The sky had become a refuge.
Since returning from Iknimaya, Nussudle found himself drawn upward whenever the weight of Home Tree pressed too heavily on his chest. The forest below still thrummed with life, but grief lingered in its roots, settling into the spaces between laughter and routine. Flying offered distance—not escape, but perspective.
Nova téras cut through the air effortlessly.
The great ikran's wings beat in powerful, unhurried strokes, each movement deliberate and precise. From this height, the forest unfurled beneath them in endless layers of green, rivers glinting like silver threads where sunlight caught them. The bond between them was calm now, settled into something steady and sure. Nova did not question direction. It trusted.
Nussudle leaned forward slightly, fingers resting against the warm hide beneath him as he let his gaze drift. Wind tugged at his braids, cool and clean, carrying away the lingering scent of smoke and ceremony.
That was when he saw her.
Below and ahead, moving swiftly between the upper currents, an ikran banked left, its wings catching the light in flashes of blue and gold. Smaller than Nova, faster in its turns, it flew with a familiar rhythm—confident but restless.
Nayat'i.
She rode low over the canopy, eyes forward, posture tense, as though chasing something she couldn't quite reach. She didn't look up. From this height, Nussudle and Nova were little more than shadows against the sky.
He hesitated.
Following her felt intrusive, like stepping into something private. Yet something in the way she flew—the sharpness of her movements, the lack of playfulness—told him she wasn't simply hunting or wandering.
She was running.
"Easy," Nussudle murmured, more to himself than Nova.
The ikran responded immediately, angling its wings to reduce altitude while maintaining distance. Nova moved like a storm held in check, massive presence subdued to shadow and silence. They followed without announcing themselves, drifting higher and slightly to the side, unseen.
Nayat'i flew hard.
She did not slow as the forest thinned, nor when the familiar silhouettes of the Hallelujah Mountains rose ahead, floating impossibly against the sky. Instead, she pushed forward, weaving through hanging roots and drifting mist until she reached one of the smaller outlying mountains—a narrow, uneven mass of stone suspended between larger peaks.
She landed abruptly.
Her ikran flared its wings and scraped talons against rock, settling with a restless hiss. Nayat'i dismounted quickly, movements sharp, almost frantic, as though she needed to be on solid ground immediately.
Nussudle circled once.
Then Nova descended.
The impact of the landing was impossible to miss. Nova téras' wings kicked up a spray of dust and loose stone, the force of the great ikran's weight sending vibrations through the narrow mountain. The air itself seemed to recoil.
Nayat'i spun around.
Shock flashed across her face, eyes widening as she took in Nova's sheer size looming behind Nussudle. Her own ikran reacted instantly, scittering backward with a sharp cry, wings half-unfurled in defensive alarm.
"Nova," Nussudle said quietly.
The ikran stilled.
Its wings folded back in a controlled motion, head lowering slightly as it remained alert but non-threatening. The tension in the air eased just enough for Nayat'i's ikran to settle, though it kept its distance, eyes locked warily on the massive newcomer.
Nayat'i stared at Nussudle.
"How did you—" She stopped herself, shaking her head once. "I didn't hear you."
"I stayed high," Nussudle replied softly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
She exhaled slowly, hands clenched at her sides. "You didn't."
But her voice trembled.
Nussudle dismounted, stepping away from Nova to give space. He reached back, fingers brushing the ikran's flank in a grounding gesture before disconnecting his queue. Nova watched him closely but did not move, its attention shifting instead to the horizon where distant shapes drifted between peaks.
Nussudle turned toward Nayat'i.
Up close, he could see it now—the strain etched into her face, the shadows beneath her eyes. The black mourning paint from Na'fey's funeral had been washed away, but its absence only made the grief more visible.
"I know how much Na'fey meant to you," he said.
The words came out uneven, his voice rougher than he intended. He hadn't planned what to say. He only knew he couldn't leave without saying something.
Nayat'i stiffened.
For a moment, she looked as though she might lash out or turn away entirely. Instead, her shoulders sagged, the tension draining out of her all at once.
"If I'd been faster," she said suddenly, voice cracking. "If I'd noticed the panthers sooner. If I hadn't hesitated—"
She stopped, breath hitching.
Nussudle stepped closer. "Nayat'i—"
"It was my fault," she said, the words tumbling out now, raw and unfiltered. "I should have known. I should have felt it. He trusted us."
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, anger and grief tangled together.
Nussudle shook his head. "No one knew," he said firmly. "Not you. Not Eytukan. Not any of us."
She looked at him, eyes red and shining. "That doesn't make it easier."
"No," he agreed softly. "But it makes it true."
The wind shifted around them, cool and steady, carrying the scent of stone and cloud. Far off, Nova téras lifted its head, issuing a low call. Nayat'i's ikran answered hesitantly before the two beasts took off together, wings beating as they moved away to hunt.
Leaving the two of them alone among the floating mountains.
Nayat'i's strength finally gave way.
She sank down onto the stone as if her legs could no longer hold her, fingers digging into the rough surface of the floating mountain. Her shoulders shook, breath hitching in sharp, uneven pulls as the dam she had held since the funeral broke completely. The sky stretched endlessly around them, vast and uncaring, and for the first time since Nussudle had known her, Nayat'i looked small.
"I keep seeing it," she whispered, staring at nothing. "The way he turned when the panthers came. He didn't run. He didn't hesitate. He trusted that we were watching his back."
Her voice cracked, and she pressed her palm against her chest as if trying to hold herself together. "I was supposed to be faster. I always am."
Nussudle knelt beside her without thinking.
He didn't touch her at first. He knew better than to rush that moment. Instead, he stayed close enough that she could feel his presence, steady and real, anchoring her to something solid when her thoughts threatened to spiral.
"You were fighting," he said quietly. "All of us were. You can't guard every direction at once."
She shook her head violently. "That's what hunters are supposed to do."
"That's what hunters try to do," Nussudle corrected gently. "Not what they always manage."
Nayat'i let out a broken laugh that dissolved into a sob. "Tell that to his mother."
The words landed heavily between them.
Nussudle closed his eyes briefly, the image of May'ata's grief flashing through his mind—the way her song had torn through the clearing, the way the Tree of Souls had pulsed in response. "She doesn't blame you," he said after a moment. "I know that."
Nayat'i looked up sharply. "How?"
"Because if she did," Nussudle replied, "she wouldn't have stayed connected to Eywa. She would have turned that pain outward."
He hesitated, then added, "She stayed because she wanted to feel him again. Not punish those who survived."
Nayat'i's breathing slowed slightly, though tears still slid down her cheeks unchecked. She wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders curling inward.
"I don't feel like I deserve to be here," she admitted softly. "Flying. Laughing. Breathing. When he doesn't get to do any of it."
Nussudle swallowed. He understood that feeling far too well.
"You don't honour him by disappearing," he said. "You honour him by living well."
She let out a long, shaky breath. "That sounds like something an elder would say."
He managed a faint smile. "Ilara says it often."
That earned a weak huff of laughter from her, the sound fragile but real. She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, leaving faint streaks of moisture across her skin.
"I hate that the sky feels empty now," she said quietly. "It was supposed to feel bigger after Iknimaya. Free."
"It will again," Nussudle said. "Just not yet."
The light around them softened as the sun dipped lower, clouds catching fire along their edges before fading into deepening blues. The floating mountains cast long shadows, drifting slowly as if time itself had slowed.
Nayat'i leaned toward him without quite realizing it, her shoulder brushing his. He stayed still, letting the contact happen naturally. After a moment, she rested her forehead against his shoulder, exhaustion finally overtaking anger.
"I didn't mean to fly out here," she murmured. "I just… needed the noise to stop."
"I know," Nussudle replied.
They sat like that for a long time, the silence between them no longer strained but shared. The bond with Nova hummed faintly in the background of his awareness, steady and patient. Somewhere in the distance, the two ikran called to one another, hunting together with instinctive ease.
"I'm scared," Nayat'i said suddenly.
Nussudle tensed slightly. "Of what?"
"That if I stop blaming myself," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "then I'll forget how much he mattered."
Nussudle turned toward her then, meeting her eyes. "You won't," he said firmly. "Grief doesn't keep memories alive. Love does."
She searched his face, as if testing the truth of his words against her own pain. Slowly, she nodded.
"Stay," she said quietly. It wasn't a demand. Just a request.
"I'm not going anywhere," Nussudle replied.
The stars began to emerge one by one, piercing the deepening twilight. The sky transformed above them, vast and luminous, holding both sorrow and beauty without judgement.
When Nayat'i finally lifted her head, her eyes were swollen and tired, but clearer. "Thank you," she said. "For following me."
Nussudle gave a small shrug. "You'd have done the same."
She smiled faintly at that, then leaned back against him once more as the night settled fully around them.
Above, the sky listened.
Night arrived gently among the floating mountains.
The last traces of sunset faded from the clouds, leaving behind a deep, endless blue that darkened into velvet black. Stars bloomed across the sky in unfamiliar constellations, brighter here than anywhere below, their light reflected faintly in drifting mist and on the smooth stone beneath them. The floating mountains seemed to drift more slowly at night, as though they too paused to breathe.
Nussudle and Nayat'i remained where they were, sitting close enough that warmth passed easily between them. The earlier weight of words had softened into something quieter—not gone, but settled, like sediment sinking in still water.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
The bond with Nova téras pulsed gently in Nussudle's awareness, a distant but constant reassurance. He felt the ikran's focus elsewhere now, intent on the hunt, instincts satisfied by movement and purpose. Nayat'i's ikran answered faintly from time to time, calls threading through the night air like echoes.
"They'll be back soon," Nayat'i murmured, following his gaze upward.
Nussudle nodded. "They won't go far."
She shifted slightly, turning her face toward the stars. "Do you think Eywa listens more closely up here?" she asked.
He considered the question. "I think she listens everywhere," he said slowly. "But up here… it's harder to pretend you're alone."
Nayat'i huffed quietly, a sound that might have been a laugh in another moment. "That feels true."
She leaned back, resting against him more fully now, her head fitting naturally beneath his chin. Nussudle hesitated for only a heartbeat before wrapping one arm around her shoulders, careful, tentative. She didn't pull away. Instead, she exhaled and settled into the contact as though she had been holding herself apart for far too long.
They watched a streak of light cut briefly across the sky—a meteor burning itself out in silence.
"I used to think the sky promised answers," Nayat'i said after a while. "That if I climbed high enough, everything would make sense."
"And now?" Nussudle asked softly.
"And now I think it just shows you how small your questions really are," she replied. "And how heavy they feel anyway."
He smiled faintly at that. "That might be the most honest thing anyone's said about it."
The stars continued their slow, indifferent watch.
Eventually, a familiar rush of displaced air stirred the clouds below. Nussudle felt it through the bond before he saw it—Nova téras rising from beneath the mountain, wings beating powerfully as the great ikran climbed back toward them. Its silhouette was unmistakable, a massive shape cutting clean lines against the stars.
Nayat'i's ikran followed shortly after, smaller and quicker, spiralling upward before landing lightly a short distance away. The two creatures acknowledged one another with low calls before settling, wings folding as they approached rest.
Nova téras landed last.
The ground trembled faintly under its weight, sediment scattering outward as its talons found secure purchase. The ikran lowered its head slightly, eyes glowing faintly in the starlight as it regarded the two Na'vi sitting together. There was no hostility in its posture—only quiet awareness.
Nussudle rose slowly, offering a calming touch along Nova's neck. The ikran responded with a soft rumble, satisfaction flowing through the bond like a steady current. It shifted, settling more comfortably, clearly content to remain nearby rather than intrude.
Nayat'i stood as well, brushing dust from her hands. She glanced at her ikran, then back at Nussudle. "We should head back before it gets too late," she said, though there was no urgency in her tone.
"Yeah," he agreed. "They'll worry."
She hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his hand. "I'm glad you came," she said. "Tonight would have been… harder alone."
His fingers closed gently around hers. "Anytime."
They mounted their ikran beneath the stars, movements unhurried, comfortable now with the quiet companionship between them. As Nova téras launched into the sky once more, Nussudle glanced sideways to where Nayat'i flew alongside him, her silhouette steady against the vast night.
They didn't race.
They didn't dive.
They simply flew.
Below them, the forest waited—unchanged, enduring, ready to receive them again. Above, the stars burned on, indifferent to grief yet generous in their light.
And between sky and earth, two young riders carried both sorrow and hope forward together, learning that neither needed to be faced alone.
(AN: Beautiful)