Chapter Text
Terminologies Used In This Chapter:
Cove of the Ancestors
Metkayina sacred site where their Spirit Tree is located.
Ikran
Ridable wyvern.
Ilu
Plesiosaur-like creature. Direhorse of the sea.
Kelutral
Hometree.
Olo'eyktan
Clan leader; chieftain.
Omatikaya
Neytiri's original Na'vi clan.
Txampaysye
It means "sea breather". AKA Gill mantle, the gelatinous invertebrate allows for extended periods underwater, feeding oxygen to the Na'vi via tsaheylu.
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CHAPTER 1: THE TETHER
"I wish we could have been there to fight beside you."
Hiraya sat with her legs dangling over the massive, gnarled branch of the Kelutral. The golden horizon, ebbing away into the twilight, glinted in her amber eyes and turned her skin a lighter, warmer tone of purple. Around her, the air was thick with the rhythmic thrum of the forest - the ghost-echoes of Ikran wings and the chatter of fauna that had once called this majestic place home.
Beside her, Tsu'tey remained in a restless crouch, his frame coiled like a spring, the silhouette of a warrior who had never truly learned how to find peace. Even in this preserved memory, he looked ready to strike.
"If only," Tsu'tey murmured, his gaze fixed on the sprawling canopy of a forest that no longer existed. "But you and your brother were already engaged in your own battle for survival. Your war was fought in silence, while ours burned the sky."
He turned his head slightly, his sharp features softened by the fading light. "Do not mourn for shadows, Hiraya. The living cannot bleed for the dead - they must only bleed for the future."
"Taran never stopped searching for you," she murmured. "Even when we were held captive by that other clan - every time they dragged him out into the brush, he took that chance to scour the earth."
Her eyes settled on the intricate pattern of massive roots below, leading the way to the heart of the Omatikaya home. "He was always looking, always hoping to find even the smallest hint of a trail that would lead us back to you."
When Hiraya turned to look at him again, the image of the battle-hardened warrior had shifted. The scars and the weight of leadership had dissolved, leaving behind a younger Tsu'tey. He was only a few years older than her now - the fierce, headstrong teenager she remembered her brother idolizing.
Seeing him like this, frozen in the age of their shared innocence, made the forest around them feel even more like a sanctuary. He was no longer a legend of the Omatikaya; he was just the boy who had once been her brother's North Star.
"I would not be surprised," Tsu'tey said, a ghost of a sad smile lingering on his lips. "I taught him how to hunt and track, after all. And knowing how stubborn Taran was, it would never have occurred to him to give up. He was never one to let go of what mattered."
He looked out over the dream-scape of the forest, his expression softening with the pride of a teacher for a student - and a brother for a brother. "He was a fool, perhaps. But he was a fool with a warrior's heart."
As he turned back to her, the image of the young, headstrong teenager began to blur and stretch. Before Hiraya's eyes, the boy dissolved, his features sharpening and his frame broadening into the battle-hardened Olo'eyktan. The scars of leadership returned to his skin, and his gaze took on the heavy, piercing weight of a man who had seen the end of his world.
"But you, Hiraya, are no fool," the adult Tsu'tey stated, his voice now a resonant, commanding baritone. "In this time of bloodshed, you must focus on what really matters. Do not let your spirit drift among the shadows of what was."
He stepped closer, the authority of a Great Warrior radiating from him. "You are strong, just as your brother was. It will do you well to direct that strength to the path ahead. Eywa has left you here for a reason - see that you do not waste the breath she gave back to you."
"I will," Hiraya replied, her nod firm and final. "Thank you, Tsu'tey."
The great warrior offered a slow, solemn incline of his head. As his form began to dissolve into the golden light of the Great Mother, his voice lingered like the low vibration of a drum.
"Live for the future, Hiraya. But survive so that the past is never forgotten."
As the echo of his final words faded, the vibrant green of the Omatikaya forest began to dissolve like mist. The humid air of the past was replaced by the sudden, heavy pressure of the present - the cold, weightless silence of the depths surrounding the Spirit Tree.
Hiraya blinked, her eyes struggling to adjust. The blinding golden sunlight of her memory was gone, replaced by the ethereal, violet pulse of the spirit branches swaying rhythmically in the current before her. The transition left her dizzy, the "process" of her mind snapping back into her body with a dull ache.
She turned her head, searching the glowing branch beside her where she last saw the one person she came here with.
Neteyam was hovering just inches away, her silent sentinel in the depths of the Cove of the Ancestors. A txampaysye - a gill mantle - pulsated against his back, its translucent membranes fanning out like a living lung as it breathed for him.
Through the shimmering veil of the water, Neteyam's eyes met hers, his warm gaze a sharp contrast to the cool waters that held her skin.
'Done?' he signed, his hand movements fluid and precise in the swaying current.
He looked majestic, the soft glow of the txampaysye silvering the edges of his ebony braids as they drifted like smoke in the current. For a heartbeat, she forgot the cold of the deep.
'Yes,' she signed back, her fingers cutting through the violet light. She let the movement linger, her gaze tracing the sharp, noble lines of his face. In the bioluminescent glow of the deep, he looked less like a soldier and more like a part of the sea itself - breathtaking and constant.
He reached out, offering his hand in the silent weight of the water. As he signaled for his Ilu, Hiraya placed her palm against his, feeling the steady, firm strength of his grip as he guided her toward the mount.
With a fluid pull, he drew her up to sit behind him. As she settled against his back, Neteyam reached back, his hand coming to rest firmly against her thigh. It was a soldier's grip - grounding and protective - securing her against the sudden surge of the mount. Yet, through the thinness of her skin and the rush of the cold water, the heat of his palm felt like a brand.
Like a silent promise that he wouldn't let her slip away.