doesn’t move to wipe them away. He keeps both of them firm around the younger Na'vi to steady him from the aggressive rocks of his sobs. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, okay?”

Lo’ak shakes his head again and again. Like a little child kicking away in their sleep as a nightmare troubles their mind, but it’s not so easy because he’s already awake and nothing is there to help him escape the agony that torments his head.

“It should’ve been me,” he cries. “ Ngaytxoa, sempu. ”

Jake's heart breaks for the second time. He tries to formulate words but nothing can describe all and everything that he's feeling.

Lo'ak tries so very hard to fight away the tears and grief brimming in him, but nothing he does calms it down. "I don't deserve to be here in his place," he sobs yet again, voice trembling, and the control he has over his mouth vanishes completely. "I- I should've been the one who- who—… It should've been me. I'm sorry he's not here anymore. I'm so sorry, dad. "

And Jake is only a man. He was Toruk Makto but he is still only a person. No matter how much Eywa blesses him, he cannot see to it that his life would ever stay happy. And it hurts him everywhere to know that the same must be said for his children. For his son.

He cradles him. Holds him tight against his chest. Makes sure that, even if his words hurt to hear, they weren't real, and that his only son is still safe and sound. Because he cannot bear to lose another. He cannot .

"Shh, baby," he says through his own tears, ears folding back as a hand runs through Lo'ak's hair. "Don't say that. Don't say that. Daddy can't lose you too, baby, it's not your fault."

Lo'ak has his face hidden in his father's neck but he's sure the whole world can see his expression fall apart as his father comforts him.

"I see you, parultsyìp ."

He doesn't deserve any of this.

He wakes up on his mat with a pounding headache, aching so hard that he nearly cries out loud in pain. Slowly blinking into awareness, he makes sure that his groans are quiet and kept to a minimum, and continues to lay there quietly as the cool air hits his skin. It is hard to move. Almost as if he’d been glued in place.

There are sounds around him that he recognizes. Tuk is outside of the pod squealing, and he can distantly make out the quieter voices of Kiri and Spider talking to each other, possibly as they are watching over the youngest Sully. He can also hear his parents talk to the chief and his wife, the four of them keeping their voices quiet although the sun is already up so high.

Lo'ak assumes it is because of him. He should get up. But his body won't let him. So he just lays on his mat with his eyes closed, silent as a numbing coldness spreads across his body. He needs something to distract him. Something to keep him calm and at the moment. Something to drag him away from the nightmare that still dangles above his head like an ornament. So his ears perk up as the voices become clearer to hear.

“– And as for you?” Ronal’s voice is soft when she asks it. Lo’ak has absolutely no idea what she’d said prior to that, but he’s never heard the Metkayina’s Tsahik speak that way before. She had always sounded so commanding and intimidating to him. Then again, his parents had too.

Jake’s voice is equally as soft, if not a bit softer, weaker. “We… are adjusting.”

Lo’ak grimaces when Neytiri speaks. His mother sounds even worse than his father. “We are doing what we can to pull our weight.”

There are quiet footsteps that thump against the ground, a faint rumble to his body. His eyes aren’t open so he doesn’t know what happens, but Ronal speaks again after a moment. “You should not force yourself to your duties as you grieve. Eywa blesses us all with time. Your family is allowed to have it.”

More shuffling. Then, his father speaks again. “Thank you. For– for everything that you have done for our family.”

“You would have done the same for us, Jake Sully,” Tonowari responds. Lo’ak can almost see him nodding his head in respect as he says it. “Please, let yourself heal and reconnect with Eywa. Take all the time you need. We understand.”

Silence. Lo’ak almost cries at his words. 

“...Thank you,” his father says in response, voice somehow even quieter.

Even more shuffling, and then footsteps that fade into the distance. Lo’ak thinks it’s safe to assume that the family is now alone. 

“They are kind people,” Jake says, probably to his mate. 

Neytiri is quiet. Lo’ak knows she has a hard time accepting people out of her norm, so she was probably still processing everything. 

Instead of responding to Jake, Neytiri turns in place, and focuses on something else. “Our son is still asleep.”

Lo’ak almost tenses from reflex. He’s saved from it because, even though he’d slept for hours, he has no energy in his body to move. 

“He had a rough night,” Jake responds after a moment.

Neytiri speaks in only a broken whisper. “He is still too young for all this. All of our children are.”

Lo’ak feels like he’s about to cry, but no tears build in his eyes. His body is too tired to do anything at all. He can’t even frown if he tried. 

“I know, yawntu .”

Silence for a few more seconds. 

“We should not have come here.”

Tension rises in the air, and Lo’ak wishes more than ever that he would fall asleep on the spot. It is nothing he hadn’t expected to hear come out of his mother at some point, but not in this context. Not in this situation. 

“Neytiri…”

“No, Ma’Jake,” she says, sharply, but the hurt beneath all that anger is obvious. “No. Coming here was a mistake.”

“These people gave us a new h—”

“Don’t you dare call it our home,” his mother cuts off. Angry, but sad. Very sad. Lo’ak can hear the tears in her voice. “This place is not— will never be our home. ”

The silence between them is suffocating. Lo’ak seems to never be able to escape that asphyxiating sensation, no matter whether in his nightmares or his reality. 

“Hey…”

“Do any of our children think of this as their home?! No, Ma’Jake! Do you not remember what our son said to us as he lay in his own blood!? He told us he wanted to go home —!” Her voice had broken off then, cracking as anguish washed over her. His mother is not like this, never like this. She is a warrior who puts on a fierce and brave outlook on anything that she does. It is something Lo’ak is completely not accustomed to, and it makes his heart ache as his own emotions chip at its edges. 

Neteyam… He’d never shown it on his face that he missed home. He didn’t complain a single time about how much he longed for it, and he’d been the one out of the four Sully children who’d grown up the longest in that place. Even Lo’ak had made passing comments about his homesickness, and he was hardly fond of calling it home. Neteyam had loved everything that Eywa blessed the forests with.

His chest clenches yet again. Thinking about it hurt. His older brother struggled the most. And yet he persevered. And yet he fought. And yet he’d lived. He was only a year older than him, but Lo’ak had always thought him to be way too mature for his age. Lo’ak was close to him. He knows personally that he can be just a teenager when it’s just the two of them hanging out by a river, but even then he’d always had such a strong exterior and Lo’ak had envied how little he seemed to struggle. 

And that only makes him feel worse. 

Here Lo’ak was — complaining and starting fights over stupid things, and having had Neteyam fix it all for him because that was his job as the older brother. And what did he say in return? How did he repay his gratitude?

“He is my brother! I’m leaving!” 

Lo’ak’s breath seizes in his chest. 

“Oh, he’s your brother? No, I’m your brother!”

His next breath is a shaky exhale. He almost chokes. His parents are unaware of his sudden discomfort as they continue to argue, and he hates to hear it. 

“—we should not have! I should not have!”

“Neytiri! We— we were doing what was best for everyone. The sky people were coming back for us. We had to leave. We had to find Uturu .”

“But at what cost, Jake!? ” She screams, voice scratchy, riddled with tears. “We should have fought them as we did here! Neteyam— My son did not have to go! None of our children would ever have to deal with such a thing!”

“Our– Our children will get through this. You hear me? They need a place to call home, Neytiri. Awa’atlu has provided that for us.”

“The Hometree did just that perfectly!” Neytiri continued, her voice only turning hoarser and hoarser as every word slipped past her lips. Lo’ak has never heard her this angry before. “Neteyam loved it there! He… My sweet boy. My sweet boy… He just wanted to go home…”

And then she wept. 

He can hear the way his father’s breath wavers as soon as his mother lets out the first sob. 

Lo’ak shuts his eyes with such force that the built-up tears are forced out and covers his ears with his tail until he falls asleep again.

“Hey, baby brother!” 

The voice that says it is familiar and friendly, but it does not spark joy as it normally would. 

“Hey! Skxawng, I’m talking to you!”

Lo’ak wants to dig his own grave and bury himself in it until he joins his brother. He shakes his head over and over because he’s aware at that point that, even if he can’t deduce what is reality and what is not, everything that reminds him of Neteyam ends up being a nightmare of all his regrets and wrongdoings that he cannot wake up from. He doesn’t want to think of him. He can’t honour his memory. Not yet. Not right now. Not if this is the way he has to do it. 

He knows he’s selfish for that. 

“Lo’ak?” A pause. “Okay, I see how it is. You’re… angry because I told dad you went past the battlefield, aren’t you?”

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. He knows he deserves it but why couldn’t Eywa spare just the slightest bit of mercy for him? Why must she be so cruel?

He puts his hands over his ears. It does nothing because it’s a dream and he still hears his brother’s voice loud and clear. 

“No? Then… is it because mom braided my hair first instead of yours? Oh, come on, bro, I’ll do it for you if you want.”

Lo’ak doesn’t try to fight it when a sob shakes his entire body. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. It should’ve been him . 

Neteyam makes a startled noise from above him, his shadow looming over the younger Na’vi’s figure. He doesn't really need to see his face to know that he's grown concerned. “Bro? Are you crying? Hey, are you okay? I was just joking, you know. I’ll stop if you’re upset. Please talk to me?”

Lo’ak can’t help it. He can’t fucking help it and he feels pathetic for that. He desperately looks up, eyes pleading with longing, just one last spark of hope that his brother will be real. It dies down as soon as he looks up. He’s not sure what makes it clear. He can just tell that it is not his brother that stands by him. 

(His corpse is right in front of his eyes.)

“Lo’ak?”

He only continues to cry until he’s hiccuping for air and fighting to breathe. Shakes his head just to add to the already building headache. He wants to laugh at how hard he’s crying. 

It is pathetic. It is unbelievable. His brother has died, his siblings are suffering, his parents are arguing, and all he can do is cry in his dreams. 

“I’m so sorry,” he manages through tears, choking on them as they enter his mouth. “I’m so sorry. Ngaytxoa, Teyam. It is all my fault, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry —”

But Neteyam doesn’t turn into a bleeding, still body. He is alive, breathing, eyes furrowing with sympathy as he crouches down to Lo’ak’s level and brushes at his hair softly. Comfortingly. Somehow it feels worse.

“Hey, don’t be sorry, skxawng ,” he says, a patient and caring smile spreading on his face. “It’s just a braid. I’ll do yours if you want, okay?”

Lo’ak shakes his head yet again. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to achieve with that motion. It doesn’t help him deny what is truth. It just makes his head hurt more than it already did.

“ I’m sorry. ” 

“What are you apologizing for, you knucklehead?” 

That term of endearment breaks him in half. 

Lo’ak cries even harder and Neteyam’s panic would’ve been funny if he was real. Instead, it only makes him sob more. 

“I’m sorry for being such a fucking brat ,” Lo’ak begins, just about ready to list down all of his misconducts in order. All of the sins that led up to him holding his dying brother in his arms, his five-fingered hands covered in the red that spread all over the other’s chest. “Dad told me to be more c-careful or I’d get you killed. I’m sorry for not listening. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m sorry for being annoying and useless and– and— ”

“Woah, hey,” the elder interrupts, resting his palms right on Lo’ak’s face, where he begins wiping away the neverending tears. Just the sight of his tears is enough to keep it going. “Who told you any of that, huh? You’re not a brat. You are just a kid. And I am your older brother. It’s my job to make sure you don’t get your skxawng ass killed. You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

It is exactly the type of thing Neteyam would say. And it is because of that, that Lo’ak digs his heels into the ground and shoves his face into his older brother’s neck because he can’t even control how horribly he’s trembling. His embrace is warm. Lo’ak remembers his body being cold. 

“You are a good person, Lo’ak,” Neteyam continues, gently caressing his back with one hand, pulling him closer into the hug. “I am sorry I don’t say it enough. I see you, brother. Oel ngati kameie. ”

Lo’ak wails. His grip around his brother’s shoulder tightens and he screams. Of despair, of anguish, of anger, of frustration. Of grief. He cries until his voice is lost in the air. Shakes his head again and again, but Neteyam keeps on repeating the same things.

A dead person cannot see him if he cannot see himself. 

A comforting lie is worse than a suffocating reality. 

It is a lot easier to move on from disappointment when he was one himself. 

Lo’ak wakes up with Kiri sitting beside him. The sun is slowly setting, and the older Sully is staring at it with sagged shoulders. Spider sits just outside the marui pod, close enough that it’s obvious they’re hanging out, probably just limited because of Neytiri. Tuk is curled up right beside him, her back facing his gaze, so he’s not sure if she’s awake like the rest are.

He closes his eyes but finds that he can no longer sleep. He doesn’t feel particularly energised, but his body doesn’t need any more rest. 

He slowly sits up, quietly yawning, and feels multiple pairs of eyes turn to the small noises of shuffling he’s made in the process.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Spider greets, waving slowly. Not understanding the reference, Lo’ak decides to ignore it, and nods his head in response instead. 

Kiri frowns at the sight of him. Contrasting that, the youngest Sully, Tuk, grins happily at the sight of her brother waking up, but his older sister’s ears are drooped and her tail is swishing lowly on the ground. 

It makes him feel awful. He doesn’t know what she’s specifically upset about, but it’s pretty easy to piece together when she’s staring directly at him with pity and empathy written all over her body language. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice raspy from being so unused. He cringes.

Kiri’s frown deepens. “You’ve nearly slept one whole eclipse cycle and you’re asking me if I’m okay? Skxawng. Don’t be an idiot.”

Lo’ak mimics the frown on her face then. Tuk giggles at the sight of it, because she is only seven, and she doesn’t understand entirely the weight of Kiri’s words, but everyone collectively realises it at the same time. 

That nickname is practically reserved for Neteyam. It’s not a word he owns but it’s one that only he ever uses when talking to Lo’ak. 

A look of regret flashes on Kiri’s face. She opens her mouth but Lo’ak shakes his head, motioning over to young, little Tuk with a nod of his head. They can talk about it some other time. Or not at all. Preferably that.

She nods guiltily, her ears folding behind even more.

“Where are mom and dad?” Lo’ak asks, looking around the marui with tired and slow eyes. 

Kiri and Spider look at each other, and the former responds a second later. “Dad… said he needed to call up the people from home. Spider needs mask refills and that means we, uh… might have to build a small base here."

Lo'ak blinks. Once, then twice. "Okay…" he starts, nodding. "And the Tsahik accepted that? Where is mom?"

"She's the one who's making sure Ronal accepts."

That had been the last thing he’d expected. How long exactly has it been since his parents argued for them to have come to an agreement? Or did they just fight that long up until that point? 

He figures that he’d rather not find out. 

Tuk then tugs on his arm. She has a strong grip despite being so young. He turns to her with a raised eyebrow, lips pursed in confusion as his younger sister looks up at him. 

“Tsireya asked if we wanted to make shell necklaces later,” she says, and doesn’t really have to finish because Lo’ak knows what she’s about to ask. 

Tsireya. She is one of the few people who had accepted their family with ease into the clan. She had loved him for him, befriended him for him, seen him for him, and he is thankful to have such a comforting presence, but he doesn’t know if he wants her to see him in this state. Messy hair, eyes red and probably carrying heavy purple bags underneath, body practically immobile. 

What does she even see in him? What is there to see in a failure? In a burden?

Tuk notices his hesitation and her ears fall a little. “She- she said Aonung was gonna be there too. Rotxo and, um. It’s fine if you don’t want to join. She said she’d understand.”

Neteyam would never allow his siblings to lose a smile so easily. Lo’ak will at least honour him this way if he can’t through his memories and dreams. 

“Okay,” he says, quietly, and that seems to surprise everyone around him. “I’ll go.”

Tuk’s grin is blinding. Kiri and Spider share a smile themselves. And, for a second, he allows himself to feel like he’d woken up. That feeling disappears the moment he realises that there’s one person missing and not smiling with them. 

If anybody notices his sudden drop in mood, they don’t mention it. 

Aonung should have just told him outright that he looked awful. The grimace that he gives Lo’ak the moment they make eye contact is awkward. Funny on any other day. Awkward right now. 

His tail swishes lowly behind him, ears completely fallen. Lo’ak has been told by multiple people, usually his mother, that he has a very flat, sometimes sad resting face, so it did not help to make him look any less upset than he already did. Tuk led them all to the place, where Tsireya and Aonung sat on rocks while Rotxo stood behind them. 

“Hey, guys,” Tsireya greets, waving her hand, and her eyes linger on Lo’ak noticeably longer. His heart would skip a beat. But his heart hardly felt like it was moving. Neteyam’s didn’t, and it was impossible to imagine a life without him; a life where his heart is beating but his brother’s isn’t. 

He looks away. He doesn’t see Tsireya’s look of sympathy. 

“Hi, Tsireya!” Tuk greets happily, jumping over from Lo’ak’s side to the Metkayina Na’vi. “We’re gonna be making necklaces, right?”

“Yes,” Tsireya answers kindly, gesturing for all of the Sully children to come to sit with her. “It is of Metkayina tradition to create using Eyweveng’s gifts to honour those who have been returned to Eywa.”

Lo’ak crouches down beside her and his ears twitch at her words. 

“The Great Mother takes, but she gives,” she says and, although Lo’ak’s gaze is stubbornly glued to the sand on his feet, he can feel her eyes on him as her familiar hands rest on his shoulders. “And we must learn to love her for all that she does. For all that has been taken, and all that has been given.”

Her hand moves onto his, and her four fingers wrap around his five. 

“Eywa watches over all of her children.”

Her words make him curl closer to himself.

It is hard to love the Great Mother the way his mother did. The way most others did. When you are cursed with such a life, such a fate, it is hard to feel like a greater power is truly watching over, because how could Eywa be so cruel?

Despite his previous beliefs, he knows for sure that it hadn’t been him that she was aiming for. Why would Eywa want Lo’ak of all people to return to her? She took Neteyam with intent, with purpose. It was his calling, and Lo’ak must bear the responsibility of being the tool responsible. She wanted him to suffer and, with that, came the taking of his brother’s life. Perhaps even she failed to see him. Perhaps he is not even a child of the Great Mother. Perhaps he is more like the sky people than he believed himself to be. An extra finger covered in blood, as he stands responsible for the death of a Na’vi — maybe he is the demon freak everyone calls him. 

That would explain it, right? If Eywa watches over all of her children, it is no surprise Lo’ak is not a part of that list. He is not one of hers. He is not one of them. She does not see him as her child, so nobody will ever be able to see him. To see into him. Because he doesn’t deserve it.

He is transparent. He is invisible. 

Tsireya rubs her thumb over his hand, bringing him back to the moment, where he’s staring down at the soil beneath him that is littered with small droplets of tears. His ears jolt up at the distant sounds of his siblings talking among each other, a brief laugh shared between them when Aonung and Rotxo make a joke. He hadn’t realised they’d started the activity. 

The shorter Na’vi frowns beside him. He wipes at his eyes and looks up, forcing a smile, not even close to being believable. Tsireya’s eyes crease with worry and care, her ears lowering, and he looks away to avoid it. 

“Are you alright, Lo’ak?” she asks, quiet, but he’s pretty sure everyone can hear them because all their ears twitch at the same time. “You do not have to force yourself to be here. I am willing to wait, no matter how long you take.”

“I…” Lo’ak looks to the ocean, but the memories that come flooding with it are too much to handle, and he looks away almost as soon as. “Thank you. I am fine.”

Tsireya’s palms softly frame Lo’ak face and she wipes at the dried tear tracks with her thumbs. She does not force him to look her way, but he does it anyway. 

“You are allowed to grieve,” she says, and Lo’ak isn’t so surprised about what her father had told his parents hours ago. He’s glad she inherited all her parents’ kind traits. “I know Eywa has been hard on you. But we are all here to help you heal. To help your family heal. If it is time you need, it is time that the Great Mother will give, and it is time that I am willing to wait.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he’s transparent in more ways than one. He is easy to read. Disbelief appears as a little wave in his eyes and Tsireya somehow softens her touch even more. 

“Don’t you think for a second that you do not deserve this,” she says, voice wavering despite her forwardness. “I see you, Lo’ak. And you deserve that.”

He doesn’t. 

It is not fair, but he knows it is the one thing he does not deserve. To be seen. 

Tsireya is only being the kind girl that she is. 

He keeps silent. Starts working on his pendant with Tsireya’s help and stays completely quiet. Nobody forces him to talk and he walks home with the necklace around his neck, falling asleep almost immediately despite having rested for hours the same day.

His dreams only seem to be getting worse every time he sleeps.

Neteyam is in front of him, but he’s not looking at him. He is staring right through. He does not see him, does not see into him, but past him. 

He was truly transparent in the dream. 

He watches as his brother struggles to climb on the trees, and right behind him, his other siblings trail clumsily on the branches. He seems to be so much more at ease without Lo’ak’s existence burdening his life. He makes sure that everyone is still behind him, and they are, because they are not reckless and as carefree as Lo’ak. None of them steers away from the path that Neteyam is leading. None of them swings away. The smile on his brother’s face is genuine and bright.

Eywa. Why did he make his life so much more difficult? If he’d just listened, Neteyam would not be gone, Neteyam would not have suffered, and the Great Mother wouldn’t have taken him.

His brother had to die having lived a difficult life thanks to him. A life full of stress and having to take responsibility for things that weren’t even his fault.

He must’ve been so tired.

Maybe Eywa was really just blessing Neteyam by taking him away from his biggest nuisance. 

“Hey, where is Lo’ak?”

Even in his dreams, free from his burdens, Neteyam is always looking out for him. He wants to cry. 

He’s looking right at him. But his brother can’t see him. It is painful to witness, seeing his brother turn his head left and right in search of his face, when he’s right there, just a step away. 

But. Lo’ak figures this is what he deserves.

For killing his brother, he’ll have to endure the fact that he won’t ever be seen, not especially by Neteyam. 

He takes. He takes a life, takes the air that would've and should've been Neteyam's, takes the family's name in vain by putting them to shame, takes everything that he doesn't deserve. So, in return, Eywa gives; Not a blessing, but a punishment, a nightmare that he won't be able to wake up from.

Because he deserves it.

Lo’ak doesn’t like sleeping. The sight of his brother in different situations haunts him, so he hates blinking awake to a memory or a made-up imagination. 

But it is all his body knows to do. He is tired, despite sleeping a lot. Crying is energy-consuming. He does that when he’s awake and when he’s asleep. And so he has an endless need to rest.

He wakes up to food right by his side. He is hungry and yet he has no appetite. Perhaps the guilt and sorrow that is buried in his gut have been mistaken as food by his body – it is a foolish thought, but, to him, it is better than acknowledging how starving he actually is. 

He refuses to eat, still. He sleeps, he dreams, and he wakes, but he never eats. The most he’ll do is drink. 

He feels undeserving to eat. He’d always had a hard time keeping a proper eating schedule, and Eywa knows what would’ve happened if Neteyam hadn’t always dragged him to family dinners and breakfasts. But now his brother is gone. His heart is empty and his stomach remains the same. 

The guilt lingers the more he thinks about it. It is wrong to be alive when Neteyam was not. Of the two brothers, one was clearly better off dead, and it wasn’t Neteyam. 

So he doesn’t really eat. He just sleeps and wakes up. Sometimes, he’ll be awake long enough to notice that Kiri and Tuk were dealing with their oldest brother’s death in a similar fashion. Spider had long gone but he was sure the human is out there doing the same thing. 

When reality is too harsh, you escape to the second-best thing. The realm of dreams, where everything you touch is like a cloud, soft and kind. But when that place fails to feel safe, to feel delicate, and secure, and is instead turned into a battlefield where nightmare after nightmare chases you down, there is never really a true escape. 

Lo’ak dreamt that his brother died in his arms, covered in tears and blood and salt water, while telling him, “I see you”. Over and over again. As Eywa pulls his body away from him, pulls his brother back to her, and Lo’ak screams until his throat goes dry. 

It’s the worst nightmare yet. Because it is the closest to reality. Because Neteyam had really died in his arms. Because Neteyam would’ve told him that he saw him if he knew all of his struggles. Because Neteyam is gone and Eywa has taken him. Lo’ak springs from his sleep, rushing to the bridge outside their marui to throw up, even though he hasn’t eaten anything in the past three days. 

Neytiri is crouching down beside him almost immediately. His parents are seldom ever in the marui now. If they are not at the spirit tree, then they are arguing somewhere far from the pod. He’s not sure if that is a good thing or not. 

She pats his back and shushes him when he begins hiccuping, gagging on his breath. 

“Calm down, maitan. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.”

He sobs at her voice. It is soothing. It reminds him of Neteyam’s. He’s heard from a lot of people back at home that his brother took more from their mother than their father. He’d always thought his brother got the best of both worlds.

Lo’ak is pulled into her embrace as her hands rake through his braids. She is a fierce woman, but she is a caring mother. How she’s still able to hold the murderer of her eldest son in her arms is a riddle beyond solving. Lo’ak just cries harder. 

“He said he saw me,” he hiccups, eyes shut tight. One thought half finished before leading to the next. “H– He said it. In– in my dream. He said he saw me and—”

“Shh,” his mother sounds, pushing his face further to her neck. “You are alright, maitan. Breathe with me, child.”

He gasps for air, then shakes his head. “He— He told me. He said- He said, “I see you” —And he was dying in my arms again. ” A sob wrecks his entire body. He can feel his mother begin to tremble as he continues to speak. “I’m– so sorry, mom. I don’t know what he sees. I don’t— I’m so sorry for failing the family. It–”

“You do not fail the family, Lo’ak,” she says, with a finality in her voice that tells him she will not argue on it, but the sympathy rules over any other emotion present. “You are my baby. My son. My ‘itan. You are seen. You are loved. I see you, Lo’ak . ”

It’s starting to aggravate him how much he’s heard the phrase, no matter if it is a means of comfort, whether in real life or in his dreams. He doesn’t want to cling to the lie that adheres to the words. It is already hard enough to handle the raw truth in his existence. This makes things unnecessarily harder; It gives him a false sense of hope and love, and he refuses to be tricked by the Great Mother twice. 

He shakes his head and begins to claw at his mother’s chest, pushing away, but her grip is strong and firm on his body. She keeps him still in her arms. All the fight leaves his body when he realises he's not getting anywhere. If Eywa has given up on him, he finds that there is no longer a reason to defy her cruelty.

And so he cries. And so he mourns. He sobs and he wails, snivels all of his regrets and grief.

“I see you, maitan. ”

What is there to see in a transparent failure? An invisible burden, heavy to all that comes even remotely close? Lo’ak is nothing in the eye of the beholder. To the omnipresent, he is just a demon. A see-through, disappointment of a demon. 

And yet he hears it everywhere he goes. His mother whispers once more, “I see you”, and he weeps. 

It is as he said. It’s always been a simple fact. He does not deserve to be seen. 

Nothing will change that. Nobody will.

Because the Great Mother had given him a foreordained punishment since his birth; He is destined to be invisible. To never be seen.