The bonfire blazed in the heart of the village, its embers spiraling upward like stars caught in an eternal dance. The Na'vi had gathered in a wide circle, their songs weaving into the night, a harmony of drums, chants, and voices.
But every gaze was fixed on me.
I stood at the center, my ikran perched on the cliffs behind, still proud after its clash with the Toruk. Whispers ran through the People—fear, awe, and something new… acceptance.
Neytiri stepped forward, bow in hand, her eyes sharp yet softened by respect.
"No man faces Toruk and returns alive," she said, her voice carrying through the crowd. "Yet he has done so, not with brute strength alone, but with the bond of rider and mount. He is no longer demon. He is not other."
The murmurs swelled, ripples of agreement spreading.
Mo'at, the Tsahik, approached next, her steps deliberate, her gaze piercing into the marrow of my being. Her hand rose, fingers brushing my chest as if feeling the power burning within.
"I feel Eywa's song in you," she whispered. "Strange, loud… storm-like. You are not Na'vi, yet you are not alien. You walk between worlds."
Her hand dropped, and silence fell.
"Tonight, we give you a name."
The People broke into chants, the drums growing louder, the air thick with ceremony.
Mo'at raised her staff high, voice ringing with finality.
"From this day forward, you are Tsa'toruk'itan… Son of the Storm that Defies the Great Beast."
The name echoed in the air like thunder.
The People roared their approval, voices crashing like waves. Children jumped and danced, warriors beat their chests, and the hunters raised their bows in salute.
I lowered my head, emotion tightening my chest. A name. An identity. Not borrowed, not mocked. Given.
"I accept," I said, my voice steady. "I am Tsa'toruk'itan."
The cheer that followed was unlike anything I had ever known. For the first time since I awoke on Pandora, I was not an outsider.
Not human. Not alien.
One of them.
Later, as the celebration stretched into song and dance, Tsireya approached me. Her steps were quiet, her eyes glimmering with the reflection of firelight.
"You carry it well," she said softly. "Your name."
I glanced at her, smiling faintly. "It feels strange. But… right."
She tilted her head, studying me as if searching deeper than words could reach. "Names are not just sounds. They are promises. You are the Storm, and yet… you are more gentle than the waves."
Her words lingered, brushing against something in my chest I thought long buried.
"You think I'm gentle?" I teased, though my voice betrayed something else.
Tsireya's lips curved into a smile, small but radiant. "Gentle to those who matter."
For a moment, the firelight faded, and it was just us—the ocean's daughter and the storm of the sky, drawn together in the silence between heartbeats.
But before I could reply, a voice rang out.
"Storm of the Sky!" a warrior called, raising a cup of glowing drink. "Dance with us!"
The spell broke, but Tsireya's gaze lingered, her smile never fading.
And as I joined the circle, laughter and music around me, I realized something that struck deeper than power or strength.
Pandora wasn't just a world to protect.
It was becoming… home.
And Tsireya—perhaps—was becoming more.