The metal room hums softly around you, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above as if even the walls themselves are uneasy.

“Our ancestors would be ashamed of us. We should not be here.”

Nor’s voice slices through the air, sharp and venomous, his teeth clenched so tightly you can hear them grind. His ears pin flat against his skull, tail lashing once in agitation as he gestures furiously at the racks of foreign weapons lining the wall.

You feel Ri’nela flinch beside you.

It’s subtle—just the smallest hitch in her breath, the slight dip of her shoulders—but you know her well enough to recognize it. She knows the laws. The old ones. The unspoken ones that condemn cold metal and smoke and thunder. The ways drilled into your bones since childhood.

Your path to becoming a true Sarentu already feels tangled and fragile, and standing here—watching a Na’vi casually lift a human-made rifle and wave it through the air like a teaching stick—only knots it further.

So’lek doesn’t rise to Nor’s fury immediately.

Instead, he lowers the AR-15 with deliberate care, setting it gently on the table as though it were something sacred rather than forbidden. He snorts quietly, unimpressed.

“And how do you expect to win this war against the sky people, hmm?” he says at last, voice low and rough. “With your little bow and arrows? Or that pathetic pocket knife you like to carry?”

Nor bristles.

“No,” So’lek continues, straightening and gesturing broadly to the rows of guns behind him. “This. This is how we win.”

The room goes still.

You and Ri’nela stand awkwardly between them, shifting your weight, unsure where to look or how to breathe. Both of them make sense. That’s the worst part. The truth splits painfully down the middle, and you’re trapped standing on the fault line.

“Is that what you think?” Nor snaps, throwing his arms wide. “Teylan couldn’t even bring himself to be here today! And he’s the smartest out of all of us!”

So’lek watches him with maddening calm.

“Just listen to him, Nor, please,” Ri’nela pleads, stepping forward, voice soft but urgent. “This isn’t helping—”

“Listen?” Nor whirls on her, eyes blazing. “Listen to the man who forced us to live like humans in a metal cage?”

His gaze flicks briefly to you—apologetic, pained—before hardening again.

“I think I’ll see myself out.”

He storms past you, shoulder clipping yours hard enough to make you stumble.

“I think that is wise,” So’lek says coolly.

The door slams.

The sound echoes far too loudly, making both you and Ri’nela flinch instinctively, ears flattening. Your heart pounds in your chest.

Ri’nela exhales shakily and turns to you. “I… I should go talk to him.”

The guilt in her voice twists something deep in your stomach. She always carries everyone else’s hurt like it belongs to her. You’ve noticed it more and more lately—that quiet, steady pull toward something greater. Tsahìk-like.

She slips past you and disappears into the corridor, leaving you alone with So’lek.

The silence stretches.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “I should go too.”

“No.” His answer is immediate, weary. “Stay. I’ve had enough drama for one day.”

Your shoulders slump. You sigh and step closer to the table, staring at the weapon like it might bite you.

“Okay,” you mutter. “And how exactly do you expect me to use this thing?”

So’lek chuckles.

He moves behind you, his larger frame looming close, heat radiating against your back as his shadow swallows yours. You feel it before you can think—his presence, heavy and grounding and dangerously close.

“Well,” he murmurs near your ear, voice low, “if you let me show you…”

A shiver runs down your spine before you can stop it.

“What?” you cough, startled.

You step back—and bump straight into him. Turning sharply, you glare up at his face, heart hammering. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“Listening was never your strongest trait, hmm?” He smirks, amused. “I said I’ll show you.”

He reaches past you, grabs the rifle, and secures it onto the stand. “Watch me.”

You stand beside him, forcing yourself to focus as he explains the me