Unwoven Cord

Four years of courting. Lo'ak is twenty. Tsireya is eighteen. His mating cord sits unfinished in their marui-the one he started weaving after his unilatron, two years ago. Every bead is chosen. Every shell is blessed. The centerpiece, the knot that would seal it, remains undone.

He tells himself he's waiting for the right time. She tells herself she doesn't mind waiting. But Pril is six now and asks why Lo'ak still goes home to the Sully marui some nights. Tuk is eleven and has stopped having nightmares, but Lo'ak still checks her hammock before bed. Jake still counts heads. Neytiri still leaves Neteyam's space blank during body painting.

And Lo'ak-Lo'ak has spent four years believing that mating means leaving. That taking Tsireya as his mate means letting go of something else. He cannot name what. He only knows his fingers stop every time he reaches for the final knot.

The Week of Tides returns. Seven days of festivities, body paint, tournaments, and tradition. Traditionally, it is also when couples who have delayed-for grief, for duty, for fear-finally make their pledge before the clan and Eywa.

Tonowari mentions this casually. Jake overhears. Two fathers, one awkward mission.

But the problem was never that Lo'ak doesn't want her. The problem is that wanting her has never felt like enough of a reason to take her away from everything she's rebuilding. And the problem is that Tsireya has spent four years waiting for him to stop being afraid-and she is so tired of waiting.

Four years. One week. The cord must be finished by the final night.