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The sky was spinning.
The sand beneath his feet was chilled to the touch, so soft that it impeded his movement—but still, he put one foot in front of the other, making uneven steps towards the shoreline.
Then he crashed to his knees before the stars, and with a firm clutch on the steel weapon, he positioned himself for his last resort.
People say that when you touch steel, you poison your heart
Everything I touch is ruined
It—It was one thing to be his only accuser, with only his own accusations of guilt haunting him. But for his own father to agree with those demons—
Dad taught me how to use this gun, how to execute those who murdered members our tribe, and since I—
His thumb shook on the trigger—always a coward when shooting to kill, even now—
..
But the metal was cold; inhuman; neutral. Grounding. Grounding in a way that made the waves straighten; that let him recognize the gritty texture beneath his knees; that made him think—
With a volatile scream, he threw the weapon away from himself, panting in both frustration for his inaction and terror at the reality of what he’d almost done.
Silent tears fell as his ears picked up on rushed footsteps—maybe, maybe his dad was actually coming after him for once—
“Lo’ak!”
“Brother!”
No—of course he wouldn’t.
He felt his lips wobble a bit as Kiri and Tsireya ran to his side, kneeling on the cooled sand. His dad’s gun laid a couple feet from him still, and through his peripheral vision, he noticed both girls take note of it.
Kiri moved first, sliding her hands from his back to his cheeks and forcing him to look at her. He closed his eyes for a second, too scared to see whatever was in her eyes—maybe disappointment that she had such a weak brother protecting her, that he was the one who came back instead of Neteyam, that—
“..Please,” Kiri started, her tone pleading instead of accusing. “Lo’ak, look at me.”
Despite not wanting to due to his tears still welling up, he obliged with dampened eyes, and met Kiri’s determined ones.
“Stay in this life, brother. We need you,” she demanded, firm.
“We love you,” Tsireya added, holding his arm steady and scooting closer.
The steadiness was something he desperately needed as he fought not to shake. Neteyam held him like this too, at times, and what had that faith gotten him? He wasn’t anything but poison, even before touching that gun.
“You have greatness in you,” Kiri protested, as if she could read his mind. He remained frozen even as she hugged him close, torn between wanting to believe their words and knowing the ugly truth that had let him out here to begin with.
There wasn’t any greatness in him that his dad could see. Every move he made was another mistake to the famed hero, and with each time, he had to resist the urge to yell that he, too, wished that he had died that day instead.
—
“Come on, Lo’ak,” his dad demanded, “You had no problems using it before—pick the damn thing up and let’s go.”
He knew he was stalling. Jake was waiting, had been for a minute now, but—picking the gun up again, after everything—
He just couldn’t do it.
“You know, I’m not going to be around forever,” his dad ranted, “and someone is going to have to protect this family. That person is you. And these weapons are the best way to do it.”
“Dad,” he whispered, barely a word.
“Do you think hesitation like this is going to fly in the middle of war?” Jake barreled on, either not hearing him or simply not caring to reply.
“Stop—”
“Don’t you realize that, Lo’ak? A second of hesitation could cost your sister’s lives too—”
“I SAID THAT WASN’T MY FAULT!” Lo’ak yelled, shooting upwards on shaking legs.
His dad must’ve paused at that, cause Lo’ak didn’t hear anything else expect his own racing heart. The heart that was still beating, despite it all, while his wasn’t.
“I wish it was me too, you know,” Lo’ak admitted, eyes wet with fresh tears. “Every day since.”
He fell to his knees after, unable to remain steady after such an ugly confession. The infamous gun entered his line of sight again, mocking him about failing his father’s legacy once again, all because he was too weak to bear picking it up. A part of him thought that was because he knew he’d never be able to put it back down if he gave in.
And Jake..
Jake was looking at him like he couldn’t make himself understand the words his son had just said.
“What did you just say?” his dad demanded, and—he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t listen to his dad yell at him again today while already feeling so low. He felt his ears flinch back, and he curled into himself.
“It should’ve been me,” he said quietly. “I should’ve died instead, right?”
He heard a thud on the ground, and upon looking up, he saw his father kneeling in front of him. And to his absolute shock, there were tears in his dad’s eyes.
“You’re my son,” he got out, pained. “Never. Never would I trade your life away. Not ever, Lo’ak.”
Lo’ak remained still as Jake cupped his hand on Lo’ak’s cheek, bringing it upright once more. He couldn’t—he couldn’t stand this sudden tenderness. Not when he knew that nothing had changed, really—he was still imperfect, reckless, and a downright liability when it came to being a warrior.
“You sure can push all the blame onto me, though,” he bit back, looking at Jake’s widened eyes with his dull, muted own. “You think I don’t feel enough on my own? That I don’t keep myself awake every night, thinking about how much I failed him?”
“Lo’ak—”
“What do you want me to do about it, huh?” he demanded, recoiling back from his dad’s touch. “Nothing I do can bring him back—and if even taking my own life wouldn’t make you forgive me, then what else can I do?!”
“Lo’ak!” his dad yelled, stopping the boy in his tracks. And then, gentler, “Mother Eywa, Lo’ak, do you really think I’d ever ask something like that of you?”
“I don’t know,” Lo’ak admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t know what you’d ask of me for forgiveness, because you won’t tell me.”
Jake looked genuinely pained upon hearing that. It was an expression he rarely saw on his father’s face, but in a way, Lo’ak was happy to see it there. Maybe he’d finally get an answer this time.
“..The only person I’m struggling to forgive right now is myself,” Jake admitted, like every word hurt him to say. “Not you.”
Lo’ak looked at him, incredulous and a bit horrified at the admission. “Then.. why? Why would you..?”
Jake grimaced, and it became apparent to Lo’ak that he was treading on dangerous, ugly ground. His dad wasn’t one for emotional introspection nearly ever, and seeing the man try to think of a rationale was painful.
“I’ve been a coward,” Jake finally said. “Throwing myself into war, training, anything that could distract me from my head. And—when I see you act recklessly, it terrifies me, Lo’ak.” He breathes a couple stabilizing breaths before continuing. “You’re still just a kid. I shouldn’t have placed that responsibility on your shoulders, nor blamed you when you tried to do right by your heart.”
“Dad..” Lo’ak tried to intervene, but Jake kept going.
“I was conditioned in the army, you know—following orders is the only way you stay safe in there,” Jake continued. “But you’re—you’re not like me in that way. I understand that now.”
“..But..” Lo’ak tried to protest, returning to Jake’s side. “I feel like I killed him, dad. And I don’t know what to do about that.”
Jake wrapped his arms around him then, pulling him close to his chest.
“Just—stay alive, kid. Please,” his dad said, a little desperate. “You don’t need to do anything else right now.”
With a hesitant look at the gun lying on the dirt-trodden bath, Lo’ak nodded. “O..Okay. I will.”