#sky breaker dlc fanfic

[nilsavatar]

Your fic with Neteyam and The Sarentu was amazing I loved it! Would you be willing to write a fic about the Sarentu having a nightmare about being back in TAP? I just keep thinking about our characters reply to Anufi after saving her from being tortured by the RDA “Sky peoples air, one of Hardings favorite punishments” it’s horrifying that they would do that to literal children.

The Sky Breaker: Shadows of the Past

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Sarentu (Ateyana)

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST. All characters are AGED-UP. No smut, only fluff in the end, but still this story is not about romance, even if Sarentu’s relationship with Neteyam is mentioned. So'lek cameo as a brotherly figure for Sarentu.

!DISCLAIMER! Presence of dark and sensitive explicit themes: torture through poison, child abuse, trauma. Please do not read if these topics are not for you.

Little note: Thanks a million, Anon, for your request. It resonated with me so much that I couldn't wait in writing it, surprising myself with the speed I completed it with. Like you, I too was deeply disturbed by that part of the DLC, and even more so by the protagonist's hint about the abuse Harding allegedly inflicted on the Sarentu children. I usually wait at least a couple of days before posting to check for errors with a cool head, but this time I'm so impatient that I can't resist. I hope I managed to satisfactorily touch on all the points you listed, and that the end result reflects your expectations. Thank you again for the challenge you have given me, allowing me to explore even more of the world of Avatar, even in its darkest and most disturbing parts.

@hao-ming-8 you told me to tag you in case I write about So'lek. Although this story is not about So'lek, there is a part about him that reflects the ghosts of his past. I thought you might appreciate it.

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist - Request a fic

Yana crouched in the underbrush, her heart still hammering from the chaos of the last battle. The air was heavy with the acrid tang of scorched earth, a testament to the destruction wrought by the RDA. Beside her, Anufi set silently, the blue of her skin ashen, the fresh burns on her wrists standing stark against her flesh. Her silence haunted her almost as much as her own thoughts. Anufi’s rescue had been harrowing. Finding her facing the ground in a gas chamber where humans forced the Na'vi's lungs to choke on their poisonous atmosphere awakened an old, buried terror. Her hands trembled as she wiped sweat from her brow, memories unraveling in her mind before she could stop them.

She had been little more than a child when she, her sister and the others were taken into the RDA’s TAP. The Ambassador Program, they had called it, a name coated in the syrupy pretense of goodwill. To the humans, it was a symbol of diplomacy, and experiment in ‘peaceful coexistence’. Its true nature was something far darker—a carefully calculated project to mold Na’vi children into tools for the humans’ colonial ambitions. A gilded cage, where their culture, their independence, and even their spirit were systematically stripped away.

The Sky People smiled as they handed out data pads and notebooks, teaching the children about Earth’s history, science, and culture. But those smiles always hid something colder. They’d correct a mispronounced English word with thinly veiled frustration or scowl when a child struggled to manipulate human tools with their three-fingered hands. “It’s for your own good,” they’d say when a child wept, homesick for the forests of Pandora. “This is how you’ll help your people survive.”

Great responsibility for someone who was just a kid.

Aha’ri, however, saw through the lies. She had always been the bold one, the spark to Yana’s cautious flame. While the little sister obeyed quietly, biting back her discomfort, the older one would glare at the instructors with a defiance the set her apart. Her golden eyes, so full of fire, had  unnerved the RDA staff from the start. “That one’s trouble,” they’d mutter as she passed, but for a time, they tolerated her resistance. They wanted to shape her, too, to prove they could tame even the fiercest Na'vi.

Yana, on the other hand, was more thoughtful, more fearful and aware of the superiority the humans had over them because of their technological contraptions. They were on their own turf, here the soldiers and scientists were playing at home, driven by a cruelty and avarice against which a paltry little group of children could do nothing. Moved by this, the younger sister tried to temper the elder's temper, pleading with her to stay quiet. But Aha'ri wouldn’t listen.

“Tsmuke [sister], they’re stronger than us. They control everything. If you fight them—.” “Then I’ll fight harder,” Aha’ri interrupted, her voice sharp as an arrowhead. “They won’t break me.” But Ateyana knew better. The humans’ kindness was a thin mask over something monstrous, and that monstrosity revealed itself one fateful day.

It began in a cultural lesson — one of the RDA’s many patronizing attempts to bridge understanding between humans and Na’vi. Her sister had been tense from the very start, her tail flicking in irritation as the instructor droned on about the technological advancements of Earth, their tone dripping with condescension. “And that’s why humanity’s ingenuity has made us the dominant species,” they stated, holding up a glowing data pad as though it wet a sacred artifact.

Aha’ri patience snapped. With a swift motion, she grabbed the object from the instructor’s hands and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the metal wall with a deafening crash, its pieces scattering like shards of broken pride. “You don’t want to understand us!” Her voice cut through the stunned silence, sharp and fierce. Her tail lashed behind her, and her chest heaved with rage. “You want to own us! To take everything away from us. Our families, our land, our identity!” The other Na’vi children froze, their wide eyes darting between Aha’ri and the Sky People. Yana’s heart sank as she saw the instructor’s face harden, their polite veneer cracking to reveal cold fury.

Within minutes, the incident was reported to John Mercer himself. The administrator of TAP arrived with his characteristic composure, his every movement calculated and deliberate. Mercer had a presence that muffled rooms and chilled blood — a man whose power was as much in his intellect as in his authority. He looked down at the remains of the data pas, then up at the girl, who stood unrepentant, her chin raised in defiance.

“Colonel Harding,” he said, his tone calm but devoid of empathy. “You may deal with this as you see fit.” Ateyana’s blood turned ice. She knew what that meant. Colonel Angela Harding, the TAP’s enforcer, thrived on cruelty. A towering woman with a predatory gaze, she carried herself with the detached air of someone who viewed torment as a mere tool for oder. Her punishment were as inventive as they were brutal, each conceived not just to discipline but to humiliate and break the will of her captives, to withdraw insubordination and replace it with submission. For that monster, breaking the Na’vi wasn’t simply her duty: it was a twisted form of entertainment.

As she arrived in response to Mercer’s orders, the colonel strode into the room, her boots clicking against the linoleum floor, her expression one of faint amusement. Aha’ri maintain her bolshie attitude, but everybody could see the tension in her stiff tail and the subtle quiver in her shoulders. “Ah, the little firebrand,” Harding commented, her voice dripping with mockery. “You think you’re so special because you’ve got a bit of spark, don’t you?” The girl didn’t respond, her golden eyes narrowing in silent insolence, and she chuckled, shaking her head. “We’ll see how long that spark lasts.” When the woman reached for Aha’ri, Yana acted on instinct. She stepped forward, throwing herself between the colonel and her sister. Her entire frame trembled, but she forced her voice to be steady ash she spoke. “Aha’ri didn’t mean it!” She cried, meeting her icy gaze. “She’s just… she’s just angry. Please, forgive her just this time.” “Step aside, child,” Harding said coldly, her eyes razor-sharp like knives, but she refused to move. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest and ears, but she planted her feet firmly on the ground. “Please,” she begged, turning to Mercer, who studied her from the doorway with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a specimen. “I’ll make her behave. I promise.” He stared at Sarentu for a long time, his head tilted as if considering her plea. “Discipline,” he said finally, his tone almost paternal, “is essential for progress. If you truly wish to help your sister, sweet child, you should teach her to obey.” Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees in front of him, clinging to his lab coat in supplication. “I’ll take her punishment. Just let her go.” “Do you think if she saw you suffering in her place, she would learn her lesson?” The aloofness with which he asked prevented her from answering. “You want to protect your sister, I understand that. But have you ever thought that she is putting you all in trouble with her antics? Ateyana, you are a good girl, but if you always cover for her you will end up doing her more harm than good. Aha'ri needs to learn how to be in the world.”

With a flick of his hand, Mercer signaled Harding to proceed. The colonel didn’t wait for further discussion, she grabbed Aha’ri by the arm and began dragging her away, ignoring the younger Na’vi’s thrashing and curses. Yana lunged after them, her hands reaching for her sister, but two Sec-Ops troopers blocked her path, their like iron as they held her back, ready to point the weapons hanging at their side if necessary. “Don’t do this!” She screamed, her voice breaking. “Please! You don’t have to do this!” Her cries went unanswered, Harding didn’t even glance back. She pulled Aha’ri around like a rag doll. The doors hissed shut behind them, with a mechanical finality that sent a chill through the little girl’s soul.

Aha’ri’s punishment was swift and merciless. Harding took her to one of the facility’s sealed chambers — a tool originally designed to test human oxygen systems in Pandora’s atmosphere but repurposed for a far darker use. She was shoved into a cylindrical space with reinforced glass walls, that allowed observers to watch.

Harding’s fingers hovered over the control panel, her lips curling into a devious sneer. “Let’s see how well she handles a little taste of home.” Yana pounded on the glass, her fists striking the cold surface with frantic desperation. “Stop! Please! She’ll listen! She’ll listen, I swear!” The soldier glanced at her, one eyebrow arched in fake pity. “Oh, she’ll listen. One way or another.” With that, she pressed the button. Inside the tube, Aha’ri face shifted from boldness to confusion as the first wave of Earth’s air flooded in. It was clear but carried a hidden poison — the mixture of gases that made up the Earth's atmosphere, was toxic to Na’vi physiology. And the speed with which it was being administered in the small space made its effects immediate.

Within moments, the girl staggered, her hands clutching her throat as her lungs rebelled. “Breathe, little warrior,” Harding murmured, her voice filled with wicked mirth. At first, the girl resisted, glaring through the glass as if daring Harding to do her worst. But courage and recklessness couldn’t stop the poison from taking hold. The little sister’s breath labored in sync with the oldest’s, as she watched her confident posture collapse to her knees, gasping for air that her body couldn’t accept. Her chest heaved as she clawed at her throat, her eyes wide with panic.

The sight of Aha’ri’s agony — the strength draining from her limbs, the fire in her irises flickering into fear — was more than Ateyana could bear. She turned back to Mercer, who stood silently in the corner, his arms crossed. “Stop her!” The girl sobbed, her voice raw. “Please, make her stop! You’re killing her!” The man regarded her with the same neutrality he had shown throughout the ordeal. “Killing her?” He echoed, as though the idea were preposterous. “No. Colonel Harding knows her limits. Your sister will survive, don’t worry. The question is whether she’ll learn.” Sarentu’s whines filled the lab as she could only watch her sister being tortured.

The minutes dragged on like hours. Aha’ri’s struggles grew weaker, her gasps becoming faint and uneven. Her frame trembled, on hand pressed against the glass, her golden eyes locking with her sister’s as though reaching for help that would never come. Yana could do nothing but press her palms in return, her tears smearing the surface. Then her hands closed into fists, pounded against the window until they bled. She screamed, begged, wailed, but no one came. Behind her, the other Na’vi children huddled in terrified quiet, their eyes averted.

Harding savored the scene with a vague smirk, her arms crossed as though she were enjoying a private show. At last, when Aha’ri passed out, limp to the floor, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths, she released the seal. “Enough,” her tone almost bored. The chamber’s doors hissed open, two guards stepped inside to drag the victim out, while the colonel looked down at the motionless girl with disdain “She’ll live,” said with casual, scorn indifference. “Maybe now she’ll learn her place.”

When they returned Aha’ri to the dormitory, Ateyana rushed to her sister’s side. Her skin was damp with sweat, her breath still short, but her beautiful eyes fluttered open as she cradled her. “It’s okay,” the younger whispered, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now. I got you.” But Ahari didn’t respond. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her expression devoid of the fire that had once defined her, replaced by a hollow emptiness that she could barely recognize. Ateyana’s heart ached as she realized the truth: the sister she knew was gone, her spirit crushed under the weight of what she had endured.

From that day, she was different. She stopped speaking out against the humans, her rebellious nature altered by a haunting silence. Yana, too, carried the scars of that day — not on her body, but in her soul. She had failed her sister, failed to protect the one person she loved most.

The memory of Aha'ri’s panting breaths, her despairing eyes, would never leave her. It would follow her into adulthood, a ghost that whispered of her guilt and the monstrous cruelty of the humans she had once begged for mercy. That was the day Ateyana learned a hard truth: mercy was not something to be asked for. It was something to be taken, or forced, or denied entirely. And if she wanted to protect her people, she could never again rely on the humanity of her enemies. She would have to fight with all her might, at the risk of being stained with sin in the eyes of the Great Mother. A promise she made to herself again on the day Aha'ri was killed.

She sat on the thick root of a great tree, her fingers absently tracing the worn fletching of an arrow. Around her, the forest pulsed with life. The gentle hum of glowing flora and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze seemed distant, muted by the storm in her mind. The memories of Aha’ri scratched at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to drag her into the darkness she had fought so hard to keep at bay.

Sarentu squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the sounds of the nature, the cool texture of the moss beneath her fingers — anything to anchor herself in the present. But the harder she tried to push the memories away, the sharper they became. The hiss of the cell, the anguished cries of her sister, the emptiness in Mercer’s eyes. A shadow fell across her, and a warm weight settled on her shoulder. Startled, Yana blinked and looked up to find So’lek standing beside her. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, his touch firm bun unintrusive. 

So’lek was one of the few people she trusted completely. He had been a warrior long before the RDA’s return and had seen firsthand the destruction the humans could bring. His cheek and temple bore the scars of past battles, and his eyes — amber like a fading sunset — held the weight of someone who had endured loss and hardship.

He didn’t speak at first, his gaze steady as he looked down at her. There was no pity in his expression, only quiet understanding. A gaze that knew the pain of haunting memories. The gaze of someone who had carried his own ghosts through the years.

“You’re far away,” he stated softly, his voice low and even, like the rumble of distant thunder. She tried to muster a reply, but the words caught on her tongue, looking away, ashamed of the vulnerability she was showing.

The man crouched beside her, his hand still on her shoulder. He didn’t press her to talk, didn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he sat in silence, his presence a muted reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

“I know that look,” So’lek said after a moment, his thoughtful. “The way your shoulders tighten, how your tail moves without you even realizing it.” He paused, his warm eyes meeting hers. “You’re fighting something inside, aren't you?” Yana felt her throat harshened. She wanted to deny it, to tell him she was fine, that she didn’t need his concern. Bet the words felt pointless even before she could externalize them. So’lek’s glance held her, stiff and unyielding, and she found herself nodding, almost imperceptibly.

“I think about it too,” he admitted, his tone dropping even lower. His eyes drifted to the forest canopy, his expression longing but far-off. “The things I saw. The things I couldn’t stop. Sometimes they come back when I least expect it. In the quiet moments, when the forest is still, I feel I may be at peace once again, at least a little, they creep in.” His hand gave her shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. So’lek’s words reached something deep inside her, a part of her that had been hidden for so long she’d almost forgotten it existed. For years, she had carried the weight of her guilt and pain in silence, afraid to burden others with the darkness she couldn’t escape. But in So’lek’s eyes, she saw no judgment, only the quiet camaraderie of someone who understood.

“What do you do?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “When the memories come?” So’lek tilted his head, considering her question. “I remind myself why I fight,” he said after a pause. “Not to forget, or to erase the past. But to make sure it doesn’t happen again. For the ones I lost. For the ones still here.” Yana stared down at her hands, her fingers still gripping the arrow. His words resonated with her, stirring something in the depths of her chest. She thought of Aha’ri, of Anufi, of the clans who had entrusted her with their lives. Of Neteyam. They were her purpose now, the reason she had to keep fighting—even when the pain felt unbearable.

So’lek rose to his feet, his hand slipping from her shoulder. He turned to leave but paused, glancing back at her with a faint smile. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, little one,” he said gently. “If the burden is too heavy, let someone else help you shoulder it.” She watched him walk away, his tall frame disappearing into the camp shadows. The weight of her memories hadn’t lifted, but for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest flicker of hope. She wasn’t alone—not entirely.

The moment of clarity didn’t last long. As the night deepened and the forest grew quieter, the memories crept back in, stronger than ever, sharper and crueler than any blade. It seized her mind without warning, dragging her into the dark recesses of her subconscious where fear and guilt lurked, waiting.  

She was back in the TAP facility, a child again, small and powerless. The sterile white walls loomed around her, closing in like the jaws of a predator. The hum of machinery filled the air, a sound she had grown to dread in those years. Ahead of her, Mercer stood tall, his shadow stretching impossibly long, swallowing the room in its cold grip. His expression was impassive, the same look he had worn when he condemned Aha’ri to her punishment.   Behind him stood Colonel Harding, her fingers drumming against the control panel with rhythmic precision. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each sound reverberated through her chest like the beat of a war drum, growing louder and louder until it drowned out her own breathing. Harding’s lips twisted into a devious smile as her hand hovered over the controls.   Inside the chamber, Aha’ri yelled. It was the same scream she had heard that day, raw and primal, full of misery and pain. The sound teared at Yana’s ears, filling her with a helpless rage that burned like acid in her veins. She tried to move, to stop Harding, but her feet felt rooted to the ground, as if the very air around her had turned to stone.  

“Stop!” She exclaimed with a cry of distress. “Please! Stop!”  

Her hands moved on their own, pounding against the glass until her knuckles split, blood smearing the surface. But her cries were swallowed by the cold, unfeeling room, just as they had been all those years ago. Aha’ri’s golden eyes locked with hers through the glass, wide with terror. Ateyana’s heart shattered all over again as she saw her sister collapse to her knees, gasping for air, her body convulsing as the poisonous atmosphere ravaged her.  

Suddenly, the scene shifted. Ateyana was no longer outside the chamber. She was inside it. The walls pressed in around her, the sterile white replaced by suffocating gloom. The hiss of the oxygen systems grew louder, sharper, until it was the only sound she could hear. Her chest tightened as she drew in a ragged breath, only to feel flames sear her lungs. It was Earth’s air, toxic and alien, invading her body and asphyxiating her from within.   She grazed her throat, panic overtaking her as her vision blurred. Shapes flickered in the dimness—indistinct at first, then blinding. She saw Anufi, her body slumped against the wall, her eyes round and lifeless.   “No,” the girl breathed, reaching for her, but her limbs felt heavy, sluggish. “No, no, no!”  

Then another figure emerged, stepping forward from the shadows. Aha’ri.   Her sister’s complexion was pale and gaunt, her once-bright golden orbs now dim and vacant. She stared at young woman, her expression indecipherable, as though she were looking at a stranger. Behind her, a faint, ghostly image of the cylinder chamber from their childhood flickered to life, overlaying the blackness like a poignant projection.  

“You failed us,” Aha’ri whispered, her voice merging with Anufi’s in a disturbing, chilling harmony.   She shook her head, tears raining down her cheeks. “I tried!” she gasped, her voice plaintive, barely audible over the sound of her labored breathing. “I tried to save you!”   “You failed us,” they repeated, their voices growing louder, the words echoing in her skull until they became a deafening chant. “You failed us! You failed us!”  

The constraining darkness strengthened its grip, the air growing heavier with each passing moment. Her vision swam, the shapes of Aha’ri and Anufi blurring into the shadows. Her own reflection appeared before her, distorted and corrupted, her visage pallid and streaked with tears.   In the reflection’s eyes, she saw all the guilt she had buried for years— the guilt of letting Aha’ri down, of begging Mercer for mercy instead of fighting back, of living when her sister’s spirit had been crushed. And now, the remorse of almost losing Anufi to the same hideous tactics, the same noxious fumes.  

The reflection spoke, its tone cold and unrelenting, distorted in sounds that weren’t hers, but resembled all too closely the voice she had grown most fond of, in the endless struggle that was her life. “You think you can protect them now? You can’t even protect yourself.”  The words hit her like a blow to the chest, forcing the last remnants of air from her lungs. She kneel over, the choking poison overwhelming her. Her hands reached out blindly, her fingernails grasping at nothing.   “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” she murmured, while her reflection took the figure of somebody else.

The darkness surrounding her grew denser, swallowing her cries and the shapes of her sister and Anufi. It was suffocating, cloying, pressing on her from all sides. She reached out, desperate for any tether to pull her back into the light, but her fingers grasped only the void. Then, she saw him.

“Neteyam?” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

His form was unmistakable — his broad shoulders, the proud set of his jaw, the way his braids swayed gently as he walked. But something was off. His movements were sluggish, his steps unsteady. Yana's breath caught in her throat as he turned toward her, his face ashen and drawn, his bright lemon eyes dull and dead. “No,” she hushed, shaking her head as alarm dig into her chest. “No, not you. Not you too.”

Neteyam didn’t answer. His lips parted, but no words came out, only a soft, wheezing gasp. Her horror deepened as she saw the friction burns on his wrists, raw and angry, identical to the ones Anufi had borne. The result of the straps with which they had taken him there. Aimed at inflicting pain and subduing resistance, as a further form of the utter contempt RDA had for them.

The light fizz of oxygen filled the air, and she realized with sickening clarity that her mate was choking, his body wracked with spasms as he fight for breathe the toxic human atmosphere. She ran to him, her feet moving as though through water. “Neteyam!” she cried, her voice cracking. “I’m here! I’ll save you!”

But no matter how fast she moved, she couldn’t reach him. The distance between them stretched endlessly, as though the murk itself were conspiring to keep them apart. He fell to his knees, his eyes locking with hers for a fleeting moment. There was no accusation in his gaze, only dread and sadness—a quiet, haunting sadness that made her chest feel like it was splitting open. “Don’t leave me!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face unstoppably. “Please! Eywa, don’t take him from me!” As his body slumped forward, the shadow surged around him, consuming him entirely. Ateyana dropped to her knees, her cries echoing into the void.

She bolted upright with a strangled gasp, her form drenched in sweat. Her hands flew to her forehead, trembling as she struggled to shake the lingering terror of the dream. Her chest heaved as she gulped in Pandora’s sweet, life-giving air, her mind racing to separate illusion from reality. Her surroundings came into focus slowly — the soft glow of bioluminescent plants, the distant hum of nocturnal creatures. She was back in the forest, far from the sterile walls of the TAP facility.  

It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t alone. Beside her, lying peacefully on a bed of soft mats and pillows, was Neteyam. Her breath caught as she turned to look at him. The moonlight filtering through the hut bathed his profile in a silvery gleam, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He looked so tranquil, so alive. Yana’s shaking fingers reached out to touch his cheek, her fingertips brushing against his warm skin as though to reassure herself that he was truly there. The tension in her frame ebbed slightly, a wave of relief washing over her. He was safe. He hadn’t been taken from her, hadn’t suffered the horrors her mind had conjured.

“I almost lost you,” she mumbled, her voice whispery as the wind. The young man stirred slightly, his expression softening in his sleep as though he could sense her presence. Sarentu's heart clenched with a mix of endearment and dismay, her emotions swirling like a storm within her. The nightmare had felt so real, so visceral, that even now, the echoes of it clung to her. Her hands trembled as she touched her throat, half-convinced she would feel the burns of the human oxygen.

Her eyes darted to Neteyam once more. Her feelings for him were undeniable, a bond as deep as the roots of Pandora’s sacred trees. But that love came with a fear so profound it threatened to consume her. She had already lost so much— her family, her innocence, the peace of her childhood. The thought of losing Neteyam, of watching him suffer as Aha’ri had, was a pain she could scarcely bear. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to linger in the solace of him being there, her digits brushing against his hair. But the relief was short-lived.

Yana buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with silent sobs. She had tried so hard to bury the past, to lock away the pain and guilt in the darkest corners of her mind. But saving Anufi had torn open those wounds, forcing her to confront the truth she had spent years avoiding: she couldn’t run from her failures. 

As the faint light of dawn began to seep into the forest, she felt the weight of reality settle over her once more. The RDA’s war machines still loomed on the horizon, their engines a constant reminder of the battle yet to come. The nightmare was a cruel reflection of the stakes she faced every day — a reminder that every moment she spent with Neteyam could be their last.

Her gaze shifted to the bow resting nearby, its polished wood shining smoothly in the early morning. There was no room for hesitation, no space for weakness. If she wanted to protect Neteyam, Anufi, and her people, she couldn’t allow insecurities to paralyze her. Her fingers brushed against Neteyam’s cheek one last time before she stood, her movements quiet so as not to wake him. She would fight for him, for all of them. Whatever it took, she would ensure that the nightmare she had seen would never become reality.

She glanced to the floating mountains, and wiped her tears, her hands curling into fists, her resolve hardening like steel. The battle was coming, and she would meet it head-on, fueled by the love that gave her strength and the fear that reminded her what she had to lose. She couldn’t change whar happened to Aha’ri, but she could give her whole self for the future, for Pandora itself.

The past had left its scars, but it had also given her purpose. The Sky People would pay for what they had done. Yana would make sure of it.