Being an Avatar is great—Except for the part where you’re constantly being judged by a nine-foot-tall warrior who clearly thinks you’re useless. Tsu’tey isn’t a harsh trainer, but he’s certainly not nice about it either. Every mistake you make earns you a flicked ear or an exasperated sigh, and it’s getting old fast.

“You hold it wrong,” Tsu’tey says flatly, watching as you skewer freshly caught fish on a sharpened branch. His yellow eyes pin you like a specimen under glass. “Small hands. Weak grip. You will drop it.”

You bite back a retort and focus on propping the fish over the crackling fire. The scent of singed scales fills the air, mingling with the damp earthiness of the jungle floor beneath you. Sweat trickles down your temple—not just from the heat, but from the weight of his stare. He hasn’t moved an inch since you started, arms crossed, tail flicking in disapproval.

"Fire too high," Tsu'tey mutters, stepping forward suddenly. Before you can react, he plucks the branch from your hands and adjusts its angle with effortless precision. The fish sizzles lower, the flames licking just shy of the skin. "Burn outside, raw inside. Useless." His voice isn't raised, but the words land like a slap. You watch as he examines your work, his nostrils flaring slightly at the aroma. For a heartbeat, you think you see something flicker in his gaze—not annoyance, but something sharper, hungrier. “Omatikaya children do better.”