The forest carried secrets better than any hunter.
And in the days after the battle, my name was no longer mine. It was a sound whispered on leaves, carried by roots, sung by rivers.
Storm.
Some spoke it with reverence.Others with dread.But none spoke it lightly.
Messengers from distant clans came swiftly. They spoke of how word had spread—the tale of a warrior who caught fire from the sky and threw it back upon the Sky People.
"The Omatikaya call him protector," one envoy said."The Ta'unui call him destroyer," said another."The Tawkami wonder if he is Eywa's vengeance," murmured a third.
Each voice added weight to a truth I could no longer deny: Pandora itself was watching me.
In the great tent of counsel, Mo'at spoke to the gathered clans. Her staff struck the ground, steadying silence.
"We stand at the edge of war," she declared. "The Sky People return with fury. But Eywa has placed before us… something new. This Storm."
Dozens of Na'vi eyes fell upon me.
Neytiri's voice cut sharp through the silence."He is no Na'vi. His ways are not ours. He wields destruction as if it were breath. Would you make Eywa's harmony bow to his violence?"
The murmurs swelled, some nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads.
I rose slowly, my voice steady."I never asked for worship. I never asked for fear. I stand here because your world is burning, and I will not let it burn."
My hand clenched into a fist."If you see me as demon, then let me be your demon against the Sky People. If you see me as protector, then let me protect. But know this—" My eyes swept across them. "—I am not leaving."
The tent fell to silence.
Then, a voice rose from the back. Tsireya's.
Her tone was not loud, yet it cut clearer than any shout."He stands when the forest falls. He shields when the fire consumes. Is this not what Eywa asks of all her children?"
For the first time, I saw warriors of other clans nod.
Mo'at's staff struck the ground once more."Then let it be so. The Storm walks with us. But remember, Storm—" Her gaze pierced me. "—every storm either passes… or destroys."
That night, beneath the glowing branches of the Tree of Voices, I sat alone.
The whispers of the forest brushed against me, alien yet familiar. Perhaps Eywa was listening. Perhaps she was silent.
But Tsireya found me again, as though the forest itself guided her to me. She sat close, closer than before, her presence warm against the cold weight of what I carried.
"Do not fear their whispers," she said softly. "Fear comes before belief."
Her hand rested on mine, steady and sure."And I… I believe."
Her words were a tether in the storm.
And yet, somewhere far above us, engines burned.The Sky People were preparing their next strike.
And this time, they would not come to test us.They would come to end us.