Chapter Text
In the year 2119, a new star lit up the sky over Eywa’eveng. This was the first ship to bring the Sky People down onto the planet. They landed closest to the Omatikaya clan.
Mo’at, the young Tsahìk of the Omatikaya, had a terrible dream the night before the star appeared. When she awoke, all she could remember was fire and fear, and the screech of Toruk. Mo’at had run to Vitraya Ramunong, seeking guidance from the Great Mother. Eywa had no answers about the strange beings that came from the sky, no counsel for what to do about the ground they cleared to construct a massive metal complex. In the end, it was decided to establish peaceful negotiations, trusting that Eywa would maintain the balance.
Mo’at had been chosen as tsakarem for her dreams. She was the only daughter of the clan’s best weaver, born with a unique connection to the forest. Though she would not remember later in life, during her first tsaheylu with Eywa she had been shown her path, and given an apology for what she would endure. There was always a feeling in the back of her mind that she was meant to bear great sorrow, and she learned to appreciate the joyous moments. She grew up alongside the children of the Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan, watching Eytukan grow from a shy and empathetic child into a confident warrior and leader their people were proud of. They mated before Eywa and prayed for the prosperity of their family, but it would be years before they were blessed with a child.
Sylwanin was the pride and joy of the clan. The years of living alongside the Sky People had fostered anxiety and uncertainty, but the clan leaders were strong and capable, and their daughter would be raised to protect her people.
A few months later, a son was born to one of the clan’s most talented healers. She too had waited for this child. Holding him in her arms, the part of her mind she knew was connected to Eywa told her that he would grow to do great things. Artsut gave her son a warrior’s name, a strong name for the child who would make her proud. Her Tsu’tey, the future of their clan.
Being so close in age the two children became inseparable, though no one minded. They were polite and gentle, curious about the world in a way that seemed greater than their years. When Mo’at and Eytukan were blessed with a second daughter, she became their shadow.
Those first few years were good. Sylwanin was clever and brave, with a strong moral compass and protective nature. She doted on her baby sister. Even as a toddler she had carried Neytiri around, trying to show her every part of Kelutral. Sylwanin had endless patience with Neytiri, and Mo’at could see the kind of Tsahìk her oldest would become. Her second daughter was a true free spirit. Neytiri dreamed of flying, being far above the world but safe in the knowledge that her family was below. Sylwanin dreamed of songs, the voices of her people echoing in her ears.
On the days when Mo’at taught Sylwanin the ways of being Tsahik, Eytukan took Neytiri flying. When they launched into the sky she would shriek with laughter, and her smile was the brightest thing he had ever seen. Neytiri would stretch her arms out to the mist, trusting that her father and his ikran would never let her fall. As a child Eytukan thought that flying would make him feel small or vulnerable. His first flight changed everything. He was able to see the place he had spent all his life, all he had ever known, and it was beautiful and full of life. All he wanted for his daughters was that sense of certainty, that even though they were one being in a large interconnected world they had value. He worried that Neytiri would grow to resent Sylwanin as the heir, but his daughter proved him wrong. She had no need for a title, she only wanted to be free.
Eytukan chose Tsu’tey to train as Olo’eyktan when the boy was only eight. He had considered it since he saw the bond Tsu’tey shared with his eldest, but a match for his daughter had to be more than childhood friendship. Tsu’tey was strong and focused, and when his natural talent failed he spent hours improving himself until he was among the best. His peers respected him, and he was capable of walking in tandem with Sylwanin to lead their clan. When he had asked Mo’at for her approval and the approval of Eywa, Mo’at had just smiled and nodded towards where Sylwanin and Tsu’tey were showing Neytiri how to hold a bow, giggling when she made mistakes but never letting her feel discouraged.
The only conflict Eytukan ever had with his daughter was her insistence that they do something about the Sky People. He did not like the invaders, and the introduction of the Dreamwalkers only made him more uncomfortable, but he had seen what happened to the warriors who tried to fight the Sky People. He had never seen wounds like that before, and they had no idea what the metal creatures the Sky People brought could do. Eywa wept for the damage they were doing, but his duty was to keep his people safe. Begrudging peace kept them safe, so he allowed the Dreamwalkers to do their work. At the request of Mo’at, he allowed Grace to start a school and teach their children, sending his own daughters. Sylwanin saw the school as a chance to show the Dreamwalkers the ways of the Na’vi, to educate them and make them see. Eyktuan had reminded her that as his child, she set an example for others. If she behaved and tried to learn and share their world in return, then the other children would follow.
Sylwanin agreed, at least for the first few years. But as she grew into adulthood, she became angrier at the treatment of nature by the Sky People. Her connection to Eywa grew and fueled her emotions, and the younger warriors agreed. Eytukan had tried to speak to her, had tried to have Tsu’tey get through to her. The two had grown quite close, nearing the point where they would mate. He could see their genuine love for each other, and hoped that the boy he had chosen as his successor would protect his eldest. When he heard that the mining operation had expanded and the Sky People were growing bold, he prayed that peace would be maintained even as Sylwanin stopped going to Grace’s school.
On the day that everything changed, Grace had chosen a lesson about plant biology. Many of the children already knew how plants grew and were connected to Eywa, but Grace was an expert. The youngest members of the school were quite happy to look at the diagrams and the samples Grace had taken, and the older students were engaged in a discussion on why Eywa would choose certain traits and modes of being.
Grace had been keeping a close eye on Neytiri since her sister had stopped coming to school. Neytiri was clearly worried about her, distracted from her studies. Neytiri may have passed her iknimaya and earned her place as an adult, but in Grace’s eyes she was still so young. Grace had spent the last several debriefs with Selfridge arguing about the school’s usefulness and trying to keep the RDA from encroaching further into Omaticaya territory. She knew that the younger warriors were restless and angry, and Sylwanin was the voice of her generation.
In the middle of her lecture about Kelutral, Grace heard whoops and cheering voices approaching. Sylwanin, Tsu’tey, and a few other warriors ran into view, grinning victoriously. Grace felt dread settle into her chest. The teenagers were dressed in war gear, their hair braided with feathers and their faces painted. There wasn’t a hunt today, nor a celebration or ceremony. The children would have told her if something had been planned, and if this was sanctioned by the clan leaders the little ones likely would not have been allowed to leave Kelutral.
Grace stepped forward to ask the teenagers what was happening, watching as the smiles on their faces started to face before the world around her just… crumbled. Gunshots rang out, striking the walls of the school. Grace screamed for the children to get down, trying to shield her students with her own body. The children were crying, terrified of the weapons they had never seen before. Grace desperately guided them toward the back door, yelling at them to head toward Kelutral. She turned to scan the room just in time to see the bullet strike Sylwanin, watching as her body began to fall and Neytiri screamed in horror. The younger girl lunged toward her sister, but Grace was faster, grabbing her from behind and pulling her toward the door as the bullets continued to fly. Grace could see Tsu’tey running to Sylwanin but she couldn’t take both of them. Tsu’tey curled his body around Sylwanin, desperately praying to the Great Mother.
In Grace’s arms, Neytiri breaks, wailing in grief. She fights against her teacher’s arms, begging to be set free to try and save her big sister. The world fell silent in her grief, and everything seemed to freeze. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, unaware of her own screams. She cried out for Tsu’tey, begging him to move Sylwanin and bring her to safety, but he simply laid over her body, waiting for a bullet to hit him as well.
Neytiri remembered very little about the days that followed. She remembers the funeral, and the sound of her mother’s voice breaking as she tried to complete the rites. She remembers seeing the light leave her father’s eyes, watching as he closed his heart off to the Sky People. Tsu’tey spoke very little. Everyone could see that he was drowning in guilt and grief, but no one could reach him. His mother and brother had tried, as had Mo’at and Eytukan, but he remained a broken shell. The man he was, the person he was going to be as the Olo’eyktan to Sylwanin’s Tsahìk was dead, left in the doorway of the school house.
Two weeks after Sylwanin died, Neytiri found Tsu’tey perched on the edge of one of the floating rocks, watching the sunrise. She had snuck out to escape the cloud of sadness that had settled over their home, unable to spend another morning watching her parents try and return to normal. Flying with Seze was the only time she felt like herself again, but when she spotted Ngam’i’a and Tsu’tey she knew it was time for them to talk. She landed Seze next to Ngam’i’a, giving both a gentle pet before sitting beside her oldest friend. They sat in silence for several minutes. Neytiri gazed at Tsu’tey, seeing clearly for the first time the way that grief had changed him. She wondered if she looked just as different. Surely she did.
“I remember the day you were born.” Tsu’tey’s voice was quiet but steady, and his eyes did not leave the horizon. “We were only two, but I remember. Sylwanin and I were kept out of the way, but we could hear the adults talking. When you had arrived she was called back to meet you, and she dragged me with her. You were so small, but your eyes were clear and vibrant. She was so happy to have a sibling, and she promised you that she would always protect you.”
“She was my favorite person. She understood me, saw me. I was grateful for that, and for the responsibility she carried.”
“She was happiest when she knew that you were free.”
Neytiri had cried more than enough. Her chest was heavy and tight, but her eyes were dry. It felt right to talk about her sister and the future she did not get.
“My mother taught me many things, but there were tsakarem lessons that I did not have to attend. On those days I would train with you, or fly, or simply run through the forest.” Neytiri turned to see Tsu’tey’s eyes were finally on her, gentle and understanding. “She would have been an incredible Tsahìk. It was her birthright. I am not my sister. I do not have her connection or leadership. I am not ready.”
Tsu’tey reaches out to hold her hand. Sylwanin was the woman he loved, the one he planned a future with, but Neytiri had been dear to his heart since the day she was born. Their little shadow, grown into a powerful warrior.
“She is gone, and she has taken a part of me with her. I loved her. I think I always will, and I cannot give you the same love. But I think we can find a way to live, to work together for our people in her memory.”
Neytiri leaned closer, and Tsu’tey wrapped his arms around her. They stayed like that for a very long time, wrapped around each other. They were the only two who would really understand. Neytiri rested her head on his chest the way she had many times as a young girl. She knew his heartbeat as well as she knew her own, just as she knew the man it belonged to.
“I will train hard, to be your Tsahìk. I will never be her. I cannot replace her, even if the clan will see it that way. You and I, we are a team. I trust you, more than anyone else.”
On that morning, they made a promise to each other. Everything had changed, and war was coming. There would be no more peace with the Sky People, and it was their duty to ensure the survival of their people. Unbeknownst to either of them, a new ship was headed to Pandora, carrying someone who would change their lives.