Chapter Text
“If you hadn’t disobeyed orders, then your brother would still be-”
His father’s words still ring in his ears as Lo’ak kneels on the beach.
In a way, Lo’ak feels relieved. His dad finally spoke the words he’s been waiting to hear since Neteyam bled out on a rock while war raged around them. He finally spoke the truth. It was Lo’ak’s fault that Neteyam died and his father has finally admitted it.
With his right thumb, Lo’ak thumbs off the safety and switches the M69-AR to semi-automatic. His palm is sweaty as he grips the bolt with his left hand and pulls it back, chambering the first round. He lets out a shaky breath as he brings the muzzle underneath his chin. His right thumb hovers over the trigger.
His mind races as he looks out over the water, bioluminescent life swimming beneath. It’s a beautiful sight for such a grim moment, really.
He wonders how long it will take for someone to come searching for him. Perhaps it will be in the morning, when his body is baking in the Sun and the gulls are picking at the brainmatter scattered in the sand, that someone will finally find him.
Lo’ak knows that there’s no way he will find himself in the arms of Eywa if he goes this way. This is unnatural. It is unthinkable, the very notion of someone taking away the life Eywa gave them an appalling thought. And yet…
Lo’ak can think of no other way. No other way to stop the endless nightmares of his brother’s last breath leaving his chest, of his father telling me he had done enough and his look of disgust, of the anguished cries of his mother as her firstborn’s skin went cold. No other way to rid his mind of the despair his family has endured all because of Lo’ak’s carelessness. The price for him to pay is his blood spilled in the sand. This is the way for him to make things right.
Still, he hesitates. If he can’t go to Eywa, to his brother, then where will he go? Will there be nothing? As overwhelming as the aching emptiness of loss in his chest is, his fear of nothingness, of true death overshadows it. Lo’ak wants to push past that selfish part of himself and give his family the closure they need by taking himself out of the equation.
His thumb trembles on the trigger as he walks a tightrope between the land of the living and the dead. The air seems to still, the waves quieting, as if holding its breath for his decision.
A growl of resentment rips through Lo’ak and yanks the gun from underneath his chin, moving to throw the repulsive instrument away from him. But as he’s tossing it away, his thumb catches on the trigger again and a shot rings out, echoing through the reefs.
Lo’ak crumples to the ground and the Sunbleached sand beneath him is stained with his blood.