Three weeks passed like water through fingers.
The Omaticaya prepared. The clans gathered. Weapons were sharpened, strategies debated, prayers offered to Eywa. But everyone felt it—the weight of what was coming. The fear that this time, they might not survive.
Kaelen threw himself into the preparations, working until exhaustion claimed him, sleeping only when Seri forced him to stop. He couldn't shake the memory of Thorne's smile, the sound of his voice, the promise in his eyes.
I want him to feel every second of what's coming.
"He's not coming for unobtanium," Kaelen told the council. "He's not coming for land or resources or strategic advantage. He's coming for revenge. For me. And he'll burn the entire forest to get it."
"Then we give him what he wants." Jalen's voice was cold. "We give him you."
Silence.
Seri was on her feet in an instant, her knife in her hand. "Say that again, boy. I dare you."
"Peace, daughter." Anya's voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp. "Jalen speaks from fear, not from wisdom. We do not trade our own to satisfy the enemy's hunger." She looked at Kaelen. "But he speaks a truth, however poorly expressed. Thorne wants you. If he believes you are here, he will come. If he believes you are somewhere else..."
"He'll follow," Kaelen finished. "We could draw him away. Lead him into a trap."
"Or lead him to slaughter." Seri's knife hadn't moved. "You're not bait, Kaelen. You're not a sacrifice."
"I'm a soldier." He met her eyes. "And soldiers do what needs to be done."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she sheathed her knife, turned, and walked out of the council.