The walk back to Home Tree was quieter than Nussudle expected.
Ilara moved beside him with the steady, measured pace of one who had walked these paths countless times, her presence grounding even when neither of them spoke. The forest seemed to hold its breath as they travelled, the bioluminescent plants dimming as the eclipse crept closer, shadows stretching and merging beneath the roots. Each step felt deliberate, as though Pandora itself were listening.
Nussudle's mind was still reeling from the vision. The image of the mountain collapsing inward, the fire pouring into the sky, and the screams that followed clung to him like smoke in his lungs. He tried to push it away, to focus on the familiar creak of wooden bridges and the soft glow of Home Tree ahead, but the weight of it refused to lift. It was not fear that unsettled him most, but certainty—an unshakable feeling that what he had seen was not merely symbolic.
When they reached the outer platforms, Ilara finally slowed. She turned to him, her eyes searching his face with a mixture of concern and restraint. As Tsahìk, she understood visions better than most—but she also knew when answers needed time.
"Rest," she said gently. "The night will bring clarity, or it will bring nothing at all. Either way, your body needs healing."
Nussudle nodded, though he wasn't certain rest would come easily.
They parted beneath the great trunk as the eclipse fully settled over Pandora, the world bathed in deep blues and silvers. Nussudle made his way back to the healing pods, his injured arm bound tightly once more. The healers spoke softly as they adjusted his wrappings and applied fresh ointments that burned faintly against his skin, their practised movements efficient and calm.
When he finally lay down, exhaustion overtook him faster than he expected.
Sleep came without dreams.
He woke to the sound of distant calls echoing through Home Tree, the steady hum of life returning with the morning light. For a moment, disorientation held him still—then memory rushed back.
Today was the day.
Not the claiming itself, but the beginning. The gathering. The preparation. The moment every hunter in training both dreaded and longed for: the journey to the Hallelujah Mountains to claim an ikran.
Nussudle sat up slowly, hissing as pain flared through his arm. It was better than before—he could move it now, lift it without assistance—but the ache lingered deep beneath the skin, sharp and unpredictable. He flexed his fingers, watching as his hand responded, though not without protest. Beneath the pain, however, he felt something else—subtle, unfamiliar. A density. As if his arm carried more weight than it once had, not in burden, but in potential.
One of the elders entered shortly after, her movements brisk and efficient. She examined his arm carefully, pressing along the muscle and shoulder, her expression unreadable.
"It will hold," she said at last.
Nussudle frowned. "It still hurts. When I draw my bow—"
She cut him off with a firm shake of her head. "Pain does not always mean weakness. The flesh has healed enough for what lies ahead. What remains may be nerve damage, or something deeper that time alone must resolve."
Her gaze softened slightly. "If you wait for pain to disappear entirely, you will never move forward."
The words settled heavily in his chest. He nodded, accepting the judgement even if doubt lingered.
By the time he left the healing pod, Home Tree buzzed with activity. Hunters in training gathered supplies, checking gear, adjusting harnesses, exchanging quiet words that carried equal parts excitement and fear. Some laughed too loudly. Others stood alone, staring into the distance as though memorising the sight of home.
Nayat'i was among them, her expression focused, unreadable. She did not look at him.
The distance between them felt wider than the forest below.
Nussudle turned away before the ache in his chest could deepen. He wasn't ready—not yet. Whatever had fractured between them would have to wait. This challenge demanded his full attention.
Instead, he climbed.
Upward through the winding paths and branching platforms, past places he had played as a child and trained as a youth, until the sounds of the clan dulled into background noise. The higher he went, the thinner the air felt, the broader the world became. With each step, he noticed something strange—his balance felt steadier, his grip stronger. When he pulled himself onto a higher branch, the motion came easier than expected, the muscles in his back and arm responding with unfamiliar assurance.
At the edge of the canopy, he stopped.
Before him, the forest stretched endlessly, a sea of green broken only by rivers of mist and the distant silhouette of floating mountains suspended against the sky. Somewhere beyond those peaks lay the Hallelujah Mountains—dangerous, sacred, unforgiving. The place where Ikran chose their riders, or rejected them entirely.
Nussudle breathed deeply, steadying himself.
And realised—he could feel it.
Not just the wind on his skin or the scent of damp leaves, but something deeper. A pulse beneath the forest's surface, faint but constant. The rhythm of life itself. It was as though Pandora's presence pressed closer now, responding to him in a way it never had before. Each breath seemed to synchronise with the movement of the canopy, each heartbeat echoing faintly through the roots below.
System, he thought.
The familiar translucent panel shimmered into existence before his eyes, unseen by anyone else. It felt oddly comforting now—a constant in a world that seemed to shift beneath his feet.
Name: NussudleStatus: Hunter in TrainingAge: 17
Strength: 14Agility: 16Weight: 13Intelligence: 15Instinct: 17Connections: 18
Points Available: 18
He studied the numbers carefully. They had grown steadily over the years—through hunts, battles, losses, and near-death experiences. Each value represented something earned, something lived. Yet seeing them laid out so plainly stirred conflicting emotions.
His instincts and connections were his strongest traits. That felt right. He had always felt Pandora deeply, listened when others rushed ahead. Eywa's presence came naturally to him. And now, standing at the canopy's edge, that connection felt sharper, clearer—like a sense long dulled had been quietly refined.
But strength lagged behind where he wanted it to be. And agility—once his pride—felt compromised now by his injured arm.
He scrolled further.
Active Conditions:– Residual Arm Trauma (Right)– Reduced Draw Strength (Temporary)– Pain Response Heightened
Nussudle exhaled slowly. Even the system acknowledged what he already feared.
The ikran challenge would test everything—balance, reaction, endurance, courage. Pain would not excuse failure. There would be no allowances made for injury, no second chances if he fell.
Am I ready?
The question echoed louder than the calls of distant creatures.
Below him, the forest moved on, indifferent to his doubt. Hunters would rise or fall as they always had. The ikran would choose—or they would not.
He clenched his uninjured hand, then carefully closed his fingers around the injured one, grounding himself in the reality of the moment. Pain flared, sharp and real. He welcomed it.
"I will not turn away," he murmured to the open air.
The system flickered briefly, a line of text appearing at the bottom of the panel.
Upcoming Challenge Detected:– Ikran Claiming Rite– Risk Level: Extreme– Potential Outcomes: Life-altering / Death
Nussudle almost smiled.
Life-altering seemed an understatement. Death was the true outcome for failure.
As the sun climbed higher and the clan prepared to depart, he remained at the edge of the canopy for a few moments longer, committing the view to memory. Whatever happened in the days ahead, he knew this version of himself—the boy standing on the brink between fear and resolve—would not return unchanged.
When he finally turned back toward Home Tree, his steps were steadier. The pain remained, the doubt lingered, but beneath it all burned something stronger.
Then, suddenly, a new prompt appeared.
Sacrifice points to heal the arm?
Nussudle froze.
For four years, the system had only displayed experience gains and passive improvements. Never had it offered an intervention. Never had it been suggested that the points he carried could be spent, and certainly not to alter his body directly.
His gaze flicked instinctively to his arm, where the ache throbbed like a reminder of limitation. The decision pressed on him, heavy and immediate. Four years of restraint warred with the urgency of what lay ahead.
With hesitation tightening his chest, he selected Yes.
The sensation was instantaneous.
It felt as though an unseen force reached beneath his skin, threading through muscle and sinew. Heat bloomed, followed by pressure—not pain, but intensity. His arm twitched involuntarily as muscles shifted, strengthening, knitting together with deliberate precision. He could feel it happening, every fibre responding, rebuilding, reinforcing.
Then it stopped.
The wrappings loosened, vines and leaves peeling away as he stretched his arm fully. There was no pain. No lingering echo. Just strength—solid, real, undeniable. When he clenched his fist, the motion felt smoother, surer than it ever had before.
A new panel appeared.
Status:
Name: NussudleStatus: Hunter in TrainingAge: 17
Strength: 16Agility: 17Weight: 13Intelligence: 15Instinct: 17Connections: 19
Points Available: 14
Four points.
Nussudle studied the numbers, then looked down at his arm, flexing it once more. The forest seemed to respond, the leaves rustling softly as though in acknowledgement.
"Not a bad trade," he murmured.
And for the first time since the vision, since the pain, since the doubt had crept in, Nussudle felt ready—not fearless, but prepared.