Through The Valley • Ao'nung

Chapter: 68

°•. ❃ .•°
̶̶̶̶  «̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶ 　As dangerous as Hope　 ̶ ̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶ ̶̶̶  

≪ °❈° ≫

"no."

At'anau's breath caught as Ao'nung's words echoed, grounding her for the briefest moment. His grip on her hands was firm, unyielding—a tether against the storm raging inside her. Yet, her mind churned with Lo'yi's venomous accusations, the way his words had wormed into the cracks of her resolve.

"Come on," Ao'nung urged again, his voice softer now, almost pleading. His eyes searched hers for recognition, for assurance that she was still there.

She wasn't sure she was.

At'anau pulled her hands from his and stepped back, staring at the water lapping against the rocky shore. In the shifting reflections, she caught fragments of herself—golden eyes, broad shoulders, four fingers, cut skin, dried blood, demonblood. She closed her eyes.

Lo'yi was a fool. He had to be. Yet his words hung in the air, heavy as the sky before a storm.

"It shoud have been me." Her voice was flat in a whisper, a sharp contrast to the hurricane of emotion within.

Ao'nung froze. He wasn't expecting her to speak, least of all to say that.

"At'anau—"

She turned sharply, her braid whipping over her shoulder. "Instead of everyone. It should have." She breathed "I shouldn't have let anyone die."

Ao'nung's brows furrowed as he stepped closer. His voice was firm now, steady like the tides. "They made their choices. Just like you did."

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "Then I made wrong ones"

The boy's back straightened, his incredulity growing to stubborness "Then you live with them," he said simply.

Her laugh was bitter. Menaingless, almost angry he felt it was right to speak such a thing to her then and there. 

He tried meeting her unsteady gaze. "You're still here. And that means you do something, you fight. For them. For what they gave their lives for."

At'anau looked away, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. She hated how right he sounded, how his conviction made her doubt her own self-loathing.

She looked at the waters, recignised the cold air on her wet skin, abd questioned herself when she grew accustomed to feeling, to the water, the salt, the people. Her voice was a low whisper. "This path," she bit the insides of her cheeks looking at the open waters "was never meant for us"

Ao'nung didn't answer immediately. He stepped beside her, the two of them staring out at the horizon together. The sun dipped low, casting the ocean in hues of gold and crimson. It truned quiet, and At'anau wasn't mad about t, if anaything he could spare his pityfull words and she could end this day. But he had more to say. 

"You don't belong to the forest anymore," he said finally, truning his back to the disappearing sun. His eyes were hard, telling her she wasn't telling her things she wanted to hear. He was speaking to her, not her feelings, not her ego, and Ao'nung knew he struck a chord by the way he had cuaght the attention in her eyes again. 

"You're brother lays with us," he spoke softer "he's one of us now," At'anau's shoulder tensed "You, are one of us now." 

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I don't need a place to belong." She created space between them. She spoke the truth, she didn't need a place to belong. No matter how many times she would travel around Pandora, she will never find another place to belong, because she had a home. One that is now burried between the anemones of Awa'atlu.