When Spirits Call

A week has passed.

A week of restlessness, of nights spent half-awake with my heart pounding in my chest, of smoke curling like mist through my mind. Each night, the images grow sharper. Not just clearer, but also with aches raking my head. Fire reflected in pools of water, a shadow stretching long and dark as if standing over me, the sky splitting open like a wound. 

But, of course, they have not come.

Every morning, I wake with the weight of urgency pressing against my ribs, certain that the moment is near. For once I just wish it was a stomach ache. The tunnels remain untouched, my people moving as they always have, unbothered by the storm I alone seem to hear on the horizon.

I cannot wait any longer. They need to know. They need to be ready.

It is dim as I march into the elders' chamber. My mother stands at the center, as tall and regal as ever, her deep violet robes pooling around her feet. The others– priests, scholars, guides of our people– sit in a crescent behind her, their large, glowing eyes watching as I brush forward.

"You return so soon," Liral says. It is not a question. Never a question.

I take a steady breath, refusing to let her cool gaze unsettle me. "The omens have grown stronger."

Before a single sound could be heard, I pressed on before they could silence me. "I see the same warriors, the same fire, but now I can hear their voices." My fingers clench at my sides. "They are calling me. Calling us– We must do something, mother."

Her expression does not shift. And I am unfortunate to have predicted her reaction, and to her words all the same. "And what is it they say, Tsaw'itan."

I hesitated, caught with what I should have known– truth is, the words are always just beyond my grasp; lost in the space between dreaming and waking. But the feeling is unmistakable. If only I could share with her what I see, maybe then there would be a different outcome.

"Something is coming," I say instead. "Something that will change all of Pandora."

Liral lifts her chin, eyes looking down on me, even more so different than just our foot height different. "You speak of it like it is something we should embrace. Like we should help the outer world, and ignore every sin they carved against Eywa."

"You speak of it like it is something we avoid," I bristle. "We are the spirits, whether physical or not. Eywa created us to not only protect Pandora, but all beings of it. Including other Na'vi's."

A sharp breath– hers, or someone from the council, I do not know. I am pushing too hard, I know; but the weight in my chest, and my own conscience, is too great to ignore.

"You ask for action," she says, voice measured. "And yet, there is no proof of danger beyond your silly dreams. Every other chosen one has been able to show proof- save our people from despair. But you… You are a failure of a chosen one, and I'm disappointed to have you as a daughter."

I knew it. She did not need to say, I already saw it in the way she spoke to me… about me. In her actions. Yet what she feels does not matter… it should not. But why does it still hurt so much?

"I do not need such proof," I say, pulling all my conviction. "Eywa has already spoken."

Her eyes narrow, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. "Then let Eywa guide you in patience, as well."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words never came. 

Because in a shrill moment, the air changes.

A chill sweeps through the chamber, though there is no wind in these tunnels.. The vines dim, their light flickering as if struggling to hold. The silence that follows is too thick, unnatural. I feel it before I see it– the shift, the wrongness, the sense of something stepping through the veil between worlds.

And then–

A figure.

Standing. Looming behind my mother, half hidden in the dim light.

A Ghost Walker.

The room stills, though no one else seems to see it. My breath catches in my throat. My first time seeing one in all my years being the chosen one. The figure is Na'vi in form, but translucent, flickering like dying starlight, their markings without the glow of life on their ashen skin. Their eyes– silver and endless– lock onto mine.

"Find the Hollow Path. Find the rest of you. The storm has no patience. The fire consumes."

My pulse pounds in my ears. The Hollow Path– I know those words. An ancient name, lost to time, whispered only in the oldest of our songs. But, what do they mean by 'rest of us'?

Just as quickly as they came, they were gone in a blink of an eye.

The glow of the vines return. The room as it was before.

Except nothing is the same.

My breath shudders as I step back. Mother watching me, a flicker of confusion slipping through. "Tsaw'itan?"

I do not answer. How could I? So, I turned on my heel and walked swiftly away from the chamber, ignoring the protests of the elders as they called after me.

I need air. I need space. I need to think.

I do not stop moving until the echoes of voices have faded, until the tunnels narrow and twist into paths only I have walked. The cave I find is small and untouched, a place of silence carved by time itself.

I collapse to my knees, my breath heavy, my thoughts racing.

The Hollow Path.

The spirits have never spoken to me so directly before. Their messages are always woven in riddles, in echoes, in things half-seen. But this—this was clear.

And it terrifies me.

I pull my knees to my chest, resting my forehead against them. The glow of the cavern flickers around me, soft and steady. I should return home. I should gather myself, prepare, and plan.

But the weight of the spirit presses heavy on my bones, and for the first time in a long while… I feel small. And not just because I happen to be the shortest in all my clans.

So I stayed.

I let the silence hold me.

And for tonight, at least, I do not dream.