The three years that followed Nussudle's formal recognition as a hunter-in-training passed with a pace that seemed both slow and unrelenting. The forests around Home Tree became his classroom, the creatures within them his tutors, and the elders' instructions the framework of his life. Under the watchful eyes of Kamun, Ilara, and the more immediate mentorship of Eytukan, Nussudle and a small cadre of other teenagers, including Nayat'i, spent their days learning the intricacies of hunting, tracking, and survival.
Nussudle's system, hidden within his consciousness, accelerated his understanding of these skills. While his peers struggled with the basics of spear handling or bow sighting, Nussudle absorbed the techniques instinctively. He would visualise the connections of tendons and muscles, recall previous hunts, and, guided by the system's subtle prompts, perfect his form almost mechanically. Yet, he never allowed this advantage to distance him from his companions. Instead, he often trained alongside Nayat'i, whose skill and precision in archery and spear fighting rivalled his own.
The two became a sort of tandem, learning from one another while also competing constantly. Nayat'i would challenge him to marksmanship contests, their arrows flying side by side as they practised against moving targets or even suspended fruits from the tree canopies. Nussudle's system occasionally prompted him with improved techniques—adjusting his angle, estimating wind resistance, or suggesting subtle shifts in posture—but he always allowed Nayat'i to take equal credit, encouraging her natural skill to flourish.
Beyond the bow and arrow, the spear remained the most intimate of weapons for the hunters-in-training. Kamun had often stressed that the spear was not only an instrument of death but also a tool of respect. Nussudle spent countless hours in the early mornings sparring with Nayat'i and his peers, learning to anticipate attacks, pivot with agility, and read the subtle shifts of balance in the opponent's body. By the end of the second year, Nussudle's coordination with the spear and the bow had surpassed what even some of the older teenagers could achieve, though he never allowed pride to overtake humility.
These years of training were not just about personal growth; they were also punctuated with small "quests" handed down by the elders. Tracking rare wildlife, observing the migratory patterns of the hexapede herds, or collecting medicinal flora became regular assignments. With the system quietly providing hints and reminders, Nussudle completed these tasks with an efficiency that impressed Kamun. Still, he understood that the true test of a hunter lay not in ease but in challenge, and he did not shy away from the difficulties presented.
Nayat'i remained his constant companion, a presence both grounding and stimulating. Though often blunt and occasionally impatient, she pushed him to refine his skills, to anticipate unpredictability, and to trust his instincts. Their relationship, forged in countless hours of sparring and shared victories, became one of mutual respect and, on occasion, quiet amusement when one outwitted the other. There was an unspoken understanding: they were allies, competitors, and friends, all rolled into one.
As Nussudle reached his sixteenth year, the culmination of their training approached. The elders had chosen a test for the hunters-in-training: to venture into the deep forests surrounding Home Tree during the time of the eclipse, when shadows lengthened, and predators became emboldened. The task was straightforward in instruction but perilous in execution: track, survive, and if necessary, confront a predator without the immediate aid of the tribe.
Nussudle and Nayat'i set out together, their bows strung, spears in hand, and their senses keenly attuned to the subtle disturbances in the undergrowth. The forest around them was alive in ways both wondrous and dangerous: bioluminescent flora glimmered faintly beneath the canopy, and distant sounds—sometimes footfalls, sometimes roars—reminded them of their vulnerability. The eclipse had begun, casting an eerie pall over the landscape, a twilight that made every movement uncertain.
It was not long before they encountered the Thanator. The massive predator, black-scaled and muscular, emerged from the shadowed trees with terrifying speed and precision. Its six forelimbs propelled it forward, its claws glinting like razors, and its eyes—large, intelligent, and relentless—locked onto Nussudle and Nayat'i.
The battle was sudden, chaotic, and visceral. Nussudle's first instinct was to shield Nayat'i, pushing her aside as the Thanator swiped with blinding speed. One of its claws caught his arm, slicing through muscle and tendon, pain flaring through his body as his system panel flickered in response: warnings, suggestions, and possible manoeuvres to survive. Despite the injury, Nussudle's training and the system's prompts guided his reactions, allowing him to maintain balance on the uneven terrain.
Nayat'i fought with equal courage, her arrows flying with deadly precision as she aimed for vulnerable spots on the predator. Yet even with her skill, the Thanator's ferocity seemed almost unstoppable. Nussudle, bleeding and grimacing, realised that only a confrontation would end the threat. With calculated movements, he dodged a sweeping claw, planted his feet firmly, and drove his spear with all the strength he could muster into the Thanator's gaping maw. The creature roared in pain and fury, thrashing before finally collapsing, lifeless.
The victory was pyrrhic. Nussudle's arm was badly wounded, a jagged slash running deep, and Nayat'i bore a shallow cut along her shoulder from the encounter. They had survived, but barely. The sounds of distant wings and footsteps signalled that help had arrived sooner than anticipated: Nayat'i's mother, Vey'ang, appeared first, scolding her daughter with a mixture of fear and fury for her recklessness. Her voice softened only when she took in the sight of Nussudle, bloodied and panting, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. "By Eywa," she muttered, alarm etching her features. "What have you done?"
Eytukan and other members of the Omaticaya clan soon arrived, guiding them and the Thanator's body back toward Home Tree. Along the path, whispers and exclamations spread through the forest: villagers speculated, alarmed at the sight of Nussudle, their chief's second son, so grievously injured. Nayat'i walked beside him, limping but composed, her eyes wide with concern yet fiercely proud of what they had survived.
Once within the protective branches of Home Tree, the scene drew an even larger crowd. Elders and warriors alike parted to make way, murmuring in shock at the injuries and the sheer audacity of the encounter. Eytukan immediately assisted, his protective instincts taking over, while Ilara and the other healers worked quickly to staunch Nussudle's bleeding and bind his arm as best they could. The sight of the Thanator's corpse, massive and deadly, served as a grim reminder of the forest's peril and the bravery—or recklessness—of the hunters-in-training.
Kamun, though visibly concerned, maintained a measured presence, surveying the situation with an authoritative calm. His gaze lingered on Nussudle, assessing not just the injury but the courage and skill that had allowed his son to survive against a creature that even the most seasoned hunters approached with caution. Though his lips remained firm, there was a flicker of pride in his eyes—recognition of the trials his son had endured and the strength that would define him in the years to come.
As the immediate chaos settled, Nussudle finally sank to a large leaf, exhausted, his arm carefully supported by the healers. Nayat'i crouched beside him, her hand brushing against his back in a rare gesture of comfort. "You were insane," she whispered with a mixture of exasperation and admiration. "But… you saved me."
Nussudle managed a weak smile, his breathing shallow but steady. "We saved each other," he replied, his words soft but resolute. "I couldn't let it be any other way."
The elders began preparations to display the Thanator's body as both a cautionary tale and a testament to the bravery of the hunters-in-training. Yet for Nussudle, the event marked more than mere triumph or danger—it was the culmination of three years of training, of lessons learned, and of trust forged with Nayat'i and his companions. He had been tested, almost lost, and emerged forever changed.
And as the forest outside Home Tree seemed to sigh in the settling twilight, Nussudle realised that the path of a hunter was far from over. It was merely the beginning of greater challenges, sharper lessons, and deeper communion with Eywa and the world around him. He had survived the Thanator—but in doing so, he had glimpsed the true depth of the forest's power, and the bond of trust and friendship that would guide him through the trials yet to come.