Echoes of What Will Be

The chamber lies in hushed sanctity, save for the hum of glowing vines that pulse winding their way up the stone walls. A dense aroma of burning resin clings to the air– a sacred liberation to the ancestors– its smoke curling in delicate tendrils that embrace the gathered elders. Their eyes, luminous and wise, lock onto me as I lower myself onto the cool, hard ground, my knees pressing against the timeworn stone.

I can feel the weight of their scrutiny, the silent judgement in every deliberate glace and furrowed line on their weathered faces. "You have seen something." The voice of my mother, Liral, unyielding like the solid mass of rock. She stands at the center of the council, her posture as dignified and formidable as the towering trees of the surface world. Though she is my mother, she has never spoken to me as such– just an instrument chosen to embody Eywa's will. A great luxury I have not been granted, and never will be.

Lifting my chin, matching her gaze. "I have." The simple words tumbling out, rife with the burden of revelation.

"Tell us," she demands.

Drawing in a measured breath, allowing my fingers to dig into the cool, uneven stone beneath me, "I saw a blazing fire, raging like a storm that does not bring the rain. Warriors who features are half-obscured dreams, and choices imminent like a tear unready to drop. Decisions that promise to alter our path before us."

A surge of voices stir among the elders. Some exchange furtive, charged glances– others, their markings glow hypnotic sequences. Most likely from their disbelief or general distaste. The rest remain as inscrutable as carved stone faces, hiding their inner tumult behind masks of impassivity.

Liral's eyes narrow, scrutinizing as if weighing the solidarity of my words against the shifting currents of doubts; but, cold nonetheless. "Visions are like river currents, fleeting and ever morphing. One must be absolute before stirring fear among the people."

Expected. "Mother, for weeks I have the same vision, one that clears as the days reach near," I say boldly. "I am quite confident in this truth."

In a slow, unyielding exhale that barely softens the hardness of her gaze, she reveals a flicker of disappointment– tightening her jaw that only tells of reluctance to be challenged. "We shall see, daughter. Your visionary skills still have much to improve."

 I have never muted my truth to spare her comfort, and this time is no different.

Leaning forward, one of the elder priests, an aged man with deep set eyes and a crown of woven beads asks quietly, "This warrior you speak of… do you believe they are friend are foe?"

I let the question hang in the air for a moment, hesitating, charging the room around us. What am I supposed to say? The presence of my vision was neither light nor dark– it was a force of conflict and resolution in one.

"I do not know," I confess, a tremor in my voice betraying the part of the vision that remains shrouded in mystery. "All I know is that their arrival will upend everything."

The silence that follows is thick, the very air around us pressing in. Finally, Liral straightens, her demeanor seizing the finality of a sculpted decree. "The Spirit Na'vi do not meddle in the affairs of the outer world," she declares, her voice resolute. "We have remained hidden for generations, hidden away untouched by war and destruction. It is through this seclusion that we survive no matter how long we have to endure."

"This is how we fade," I counter, my tone fervent. "Withering away as a Bloom Berry wasting away at the bottom of a basket. Would you be so harsh as to be blind to that simple fact? Vision or no vision?

A sharp intake of breath ripples through the council, my mothers eyes flashing dangerously with her infamous purple, warning me to lower my defiant gaze. "Eywa bestowed these visions upon me not as idle portents to be ignored. The balance is shifting, and we cannot cast aside these omens as though we exist outside of their influence."

My mothers silence is blade, slicing the cold air against the warmth of my defiance. When she finally speaks again, her voice is a hushed, piercing whisper, "We will meditate on your revelations. Until then, you must not act without the council's guidance."

I know better than most never to argue with her when she gets in her mood. Furthering would only fan the sparks of discord. Bowing my head, I rise to my feet, my pulse thrumming with frustration.

They do not see the turmoil within me. They do not listen to the stirring call of impending change I am so graciously warning them about. But soon– they will have no choice, and I have no idea if I will be able to lead them then.

I leave the council chamber behind, deliberately avoiding my personal quarters. Why should I go back? So my dear mother can barge in and reprimand me for making a fool of her, the high priestess, in front of the rest of the council? No, thank you. Instead, an irresistible pull guides me toward the spirit pools, my mind restless with what has transpired. The waters shine beneath the cavern light, undisturbed by the turmoil within me. 

I sink to my knees at the water's edge, staring deeply at the reflection that stares back– a visage marked by pale lavender skin, silver flecked eyes, the faint flow of my markings swirling lines down my arms. A face that has never truly felt mine; an echo of someone else's expectations rather than my own true self. Expectation I did not ask for.

"Eywa," I purl, voice laden with a mix of hope and despair, "What would you have me do?"

As if in response, the still water surface quivers, tiny ripple tracking across its expanse, though not a single breath stirs the air. Then, a subtle motion catches my eye– a fleeting flicker at the periphery of my vision.

I stiffen, heart pounding, my hand sliding near the dagger secured at my hip, every nerve on alert. I pivot sharply, eyes scanning the dim tunnel, but the corridors remain empty and oppressively silent. And yet, the sensation– an undeniable presence, unseen but palpable– lingers in the shadows. I suppose… they will reveal themselves when they are ready.

Even so, I rise slowly, every muscle tensed as I sweep my gaze across the cave in careful, deliberate motions. The spirits do not deceive, something is coming. Perhaps, already here. And I vow that when it does, I will be ready.

Hopefully…