Rest did not come easily that night.
Nussudle laid in his hammock near the inner platforms of Home Tree, staring up through woven leaves at the faint glow of bioluminescence above. His body was tired in the way that came after fear rather than effort, muscles still tense, breath still too shallow when he thought about the shadow that had fallen over him and Nova.
The toruk.
Even thinking the word made his chest tighten.
Voices drifted up from below. Soft at first. Then closer.
"You should let him sleep."
"He faced a toruk. Sleep can wait."
A figure climbed up onto the platform, followed by another. Then another. Nussudle sighed quietly and pushed himself upright.
"I'm not dead," he said, rubbing his face. "You can ask."
That seemed to open the floodgates.
Na'vi gathered around him, hunters, riders, a few elders. Questions came quickly, and without order, each shot their own question without hesitation.
"How close was it?"
"Were you scared?"
"Did it try to take you?"
"Why did it leave?"
Nussudle raised a hand. "One at a time."
They quieted slightly.
He told the story again. How the shadow fell. How Nova reacted first. How fast the toruk moved. He kept his voice steady, even when describing the chase through the Hallelujah Mountains and the dive into the forest.
When he spoke about the moment Nova flipped beneath the toruk and bit into its side, a few of the hunters let out low sounds of surprise.
"That manoeuvre," one rider said quietly. "By Eywa."
Nussudle nodded. "Nova did most of it. I just held on."
He reached out, yet realized he wasn't near the ikran, yet he still felt that Nova had heard what he had said.
Pride.
Not loud. Not boastful. Just steady.
You did well, Nussudle thought.
The response was warm. Gratitude. A sense of shared survival.
A smile pulled at Nussudle's mouth before he could stop it.
Someone noticed. "Your ikran," a warrior said. "He's strong."
"He's smart," Nussudle replied. "Smarter than me, sometimes."
A few soft laughs followed.
The crowd thinned gradually, questions answered, curiosity eased. Some offered quiet praise. Others simply nodded and left him to rest.
That was when Kamun arrived.
He didn't announce himself. He never did. He stepped onto the platform slowly, his presence alone enough to draw attention. The remaining Na'vi straightened instinctively.
"Nussudle," Kamun said. His voice was calm, but tired.
Nussudle stood immediately. "Father."
Kamun looked him over, eyes sharp despite the fatigue etched into his face. "You're unharmed."
"Nova took the worst of it," Nussudle said. "And even then—"
Kamun raised a hand. "Later."
He glanced at the others. "Leave us."
They didn't argue.
When they were alone, Kamun exhaled slowly. "You drew a toruk to Home Tree."
"I didn't mean to," Nussudle said quickly.
"I know," Kamun replied. "That's not why I'm here."
He paused, then gestured toward the inner chambers. "There is a meeting. Elders. Your mother. Eytukan."
Nussudle hesitated. "About the toruk?"
Kamun's expression shifted slightly. "About me."
That made Nussudle's stomach tighten.
He followed without further questions.
The council chamber was already full when they entered. Elders sat in a wide circle, expressions ranging from concerned to openly tense. Ilara stood near Kamun's seat, one hand resting lightly on his arm. Eytukan was there too, posture straight, jaw tight.
The talking stopped when Nussudle stepped inside.
Kamun lowered himself into his place with visible effort. Ilara stayed close.
"I will speak plainly," Kamun said, voice carrying despite its wear. "I am 90 seasons old. I feel it. I see it."
A murmur rippled through the elders.
"I can still lead," Kamun continued. "But not forever. The clan deserves time to prepare."
One elder leaned forward. "You are still strong, olo'eyktan."
Kamun nodded. "Strength fades. Time wears even the stones of the Halajujah mountains."
The room shifted. The weight of his words settled heavily.
"It is time to decide succession," Kamun said. "Not today. But soon."
Silence followed.
Then voices began to rise.
"Eytukan has led hunts for years."
"He knows war and peace."
"Nussudle has Eywa's favour."
"He draws Toruk and lives."
"He walks a path we don't yet understand."
The room fractured quickly.
Nussudle felt it like a physical pressure, words colliding around him. Elders argued openly now, some gesturing toward Eytukan, others toward him.
"Experience matters."
"So does the future."
"A chief must be tested."
"So must he grow."
Nussudle stood there, heart pounding, as his name was spoken like an object to be weighed.
Eytukan remained silent, eyes forward, though his jaw tightened with every argument made on his behalf.
Kamun closed his eyes briefly.
"Nussudle," Ilara said softly. "Speak."
The room quieted.
Nussudle took a breath.
"I don't want it," he said.
Every head turned toward him.
"I don't want to be olo'eyktan," he continued, voice steady despite the rush in his chest. "Not now. Not ever."
Murmurs broke out again, louder this time.
He raised his voice. "Listen to me."
They did.
"I'm not the right one," Nussudle said. "I don't have the experience. I don't have the patience. I don't want to carry the clan on my shoulders."
He turned slightly, meeting Eytukan's eyes. "My brother does."
Eytukan looked stunned.
"He has led longer," Nussudle continued. "He knows when to stand firm and when to bend. He already carries responsibility without being asked."
He looked back at the elders. "Choosing me because of what I might become is dangerous. Choose him because of who he already is."
The chamber was silent again.
Slowly, one elder nodded.
Then another.
Agreement spread not loudly, but steadily.
Eytukan finally spoke. "Nussudle—"
Nussudle cut him off gently. "This isn't me stepping aside. This is me standing where I belong."
Kamun looked at him for a long moment, eyes unreadable.
Then he smiled.
Not as chief.
As a father.
"Then it is decided," Kamun said. "Eytukan will stand as olo'eyktan-in-waiting."
The words settled like stone.
Eytukan crossed the space between them in two steps and pulled Nussudle into a tight embrace. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I won't waste it."
"I know," Nussudle replied.
The meeting dissolved slowly after that. Conversations softened. Tension drained away.
By the time the eclipse passed, Kamun remained seated, drained. Ilara helped him to his feet, steadying him as they left together.
Nussudle watched them go, feeling both relief and something quieter beneath it.
Change had begun within himself and the tribe.
And this time, he knew exactly where he stood.
The council chamber emptied slowly.
Voices dropped to murmurs as elders filed out, some still deep in quiet discussion, others thoughtful and reserved. No one argued now. The decision had landed, and as most things decided in this room, it would hold.
Nussudle stayed where he was for a moment, hands resting loosely at his sides. The tension that had sat in his chest since Kamun first spoke finally eased, leaving behind a dull exhaustion.
Eytukan stood a few steps away, staring at the floor.
"You didn't have to do that," his brother said eventually.
Nussudle glanced at him. "Yes, I did."
Eytukan shook his head. "You could have taken it. Most of the elders would've supported you."
"That's exactly the problem," Nussudle replied. "They were choosing what I might become. Not what I am."
Eytukan looked up then, frowning. "And what do you think you are?"
Nussudle didn't answer straight away. He considered it honestly.
"I'm a hunter," he said. "A rider. Someone who moves where he's needed. Not someone who sits and decides for others."
Eytukan studied him for a long moment. "You were always a troublemaker."
"Maybe," Nussudle said. "You've always been a pain."
That earned a quiet laugh from Eytukan. "You've never made this easy, you know that?"
"Good," Nussudle replied. "Keep you sharp."
Eytukan stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't step away out of fear."
"No," Nussudle said. "I stepped away because I know where I belong."
Eytukan nodded slowly. "Then I'll make sure your choice wasn't wasted."
Before Nussudle could respond, Ilara returned.
She moved carefully, her posture tired but composed. The markings of the tsahìk still traced her skin, but her eyes now held something softer. She looked between her sons, then reached out and took both of their hands.
"You chose with clarity," she said to Nussudle. "That takes more strength than ambition."
He swallowed. "I just didn't want to lie to myself."
She smiled faintly. "Eywa values truth."
Ilara turned to Eytukan. "And you," she said gently, "will need to listen as much as you lead."
Eytukan inclined his head. "I will."
She squeezed his hand once more, then let go. "Your father is resting. The meeting drained him more than he'll admit."
"I'll check on him later," Eytukan said.
Ilara nodded and left them alone again.
Silence settled between the brothers, not awkward, just thoughtful.
"Are you alright?" Eytukan asked after a moment.
Nussudle exhaled. "Yeah. More than I expected."
Eytukan smiled slightly. "Good. Because things are about to get heavier."
"I know," Nussudle said. "That's why you should be the one carrying them."
Eytukan huffed quietly. "You really don't see how strange you are, do you?"
Nussudle smirked. "I've been told."
They left the chamber together.
Outside, Home Tree had grown quieter. The eclipse had passed, and the soft glow of night plants had dimmed. Fires burned lower now, conversations muted. Life was settling back into its rhythm.
Nova waited nearby, watching Nussudle the moment he stepped into the open. The ikran lifted his head, attention sharp.
It's done, Nussudle thought.
Pride flowed back through the bond. Approval.
From above, the forest whispered softly, indifferent to titles and decisions, carrying on as it always had.
And for the first time since the toruk's shadow had fallen over him, Nussudle felt steady again.
Not because things were simple.
But because they were clear.