Kira's POV
"I can't breathe."
Tuk's small hand squeezes mine as we climb higher into the mountains. The air feels thick and wrong, like trying to breathe through wet cloth.
"It's the sulfur," Dad explains, adjusting his pack. "Your lungs will adjust."
But I don't think my lungs are the problem. With each step toward the Ash Territories, Eywa's voice gets quieter in my head. The whispers that have haunted me for months are fading to almost nothing.
I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel terrified.
What if Eywa's silence means I'm going the wrong way? What if I'm leading my family into danger based on a vision that meant something else entirely?
"This is insane," Lo'ak mutters for the hundredth time. "Look at this place."
He's right. The world is dying around us.
Yesterday morning, we left the cave surrounded by thick forest. Now, two days later, the trees are gone. Just stumps and dead trunks scattered across gray ground. The earth beneath our feet has turned from soft soil to hard, cracked stone.
"It's like the land is sick," Spider says quietly.
Mom hasn't spoken in hours. She walks ahead of us, her back stiff with anger or fear or both. She didn't want to come here. She still doesn't.
But we're out of choices.
"Look!" Tuk points ahead, her voice mixing excitement and fear. "Smoke!"
Gray smoke rises from cracks in the black rocks. Not campfire smoke—earth smoke. The ground itself is breathing out heat and ash.
"Stay on the path," Dad warns. "Don't step near the vents."
Lo'ak kicks a stone toward one of the smoking cracks. It sizzles and melts.
"Okay, that's actually cool," he admits.
"That's deadly," Mom snaps. "This whole place is a death trap."
As if agreeing with her, the ground trembles beneath our feet. Just a small shake, but enough to make everyone freeze.
"Earthquake?" Spider's voice goes high with panic.
"Volcanic activity," Dad says, trying to sound calm. "It's normal here."
But nothing about this feels normal.
We keep walking as the sun sets. The landscape gets stranger with each mile. The black rocks start glowing with orange lines, like veins of fire running through stone.
"Lava veins," Dad explains when Tuk asks. "Underground rivers of melted rock. This whole area sits on top of a massive volcanic system."
"And people actually live here?" Lo'ak sounds doubtful.
"The Ash People have adapted. They're not like us anymore."
Not like us. The words make my stomach twist.
What if the boy from my vision isn't what I expect? What if he's as hard and dead as this land?
We make camp at the border of the Ash Territories as full darkness falls. The lava veins glow brighter now, lighting the black rocks with eerie orange light. No campfire needed—the ground itself provides warmth. Too much warmth.
Everyone eats in silence. The dried meat tastes like ash. Even the water we brought tastes wrong here, tainted by sulfur.
Tuk falls asleep quickly, exhausted from the journey. Mom sits sharpening her knife, not looking at anyone. Lo'ak and Spider talk in low voices about what kind of warriors the Ash People might be.
Dad sits beside me. "You okay, kiddo?"
I want to say yes. I want to be brave. Instead, I whisper the truth.
"Eywa's gone quiet. I can barely hear her anymore."
Dad's face tightens with worry. "Since when?"
"Since we entered the volcanic region. Each step, her voice gets fainter." I look at my hands. Even my freckles seem dimmer here. "What if I'm wrong? What if this whole journey is a mistake?"
"Hey." Dad lifts my chin gently. "You saw something. Eywa showed you something specific. We trust that."
"But what if—"
"No what-ifs. We're here now. We move forward."
But his eyes tell a different story. He's scared too.
After Dad goes to check the perimeter, I can't sit still. The pulling sensation in my chest—the one that's been growing stronger as Eywa's voice fades—won't let me rest.
I stand and walk toward the border markers. Crude stone pillars mark where our territory ends and the Ash Lands begin.
"Don't even think about it."
I spin around. Mom stands behind me, knife still in her hand.
"I wasn't—"
"You were." She moves closer, and I see her eyes are red from crying. "You were going to cross the border. To follow whatever is pulling you."
How does she always know?
"I have to," I whisper. "Something's calling me, Mom. Something beyond Eywa's whispers. It feels like... like part of me is already there. Waiting."
Mom's expression cracks. She pulls me into a fierce hug.
"I've already lost one child," she says against my hair. "I cannot lose another. Whatever happens in those territories, you stay close to family. Promise me."
"I promise."
But we both know some promises can't be kept.
Mom returns to camp. I stand at the border, staring into the darkness of the Ash Lands.
That's when I see them.
Eyes.
Golden eyes glowing in the darkness, watching me from beyond the border.
My heart stops. It's him. The boy from my vision. He's here. He's real.
I take one step forward. Then another.
"Kira!" Dad's voice calls from camp. "Get back here!"
But I can't move. The golden eyes hold me frozen.
Then a voice speaks from the darkness. Deep. Rough. Angry.
"Forest girl. You shouldn't be here."
"I know," I whisper back. "But Eywa sent me."
A laugh. Dark and bitter. "Eywa doesn't speak in the Ashlands. She abandoned us long ago."
"She didn't abandon anyone. She—"
"Stop." The golden eyes move closer, and I finally see him.
Tall. Strong. Skin like gray stone with glowing orange lines running through it like living lava. Hair as black as volcanic glass. And those eyes—burning like melted gold, furious and sad and something else I can't name.
He's exactly like my vision. And nothing like I imagined.
"Turn around," he commands. "Go back to your forest. This place will kill everything you love."
"I can't. I'm meant to be here."
"You're meant to die if you cross this border."
We stare at each other across the invisible line. The air between us feels electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.
Then voices shout from the darkness behind him. "Prince Vaelor! We found them!"
Prince? The boy from my vision is a prince?
Suddenly, a hundred warriors on direhorses burst from the shadows, surrounding our camp. They wear armor made of black volcanic glass. Their skin glows with the same orange veins as their prince.
They're beautiful. Terrifying. Not like any Na'vi I've ever seen.
Dad reaches for his weapon. Mom pushes Tuk behind her. Lo'ak and Spider stand ready to fight.
But I can't look away from the prince—from Vaelor.
His golden eyes lock onto mine, and something inside my chest explodes with heat. The pull I've been feeling suddenly makes sense.
It's him. He's the flame. He's what Eywa sent me to find.
And from the shock on his face, he feels it too.
"What are you?" he demands, his voice shaking.
Before I can answer, the ground beneath us erupts.
Not lava. Worse.
Glowing vines—Eywa's sacred vines—burst from the volcanic rock, something that should be impossible. They wrap around my legs, my arms, pulling me toward the border. Toward him.
Everyone starts shouting. The Ash warriors raise their weapons.
And Vaelor stares at me like I'm either his salvation or his doom.
The vines drag me across the border into the Ashlands, and the last thing I hear before everything goes black is Eywa's voice—no longer a whisper but a scream:
"THE SEED HAS FOUND ITS SOIL. LET THE BURNING BEGIN."