Jake's arm mended slowly, the bone knitting together beneath layers of salve and woven support. The pain dulled but never fully vanished, lingering as a quiet reminder each time he shifted or reached too quickly. At first, he resented the weakness. He watched from the edges as other children climbed and trained, their movements fluid and unburdened. The old instinct rose again, the urge to push past limits and to accelerate recovery through sheer will. If it was his another life, he would have done exactly that, consequences be damned. Here, lying beneath the soft glow of healing plants, he forced himself to wait.
Sa'nari sat with him often, her hands gentle as she reapplied poultices, her touch warm and grounding. She did not scold him for recklessness, nor did she offer hollow reassurance. Instead, she told stories of hunts gone wrong, of elders who carried old injuries with pride and humility alike. "The body remembers," she said once, adjusting the wrap around his arm. Jake listened carefully, letting the words settle deeper than the pain.
Rehabilitation came in small increments. Simple movements at fiarm rotating the wrist, lifting light objects, testing range without strain. Eyna helped him with a patient and attentive atattitude, and correcting him gently when he favored his uninjured side too much.
But Ralu hovered awkwardly at the edges, guilt still heavy, until Jake finally snapped at him, not in anger, but in frustration. "Stop looking at me like I'm broken," he said quietly. Ralu blinked, then laughed weakly, relief flooding his expression. After that, things felt closer to normal.
It was during these careful exercises that Jake began to adapt. He remembered principles rather than techniques of alignment, leverage, breath synchronized with motion. His Na'vi body was different: longer limbs, a tail that shifted his balance unlike a human body, muscles arranged for agility rather than brute force. Instead of fighting these differences, he studied them. He practiced slow, deliberate movements, letting his tail counterbalance turns, letting reach replace force. Each session became a conversation between old knowledge and new flesh. When pain flared, he stopped. When it eased, he continued.
Eywa remained present in the background of his awareness. During moments of focus, Jake felt that same resonance, like a steady pulse beneath the forest floor. It did not reward progress or punish missteps. When he rushed, the world felt noisy. When he slowed, clarity returned. Jake began to understand: Eywa is like a mirror, vast and patient, showing him himself.
The emotional scars took longer to settle. At night, Jake replayed the flik the slip, the impact, the helplessness. Fear crept in uninvited, whispering that caution might not always be enough. That one day, maybe his attitude of friendliness and restraint could cost more than pain. He spoke of this to no one, not even Eyna. Instead, he sat beneath the stars, breathing through the unease, letting it pass without judgment. He had learned that fear acknowledged will counterbalance the loss of its sharpest edge through accepting to who and what your inner self is.
When Jake finally returned to training, Karyu observed him closely. There was no comment on the injury and of course no special allowance. Jake was grateful for that. During balance exercises, he moved more carefully than before, but also more fluidly. He listened to his body with new respect. When sparring was eventually introduced, it was light, controlled, more dance than fight. Jake did not dominate the fight. He adapted. He redirected force rather than meeting it head-on. When he lost balance, he fell cleanly, without panic.
Ralu sparred with him one afternoon, their movements cautious at first, then gradually more confident. They ended up laughing, breathless, sprawled on the ground. "You move different now," Ralu said. "Like you're thinking and not thinking at the same time." Jake smiled. It was the best description he could imagine.
By the end of the season, Jake's arm had healed enough to bear full weight of his na'vi body. The scar though remained a faint line against his blue skin. He traced it once, thoughtfully, then let it be. It was not a mark of failure. It was a record of his choice.
And in that choice in the decision to endure, to adapt, to listen, Jake felt something settle into place. The path ahead would not be easy. But it would be his.