Chapter Text
Age 9
The rainforest stretched endlessly, an emerald kingdom bathed in soft morning mist. Shafts of bioluminescent light seeped through the dense canopy, casting an otherworldly glow on the forest floor, where massive roots curled like sleeping serpents. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, a sweet contrast to the distant calls of ikrans soaring above.
Nestled in the heart of this untamed beauty, a small community thrived—a sanctuary where Na’vi and humans lived side by side, rebuilding in the quiet aftermath of war. Here, life was simple, untouched by the horrors that once ravaged Pandora. Laughter echoed through the trees, the kind that belonged to children who knew nothing of war, only the thrill of adventure and the warmth of friendship.
“You’re going to look so cute when I’m done!” Kiri declared with a triumphant grin, her nimble fingers working through your hair, weaving delicate strands with wildflowers and tiny, shimmering beads scavenged from the village.
You giggled, the sensation of her careful touch sending shivers down your spine. Her long, deft fingers—so different from your own—moved with practiced ease, as if every twist and tuck carried the weight of tradition. The soft petals brushed against your cheek, their scent mingling with the earthy fragrance of Kiri’s skin.
“You have to stay still,” she scolded playfully, giving your ear a gentle flick before returning to her work.
You bit back another laugh, rocking slightly where you sat on the smooth, warm surface of a massive tree root. The village pulsed with life around you—Na’vi voices murmured in the distance, the rhythmic pounding of tools against wood echoing as structures were built, the rustle of unseen creatures slinking through the underbrush.
For a fleeting moment, everything felt perfect. Safe. As if this world, this delicate balance of human and Na’vi, could exist forever.
“Okay, but hurry, Kiri. Ms. Casey said I need to go back inside for lunch.”
You shifted slightly, feeling the cool weight of the tiny beads and flowers Kiri was threading into your hair. The gentle tug of her fingers was soothing, almost enough to make you forget the inevitable moment when you’d have to leave.
Kiri let out an exaggerated groan, her ears flicking with annoyance. “Ugh, why do you always have to go inside to eat?” She tied the last strand of your hair with unnecessary force before sitting back, arms crossed. “Ms. Casey hates us, I swear.”
For a seven-year-old, Kiri was perceptive. Too perceptive. Your guardian— Ms. Casey never outright said anything, but it was in the way she acted —the way she pursed her lips when the Na’vi kids got too close to the trailer, how her sharp eyes followed their every move. She never wanted them inside, never let them linger too long near you. She always had an excuse. ‘ They’re too wild. They don’t know their own strength. They’ll hurt her without meaning to.’
But you knew they weren’t being rough on purpose. They were just big. If anything, they were gentler with you than they were with Spider.
And yet, Ms. Casey never seemed to care when Spider wrestled with them and got tossed around, when he came back with scrapes and bruises, dirt smeared across his face. Maybe because, unlike you, he wasn’t timid. Maybe because, despite being human, he knew how to play like a Na’vi.
You, on the other hand, didn’t.
Ms. Casey always made sure you knew that. Your place was inside , with the humans. Safe. Clean. Contained.
Human girls don’t play outside in the dirt.
Human girls don’t climb trees with Na’vi or race through the underbrush barefoot.
Human girls play pretend and dress up dolls.
The words clung to you like a second skin, an invisible tether pulling you away from the life that felt right and back into the one you were supposed to have. A life of quiet hands and careful steps. A life spent watching through a window instead of running free.
But when you sat here, with Kiri’s hands weaving flowers into your hair, with the sounds of the forest humming all around you, it was hard to believe that was true.
You pointed at the breathing mask secured over your face, giving Kiri a teasing grin. “It’s because of this, remember?” Your voice came out slightly muffled, but light with laughter. “Spider has to go inside too. We can’t breathe like you.”
Kiri huffed, her bright yellow eyes narrowing. “That’s stupid.”
***
“I know how this game goes! I will spin the bottle!” Spider declared, puffing out his chest like he was some grand authority on playground games.
You, Spider, and all three Sully kids were sprawled out in a loose circle in a large clearing, the jungle around you alive with the distant hum of insects and the occasional rustling of unseen creatures. The warm, damp earth pressed against your legs, and you clutched the empty bottle in your lap, grinning as you prepared to teach them how to play Spin the Bottle .
“Spiderrr,” you whined, pulling the bottle close to your chest like a prized treasure. “You always take over my ideas! I’m the eldest. I will spin the bottle.”
“But you’re the smallest, so that doesn’t count!” Spider shot back, his hands already reaching for the bottle as he tried to pry it from your grasp.
You gasped dramatically, tightening your hold. “Spider, I’m bigger than you! You are NOT Na’vi.”
That earned an immediate reaction—Lo’ak and Neteyam burst into laughter at the look of utter betrayal on Spider’s face. His eyes went wide, mouth dropping open in sheer offense .
“It’s okay, Spider.” Kiri patted his back in mock sympathy, her little voice dripping with amusement. “I’ll paint you blue with the war paint. Then you’ll be Na’vi like us.”
Before you could resume explaining the game, Spider let out a battle cry and lunged at you, his seven-year-old strength far greater than it had any right to be. His hands clamped around the bottle, prying it from your grasp with sheer determination.
“Hey!” You yelped, scrambling to take it back, but Spider was quick—he ducked out of your reach, holding the bottle high over his head like a victory trophy. “Spider, that’s mine! ”
Lo’ak, ever the opportunist, saw the chaos unfold and immediately joined the quarrel. He launched himself at Spider, determined to steal the bottle back.
“GET HIM, LO’AK!” Neteyam whooped, jumping to his feet, while you started calling Spider every insult you could come up with.
Kiri, ever the instigator, was now fully invested in the madness. “Run, Spider! Don’t let that penisface catch you!” she cackled, cheering him on as he weaved through the clearing, dodging Lo’ak’s grasping hands.
The makeshift battlefield didn’t last long. Lo’ak, naturally stronger and faster, tackled Spider with ease, wrestling him down until he successfully pried the bottle from his grip. “VICTORY!” he shouted, lifting the bottle like a hunter displaying his kill.
You and Neteyam erupted into cheers as if your team had just won a championship, while Kiri sighed dramatically and helped a defeated Spider to his feet.
Once the dust settled, everyone plopped back into the circle, breaths still slightly uneven from all the running and laughter. You expected Lo’ak to spin the bottle—after all, he’d won the right to do so by sheer force. But instead, he hesitated.
And then, to your surprise, he turned and handed it to you.
You blinked at him, wide-eyed. “You want me to spin the bottle?”
Lo’ak shrugged, but the way his ears twitched and the pink dusting his chubby cheeks betrayed his nonchalance. “Yeah, it was your idea to play this game. You should spin it.”
A slow, happy smile spread across your face, warmth bubbling in your chest at the unexpected gesture. Without thinking, you leaned over and pressed a quick, appreciative kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Lo’ak.”
For a moment, everything was still. The jungle buzzed around you, the bottle cool in your hands as you placed it in the center of the circle, too focused on the task at hand to notice the expressions of your friends.
Then, Kiri’s flat, unimpressed voice broke through the silence—
“Lo’ak, you’re such a loser .”
***
Age 12
tap… tap… tap…
The soft, rhythmic tapping pulled you away from the pages of your diary. Your pen stilled mid-sentence, the ink pooling slightly as you strained to listen. It was late, the trailer dimly lit by the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Outside, the jungle hummed with the quiet songs of nocturnal creatures, a symphony you had grown so used to that any new sound stood out like a whisper in a silent room.
A slow smile crept across your lips. You already knew who it was.
Shifting onto your knees, you pushed the thin curtains aside, revealing the boy waiting just outside your window.
Lo’ak.
His face was pressed against the glass, warm breath fogging up a small patch of the surface as he grinned at you, eyes glittering with mischief. The faint bioluminescent freckles scattered across his skin flickered softly in the dim light, making him look like something pulled straight from a dream.
It was already dusk. He shouldn’t be here. His parents had made it very clear—especially his father—that he wasn’t to wander too far after dark. Ever since the RDA returned, the world around you had begun to shift, tilting into uncertainty. The fragile peace that had cradled your childhood was fracturing, the war creeping back into your lives like a sickness that refused to die.
And yet… here he was.
“Lo’ak, what are you doing here?” you whispered, voice barely audible as you leaned closer to the window.
“Open the stupid window.” He whispered back, his forehead pressing harder against the glass, his breath fogging it up even more. His tail flicked impatiently behind him, ears twitching as he glanced over his shoulder, checking for any unwanted eyes.
You hesitated, shooting a quick glance toward your bedroom door. Ms. Casey wasn’t close—at least, not that you could tell. But she would check on you soon, and if she caught Lo’ak here…
Still, you turned back to the window, fingers brushing over the latch.
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you murmured, even as you started to undo the lock.
Lo’ak’s brows furrowed. “I won’t!”
You rolled your eyes, though there was no real bite behind it. With a quiet sigh, you took in a deep breath—holding it instinctively—before unlatching the window and pushing it open. The warm, humid air of the jungle seeped into your room immediately, thick with the scent of damp earth and distant foliage.
Lo’ak wasted no time. With practiced ease, he hoisted himself up, slipping through the small opening. It was a smooth motion, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders brushed the frame more than they used to. He was growing, his body stretching into his limbs, his strength becoming more defined. Another year, maybe two, and he wouldn’t fit through this window at all.
You quickly shut the window behind him, locking it tight to ensure your precious filtered air didn’t escape. Lo’ak barely acknowledged it, already reaching under your bed with familiar ease. His fingers found what he was looking for—his own breathing mask, the one he had stashed here long ago for nights like this.
He brought it to his face, inhaling deeply before letting it drop into his lap, settling cross-legged on your bed as if he belonged there.
And maybe he did.
Lo’ak had been sneaking into your room for years now, ever since Ms. Casey started keeping you inside more often, setting stricter and stricter rules about when and where you could play. It had been gradual at first—little things, like curfews and reminders about your fragility. But then the war started. And suddenly, Ms. Casey wasn’t just protective—she was distant. She barely spoke to your friends anymore. She avoided the Na’vi in your little community, always finding a reason to keep you away from them.
It was frustrating for everyone, but especially for Lo’ak.
He had always had a fierce sense of loyalty, a bone-deep inability to abandon those he cared about. And you? You were his. His friend. His person. So it didn’t matter how much trouble he got into, how many scoldings he endured—he still came. More frequently now, slipping through your window like a shadow, stealing moments with you whenever he could.
Even now, as he sat there in the dim glow of your lamp, his tail flicking lazily against your blankets, you could see it in his face—the frustration, the stubborn determination.
“So what was her excuse this time?” Lo’ak asked, his voice laced with impatience.
You sighed, closing your diary with a soft thud before tucking it under your pillow. “I don’t know, Lo’ak… Something about me being too old to play with you guys.”
It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. The real reason—the one you didn’t quite understand yourself—was because you had gotten your period. You hadn’t seen why that should matter, why a few drops of blood suddenly made you different. But Ms. Casey had spoken with certainty, as if the world had just shifted under your feet, as if everything had to change now. And she was older. She knew more. So you trusted her.
And yet… deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was just using it as another excuse. Another way to wedge more distance between you and the Na’vi kids, between you and him.
Lo’ak hesitated, his nose scrunching slightly before he muttered, “You do smell kinda different… but you don’t look different.” His tone turned frustrated, almost indignant. “You don’t look old like her .”
You giggled, muffling the sound with your hand. “She’s not that old. Ms. Casey is a lot younger than your dad.”
Lo’ak snorted. “Yeah… he’s so old.” He thought for a moment before grumbling, “He’s also annoying. Ms. Casey too. They should be mated to each other.”
That sent you into another fit of laughter, forcing you to clamp both hands over your mouth so Ms. Casey wouldn’t hear. Lo’ak’s grin widened, his ears twitching with satisfaction at your barely contained giggles.
“Your dad is mated to your mom !” you whisper-shouted back in disbelief, eyes shining with amusement.
“You know what I mean.” He said with mild annoyance, but you could tell he was proud he managed to make you laugh. He always made sure you were happy when he was around, which was one of the many reasons why he was your best friend.
Then, Lo’ak’s expression shifted. His ears twitched again, this time in concentration, his gaze flicking toward your door. He stayed completely still for a moment, listening intently, before his lips curled into a knowing smirk.
“Ms. Casey just went into her room,” he announced, his voice dripping with glee.
Relief flooded through you, and you exhaled dramatically. “Thank Eywa. I didn’t want her to come in and kick you out.” Your voice softened, and without thinking, you pouted, frustration seeping into your features. “It’s been so lonely lately…”
Lo’ak’s sharp eyes flickered, his fingers curling into fists in his lap as he tried to suppress the irritation bubbling inside him. He hated this—hated the way you were being pulled away from them, hated how your world was being made smaller and smaller.
For a moment, he only stared at you, his tail flicking sharply behind him. Then, just as the frustration in his eyes darkened, a mischievous glint took over.
With a deep breath through his mask, he leaned in closer, voice low but brimming with excitement.
“Want me to sneak you out?”