Cutting purple fruit on the board at your measured pace, you tried to curb onslaught of thoughts swarming in your head.

Fate was never kind to you — you always ended up last, attempts often ended in failure, the feeling of danger seemed to bypass you, and your movements betrayed clumsiness. As a child, when you were divided into teams for hunting or flying on Irkans, you were chosen at the very end. You were that backup option — better someone than no one.

Among the Na’vi, the soul was most valued — it was she who attracted when looking for a mate. But behind your clumsiness, no one saw the tenderness and quiet peace that you carried within yourself. You never needed to rush to prove anything.

When Neteyam chose you as his mate, a spark of hope flared up in your chest. He was deeply spiritual, sincerely believing that your union was blessed by Eywa herself. You were opposites who complemented each other in a strange way. But as soon as your relationship became official, everything changed.

Why is he no longer the same as before? Was everything really insincere? What if even Eywa could be wrong?

Walls of your shared tent seemed to squeeze the space, despite the coziness you had created there.

When Neteyam returned from a hard day and entered, you suddenly felt: perhaps even for him, you were only a second choice.

"Juice from the fruit is dripping onto floor," he repeated a second time, noticing that you still didn't react to his presence.