Https_not
A Neteyam x reader
The elders would later say the forest knew before anyone else.
Long before your first breath, before the tsahìk cried out in wonder, the jungle shifted. Vines curled tighter around ancient trunks. Leaves glowed brighter, as if moonlight had been woven into their veins. Even the wind slowed, cautious, reverent-like it did not wish to disturb what was coming.
That night, the Tree of Souls burned brighter than it ever had before.
Not with fire-but with life.
The seeds of Eywa drifted endlessly through the air, gathering in a slow, spiraling dance above the roots. Direhorses knelt in the clearing, their great heads bowed. Ikran perched silently along the branches, wings folded, eyes unblinking. Predators stood beside prey without violence between them.
Eywa was holding her breath.
Inside the tsahìk's tent, your mother cried out softly-not in pain, but awe.
The moment you were born, the forest exhaled.
A sound rippled outward-not heard with ears, but felt deep in the chest, like a heartbeat echoing across the land. The ground pulsed. The roots beneath the Tree of Souls glowed white-hot, then softened into a warm, steady light.
You did not scream.
You made a small, curious sound-almost a hum.
The tsahìk froze when she lifted you into her arms.
Your skin was the deep blue of the People, but your hair-your hair was white. Not pale, not silver, but pure, curling softly around your tiny face like strands of moonlight. When your eyes fluttered open, the air left the room all at once.
Bright pink.
Not the pink of flowers-but the glow of spirit, like bioluminescence given form.
The tsahìk's hands trembled as she knelt.
"Eywa..." she whispered, voice breaking. "You have returned your heart to us."
Outside, the People felt it.
One by one, they fell to their knees.