Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Va’ru, Awa’atlu. Metkayina territory. 18 years since the rise of Toruk Makto. 

2 Months after the battle by the Three Brothers. 

When Neteyam was lying on the cot of the healer’s hut with a bullet hole tearing through his lungs, he dreamt of flying. 

Although, the wings carrying him through the stormy weather were not familiar to him. They were stronger and bigger than the shadow his Ikran’s leathery limbs would usually cast on him. 

The raindrops hitting his skin felt so incredibly real that for a split second, Neteyam expects to wake up from this hazy dream. But when he doesn’t, he focuses on his surroundings, quickly realising he can’t see beyond his hands tightly clutching the stiff leathers of a well-worn saddle.

As unsettling as the mystery around him was in this recurrent dream, he felt calm. 

Expectant. 

Then, the storm would pick up in strength, and as sure as his heartbeat, he would feel the beast underneath him roar in unison to the clap of thunder, followed by lightning that tinted his vision completely white. 

“Neteyam! Come on!” 

The dream would always end the same way, and as strange as the images were, he was thankful that they were not replaced by the firing of guns and the buzzing of bullets flying by his ears. The phantom stench of metal and gunpowder would undoubtedly send him into a frenzy, following him into the waking world.

Neteyam dreamt of the battle, but the depictions of his nightly terrors would mostly be conjured underwater, where all sound was muffled and images distorted. A strange acceptance in the face of the slaughter of Tulkun, Ilu, and Na’vi alike followed him steadily whenever he closed his eyes on days when his mind could not be silent. When he could feel his lungs filling up with blood all over again. 

“We are gonna miss them if we don’t go now. Kiri and Spider are already there!”

Still, he preferred his mysterious flying adventures and underwater horrors over the dreams he could see plaguing Lo’ak lately. His little brother took some time coaxing, but in the end, primarily due to his guilt over Neteyam’s injury, he confided his nightmares to his older brother one night on a beach far away from their family’s Marui.

Forehead slick with sweat and eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, Lo’ak looked at Neteyam’s scar on his sternum and trembled. 

“You died,”  he said, haunted. His tanhì flickered alongside his erratic heartbeat. “You– You died, Neteyam. And I could only watch you slip away. Mom and Dad. Mom was screaming so much— ” 

Neteyam felt the new skin on his chest tingling. 

To see him in this state, his proud and usually dauntless little brother. The rebellious strike running through his veins subdued since that day on the Three Brothers.

He sees Lo’ak’s guilt push him under the weight of the carcasses of the fallen Metkayina who followed him to his rescue on board the human ship.

“But I didn’t, that is just a dream, Lo’ak. I am right here, little brother. And it is your hand pushing into my wound that saved me.” Neteyam tried settling his hand on the crown of his brother's head, only to be brushed off, but he doesn’t relent, “Dad told me. Keeping pressure on the bullet hole kept me alive. You. You kept me alive.” But no matter how many times he would repeat it, he could see none of his words truly got through Lo’ak.

His failure to make his younger brother lessen his guilt settled sourly in his belly. 

And now, with the promise of retaliation and a bigger war on the horizon, Neteyam felt lost, as he had not felt even as he struggled through the foreign reef clan teachings. 

He would never be able to go through the Metkayina rites of passage into adulthood. That much was clear to him and everyone else. His lung capacity had been shot to hell, quite literally. 

Neteyam was firmly told that he would never be able to breathe as the reef people required of him. Despite this, his family is of the Metkayina, an honour gifted by their Olo’eyktan due to their involvement in battle and subsequent injuries. He was one of the people. One with no chance of providing for the clan in any way that truly mattered. 

Useless.

A young man of two clans, without being able to perform his duties in either. He was not here nor there, lost in a fog that dimmed his gaze just as the blur that kept the creature carrying him on his dream away from his cognizance. 

A failur –

“Neteyam!” With a strangled yelp, Neteyam covers his ears and turns, finding Tuk beaming down at him as if she had not almost ruptured his eardrums a second ago. 

“Tuk, what—?!” Instead of getting an answer, she grabs the fishing rod he had been idly playing with from his hand, sets it down by the raised walkway behind them, and tries to tug him up from his seated position by their family’s hut. Neteyam splutters, “Hey! I’m fishing!” 

Tuk stops tugging and sets her hands by her waist. Neteyam suddenly sees a flash of their mother in her. “We were supposed to go see the other clan leaders visiting today!” she says, visibly exasperated with her older brother. “Everyone else is there already.”

Neteyam blinks at her. Lost in his thoughts as he had been as of late, he had completely forgotten about this particular gathering.

“The little ones are not allowed in the meeting,” he says instantaneously. He stands and flexes his legs before grabbing Tuk’s hand despite his words. Sighing at the discarded fishing rod, Neteyam sets off towards the communal fire with his youngest sister.

No wonder why the walkways were quieter than usual. 

Grinning up at him, Tuk swings their arms about. “Yeah, but I’m not one of ‘the little ones’ anymore.” Neteyam snorts. 

He flickers her nose with his unoccupied hand. “You are still plenty small to me,” she tries to bite his offending finger in retaliation to his comment. “Yeesh, feral also.” 

Tuk giggles.

Soon enough, the murmur of voices reaches their ears, and they rapidly bounce through the walkways of Va’ru toward the familiar forms of Kiri and Spider crouching by the outskirts of the communal fire. The village pays attention to the discussion carried out by various leaders, both familiar and new. 

Spider gives them a twitchy smile, and Tuk launches herself towards Kiri. Neteyam follows more sedately and bumps shoulders with the human boy once he crouches down to join them. 

“Did you see them, Kiri? That one Olo’eyktan had a big headdress made of white wood—” Tuk is trying to look over the heads of their clanspeople, and Kiri hisses lightly to settle her down.

“Yes, I saw, little sister. Now come, don’t be loud, or they will kick us out.” 

Neteyam looks around, catching his parents' faces in the circle of leaders. Next to them sits the Na’vi Tuk mentioned. Sure enough, the white wood headdress is a sight to behold. 

His eyes continue sweeping over the group, and he settles on a couple of strangers who seem younger than the rest of the leaders, but their clothes make them stand out to him. 

A mixture of colorful fabrics with touches of human gear. Avatars? He wonders, but Neteyam knows all the remaining drivers left on their land, and these two faces are certainly unfamiliar to him. 

He had seen other Omaticaya donning human spare military fabrics, following Jake’s preferences when the time for battle came, but these Na’vi were not from the flute clan either.

“Aren’t those the Tipani leaders that visited home years ago?” Kiri wonders softly, and Neteyam dimly nods when he sees the Na’vi his sister is talking about. He does remember them visiting Home Tree.

It was only four years ago, yet it feels like a lifetime away.

Tuk’s ears perk up. “Did they?”

Spider messes up with her braids, “Yes. But you were too little to remember Tuk-tuk.”

“Even smaller than she currently is? Impossible.” A new voice joins them, and Tuk reaches out to swipe her little claws against Ao’nung’s shin. “Watch it, Twig.” The taunt is obvious, but there’s no real heat behind the words. 

Ao’nung crouches beside Kiri, and the Metkayina sneers playfully at Tuk when the girl bares her teeth at him. “Didn’t think you would make it.”

Rotxo approaches quickly after, smiling at the Sullys. “We were thinking of fetching you ourselves.” 

“Neteyam was fishing,” Tuk explains.

Kiri’s brows lift, and she turns slightly to look up and down at him. “Really?” Neteyam winces. “Was he using a rod or a bow?”

It is no secret that Neteyam is not the best at fishing the Metkayina way, so seeing him hunting fish with his bow and arrow was a common sight around the village, much to the Tsahìk’s dislike of his methods when they first arrived at the reef. 

But that was before. 

Ever since his injury, he has been unable to pick up his bow as he used to despite the stretching and weight exercises Norm outlined for him to regain his movement range and strength. 

“Patience,” Norm had said. “Take it easy, or else you’ll tear the muscles still trying to heal. Give it time, Neteyam.”

And Neteyam’s sister is nothing if not diligent regarding his medical cornerstones. “I was not using my bow, Kiri.” He quells.

She huffs. “You better.” 

Rotxo takes pity on him and smiles at Kiri before looking at Neteyam. “We can try going for a group net catch soon. I bet that’s better than sitting hours and hours with a rod, right?” 

It does sound better. That type of fishing usually happens near the beach and doesn’t require a more extended trip by Ilu. “Yeah, let’s do that soon.” 

“Shh,” Kiri swats at them with her tail to keep their voices low. “Listen, listen. They are talking about Lo’ak.”

“What?” Neteyam looks around the walkways, but his little brother is nowhere to be seen. Has he done something?

Ao’nung’s tail flicks, and he signals the group to follow him. Rotxo complies without question, and the pair scurries closer to where the leaders are sitting. No one else pays them any mind as they settle in a small, clear space by one of the columns supporting the weaved roofing of the communal area. 

The Sully siblings look at each other and follow the Metkayina boys after a beat. 

Sure enough, they can hear more clearly now, and Neteyam notices that all the leaders seated around the ancestral fire seem somewhat calm. He had expected this to be an animated war council, but it’s different.

It is Tonowari who speaks next. “For the boy to bond with Tulkun even though he was not born of the Metkayina is proof that it can be done.” 

Why are they talking about Lo’ak? 

The Tipani Olo’eyktan sways his head around, the thin braids embedded with wooden beads clinking lightly with the movement. “That does not mean it would make us all better warriors.” He looks at his fellow clan leaders. “The ways of the Sky People are wicked, but we need not break our ancestral traditions to be able to win this war.”

“You are mistaken. We do not break anything.” The voice of an unfamiliar female breaks in and Neteyam’s eyes are drawn to the wood that replaces the end of her right arm. “We are creating new ways for all Na’vi to participate in and thrive.” 

Jake’s voice joins in. “If we want to survive this and push the Sky People away, we must inevitably work together. As One. And it will only be achieved if we learn from each other.”  He poses the situation to all around him. “It has made me stronger, and my family as well.” 

“We were able to overcome the enemy before only because we coordinated our attack,” Jake reminds them. “What we are proposing is something stronger, deeper.” 

An older man with colourful clothing made of smooth silk threaded between thick materials nods and taps Jake on his leg. “Toruk Makto is right. Clans working together make for a better outcome against the enemy.” He then looks back at the Tipani leader. “I was once reluctant to open my arms to other clans and the human resistance after we suffered an awful blow to our clan.” He takes a deep breath, and a female with equally intricate clothing beside him touches his arm and continues for him. 

“But standing alone against the Sky People will only end in our ruin.” The strength of her voice reaches all ears. She then looks directly at the Tipani leader and presses on. “And what better moment than now that the Sarentu are with us again? My fellow leaders, let us take this as a sign from Eywa and join our hands, strengths, and peoples against the evil that faces us.” 

The fierce Tipani leader inclines his head slightly, acquiescing to her words, if a bit reluctantly. The Tayrangi Olo’eykte, Ikeyni, speaks next, and the rasp of her voice draws Neteyam’s memory of the last Great Hunt celebration on the plains of her clan’s territories. 

It was the first time Neteyam had been able to accompany his father on his ‘diplomatic ’ trips.

It would also be the last celebration amongst different Na’vi clans due to the human’s second arrival.

“So how do you propose we spread this knowledge from other clans to our people? One thing is working together decently enough to kill many enemies; something completely different is learning and teaching our ways to other Na’vi.” Several leaders nod to Ikeyni’s words, and murmurs break out around the gathering. 

Tonowari bangs his spear on the ground once, and the room quiets. 

“There must be envoys who would take on the task of spreading this knowledge,” The Tipani Tsahìk says softly. “Ambassadors.”

The Ta’unui leader speaks next. “According to what you say, Ka’nat, there are only five Sarentu left, and one has fled away, hardly a great number to reach all of our lands if they truly plan on taking on the mantle of their ancestors.”  

Neteyam sees how the Na’vi with the particular mixture of human gear flinches at the island leader’s words.

The woman with the wooden appendage swoops in. “This is a burden that the Sarentu cannot bear alone, " she says. Neteyam’s father nods, picking up on his cue to explain.  

“We propose an exchange of sorts.” Jake begins. “A handful of willing warriors and teachers will visit their closest clans to learn the ways of their host.” 

“And once their rites have been passed, they will return to their clans of origin to spread the knowledge they immersed themselves with.” 

A Metkayina elder frowns and looks at her Olo’eyktan. “Our customs and traditions are not mere trading seeds to be exchanged with little consequence. Toruk Makto might not understand this fully yet.”

Neteyam sees his mother tensing by his father’s side, and Jake immediately sets his hand on her thigh to calm her. It does the trick, just barely. 

It is frustrating for Neteyam to accept that, even after passing through Eywa's eye and being Olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya for many years, Jake Sully remains an alien figure in some people's eyes. 

Outcast. 

“You are correct, Elder Mawl.” Ronal nods by her husband’s side, and Neteyam tenses when Neytiri turns her head towards the Tsahìk like a Palulukan ready to pounce. “Our customs are more than just a plaything easily exchanged between uncaring hands. They are sacred and must be respected.”

Oh no, thinks Neteyam when he sees his mother’s tail thrashing behind her.  

The Metkayina woman continues as if Neytiri’s glare wasn’t strong enough to make the whole gathering burst into flames. “But it was because the Sully family became fully integrated within our clan that we prevailed during our latest battle with the Sky People.” 

Ronal touches a centrepiece hanging from her top, a new decoration her eldest children made for her to commemorate the easy birth of their youngest sibling mere weeks ago. “I fear many more would’ve been lost if Toruk Makto and his family had not been connected to all of us through our ways. Eywa sees us all as her children. She makes no distinctions, so why should we not use this to aid our cause?” 

Oh. 

Neytiri’s eyes shift to her lap, and Neteyam feels like he can breathe easier. To hear this coming from the Tsahìk—

Whitewood reflects the sunlight sneaking through the thatched roofing as the Na’vi, with the particular headdress, leans forward on his lap to address those around him. “We would also benefit from learning the ways of those farther away from us, not just nearby.”

Jake’s ears flick. “What do you propose, Tse’huk?” 

“Our valley is protected by storms that distort Sky People’s tools, that is known by all. Let us make it the midway point between farther lands and the oceans. Let it be a hub of exchange of customs.”

The female with colourful clothing who spoke a bit ago perks up. “The Valley of Origins sounds like a fitting place for us to converge.”

“It will pick the Sky People’s interest, brother.” Jake’s voice is sombre. Neteyam knows the impact of the number of casualties during the attack on the Metkayina weigh heavily on him. “They will see unusual movement in the area, which might put you and your people in a dangerous position.” 

Tse’huk smiles grimly. “All of Eywa’eveng is in a dangerous position already, JakeSuli.” 

To that, there is no comment.

“Most of our customs are tied to the lands we reside in. I have never had the opportunity to visit, but will the valley offer everything we need to share our knowledge appropriately?” Ikeyni asks, ever doubtful. “To learn the ways of a host sounds difficult enough, but to teach away from home…” she trails off. 

“Our great mother provides, and the Valley possesses much of what should be needed for the people to come together and share our traditions,” Tse’huk says.

Not everyone looks thoroughly convinced, but no one raises their voice against it. 

Neteyam sees that his father is considering it despite his earlier comment to Tse’huk. “Let’s make the valley our home base,” Jake says with finality. He then extends his arm towards Tse’huk. “It’s risky, but it’s what we need. We will spread the word, brother.”

The Olo’eyktan nods, grasping Jake’s arm back. “Your human resistance is also welcomed. We have an abandoned facility set up by some of the first Dream Walkers who visited the valley. It is small, but it should work.” 

A mostly reclusive clan opening their arms to humans? That is enough to give Neteyam pause. He looks towards his father but sees no surprise in the lines of Jake’s face. 

Had he expected that? 

Frowning, Neteyam touches Kiri’s arm, “What clan is that?” He says, motioning to the older male with the wooden headpiece. Despite his past training as the next Olo’eyktan, he cannot place the man in any of the clans he could study about. 

Kiri scrunches her nose and whispers. “They said valley of the origins… Ni… Ni’awve? I think.” 

Rotxo speaks softly, tilting his head to the side. “They look different from the other forest Na’vi, their tails— OW.” he yelps when Ao’nung pinches his arm.

“You idiots.” The Metkayina hisses. “That is the First Clan—“ but before he can elaborate further, some clanspeople sitting a bit away from their group hiss at them.

“Be silent,” They sign to the youngsters. 

Touching his abused limb, Rotxo pouts at Ao’nung. “Yeah, be silent, " he whispers, and a stronger hiss from a warrior standing close to them silences them for good.

Chastised, the group turns their attention to the leaders once more. 

The younger unknown Na’vi with human gear is speaking now, “We should send a message to Minang and So’lek. And Alma. They will be waiting for news from this gathering. If you allow me—“ 

Jake raises his hand, and the younger Na’vi halts in his effort to stand up. “Easy, kid. We will coordinate comms in a bit. Alma is familiar with the system, after all.” 

“I—I don’t know the particulars. Alma hasn’t shared how she communicates with you and the other resistance outposts far from radio range…” 

Those words. That phrasing.

This has to be an Avatar, Neteyam muses, unsure. He finds his sister’s eyes on him, the same bewilderment reflected in her expression. 

But for an avatar to be allowed to speak at such a gathering? 

“Probably for the best,” Jake murmurs. And the younger Na’vi’s tail twitches. 

A beat passes, and Neteyam’s father swiftly stands up to address everyone. “The Sky People’s eyes are always on us, even if we do not see it.” He warns. 

“And they will look especially hard at us since they expect us to retaliate strongly after our last encounter. But they have lost some of their best warring assets.” 

Quaritch. 

Neteyam sees Kiri’s hand squeezing Spider’s for a second before letting go, no doubt trying to offer comfort. 

When the fight with Quaritch ended, Spider gave Jake a solid and lengthy briefing about the enemy’s movements while he was their hostage. However, the human boy has not shared much about those days with the younger Sullys, and they dare not push yet. 

Neteyam gathered information from what his siblings heard when he was unconscious: Spider had been harmed at some point in ways that made Jake cringe. Even Neytiri looked upon the boy with a considering eye after it. 

Everything that came after that is spotty intel at best, but his time as a captive undoubtedly impacted Spider. Neteyam sensed it, and he knew his siblings did, too. 

They just need to figure out how much of it has affected the fabric of what made Spider, their Spider. 

Neteyam is sure that Kiri and Lo’ak will soon rain on the human boy in search of solid answers. 

“With that demon gone, their chances at coordinating a large-scale attack are minimal. We will continue with the sabotages sporadically to halt their supply lines and to not draw their stronger fire towards us while we train, learn, and prepare our clans to work as One.”

Jake stops, takes a deep breath, and looks around him. “The human resistance is doing all they can to create a more permanent solution, so Sky People never return to Pandora.” He looks down at his hands, and his five fingers tighten in a fist. “But it’ll take some time.”

Tonowari stands next and approaches Jake, settling a warm hand on Neteyam’s father’s shoulder. 

“Then we will resist and endure, my friend.” The bigger Na’vi says. His azure gaze roams over the people gathered before him. “We might lose more siblings in our efforts to show the Sky People our might, but we will come out of this time of Great Sorrow as victors. Our Great Mother watches over us all. We will protect her in turn.” 

Tse’huk joins the two leaders standing. “Songs will be sung about what we have spoken on this day.” He looks directly at Jake next. “The Valley of Origins is at your disposal, Toruk Makto.”

Tonowari looks at those gathered before him, his village. “All warriors and teachers willing to participate in this collective feat will approach me later by the Ilu pens. Think of your choices well, my people, for this is not a decision to be made lightly. Our survival might depend on your very actions and efforts.” He then bangs his spear on the ground twice, and the gathering is dispersed with that. 

“Holy shit.” 

Tuk gasps and turns. “Lo’ak!” 

Sure enough, Lo’ak is standing right behind their group at the entrance of the communal area. “Are those Avatars?” he asks, looking at the younger Na’vi in the leader's circle, the sun bearing down on his back.

They all stand but stay still as the people disperse around them. 

Kiri shakes her limbs. “I don’t think so. Look at their hands.”

Neteyam takes notice of it, too. Three fingers and a thumb, full Na’vi then. 

“They’re dressed like avatars, though. Is that a radio collar?” the younger Sully boy asks, standing on his tiptoes to examine the moving bodies more clearly.

But before anyone answers him, Neteyam addresses his brother. “Where were you?” He can see how Lo’ak fights a massive eye roll. 

“With Tsireya—“

Ao’nung snorts.

“… looking after Sivoyä. We would’ve come too, but she was fussy, so we stayed in their hut.” He scratches his chin and points towards the Metkayina Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk. 

Neteyam looks back in time to see how Tsireya places her baby sister in her mother’s arms. 

As Lo’ak said, the tiny girl wriggles and makes squeaky noises that prelude a small baby tantrum. The oldest Sully sibling looks at his brother again and notices how his cheeks carry a subtle purple hue. Hah.

“Had fun?“ Neteyam smiles, teasing. 

Lo’ak shoves him lightly. “I have enough experience dealing with Tuk as a baby, so I helped to keep her distracted.” 

“Tsireya or the baby?” 

“Oh, come on.”

Chapter Text

Outskirts of Vitraya Ramunong. Omaticaya territory

“Auntie will be so mad at you, Nöa.” 

“Maybe, but I gladly welcome that instead of the talk you will get from Father, Ketu.”

Only the chirping of insects around them answers that.

The female sighs. “Help me find Rim Nari so I can bind my leg faster.” Not that they were in a hurry. The group was already making better time than expected. This minor hiccup wouldn’t set them back. 

Nöa bumps her shoulder with the bony frame of her younger brother once he joins her in the foraging of the grasslands. “Maybe you can sneak back inside my supply bag when we reach him.” She teases. 

He is having none of it, though. “I will be grounded until I pass my rites,” Ketu’won whines, uselessly pulling on a patch of grass. The bioluminescence of the ground sparks, and he stops tugging to softly pat the soil in apology. 

Nöa hums. “What were you thinking when you decided to sneak in my bag anyway? You don’t even know what our mission is about.” 

Ketu’won’s ears twitch. “I do. Know, I mean.”

“Oh?” Nöa’s tail flickers twice. “Who told you?”

There’s a beat of silence, and her brother finally squeaks out. “No one.”

“Ketu’won .” The elder growls warningly, and her brother waves his arms around to ward off further chastisement. 

“I do not lie! Nobody told me anything…” He trails off briefly, and Nöa’s piercing eyes make him squirm. “I sneaked in the warriors' hut when they were getting their saddles ready for the trip, and I overheard them saying you would escort Father back into the valley,” he finally confesses. 

Nöa has stopped her search for the medicinal flower as she observes her brother quietly. Her leg twinges due to her crutched position. 

The stitches running down the back of her upper thigh had become undone during the first leg of their flight. She does not want to deal with her aunt when she inevitably sees how little care Nöa has applied to one of the stupidest injuries she has gotten since she passed her rites years ago. 

She is also in no mood to add to her brother’s upcoming misery, so Nöa just huffs and lightly presses her hand on the crown of his head, bringing his eyes up to meet her own. “We are already past the point of return, so you will continue with me.” Ketu’won begins to smile, but she covers her mouth with her other hand as she continues. 

Surely, he had thought she would turn and return with him to the valley once she discovered her surprise passenger. “--No. No smiles. You have done something very dangerous, little brother, but Father requested my presence, and making you return to the valley with anyone else does not sit well with me in this area.”

Ketu’won’s ears perk up, and Nöa drops the hand covering half his face. “Father asked for you specifically? ”

She snorts. “Of course, that is the part you would focus on. But yes, he did.”

“Why? Did the message come from Txeptsyal?”

She hesitates. “Yes.” Just as he opens his mouth once more to ask even more questions, Karyuk, a fellow warrior from her older brother’s generation, walks close to them. 

“We should be ready to continue after Eclipse,” He informs and throws a curious look at Ketu’won before offering his hand for Nöa to raise from her crouch.

Ketu’won bares his teeth at his elder, and Nöa lightly swats the back of his head for the disrespect. “Hey! ” He whines.

“Thank you, Karyuk.” She says as she accepts the warrior’s arm. He pulls her up swiftly, and her leg cramps up a little at the movement. She bites her lip. “Has everyone filled their waterskins and gathered provisions?” 

Karyuk has yet to release her arm, and only when her brother stands up and pushes his way through their hold does her fellow warrior step back from the siblings. “Yes, everything is ready.“ 

Nöa nods and grabs Ketu’won’s tail when she sees he is trying to get closer to the older warrior with a menacing glint in his eyes. Honestly. “We will be with you all in a moment.”

Taking on the apparent dismissal, Karyuk brings his hand to his forehead and down to salute her before walking away, tactfully not looking at Ketu’won.

It's a wise decision.

“What is it with you?” Nöa hisses, tugging on Ketu’won’s tail to make him turn towards her. “Has our Brother set you off on a mission to chase away any warrior that crosses my path like an angry Nantang?” 

Her younger brother’s fierce frown is adorable, baby fat still clinging to his face. “No. But Karyuk is one of the people who came forward to formally ask for you to Father and—and I know you don’t want to— to mate ” He whispers that last word, and Nöa battles her instinct to smile at that, “—with anyone yet. It’s unfair that Father and Auntie are making you do it!”

Nöa sighs, endeared at his little snarling face. “No one is 'making me' do anything, little brother.” 

“But they said! I heard them! They said you would take a mate before the end of this cycle!” He cries, and Nöa brings him to her when she notices the frustrated tears beginning to cling to his eyelashes. 

He is distraught. She notices with no small amount of surprise. 

Wrapping her arms around Ketu’won, Nöa notes how the top of his head almost reaches her sternum. He has grown a lot lately, shot up like a strong, swift, and clingy weed. “That was our Tsahìk's prediction, little brother, yes. But no one is pressuring me to claim a mate.“ She uncurls slightly from him, enough for her to tip his head up so their eyes meet.

“And if it is Eywa’s will to see me bonded soon, who are we to deny our Great Mother’s wishes, hm?” 

Ketu’won holds her eyes for a moment and then buries his face against her front again. “You will leave,” he whispers brokenly. 

Nöa blinks. “No, I will not. Why do you say so?” She inquires softly, but she gets no answer from her brother other than a petulant swish of his tail. “Vay'kron is mated and still lives close to us, does he not? We see him every day.” She tries to reason, but Nöa is genuinely at a loss. 

She had not seen this strong reaction coming, and she had not thought her guarded feelings about Tsahik's prediction would be so clear to her brother’s keen eyes. 

“Ketu,” she tries, but he won’t answer anymore. She huffs and kneels before him, trying to find his eyes again despite her leg’s protest. “I promise you I will not leave. You will always have your sister around—until we are both wrinkly like grandmother was.” 

She notices her words seem to reach him as he sniffles once, and Nöa is glad to see no tears running down his cheeks. She shakes his shoulders a little and smiles. “These matters are not for you to worry about, Ketu.” 

“But I know you don’t want any of it.” Ketu’won breathes.

Oh, little brother, you are too observant for your own good.  

She smiles and sets one hand on his chest. “Keep your mind and heart away from things that have yet to happen, Ketu. There is no need for you to be concerned.” 

Nöa waits until Ketu’won nods to stand again. “Karyuk is a good warrior but not a good match for you.” Her brother mumbles, grabbing her hand as they begin making their way to the rest of their group.

She cannot help but laugh. 

“I am curious why you think so, but let us drop this subject for good.” As they approach their landing site, Nöa greets the warriors around the clearing. She grabs a couple of filled waterskins from a pile and hands them to Ketu’won for him to secure at her saddle. “Go tend to Taw’ne. He likes it when you feed him.”

Ketu’won sniffs, turning his nose up at her. “He just likes to hit me with his head fin. It amuses him,” he scampers off before she can bare her teeth at him for his cheek. 

She is continually amazed at her little brother’s ability to bounce back between moods. In this regard, he follows in their mother's footsteps. 

Nöa should mention it to him someday. It would surely make him happy to hear it. 

Karyuk waits until Ketu’won is gone to approach her, and she inclines her head politely towards him. A wise decision again. “He is protective of you. Both of your brothers are,” he comments after a few moments of silence, and Nöa feels his eyes settle on her face. “Is it wise to bring him with us to meet your father?”

Nöa hums, tail twitching behind her. “Probably not, but I will not turn back now. Sky People patrols are too strong in this area. It worsens after Eclipse.” 

The male nods, and she senses he wants to say more. Her intuition doesn’t disappoint, and he turns his body lightly in her direction; his intent is clear. However, another warrior approaches the pair before Karyuk says anything else.

“Did you find what you needed to tend to your leg?” Firali —a young female who passed her rites not long after Nöa— barges in, looking down on her injured leg with a cringe. That’s how Nöa notices that her bindings are stained with blood for all to see. She huffs.

Nöa shakes her head. “The flower eluded me. I will clean the area and leave it to rest with leftover Healing Rose balm.” 

“Good thing it was not a deep cut. Seeing you fall from your Pa’li was funny, though.” The female snickers, and Nöa huffs goodnaturedly. 

“Yes, thank you, Firali.” Her accident will probably haunt her until the end of her days. “Is everyone ready?” She asks loudly, and the rest of their group stands up at attention. She nods to all of them. 

“We follow your lead, Nöa,” Karyuk says. 

Eclipse is upon them. 

“Then let us go.” With a final look between the five warriors gathered before her, the group breaks, and they all set on their way to their mounts. 

Five seasoned Slotsyal Makto travelling together is rare outside their clan lands. However, escorting the Ni’awve Olo’eyktan, a handful of fellow clan leaders, and mighty warriors back to their valley requires a strong guard.

Nöa approaches her brother, who is currently hanging from her mount’s mighty neck, as the fierce beast moves his head languidly from side to side. “Did you feed him?” 

“Yes!” Her brother chirps, still dangling on. “He almost bit my hand off, though.”

“I have told you before that you need to throw the meat pieces at him instead of placing your entire arm inside his mouth, Ketu.” Nöa pats her companion’s underbelly and smiles when Taw’ne croons at her. 

“But I like to touch his teeth.”

Great Mother.

“Do not take his gentle demeanour with you as a pass to do dangerous things, little brother. Slotsyal are loyal, but even they get confused sometimes.” 

Ketu’won finally lets go of Taw’ne’s neck in a small hop and approaches the beast’s eyes. Nöa looks at how he caresses the rise of the Slotsyal’s brow. “He wouldn’t hurt me, sister.”

Nöa finally makes Tsaheylu with her companion, and she sets her forehead against his air inlets. They breathe as one momentarily, and she centres herself on Taw’ne’s superior senses. “Not intentionally, no. But accidents happen.” 

“Like what happened to your leg?”

“Yes, exactly.” Nöa laughs, which also reminds her that she still needs to re-stitch herself. “Now come, climb on, and hand me the medicinal pouch.“ 

Ketu’won dashes to her side and scurries up Taw’ne’s saddle in a flash. He moves a couple of bags around and finds the small pouch Nöa requested. “Do you need help?” But he looks queasy as he says so. 

Shaking her head, she grabs the bag her brother offers and hooks it to the foot handle of the saddle for easier reach. “No, thank you, little brother. It will just take me a moment.”

Nöa is grateful her Aunt trained her in the healing arts from a young age. Now, she has plenty of practical knowledge to handle this sort of treatment on her own. 

She grabs a waterskin by the side, cleans her hands with the syrup she squeezes from a tiny pod-like seed to ward off infection, and grits her teeth as she unwraps the bindings on her leg. Crusted red stains near the back of her knees signal the area that needs re-stitching, and she dumps the rest of the waterskin on her leg to rinse off the blood quickly. 

Ketu’won leans down from his perch on the saddle. “Does it hurt?” 

“It does.” She says honestly. “But sharing Tsaheylu with Taw’ne helps with managing the pain.” 

Her companion shakes his massive head in agreement, and Nöa quickly sews her leg. Four swipes of the needle through her skin are enough, and Nöa is glad to notice that the area does not feel hot to the touch and shows no signs of infection. 

Yips from the warriors already in the air push her to hastily add a healing paste to the injury and wrap her leg once again before climbing on her Slotsyal’s saddle. 

She secures the soiled wrappings on a random bag to her side as Ketu’won crawls over her to sit snugly against her front. Nöa’s hands shake slightly, and her leg burns, but she pushes it all to the back of her mind, focusing on lifting off from the clearing.

“Up, Taw’ne.” She commands, and Ketu’won grips the front handle of the saddle alongside her. With two firm flaps of his wings, her loyal companion roars as his feet leave the ground and they make for the skies. 

As they climb through the air, the light emanating from Vitraya Ramunong serves as a beacon, guiding the group toward their destiny. 

Nöa yips at her fellow warriors and takes the front in their formation. She asks Taw’ne to lift them above the cloud blanket that conveniently covers the sky to minimise the chances of the Human gaze finding them out in the open.

Ketu’won looks at the sacred tree before it disappears from view, white covering the sight below. “Is that where Toruk Makto fought against the Sky People?” 

“Yes, many cycles ago.”

Her younger brother is familiar with the epic tale of victory by the former sky person turned hero of all Eywa’eveng. The different wooden Toruk statues he has hanging around his hammock back home are a testament to that. 

Ketu’won leans his body against her, sighing deeply. “I wish I could meet him.”

Nöa blinks, her gaze steady in front of her. “Who? Toruk Makto?” 

Her brother’s tail trashes around. “Of course!” Ketu’won throws his hands up, nearly smacking her face. “Then I would ask him to fly me around on Toruk, too!” 

Nöa’s belly shakes as she laughs. “The hero let his companion go once the time of great sorrow ended, little brother. Do you not remember the tales? He remains Toruk Makto, but he is without his mount.” 

That does not deter him. “But he can call Toruk back! Just like you do with Taw’ne.”

What he says gives her pause. Who knows? The great mother had listened to JakeSuli like never before, after all. “Maybe you can ask him that later, Ketu.” 

In truth, she is not sure her bond with her companion can compare to that of the Toruk, but Nöa is also the first of a new kind of rider, which is unprecedented. That should equal some of her experiences to those of the former Dreamwalker. 

Ketu’won turns to look up at her, eyes suspicious. 

Nöa looks back, but she can’t keep her expression serene enough. She smiles a bit, and her brother’s eyes go wide. “Sister!” He screeches, and Taw’ne rumbles under them, surprised by the sound. Ketu is sharp. 

“Settle down, settle down.” She chides lightly, reassuring Taw’ne through their bond and smiling at her brother’s enthusiasm. 

But Ketu’won is having none of it. He turns his whole body to face her, lifts to his knees, and puts his tiny hands on her cheeks. “Please, oh please, tell me we will get to meet him!” 

“I am surprised you did not catch on to this detail when you sneaked into the warriors' tent.“ Chuckling, she tugs on his hands to make him release her face. “The request was for us to escort Father back home alongside a few fellow clan leaders and one well-known mighty warrior.”

Ketu’won screams with delight. “I am so glad I decided to sneak into—“ he stops and peeks at his sister. “I mean, uh. That sounds very nice!” 

Her brow lifts. “Maybe Toruk Makto will be impressed when he witnesses Father’s scolding.” 

Deflating immediately, her brother twists his body and sits down, facing front again. “Just keep me hidden in the supply bag then.” Nöa laughs and lets go of the front saddle to squeeze his wiry body against hers. 

“I hope you know there must be consequences for your actions, little brother. Imagine if we had come upon enemy fire, and I was unaware you were with me in the saddle, hm?” She says, resting her cheek against his head. The different horrible scenarios that had crossed her mind when she discovered her little intruder were many. 

And she never wants to have those haunting images in her mind again.

Ketu’won sighs against her. “I'm sorry.” 

She kisses his hair. “I know you are.” She grabs the saddle handle again. “But you are banned from flying with me until further notice.”

Her brother tenses a bit but nods. “Okay. That sounds fair.”

After a few hours of steady flight, the temperature begins to drop the closer they get to the eastern coastline. Nöa pulls her flight shawl from her bag and drapes it over herself and her brother, who had dozed off some time ago after he ate his fill of the different snacks she stored for the journey.

A few hours later, the chilly night air smells and tastes salty, and Nöa knows they must be closing in on their meeting site. 

She whispers for Ketu’won to wake up, and with a yip to her companions, as her brother stirs against her, she signals for them to drop to a lower altitude to make one last stop before reaching the area her father requested to meet. 

Taw’ne growls and her head lifts to attention. 

There is a moment of silence, only the roaring of wind reaching Nöa’s ears, but with every second that passes, the faint sound of metal closing on metal begins to make itself known through her bond with her Slotsyal. She hisses and hoots for her group to alert them of this.

Metal blades nearing each other on such a rhythm can only mean one thing. 

Sky People are near. 

Looking down on Ketu’won, Nöa feels her heart squeeze, and ice fills her veins when the smell of smoke reaches her nose.

Roars of her fellow warriors resonate in the air when they take notice of the same image she gazes at. With sunrise brightening their horizon, they all easily make out the dark and menacing shadow of smoke billowing from different forest areas in front of them. 

“Nöa?” The meek voice of her younger brother immediately sets the scene in a darker tone for her. 

Nöa hesitates one last second before reaching for the string that keeps her warrior self locked away in her mind, hidden and safe for when the situation calls for it. 

She tugs on it.

And sets it free.

“Sulavin!” She shouts over the winds, and a yip to her right side answers Nöa’s call. Her fellow warrior manoeuvres their mount to fly parallel to her in a blink, and she cannot think of a better Na’vi for the task ahead. “Take Ketu’won with you and find refuge in the rocks.” 

A cluster of floating mountains rising from a group of hills peeking from the thick jungle vegetation to their far left makes for the perfect hiding place away from the enemy’s gaze. 

Nöa ignores the loud complaints from Ketu’won as she wraps her shawl around his frame and stands on her saddle, tugging his body above her shoulder like a rucksack. He wriggles and shouts, but she blocks it all. 

She breaks Tsaheylu after instructing Taw’ne to keep his right wing stiff and steady in his glide. Nöa walks on top of the meaty part of his arm, where his strong bones and muscles hold his wing together. She is glad to see her fellow Ni’awve doing the same in front of her. 

Sulavin is almost two heads taller than Nöa, older, fierce, and trustworthy. Their strong frame and long limbs are a welcome reassurance that this seasoned Na’vi warrior will be responsible for her little brother’s safety. 

The two Stormgliders overlap their wings mid-flight, and Nöa swiftly hands her little brother off. “Keep him safe!” She shouts over the roar of the wind. 

“With my life!” And that is a reply she can be happy with. 

“Nöa! ” Ketu’won’s screams continue to reach her ears even after Sulavin lifts above them and turns towards Nöa’s choice of refuge. 

I’m sorry, little brother, but I will not risk you. She silently apologises in her mind as she makes her way back to her saddle.

None of the terrible scenarios that had crossed her mind when she discovered her brother hidden in her saddlebags will become a reality. 

She won’t let it. 

When she makes Tsaheylu with Taw’ne again, she notices two groups of human ships flying above the forests. One of those is so far away that Nöa can barely see the metal monsters they ride in. The next thing the warriors notice is that the closest enemy is clearly in pursuit of a group of Ikran commanded by Na’vi. 

That is unacceptable. 

With a war cry, Nöa inducts Taw’ne to reach higher in the sky. Polyphemus seems to get closer and closer with every flap of her companion’s wings, and she senses the rest of her fellow warriors follow right behind her.

Once they reach altitudes that are more significant than what is known to be the standard for human ships, Taw’ne’s deafening roar rocks the sky, and they flash right above the area where they can hear the conflict taking place. 

She counts at least four human ships accosting Ikran, and in a heartbeat, the Slotsyal Makto dives down at neck-breaking speeds. 

“Sivako! ”

Va’ru, Awa’atlu. Metkayina territory.

Earlier that week . 

“Sir, can I speak with you?” 

Jake lifts his head from where he is crowding Norm. Both men were chattering over a holographic screen, which showed an analysis of some flying animal. 

Neteyam doesn’t pay that much attention, though. His eyes focus on his father’s form. Norm looks at the pair wearily for a second before returning to his device, ears plastered to his skull, dismissing himself. 

“Yeah, sure, son.” Jake approaches his eldest, and they both walk towards the entrance of the family marui. “What is it?”

If Jake takes notice of Neteyam’s tail flickering nervously as they both face the ocean, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Sir, I—Dad.” Neteyam huffs and turns his body so his eyes find Jake’s. The former human’s brows lift in response. “I want you to take me to the Ni’awve village with you. I wish to become a teacher of the Omaticaya ways and participate in the fight against the Sky People with our new shared knowledge.”

When no spark of surprise shines upon his father’s expression after he speaks his request, Neteyam knows that this must not be a surprise for Jake. 

But what would that mean for him?

“No.”

There it is. 

Neteyam’s expression falls. His ears stick back to his head, and he feels a rush of heat rising from his chest. Anger. “Dad, I am a warrior —“

“That much I know, Neteyam, believe me.” His father cuts in quickly. “I knew you would come to request this, but there is no way in absolute hell I am letting you put yourself in harm's way again.” Jake’s stony expression leaves no room for refusal.

When he first heard of the notion a few days ago during the leaders' gathering, joining forces and sharing knowledge seemed like a sound and almost obvious step to Neteyam, having experienced the benefits of adapting to the reef Na’vi’s customs and using their ways in battle. Neteyam knows this is what saved him and his entire family's life. 

Sky people fell steadily enough under the efforts of a single clan, so the idea of amassing a force who would possess the abilities and knowledge of many tribes in every individual might be the thing that finally tips the scale in their favour. 

Neteyam wants so very badly to be a part of that. 

He needs it. 

And now, even though his father’s posture seems to leave no space for dissent, Neteyam feels that bubbling feeling he knows he shares with the rest of his family. 

Defiance.

Neteyam takes a deep breath and turns to face the ocean again. “No matter what we do or where we go, the conflict will remain a part of us until the Sky People leave Eywa’eveng for good. There is no escaping it, and you know it too.”

Jake stays silent.

“Saying that you do not want me to be in harm's way is impossible, Dad.” Neteyam looks down and clenches his hands into fists. “We might have a charade of peace some days, but it won’t last. And we should be prepared for when the enemy reaches us again.”

Jake sighs and drags his hand over his face. “The last time I let you and your brother dip your toes into battle, you both were reckless—” He reminds his son. 

Neteyam steps close to Jake, “Then let us learn! The only reason I got out of that boat alive was because I half-assed a rescue with human guns, something that I had no training for.” He sets his hand on his chest as his father winces. “I might have even avoided this injury if we had not been so focused on running away all the time. I could have fought back, and maybe we would have gotten to Spider faster—“ 

“Son—“

“Dad—“Their voices clash, and Neyetam drags his eyes down again. 

There’s a beat of silence, and only the sound of soft waves brushing against the mangrove roots supporting their village fills their senses for a moment. 

Jake sets his hand on the back of his son’s head, right where his kuru begins, so different from his Dreamwalker anatomy. “Neteyam, baby boy.” He tries, and Neteyam looks up at him. “You were so close to leaving us, so close.”

“I cannot lose you. Do you understand?” his father chokes out, and Neteyam feels dread when he sees desperation swimming in the older man's eyes. 

No matter what cards Jake sets on the table, he cannot miss this chance. 

Neteyam places his hand on top of his father’s, and in a flash, his mind rushes him back to the day when Spider had been taken by Quaritch, back to the moment that set some of the most significant changes of their lives in motion. “If you keep me locked away, the enemy might get what they want. Me, us, unready and unable to defend ourselves properly.” 

Jake’s frown transforms his entire face. “It’s not that easy, Neteyam. You think that what you experienced so far is what war is all about, but there’s so much more— there are things, dark things that you’re not prepared to face–“

“Then teach me!” Neteyam grabs Jake’s hand and squeezes it between his own. “Prepare me and teach me all I need to know so I’m never in danger in front of the humans again.”

“Some things are unteachable, son. I have educated you on survival, which is more than enough.”

Neteyam’s canines flash for a second. “It’s not enough!”

“It is to me!” Jake breathes hard through his nose, ears pinned to his head and tail thrashing behind him. “Your mother and I have given you the tools to endure and pull through this mess. And that is all you will get from me because I will be damned before I set a gun in your hands and send you on your merry way only so you get yourself killed.” 

Taking a step back from his father and letting go of his hand, Neteyam feels desperation fill his senses. “You cannot expect me just to accept this, Dad. I passed my rites years ago, and I am months shy of my Majority.” His mouth is set on a hard, unrelenting line. 

Jake looks at him for a moment, tender and then resolute. “You’re a Na’vi hunter and warrior, yes. But you have no place in this war, son.” 

“That is not for you to decide.”

“Damn straight it is.” Jake steps closer to Neteyam. “I am your father, and it is up to me to protect you from–”

“--but you didn’t,” he reminds him, soft yet firm. Neteyam doesn’t let the distressed expression on Jake’s face deter him. He knows his words feel like a physical blow to his father, but he will not stop now. “Despite your best efforts at protection, I still got hurt. And now, I cannot serve the people of my village because my lungs will give out on me if I try the simplest of tasks underwater.” 

“Neteyam–”

No. It’s Jake’s turn to listen to what has eaten him alive since he woke up in the healer’s tent.

“I am useless right now, Dad. I’m a warrior and hunter who cannot fulfil basic duties. Not Omaticaya anymore, nor a half-decent Metkayina.”

Barely even Na’vi, if he goes by the whispers that followed his family around when they first arrived at the reef tribe.

“If I stay in Awa’atlu as I am, I cannot provide for our family and protect them decently.”

Jake sighs. “That is not your duty, son.” Neteyam strongly disagrees. “Being the older brother means you have to look out for your siblings, but I am the one who is supposed to protect you kids.”

It all boils down to that time and time again, doesn’t it? 

“You can protect me by letting me be useful. Let me teach others our ways so the scale tips in our favour.” He tries one last time, closing his eyes and praying to the Great Mother for his father to See. 

“I am your son. I have valuable knowledge of the human ways and those of my Na’vi ancestors, in addition to all I have learned here in the past year.”

A bargain. 

“If you don’t want me to fight,” he says, taking a deep breath and looking up at his father with utter determination.

A compromise. 

“Let me be a teacher.”

Chapter Text

Omaticaya Territory. Vicinity of the newest Sci-Ops RDA base. P.ENG.

Neteyam told his family he didn’t have any memories after he called his brother an idiot while trying to swim with a hole in his chest.

That the shock of it all had wiped his last few moments of consciousness away. 

But he lied.

He remembers all of it.

Like the sting of the flesh around the bullet hole stretching as his father turned him over to see if it had been a clean-through shot, luckily for him, it hadn’t. If Neteyam had focused for a second during the chaos, he likes to think he would have been able to feel the small piece of lead moving inside his chest, tearing his lungs apart.

Neteyam does recall the panic in Lo’ak’s eyes as he kept the pressure on his wound so he wouldn’t bleed out. 

He also remembers his own eyes filling with tears as his fierce mother bent over him, holding him, petting his hair, and talking to him as if he were many cycles younger than he was. He remembers looking up at his father and wanting nothing more than for this war to end.

He just wanted to go home.

“Watch out!”

But it was not only the forest he yearned for, nor the humid air with lush canopies thrumming with life and Eywa’s heartbeat brightening their mossy steps. Home was not a place but a moment.

He realises now that whatever his mind had conjured during his dying moments were just memories of a childhood that no longer exists. 

And it’s more evident to him now that heavy human artillery is the first thing that welcomes their entrance into ancient Omaticaya territory after days of travel.

“Neteyam, on your six!”

With a grunt, the young warrior manoeuvres away from an array of bullets coming from a Scorpion ship right behind him and his Ikran. His Teyrali screeches as they dip immediately when the roar of a Dragon engine begins to close on them.  

Heaving, he touches his comms collar. “Dragon incoming!” Neteyam continues with evasive moves as per Jake’s earlier instruction, despite the more significant threat making steady progress towards them. 

Looking back for a second, he sees how his father falls on the Scorpion that had been on Neteyam’s tail like a vengeful creature. Jake goes straight for the cockpit and drops what sounds like a heavy load of ammunition on the pilots. After a second, the ship tips and goes down, bursting into flames once it crashes into the ground. Neteyam’s hand tightens on his bow, itching to use it.

“Shit, I’m almost out of Ammo.” Jake curses through his comms and looks back at the Dragon ship Neteyam had spotted. “Neytiri, baby, how are things on your end?”

Neteyam can hear his mother’s battle cry on the shared transmission, followed by a crash and an explosion. “Only two more demon ships to go, Ma’Jake.” They can hear her snarl, and Neteyam would feel tempted to smile if the situation weren’t so dire. “The leaders make for Vitraya Ramunong, no demon follows. Tuk goes with them.”

Clearing the path for the older leaders and his little sister to find refuge on their sacred ground sounded like a reasonable enough task moments ago, as they had split into groups to lure the enemy into facing them separately. But Neteyam can see that his father had not foreseen the enemy would be so heavily armed, especially when the only human facility nearby was a mere Science Division outpost. 

Ikeyni takes down a Samson south of Jake’s position, and her joyful cry resonates through the air. Wind sweeping his braids to and fro, Neteyam glances around the area and sees the Tsahik of the Aranahe engaged in battle with a persistent Scorpion, gladly accompanied by some of her fellow clan members.

Looking at his six again, Neteyam’s ears press to his skull. The Dragon Assault ship gets closer and closer by the second. 

Jake signals for him and Ikeyni to drop down and cross through the thick canopy, no doubt wanting to take advantage of the low visibility within the familiar vegetation. Neteyam hears another explosion nearby and hopes the Aranahe are responsible for it.

“Dad–” Still mid-drop, his father raises his hand to silence him as two more big explosions reverberate through the forests where Neteyam vaguely recalls his mother’s group went.

Their comms frizz, and Neytiri's voice reaches their ears, a little breathless. 

“Ma’Jake, all demon ships are down.” Of course, that had been Neteyam’s mother’s doing. 

The Sarentu, who is in Neytiri’s assault group, eagerly speaks next. “Is Etuwa safe? We cannot see you from where we are, but we heard explosions between our dogfights.” Neteyam blinks at the strange term. 

As they fly under the top of the tree canopy, twisting and seamlessly flowing through the thick vegetation like river water, Neteyam feels his father’s eyes settle on him for a moment. “Her group was a bit farther than ours, but she was with her clansmen; I’m sure she’s fine.” 

Neteyam nods at that. 

“Your squad should make your way towards Vitraya Ramunong with the rest of the leaders.” He instructs. “Make sure they all made it safely there.” 

His mother readily accepts, eager to reach her youngest. “Be safe, Ma’Jake, Ma’Neteyam.” She fervently says so, but the Sarentu is not as easily persuaded. 

“I need to check on Etuwa.” They insist, and Neteyam winces when he hears the end of Neytiri’s warning hiss at the young Sarentu’s tone towards Jake. 

“Kid, I’m trusting you to go with my wife. We must draw the Dragon Assault ship away from sacred ground as far as possible before bringing it down.” 

The roar of the mentioned ship is right above them, doing fly-bys. Jake points to the side and silently sets Bob on a massive tree trunk. Neteyam and Ikeyni quickly follow, finding perches on other areas of the great tree’s body. 

The Sarentu’s silence speaks loudly to Neteyam, and as he pats the neck of his chirping Ikran, he feels himself liking this particular Na’vi more for it. 

Jake clicks his tongue. “Hey, listen. Now is not the time to go on personal tangents. Go. Etuwa is a fine warrior; she will be fine.”

There’s a tense static beat in their comms before Sarentu speaks, “Yessir.” 

The toneless quality of the words makes Jake sigh. Neteyam stifles a grin.  

Dropping his hand away from his neck comm, Neteyam’s father grimaces. “Aren’t the Sarentu supposed to be mediators and that kind of shit? Diplomats?”

Ikeyni’s bark of a laugh startles Neteyam. “Oh yes, Toruk Makto. But this one is young. No matter how good they might be at settling disputes within clans, the insolence of youth is not something to be easily dismissed.” She then sets her wild eyes on Neteyam. “You, of all people, should know a thing or two about that!” 

Her laugh resonates in the forest, and Neteyam rolls his eyes behind the safety of his perch, away from his father’s gaze. 

If they think he is mutinous, wait until they meet Lo’ak. 

“Let’s move north. Towards the—“ but Jake is unable to finish because, in a flash of heat and light, the tree they found refuge in explodes into a thousand pieces. Fire and burning wood hit Neteyam as he tries to steer Teyrali away from the wreckage while trying to shake the buzzing from his ears.

His Ikran’s wings sting with minor burns from where she was holding onto the now pulverised tree, but he knows it will not incapacitate them in the air. 

“Dad!” Neteyam screams into his comms as dread fills him when he is unable to find his father amid the smoke and fire. Static is his only response. 

The Dragon ship had seen them, and judging by the level of destruction billowing around Neteyam, the enemy had not dropped mere bullets on them. 

Flying low under a thick formation of ancient vines and other flora that hide him from the crepuscular skies, Neteyam sees movement in the corner of his eye, and his bow is drawn in a second, ready to fire. 

“Young Neteyam!” Ikeyni shouts, appearing behind a thick wall of smoke. Neteyam lowers his bow, his shoulder twinging in pain. “Are you harmed?”

“No, I am not!” Where is Dad? He thinks as panic begins to flow through his veins. “Have you seen my father?!”

The Tayrangi leader joins him on his steady hover away from the disaster and the burning forest. The ends of her hair are slightly singed, but she looks otherwise unharmed.

Not that it would be very easy to tell with her Carmine War paint, Neteyam considers faintly. “I saw Toruk Makto go in a different direction, the big Dragon ship on his tail.”

“Fuck.” Neteyam curses as the ringing in his ears finally begins to clear, allowing him to catch on to the sound of gunfire rumbling through the burning forest north of their position. 

There is no way Jake can take on that ship alone, so Neteyam huffs and steers Teyrali towards the ruckus. In a flash, Ikeyni bodily checks his Ikran with her mount, nearly causing them to crash against the vines that offer them refuge. 

Neteyam looks at her, startled, but before he can say a single word, the older female speaks over the roaring mess around them. 

“Stay here and find shelter, young warrior.” She orders, and Neteyam grinds his teeth. “I will go to your father. Toruk Makto and I will take down that big ship.”

“I can help—“

She makes a cutting gesture of silence with her hand, and Neteyam has to shut his mouth before this figure of authority. “I do not doubt you are a skilful warrior, Young Neteyam. But there are not many opportunities to bring down this kind of ship.” Ikeyni’s expression is stony, with no room for arguments. “You do not have experience like Toruk Makto and I do with this. Stay.” And with that, she disappears amidst the smoke and fire that fills the forest around him. 

Neteyam can only look in the direction of the battle’s uproar. 

Useless. 

He doesn’t sit on his simmering feelings for long because his ears catch on to the war cries of the Aranahe Tsahìk and her entourage passing right above the tree canopy in Jake and Ikeyni’s opposite direction.

Neteyam’s eyes open wide in disbelief.

A team of five Scorpions follows them. 

Just how many Human ships were deployed? 

Looking down on his faithful companion, he pats her neck twice and squeezes the grip of his bow. Teyrali growls, catching on to his intent. 

Jake has always been keen on emphasising the importance of the element of surprise during fight training and even during ‘Prank Wars’. Neteyam can almost hear his father say how ‘pranks are…tactical and incredibly vital teachings of the Marine Corps, babe. The kids have to know!’ 

During Hunts, his mother would instruct them all to stay low, stay hidden, and out of sight from their prey’s eyes. She would whisper to them to relax, breathe, and strike at the perfect moment in the precise spot. 

And with Eywa’s blessing, make a clean kill. 

Neteyam races directly underneath the group of scorpions in pursuit of their fellow forest Na’vi, not taking notice of the vegetation hitting his body as his Ikran flies through the green jungle. He pushes Teyrali to speed up a touch so his arrow flies with the wind instead of against it. 

Neteyam twists his body and balances his hips and legs to counter his Ikran flight movements. He positions his bow and arrow straight in the direction where he knows the fuel tanks are held in the belly of the ship. The unstretched muscles of his arms and chest scream in protest, but he cannot stop now. 

He breathes. 

And releases his arrow. 

Twang! 

His weapon hits true, and the spark the stone point makes when embedding itself into the metallic oil tank causes the ship to explode immediately. 

Neteyam doesn’t get to cheer his accomplishment because a new array of bullets reaches the tree beside his head in a blink. Teyrali ducks out of blast range, and Neteyam looks up, finding himself directly in the line of fire of another human ship.

His earlier shot had made him visible to the enemy. 

With a frustrated growl, he and Teyrali drop even lower as a Scorpion pushes through the thick vegetation and begins its pursuit. 

He can hear the Aranahe battling ahead. “Let’s go, girl. Let’s join them,” he says in a series of calls and hoots, hoping the other group will hear him approaching with a human tail on his back. 

Neteyam spies a small clearing up ahead, and an idea pops into his mind. He hears yips from his fellow Na’vi. He has been heard. 

In a blink, they reach the opening of the small clearing. Neteyam knows the Scorpion is flying almost directly on top of him, so, with a final push of speed under the cover of the last bits of vegetation the forest provides, they fly just past the nose of the ship. 

And then, everything seems to slow down in Neteyam’s eyes. 

With his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, he knows what he has to do. After all, he had seen his mother pull this move many times before.

Once he deems it to be enough room to carry out his idea, with a pull to Teyrali’s saddle, they suddenly go straight up, feeling the heat of the bullets whizzing past them, the humans’ reflexes in charge of their weapons thankfully slower than the movements of Ikran’s flight.

Neteyam’s back faces the nose of the human ship for a fraction of a second before he twists his upper body towards the Scorpion to face the humans, bow in hand and three arrows notched on it. As predicted, the pilots halt their flight to avoid crashing into him and compromising the integrity of their cockpit. Such a decision will come at a high cost.

His arm reaches back. The bowstring is taut and firm, secured within his fingers. Neteyam’s aim may not be as perfect as before at this distance, but he knows he will hit the mark. 

His eyes lock onto the pilot’s in a split second, and with a snarl, he lets his arrow fly. 

Teyrali screeches as she completes the somersault that leaves them gliding on top of the human ship as it tips to the side. Neteyam sees that his arrows have pierced the cockpit's glass, and it should be enough to incapacitate them, but only for a moment. He knows humans are perseverant to a fault when it comes to ending Na’vi.

With his arms screaming in protest, he draws another set of arrows to finish the ship off, but stops as his ears pick up on a familiar sound. 

A warrior’s call comes from above, and Neteyam yips in companionship when he sees an Aranahe hunter send an onslaught of his arrows onto the already flailing airship, hitting some of the machinery that connects the turbines to the body of the craft. Flames burst from the side of the Scorpion as it falls to the ground of the clearing. 

Crash.

One down, four more to go. 

He cheers toward the fallen ship, but Neteyam’s expression falls when he looks back up and sees another Scorpion positioned behind the warrior that helped him, pointing its guns directly at them. Ears pinned back, Neteyam frantically pushes his mount to the side when he hears the whirring of firearms, and the sudden sting of a bullet piercing the skin of Teyrali’s secondary wing makes him grunt in pain alongside his Ikran. 

He hugs his loyal companion’s neck to calm her and tries to stay out of the direct line of sight of the human ship that hit them. 

Neteyam’s ears ring, and he hears a pained shout. In the periphery of his eye, he sees the warrior who helped him a second ago fall from the sky alongside his Ikran. Both of their torsos riddled with mortal lead. Anguished screams come from the other Aranahe engaged in battle when they see their sibling fall.

Squeezing his eyes, Neteyam prays to the Great Mother to welcome the warrior and their mount, who will fall into her embrace today.

As he tries to fly away from the line of fire of the Scorpion that is now focused solely on him, Neteyam checks on the injured appendage of his companion, and he is glad to see that there is no additional tear to the wing itself. It's just a clean bullet hole. 

We match now girl, he thinks a little hysterically.

They are now in the middle of the small clearing, open from all angles, and even if Neteyam manages to escape the Scorpion after him, three ships are waiting to engage. Weapons ready.

The Aranahe bodily hit the ships now, seemingly out of arrows at this point.

The strength of the Ikran’s blows destabilises the ships, and whenever possible, they attack the artillery and cockpits directly with their close-range weapons.

Unlike Samsons, Scorpions are not equipped with a rear opening for humans to man weapons at will. Such a setting usually gives the Na’vi an advantage if they manage to fly close to the ship so their banshees can be the humans’ demise. Without the middle opening, Scorpions are faster, and their manoeuvres in the air are much quicker. They are also equipped with more potent ammunition. 

Neteyam knows that he must try to position himself above the ship to launch more arrows, but the Scorpion after him is unshakeable. 

He also knows he shouldn’t panic, which might only lead to possible fatal mistakes, but he is approaching that threshold.

Slugs flying past his body, he decides to make for the safety of the cover of the forest again. Still, as Neteyam steers his companion towards the closest cluster of vegetation, he feels another bullet piercing the skin of his Ikran, and this time, it’s on the meat of her upper arm, right by his head. 

Teyrali screeches in distress, and a gasping Neteyam accompanies her in her pain through their bond. 

Ice begins to fill his veins, and he can feel the frantic heartbeat of his Ikran thumping on her chest alongside his own. The other warriors are still engaged in heavy combat, so no one else will aid him. 

Neteyam tries to brace himself in his saddle, despite the erratic movements of his Ikran, trying to stabilize her glide as best they can. After avoiding another barrage of bullets, he checks on Teyrali’s wing. 

His whole arm screams in shared pain, and Neteyam is not surprised when he sees that this time, the wound is much more explosive than just a clean and straightforward bullet hole. The human weapon tore a big chunk of skin and muscle tissue off of her arm, and he is almost sure he can see the white glint of her wing’s bone clashing against the bloody red surrounding it. 

And he knows she can no longer fly like this. 

Which only gives him one option. 

Heavily teetering to the side, unable to straighten their stance as before without flexing the injured wing, Neteyam encourages Teyrali to drop. 

Thankfully, the clearing ground is filled with different types of tall vegetation, but Neteyam is drawn to the big hollow body of a fallen tree.

Big enough to shelter his Ikran’s body. 

As they dive down, Neteyam growls deep in his chest. When he looks back, he sees the Scorpion still hot on their tail, not giving them a second of respite. And he is suddenly filled with a deep and thick feeling of frustration and anger. 

How dare they? 

How dare they come into this planet, their home, to plunder and take and take and take and take? 

Is there no limit to human greed? 

He commands his Ikran to glide directly to the safety of the hollow tree once he breaks Tsaheylu with her. Teyrali chitters nervously at the idea of being separated from him in their precarious condition, but he reassures her as best he can before their bond is broken.

With a shout, Neteyam jumps from Teyrali’s back, quiver flung across his chest, and his bow tightly grasped with two arrows notched on it. 

Twisting his whole body midair to face the human ship, he lets the arrows fly, and a spark of triumph runs through his body when he sees that they both manage to break through the thick glass of the cockpit. 

A savage sense of satisfaction fills him as he notices that an arrow that Lo’ak had fletched for him as a farewell gift, is the one that ends up embedded deep in the neck of one of the pilots. 

Neteyam thinks Lo’ak would have appreciated that.

Screeching artificial alerts blast from the Scorpion as the last pilot available struggles for control over the ship. The awful sound reverberates through Neteyam’s head while he free-falls for a fraction of a second before his back hits a warbonnet fern the size of a small tree. 

He grunts as he tries to grab the long leaves as he goes down. His hands slip a few times before he finally snatches a solid piece of vegetation that breaks his fall, right shoulder screaming in protest at the sudden pull of his whole weight. He quickly swings his bow across his back and lets the fern guide the rest of his way down. 

Once his feet reach the ground, Neteyam frantically looks around, and he is incredibly relieved to see Teyrali crouched safely within the hollow of the fallen tree, a bit away from him. 

Ears twitching due to the Scorpion's alarms still blasting from above, Neteyam peeks up to see the ship precariously steering towards his position, persistent on him. 

Turning swiftly and taking cover under the leaves of the great fern, his back bumps against the mossy trunk, and he grabs another arrow to rest on his bow. Neteyam breathes deeply for a moment while he watches the stone point of his weapon drip with neurotoxins, hungry for a human target to sink into.

His mind’s eye recalls his grandmother teaching him to make the deadly fluid, and he takes comfort in the echo of her weathered hands on top of his own, guiding him. 

Great Mother, guide me now. 

After two beats, he exhales, notches the arrow and stretches his arm back, stomach, and neck strong. Neteyam snarls as he swirls, stepping out from the warbonnet’s cover once the Scorpion ship’s engine roars closer, and the wind lifted by the rotor blades makes his eyes sting. 

The Scorpion’s artillery envelope moves as the human’s target finds Neteyam pointing his weapon back at them. 

Everything drops away, the earth pulsates beneath his feet, and static fills Neteyam’s head. He squeezes his bow until he is confident the wood crunches underneath his fingers. He needs a clear shot. 

“Come on!” Neteyam screams. 

And right when he stares at what he knows is a certain death, his ear twitches, catching on to a strange roar above the cacophony of sounds of battle all around the area. 

The morning sun begins to bathe the clearing just as Neteyam sees an enormous shadow rain upon them. 

What happens next is a blur. 

The wind lifted by human aircraft is often erratic and bites. But that is nothing compared to the gale pushing Neteyam’s whole body into the ground next. This is something different. It feels as if someone had suddenly sat on his chest, pressing. It is the kind of wind that would have lifted him meters off the ground had the angle of the blast not been directly above him.

Neteyam gasps when he tries to look up. For a split second, he is sure he is gazing upon the mighty Toruk. But he clears that thought away immediately. The colour and body shape are wrong.

And this is no Toruk. 

Blue leathery skin and wings larger than any other animal he has ever seen this close. Neteyam observes in disbelief how the creature grabs the tail of the Scorpion and swings the whole craft in a wide arch as if it didn’t weigh more than a fraction of its actual mass. 

The beast lets go of the ship when it is about to close a full circle, and the Scorpion blasts towards the ground at immense speed. 

Unable to resist the momentum it was subjected to, the ship crashes into the earth and explodes immediately after.

Neteyam covers his eyes with his arm, shielding them from the heat and small debris of the blast. He squints, trying to look up again. 

The sensation of static filling his head moments before stops suddenly, abruptly leaving nothing but the sound of his heartbeat pulsing against his ears despite the chaos of the explosive battle all around.

Neteyam sees brown cured leather of different shades adorning the chest of the enormous beast as it idles in the air for a second, checking that their prey is truly gone. The animal’s head fin moves slightly to the side with a great beat of their wings, and suddenly, piercing purple eyes find his own. 

Feeling pinned to the ground by the unfamiliar gaze, Neteyam can do little but numbly look back at this Na’vi perched on top of this gargantuan creature. Early morning light washes on them, and before he can continue to gawk at this stranger, the shuffle of vegetation to the side makes him turn. 

Teyrali keens and chitters, gingerly dragging her injured wing as she moves closer to him, and Neteyam dashes to her side. 

He just about manages to grab the neck of his trusty companion as a new gust of strong wind almost pushes him to the ground again. Neteyam looks up and sees the colossal beast ascend, and then he notices that the Scorpions previously accosting the Aranahe are nowhere to be found. Smoke billows all around the clearing. 

Neteyam’s eyes widen, and he feels a little lightheaded when he sees three more large and unfamiliar beasts in the air close to the canopy. 

Who are they?