He was everywhere and everything.
He felt the forest—every leaf, every root, every hidden creature. He felt the mountains—their ancient bones, their patient waiting. He felt the oceans—their depths, their mysteries, their countless lives. He felt the sky—the winds, the clouds, the stars beyond.
And he felt them. The People. Every Omaticaya who had ever lived, every Metkayina who had ever swum, every Olangi who had ever ridden across the plains. They were all there, all connected, all part of the vast web that was Eywa.
And they welcomed him.
You are seen, a million voices whispered. You are known. You are loved.
Tears streamed down his face. For the first time in his life, he was truly not alone. He had always been alone—in his wheelchair, in his pain, in his desperate need to belong. But not anymore. Now he was part of something vast and ancient and eternal.
Now he was home.
When he opened his eyes, the ceremony was over. The crowd was cheering. Seri was crying. Anya was smiling.
"Welcome home, son of Verath," she said.
Kaelen—no longer a dream-walker, no longer a sky-person, no longer an outsider—pulled Seri into his arms and kissed her.
The forest glowed brighter.