6.Eywa's punishment?

First of all thank you all for reading! Appreciate every single one of you <3

Just a quick insight. Tsu'teys students are the ones showed in the movie, while Jake does the rite of passage. If you want to better imagine what they look like, there are some pictures of them on Avatar Wiki.

This will be kinda slow burn enemy to lover kind of story, as anything else would not feel genuine. Tsu'Tey really hates skypeople and he would not fall in love with one immediately.

Also I had the idea for this story as I know a lot of immigrant children don't really know where they belong too, even though they often times have a strong connection to their heritage. Trying to convert the traume into a good story lol.

Also had an idea for a Twow story, involving Aonung, if you would like to read something like that please let me know.

And now here comes the new chapter. Enjoy :)

The first two weeks blurred into a haze, slipping through Maria's fingers like water. Time here defied all logic. Days were measured not by hours or rotations but by the rhythm of the forest, the ache in her limbs, and the unrelenting flood of sensation. Every breath was full of newness. Every second felt like it mattered more than anything she'd lived before. The calendar said days had passed—but it felt like a lifetime.

Each morning in Hometree was a quiet rebirth. She woke to the low murmur of the forest, the rustling of branches overhead, the distant howls of unseen creatures. She would share simple fruit with Jake, then head off to meet Neytiri, who greeted them not with warmth but with purpose. Her teachings came fast and hard: tracking, archery, riding, leaping across tree limbs that hovered high above the jungle floor. It was brutal, and Maria's body hurt in ways she'd never known—but the pain was good. It proved she was changing.

Jake struggled more than she did. His strength, though formidable, lacked the grace Neytiri demanded. So most afternoons he remained behind, trapped in remedial drills. Maria, meanwhile, was quietly reassigned—sent to help the women prepare Last Meal, care for the stables, or sit with the elders beneath the singing roots.

But what shifted her most wasn't training.

It was Nekawn.

The old woman didn't teach with arrows or stern commands—she taught through stillness, through silence, through presence. With her, Eywa stopped being a concept or a neural network. Eywa became a breath, a song, a pulse that moved through the soil, the trees, even her own heartbeat. It wasn't religion. It was truth. It lived.

Maria had read about Eywa in the textbooks—something poetic yet clinical. But Nekawn showed her something ancient and unspeakable. Sometimes Maria would sit for hours with her fingers sunk into moss, eyes shut, listening. And slowly, she began to feel.

Eywa was real.

And yet...

Part of her still clung to Earth. The broken Earth. She remembered waking from cryosleep—disoriented, sterile light piercing her eyes—only to hear that the oceans had died. That the forests had burned. That Earth's last wild creatures were gone.

Sometimes at night, those memories clawed at her. In her human body, she'd felt numb, cut off, a ghost in her own skin. But here, in the floating Hallelujah Mountains—where their science lab now hid far from Quaritch's reach—she breathed for the first time. She was alive.

But not whole.

Not yet.

Norm's relationship to Jake strained even more and it was like having to to watch two toddlers having a tantrum. It most definetly was not fun. She understood how Norm felt, but she knew better than to behave like that, and he should know it too. After all, he was a scientist like her and should know how to behave rationally.

Grace explained to her, that if they left Hell's Gate Quaritch and the other dumbwits, they would not intervene as much, and she didn't have a reason to not believe her. She enjoyed being out there too. The time she had in her human body now was not as depressing as it used to be at the main station. At least she could enjoy the beautiful scenery here.

Then came the third week.

Maria was seriously doubting why Eywa had to punish her.

"I need you to join Saeyla and Ka'ani for a few days," Neytiri said one morning, perched at the foot of Maria's hammock.

Maria groaned and covered her face. "Why not just toss me into a sturmbeest nest and be done with it?"

Neytiri's lips curled into a rare smile. "Jake still needs training. You will learn more from them now."

"But I'm already helping—the women, Nekawn—"

"Hunting skills must be learned. It is decided."

Maria flopped back with a muttered curse. She felt like a sulking child. No—she was a sulking child.

Worse still: Tsu'tey. His name alone made her teeth clench. And his students? Miniature versions of his scowl and superiority. Still, she trudged to the Pa'li paddock, grumbling silent prayers to Eywa that she wouldn't kill someone.

She was mentally preparing herself for all the bullying she would experience.

Saeyla saw her first. Arms folded, eyes narrowed. "Did you get lost, demon?"

Maria forced a tight smile. "Nope. Neytiri sent me. Sorry to ruin your morning."

Ka'ani gave a polite nod. Maria latched onto his kindness like a drowning swimmer reaching for shore.

It was an awkward wait time, and Maria was sure that Tsu'tey was doing it on purpose. To her suprise the male student started a light conversation with her, and she was very thankful for that.

He asked her a bit about her training till now and they even joked about Jake a bit. It was fun till Saeyla had to kick Ka'ani so he would stop. But he did not. Maybe they could become friends she thought.

Then—like a thundercloud through leaves—Tsu'tey arrived.

"Neytiri warned me," he said coolly. "I had hoped the day would not come so soon."

Snickers rippled behind him.

"What have you learned so far, tawtute? Do I need to teach you how to walk again?"

Maria squared her shoulders. "Start wherever you like. I'll catch up."

Tsu'tey's smirk cut like a blade.

They mounted their Pa'li and rode out in silence. Pale, her mount, was her only comfort. The bond between them had deepened—her thoughts merged with Pale's instincts, and they moved as one. It was the closest she'd felt to truly belonging.

They reached a quiet glade, a practice range littered with old arrows. Tsu'tey demonstrated without speaking. Each movement of his body was deliberate, precise, maddeningly perfect.

Maria watched him, conflicted. How could someone so arrogant move with such grace? She hated him. And admired him. And hated that she admired him.

"Tawtute," he snapped. "Show us."

Her hands trembled as she stepped forward. One breath. One shot. Thwack. A hit.

A soft cheer.

Second shot. Wide.

Laughter.

Third shot. Bullseye.

Respectful silence.

Not perfect. But earned.

Saeyla shot next—missed twice. Her glare could start fires. Ka'ani hit two, missed one. Tsu'tey gave no praise, only a grunt.

"No pride for failure," Tsu'tey barked, his voice sharp and cutting through the air like an arrow itself.

Maria flinched but said nothing. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers burned from the repeated strain of the bowstring, her arms trembled from overuse, but she didn't lower the bow. She took another breath. Focused. Released.

The arrow struck the target—not center, but it landed. A solid hit.

She could hear soft murmurs behind her, but she didn't turn. She couldn't afford to. If she let the frustration rise, she'd crumble.

Tsu'tey paced behind them like a prowling beast. Nothing escaped his gaze. And yet... when Maria lowered her bow to rest and let herself smile at something Ka'ani said—just a light comment about the way Saeyla's arrow had somehow hit a tree behind the range—she felt it. Tsu'tey's eyes on her.

Not the cold, dismissive glare he usually wore. Not contempt. Not quite.

There was something else there. A hesitation. A question, maybe.

It made her uneasy.

He called them forward to collect their arrows, and they moved silently, the crunch of their footsteps on fallen leaves the only sound between them. They trained through the rest of the afternoon, their sweat soaking into their skin like baptism. Again and again, Maria notched and fired, adjusted and missed, then tried again. Her shots were improving—she could feel it. The rhythm, the breath, the trust in her own aim. She had never expected to hit so many targets today. She had never expected to feel proud.

But she did.

Tsu'tey didn't say it, of course. He never would. Not to her. But he lingered nearby when she trained. His voice corrected others more than it corrected her. His silences grew heavier. And whenever she laughed with Ka'ani—when they talked about riding or stories from the old times—she'd catch him looking again.

Not harshly. Not with the fury she'd known when she first arrived. No. This look... it unsettled her more than his scorn.

Curiosity.

Or maybe something he wasn't ready to name yet. Maybe something she wasn't ready to name either.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. A human in blue skin? A student who refused to break? A stranger with too many questions? Or just... someone trying her hardest not to feel like an outsider.

She hated how much it mattered to her.

Tsu'tey kept a distance, but Maria could feel the edge of him everywhere. His voice still echoed in her chest: No pride for failure. And yet here she was, holding a quiet, growing pride inside her ribcage like a candle cupped against the wind.

Let him look.

She wouldn't shrink under it.

And as Ka'ani laughed beside her—easy, warm, a balm against the chill—Maria let herself laugh too. She saw the flicker of something shift in Tsu'tey's eyes then.

Not anger.

Not quite approval.

Something else.

Something almost human.

After hours beneath the canopy sky, their arms aching from endless practice, Tsu'tey led the small group back toward Hometree. The forest had begun to shift into evening—shadows lengthening, birds quieting, the trees humming low and tired, as if they too felt the weight of the day.

Tsu'tey walked ahead in near silence, his bow slung across his back, a steady rhythm in his stride. Saeyla and Ka'ani followed behind him, their own quivers rattling softly with what arrows remained. Maria brought up the rear, fingers sore and string-burned, the inside of her wrist bruised from poor positioning. Still, she kept her head high.

They returned to the base of Hometree just as the orange of sunset began to bleed into purple. A short lecture followed, delivered by Tsu'tey with clipped precision. He stood beside a table of bark, vines, and bone tools, explaining the basic composition of a proper Na'vi bow—the tension in the draw, the layering of sinew and flexible wood, the ceremonial carvings that linked the weapon to the spirit of its wielder. His words were economical, nearly cold, and he only glanced at Maria once—when she asked a question about weight balance. He blinked, then gave a curt nod of approval, but said nothing.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the lesson ended.

"You are dismissed," he said, not unkindly, but with the finality of someone who had already moved on to his next thought.

Maria lingered just a moment before turning toward the lower paths. Sweat clung to her skin, matting her hair against her temple. She descended to the base of Hometree where a small, shallow pond reflected the golden firelight of the nearest torches. The water shimmered with cool invitation.

As she knelt by the edge, beginning to unfasten the straps of her gear, her thoughts betrayed her.

Tsu'tey.

She hated the way his name echoed in her mind sometimes, unwanted and persistent. He was arrogant. Rude. His words struck like stones, never softened by apology. But when he drew his bow, when he focused—shoulders still, breathing even, eyes like drawn steel—he was... breathtaking. Not in a romantic sense. Not entirely. It was something deeper, more primal. Grace in motion.

And then there was Ka'ani.

Younger. Less disciplined. But his kindness had a different weight. It wasn't born of pity or performance—it felt real. When he smiled at her, it wasn't a test or a dare. It was simple. Honest. And sometimes, when he walked beside her, she caught herself wondering if perhaps she was not so alien after all.

Nekawn's voice returned to her, whispered through memory. After Iknimaya, you will be Na'vi. You may choose a mate. Many will wish to be chosen.

Maria had laughed then, embarrassed. But Nekawn had looked at her, not as an outsider, but as  a reflection of something old and sacred. "You have a rare light," the elder had said.

Still, Maria couldn't shake the truth. Beneath the blue skin, she was still human. A creature of metal lungs and false gravity. They might admire her—might even desire her—but it was the way one might be intrigued by a passing comet. Beautiful. Brief. Other.

She splashed cool water onto her arms, chasing the heat from her skin.

"Maria! Wait!"

The call spun her around.

Ka'ani jogged toward her from the path, his long braid swinging behind him, smile hesitant but genuine. His eyes caught hers in the fading light, soft with excitement.

"Would you—would you like to join me? My friends and I are gathering for Last Meal."

Maria blinked. Her lips parted in surprise.

"Yes," she said, without thinking. "I'd love to."

And just like that, the heaviness lifted from her chest. She stood, hastily wringing water from her hands, suddenly self-conscious of every leaf caught in her hair, every smudge of dirt on her skin. But Ka'ani didn't seem to mind. He just waited, beaming.

She followed him through the woven walkways toward the upper platforms, her steps light, almost giddy. The evening feast was already in motion, a hum of voices and laughter carried on the warm breeze. Fires flickered in stone bowls, casting golden halos over faces gathered in tight, joyful circles.

Ka'ani led her to the edge of one such gathering. Four young men were seated on the woven mats, their lean frames relaxed, limbs draped over their knees. They looked up as Maria approached, not with suspicion or mockery, but open curiosity.

"Maria," Ka'ani said proudly, "this is Takuk, Atan, and Ralu."

The boys greeted her in turn—some with nods, others with friendly smiles. Takuk even offered her a sliver of roasted yovo fruit.

They asked about her world. What did Earth smell like? Did the stars look different? Did she dream in color? The questions were strange but sincere, and Maria found herself laughing—really laughing—for the first time in what felt like years. She told them about wolves and whales, about snow, about the sound of thunder on metal rooftops. And they listened, eyes wide, imaginations running wild.

From across the gathering, Jake sat down beside Neytiri, a half-eaten fruit in his hand. His gaze followed Maria, narrowed in playful suspicion.

"Is he flirting?" he asked under his breath.

Neytiri didn't even look up. She swatted the back of his head.

"Can't females have friends in your world?"

Jake muttered something unintelligible and sank deeper into his seat.

Time passed easily, like a song winding toward its last verse.

Then, like a wind that chilled the flame, Tsu'tey appeared.

He stepped into the circle with his usual silent confidence. The others straightened reflexively. Even Ka'ani shifted upright, spine instinctively straighter.

"Tsu'tey," Ka'ani greeted him respectfully.

The warrior inclined his head, then spoke plainly, "You impressed me today."

From a side pouch, he pulled a small gourd carved with clan symbols and offered it to Ka'ani. It was a ceremonial drink—usually shared in recognition or honor.

Ka'ani accepted, though his hand trembled just slightly. Maria opened her mouth, about to interject—she wanted to say that Ka'ani had helped her adjust her grip, had stood beside her when her form faltered—but then she caught his eyes. He gave her the smallest shake of his head. Let it be.

So she smiled, quietly. Letting him have this moment.

As the conversation shifted, others began to gather near. Tsu'tey spoke to the young warriors in a low voice, sharing some jest or story. The firelight cast sharp shadows on his face, making him seem older, more myth than man.

Slowly, Maria felt herself pushed to the outer edge—not with cruelty, but with familiarity she hadn't yet earned. She smiled. Nodded. But the warmth that had filled her only moments ago began to cool.

She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her thighs. No one stopped her. She walked away without a word.

The laughter continued behind her, distant now. She followed the dim trails higher and higher, climbing up toward the open canopy.

She climbed high—above the canopy, to the upper branches of Hometree where the air was thin and the stars looked close enough to touch. The forest below pulsed with light, a living thing. But she felt small. Alone.

She found a quiet perch near the top—a curved root that formed a natural seat overlooking the entire forest.

She sat, legs pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. Her avatar body felt heavy with exhaustion, but her mind would not settle.

She wondered, Will I always be on the outside, looking in?

What if she never fully belonged?

She still needed a mask to survive. Still woke sometimes missing her human form. Still dreamed of cities, of streets, of music in headphones. What if this joy was a lie? What if it wasn't hers to keep?

She barely noticed the footsteps behind her.

"Are you alright?" Neytiri's voice was barely louder than the wind. Gentle. Careful.

Maria didn't turn. She hesitated... then gave a small nod. Not a lie, exactly. Just the easiest answer.

Neytiri came to sit beside her, saying nothing at first. Just watching the sky.

"You think too much." she said finally, her tone almost amused, but not unkind.

Maria let out a breath that shook on the way out. "Is it that obvious?"

Neytiri tilted her head, gaze still fixed upward. "Only when you disappear."

They sat in silence again. The wind brushed their skin, and in the distance, a few of the glowing seeds of Eywa drifted slowly past like tiny lanterns, carried by fate.

"I don't belong here," Maria said, the words surprising even her. She hadn't meant to say them out loud. "Not really."

Neytiri looked at her now, eyes dark and steady.

"My body isn't real." Maria whispered. "It moves like it is. It breathes. But it's just... borrowed. And when they look at me, when they talk to me—sometimes I think they forget. But I never do."

A lump caught in her throat, sharp and unwelcome. She swallowed hard, but it didn't go away.

"It's like... I'm always pretending. Even when I don't want to be."

Neytiri said nothing for a long moment.

Then, quietly: "Eywa does not make mistakes."

Maria blinked, her vision swimming.

"You were brought here. Not by accident. Not by force. You were called. And when Eywa calls someone, it is because their spirit is ready. Even if they are not."

Maria shook her head, staring at her hands. "But I'm not like you."

"No," Neytiri agreed softly. "You are not. You are you. And your spirit..." She reached out, placing two fingers gently over Maria's heart. "It is strong. And kind. And stubborn as a thanator."

That startled a shaky laugh out of Maria, and she looked away quickly, wiping her cheek.

Neytiri smiled faintly. "You are my student. And I am proud of you."

Maria's breath caught. Her chest ached with something unnameable. She tried to speak, but the words dissolved behind the rising sting in her throat. So instead, she leaned—just slightly—into Neytiri's side. The other woman didn't move at first... but then wrapped an arm around her, warm and grounding.

They sat like that, no more words between them, only the wind and the stars and the quiet knowledge that sometimes the right silence says more than anything else.

Later, alone in her hammock, Maria lay with her eyes closed, listening to the heartbeat of the forest. She didn't know what was happening to her, what she was becoming. The path ahead was still unclear.

But for the first time in a long while, she wasn't afraid of it.

She didn't feel lost anymore.

She felt like she was becoming.

And that was enough.