When Fate Calls, You Must Answer

It has been a few days since I left. Days since I finally have a moment to try to process everything. The air in the cave is still, the flora pulsing a quiet breath. My fingers absentmindedly trace the patterns in the cool stone beneath me, my thoughts drifting like leaves in the wind. I have spent the last four days here, trying to make sense of the vision the Ghost Walker left behind.

The Hollow Past. 

I know those words, yet I do not. A name lost to time, lost in a hymn no one sings; a secret beneath layers of history my people refuse to reveal.

But…

Find the rest of me. Rest of what? Am I missing a part of me? As far as I know I feel whole. Before I can wrack my brain with this nonsense, I flop back onto the cool ground, laying back to take another nap.

Though, I suppose Eywa has other plans.

A shift in the air pulls me from my thoughts. It is subtle- a change in pressure, a faint disturbance in the flow of energy around me, prickling my skin.

Someone has entered the cavern. Just another thing to look forward to.

Before I could react, a frantic voice cut through the stillness. If I were in danger, I would not survive.

"There you are! I knew it!"

I barely have time to register the figure before she grabs my wrist. She looks so familiar, but she is not of the Spirit Clan. 

Kiri.

The name comes to mind immediately. I think I know her. She is of Eywa, a part of the Great Mother's very essence, and the energy around her hums with her very life force. Her golden eyes, wide with urgency, pierce through me as she tightens her grip.

"You have to come with me. Now."

I do not question her. How could I? Something in her voice– raw, desperate– leaves no room for hesitation. Without another word, I follow her taller frame as she pulls me through the winding tunnels, her breath coming in short bursts as she races to her destination.

Something must be wrong. Well, a lot of 'somethings' are wrong lately.

As we reach an opening through the tunnels, I see him. At the edge of Hollow Veins, close to the outer world, a boy, clinging to life, lies on the ground. My breath catches in my lungs, unfamiliar figures surrounding him. His skin is slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Deep gashes mar his body, and a strange hole goes straight through him. 

My heart lurches. I have to save him, and quickly.

I move before the thought can stop me. Before I can even register my legs moving on their own accord.

Dropping to my knees beside him, my press my hands against his chest, closing my eyes. His energy is slipping, fraying at the edges like an unraveling thread. The balance is tipping- he is already half gone.

No.

Not Yet

He still has life.

"I have taken out the bullet, but-," 

"Help me carry him," I order, ignoring what the man says, my voice sharper than intended. I can only imagine this man being the dad to this poor soul.

A moment of hesitation passed- then strong hands reached down, lifting the boy's limp body as I pressed my palms over his wounds, channeling what little energy I can to slow the bleeding. I do not stop to explain. I do not ask for permission. I will not let anyone stop me.

Not even mother.

I rushed him to the sanctuary. My people scrambling away at the sight of the strangers walking with me.

But I ignore them. I have to. The weight of his fading spirit presses against me.

When we finally enter the central healing chamber, I can barely feel his shallow breath. The vast cavern illuminated with glow vines woven through the rock walls. The pools here are deeper, the waters laced with the purest connection to Eywa, reserved for the most sacred rites. If this does not count as sacred, then we will just have to change that. My people part as I move, some gasping in quiet shock, others whispering prayer.

Then before I can lower him, my mother is before me, her expression as unreadable as ever. Her piercing gaze sweeping over the boy before settling on me.

"You have brought an outsider," she says, her voice void of emotion.

"He is dying," I say, meeting her stare. "Just this once, let me save a life, his life," I plead.

For what felt like years, she finally exhales. "Prepare the ritual."

Relief floods my limbs, but I do not waste time. Liral's grace is fickle. I must do what I can in that time.

I lay the boy upon with his back upon the smooth stone, his lower body splayed in the water. His breath barely audible. Around is, the Spirit Healers gather, their robes shimmering in the dim light as they begin the chant.

I kneel beside him, dipping my finger into the sacred water of the spirit pools. My power makes the water glow, seeping into his skin, carrying the Great Mother's energy into his wounded body.

My mother stands over us, hands raised as she whispers the ancient prayers, calling upon our ancestors' spirits to lend us their strength. The cavern thrums, almost like an echo, the very ground vibrating with the energy, the voices of my people blending into a low, resonant hum.

I close my eyes, focusing with my very being.

I see him, not just his body, but his spirit as well. I see him floating away, lost between worlds– life tethered by the thinnest thread. Swaying on the precipice. I reach for that thread, weaving it back into place, urging it to hold, outstretching my hand.

He takes it, his spirit cold, but warming.

Just as I bring him back, the boy gasps, his body convulsing. For a brief moment, his eyes snap open– golden, wild, full of fear and what I can only imagine to be confusion.

Then he goes still.

A long silence. A pause that only intensifies the fear I feel. What if it did not work? I have never done anything like this, but it felt right.

No.

No more doubts.

It worked, just give it time.

As I looked up, I saw his chest rise with a long tense breath. Then another. And another.

His chest rises, steady now. His skin regained its blue color.

He will live.

A sigh of relief can be heard around me, rippling through the healers. My shoulders sag, exhaustion creeping into my bones. I glance up at my mother, waiting for her reaction.

Her face remains stone, but she gives a slow nod. That is all I need, before I crash, letting my body float with the water.

Just as I do, the strangers introduce themselves. My moment of peace, rudely interrupted, but I am curious, so I guess I will let it pass.

The Sully's. They call themselves.

A family of warriors.

Jake and Neytiri stand before me, their towering forms sculpted by war and resilience, their very presence a testament to battles fought and won. They are giants—quite literally. Another painful reminder of just how small I am.

Outworlders, I've learned, are usually ten to eleven feet tall, their frames built for dominance, for command. We Spirit Na'vi, in contrast, are slender, ethereal, never growing beyond seven feet. Even my mother, regal and tall among our kind at six feet, still falls short beside them. And then there's me.

Five feet.

The smallest of my clan. The smallest of all the Spirit clans. The runt. 

Jake's deep-set eyes hold that sharpness only humans seem to possess, a tactical mind always turning, calculating. Neytiri, fierce as the storm itself, carries a presence so strong it could shake the earth. Where she stands, strength radiates like heat from the sun. Where he moves, leadership follows.

And where do I stand?

I feel impossibly small.

Their children– Kiri, who still watches me as if she has known me forever. Lo'ak, restless and shifting, his gaze wary. The twins, Ka'ruk and Ney'ali, their eyes sharp, their movements precise. And then Tuktirey, the youngest, barely more than a child but already taller than me. 

I swallow. The air stuck in my throat as they stood around me.

I am the smallest Na'vi my people have seen in centuries. Not just in the Spirit Clan, but everywhere.

I push the thought away. Now is no the time.

The boy they brought– Neteyam, they call him– remains asleep, but he is stable. That is all that matters.

For now. 

But the storm is not over. I can feel it. The sensation only grows stronger as everything settles, whispering on the edges of my mind.

This is only the beginning.