13. The Last Night

I already started reworking my older chapters, but please enjoy another chapter <3

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The fire flickered gently as the Last Meal was served beneath the great roots of Hometree. The Omatikaya gathered in quiet reverence tonight — not for a hunt, or a festival, but for her. For Maria.

She sat between Grace and Norm, wrapped in the ceremonial shawl Nekawn had gifted her. Her hair was newly braided, her songcord visible at her wrist. She looked calm. But something in her eyes had changed — as if the forest itself now echoed behind them.

Tsu'tey sat across the fire, not saying much. But his gaze lingered.

The Dream Hunt had taken her to the edge and back. She had returned different. Not just proven — chosen.

She took a sip of broth and glanced toward Mo'at, who had been speaking with Eytukan. As if sensing the weight in Maria's chest, the Tsahik rose and crossed to her side.

"Walk with me."

Maria followed without a word.

They stepped away from the gathering, under the gentle shade of bioluminescent leaves.

Mo'at did not waste time.

"You are ready. You survived the Dream. You listened. You understood."

Maria nodded, her hands folded tightly in front of her. "Will it happen tomorrow?"

"Yes. At the first light. The Tree of Souls is prepared." Mo'at studied her face. "Your body is weakening. You feel it."

Maria hesitated, then nodded. "I've felt it for weeks. It's like my soul is slipping from that shell every time I return."

"There is no shame in letting go of what no longer holds you. The people accept you. Eywa accepts you." Her voice softened. "But it is you who must now accept yourself."

Maria swallowed hard. "I do."

The Tsahik touched her cheek gently. "Then tonight, say farewell to the body that carried you through the storms of your past. Tomorrow, it will be only memory."

Maria felt a pressure in her throat she hadn't expected. "Mo'at... I'll need help transporting it. To the tree. I cannot— I don't want to do it alone."

"You will not," came a voice behind her.

Tsu'tey stepped forward from the shadows, tall and solemn.

"I will help you," he said, without ceremony. Just truth.

Their eyes met in silence. The only sound between them was the hum of the glowing trees.

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Later that evening, Maria returned to her human body. Her Avatar body lay still, waiting in the Home Tree, curled in rest, while her consciousness woke back in her true body — the fragile, fading one.

Every breath felt heavier now. Every movement a reminder of how far this form had carried her — and how little longer it would.

She walked into the mess area to find Grace, Norm, and Jake laughing over cards and dehydrated fruits.

"You're up," Jake grinned. "We were gonna play without you, but Grace said she'd rather throw herself out the airlock."

Maria smiled and pulled up a chair. "You'd lose without me anyway."

Norm dealt the cards with a wink. "You look better."

She chuckled. "I feel... lighter. Like I finally exhaled after holding my breath for a hundred years."

They played into the night, laughing until their eyes watered and teasing Jake relentlessly about Neytiri. Grace raised a toast — to strong women and stubborn students. Maria didn't speak much, but she listened closely to every word, every laugh. She tucked them away like beads on her cord.

After a while, one by one, they drifted off. Norm nodded off mid-conversation. Grace draped a blanket over him. Jake offered Maria a long, affectionate look before retreating to his bunk.

She was alone now.

In silence, she moved through the small lab. She touched the corner of Grace's desk. Ran her fingers over old files and notes. She took a moment to look at all the pictures Grace took in her old school. How happy everyone looked. After wandering around for a bit she sat in her bunk and stared down at her hands.

They were trembling.

Not with fear — but with grief.

She pressed her hand to her chest.

Thank you, she whispered to the body that had carried her this far. You brought me here. But I don't belong to you anymore.

She got up quietly, put her mask on, pulled on her coat, and slipped out into the night.

Even through the padded jacket, scarf, and gloves Grace had insisted she wear, she could feel the chill seep into her bones. The air in the mountains was thin and dry — so different from the warm, heavy breath of Pandora's jungles.

But this was no longer her world.

She pulled the hood tighter around her face and stepped forward onto the frozen platform.

And then she saw him.

Tsu'tey stood beside his Ikran, already mounted and waiting, cloaked in the soft blue of early twilight. The vast silhouette of the beast stirred slightly, wings twitching against the breeze.

Maria stopped.

So did Tsu'tey.

His eyes landed on her — and he didn't move.

For a moment, neither of them did.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Surprise, maybe. Curiosity. A joke to cut the tension.

But not this.

Not the way his expression shifted — not into disgust, but something worse: bewildered silence.

She swallowed hard.

"This is me," she said, her voice small against the wind. "The real me."

Tsu'tey didn't answer. His golden eyes scanned her — not in judgment, but like he was trying to reconcile two versions of the same person and failing.

The long scarf tugged loose from her neck. She caught it awkwardly, fumbling with her gloved fingers. She felt clumsy. Small. Weak. A shadow of the woman who had flown beside him, fought beside him. She hated that he saw her like this.

"You do not look like you," he said finally, quietly.

"I know."

There was a pause. His brows pinched slightly, his jaw set in an unreadable line.

"But your voice is the same."

She dared to meet his gaze. "Would it be easier if it wasn't?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose — almost a laugh. "No."

Another pause.

Then, as if collecting himself, he dismounted with a practiced grace and stepped toward her.

He was massive. And it wasn't just the physical size — it was the difference between them. She was painfully aware of her fragile ribs, her chapped lips, the cold reddening her knuckles.

And yet... when his hand reached out — cautious, unsure — it didn't feel patronizing.

He touched the edge of her scarf, adjusting it gently around her neck. Fingers careful. Almost reverent.

"You are cold," he said, voice low.

"I'm used to it," she lied.

"No," he said simply, "you are not."

She gave a weak smile, lowering her eyes. "I don't want to keep you. The Tree's far. I... I'm ready."

Tsu'tey said nothing. Just turned, mounted his Ikran again, and extended a hand.

Maria hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You don't have to—"

"I offered. I meant it." A beat. "I will not let you walk alone on this path."

That silenced her.

She stepped forward, and with one effortless motion, he lifted her into place behind him, her small frame nestled against his back. She held on tight — not out of fear of falling, but of being swallowed by her own thoughts.

The Ikran launched into the sky with a roar, slicing through the clouds.

The mountains fell away beneath them.

And for the first time, Maria saw the stars from her human eyes and knew it would be the last.The sky stretched endless above them, the stars scattered like salt across black velvet.

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The cold wind rushed past Tsu'tey's ears as his Ikran soared over the frozen peaks. Behind him, he could feel the faint, trembling weight of Maria's human body, her gloved hands clutching the straps around his waist.

She was so light. Too light. Like carrying a breath.And yet her presence pressed on him like stone.

He could not look at her — not now. He feared if he did, the thoughts already spiraling in his mind would consume him.

This is the body she came from. The body that brought her here. The body she wishes to leave behind.

He had known — in theory. He had heard her speak of her past, had imagined what she might look like. But imagination had not prepared him for the truth of it.

She had no queue. No tail. Her skin was pale, fragile, sickened by gravity and cold. Her voice — familiar — felt out of place in a face so small, so breakable.And still... she smelled the same.

She was not beautiful in the way of the People — not by the standards etched into Tsu'tey's soul. But the moment she had looked up at him, eyes wide and uncertain, something in him had cracked open.She was Maria. And that... was disarming.

He hated the conflict. Hated how her vulnerability made his heart ache.She had never looked at him like that before — not from a body that could bruise so easily, breathe so shallowly.

She had trusted him.Trusted him enough to come in that body.Trusted him to carry her to her death... or her rebirth.

He closed his eyes briefly, the cold biting at his lids.

Sylwanin, he thought, what would you say now?

The flight continued in silence — the jungle's familiar green rising below them, warm air pushing away the mountain chill. A sliver of moonlight cast their shadows across the trees as they descended, heading for the sacred place where Eywa listened.

And then he saw them — the lights of the Omatikaya. Torches in rings around the glowing base of the Tree of Souls. The People had gathered, as Mo'at had promised. No dreamwalkers. No scientists. Only Na'vi.

Only family.

He felt Maria's hands tighten behind him.

When they landed, he dismounted and turned to her, hands ready to catch her. She climbed down slowly — awkwardly — legs shaking from the cold and the altitude.

The moment her boots touched the moss, the Omatikaya fell silent.

All eyes turned.

Some gasped. Some murmured prayers. But none spoke openly.

Tsu'tey stepped beside her.

"She is one of us," he said, voice loud enough to reach the outer circle. "Tonight, she will walk the path Eywa laid for her."

The crowd parted, and Mo'at stepped forward, clad in ceremonial robes woven with vines and shells.

"Bring her," she said.

Tsu'tey didn't hesitate. He lifted Maria into his arms again, this time without shame. He could feel her heartbeat fluttering through the layers of fabric. She buried her face into his chest, hiding from the stares, from the weight of it all.

But he didn't hide her. He carried her to the Tree of Souls like a warrior brings home the fallen — or the chosen.

Mo'at knelt by the glowing roots and signaled the circle to close.

Maria's Avatar body lay still nearby, prepared, adorned with ceremonial markings. Incense burned. The roots pulsed softly with light. And the air felt full — dense with ancestral presence.

Tsu'tey knelt beside her, lowering her gently onto the woven mat. Her hand caught his before he could pull away.

He looked down.

Her eyes were wet, but calm. "Stay," she whispered.

"I will."

Mo'at's voice rose over the silence.

"O Eywa, great All-Mother. Receive this soul who has walked far, who has crossed worlds, who seeks not to escape, but to return. To belong."

Maria's breath slowed.

The roots of the Tree began to glow brighter, twisting gently toward her and her still Avatar body.

Tsu'tey bowed his head.

He felt it. All of them did.

The moment of choice had come.

And in the hush of that sacred place, beneath the stars, the jungle, and the gaze of Eywa, Maria let go.

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It started with breath.

A breath that wasn't hers.

She felt her chest rise — but which chest? A warmth spread across her ribs, yet her fingers were cold, numb, unreachable. For a moment, she floated between two tides. One pulled her deeper, one lifted her toward light.

And then — silence.

A great stillness.

No body. No thoughts. No time.

Only awareness, stretching wide and thin across the fabric of something ancient and vast.

She wasn't Maria. She wasn't Na'vi. She wasn't human.

She simply was.

Drifting.

She could feel Eywa.

Not as a voice, not even as a presence — but as a hum that wove through every memory she had. Her father's laugh. Her mother's lullaby. The way Grace had cried when Maria passed her Iknimaya. The brush of Ka'ani's braid against her shoulder. Tsu'tey's stare when she sang by the fire.

They were all in her. All the lives she had touched. All the lives she carried.

And then came the pull.

A deep, tidal pull — like gravity made of light.

She wanted it.

She surged toward it — this body, her body — the one that danced through the forest, that sang to the stars, that held the weight of her real voice.

The feeling of entering it was like slipping into skin that remembered you before you were born. Not warm. Not cold. Just... true.

And then — a jolt.

Like thunder cracking through her spine. Like breath after nearly drowning. Like birth.

Her eyes opened.

She gasped — a sound so real it startled her.

Her limbs were heavy. Her ears rang. Her hands trembled.

But she could feel the forest again. The roots. The people. The Tree.

A single tendril of energy still touched her queue — like a final kiss goodbye.

And then she heard it.

A breath beside her.

She turned.

Tsu'tey.

His hand was still holding hers. His expression unreadable, locked in a storm between reverence and disbelief. His gaze dropped to her arm — her Na'vi arm — as if confirming with his own senses that she was still here.

"Hello," she whispered, the word catching in her throat.

His eyes closed for a beat. A slow exhale left his lips. She didn't know if he was praying or recovering.

But when he looked at her again, something in him had shifted.

She didn't ask what he saw.

She just knew:

She had returned.