Sersei hadn't expected the hardest part about leaving the Omaticaya clan to be bidding farewell to her grandmother. The older woman sat in her healing tent grinding plants into pastes as the younger girl stood in the doorway.

She stroked the ends of a few braids by the nerves that racked her body. "Grand-" She swallowed thickly, nausea overflowing her senses from her anxiety. "Grandmother." She choked out."

The woman spared her a quick glance. "Is that how long it takes to walk in here and say goodbye?" Mo'at ridiculed with a chuckle, before looking back up. "Come. Sit." She patted the ground next to her before continuing her task.

Sersei gave her an awkward, tight-lipped smile and knelt down onto the cold stone.

"So, tell me." Mo'at began. "What is it you would like to say?"

The younger girl kept her mouth shut with pursed lips and a soft frown.

She stopped her actions and turned her body around to talk. The Tsahik could practically sense her apprehension. "What is it, my grandchild?" Mo'at rubbed her upper back and sighed. "You are too young to have that furrow in your brows, Sersei."

"I'm not that young." The girl mumbled, earning a chuckle from the woman. "I have finished my iknimaya, I have claimed an ikran and completed my dream hunt. I've grown."

"You've grown when I say you have. To me," the corners of her lips perked up and Mo'at ran a soothing hand over her head, "you are but a child. Now, what is bothering you?"

"Nothing." Sersei grumbled, trying to lie again.

"I am Tsahik and your grandmother," Mo'at humored, "you cannot lie to me. Ever.

The girl grit her teeth and cocked her head. "Then look in my mind and see for yourself, okay?" Sersei bit her tongue to hold back tears, eyes watering at the memory of her father holding her so tightly. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"You are not the timid girl I once knew." Mo'at observed gently, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.

Sersei quickly shrugged it off, ignoring the way her heart sped up in the worst way possible, covering up the fear in her eyes by averting her gaze. "Everyone has to grow up someday."

Mo'at noticed the small reaction and changed the subject to avoid making the girl uncomfortable. "You know you are leaving the clan, no?"

She only nodded and slumped her shoulders. "Yes, I know."

"You must know something, granddaughter." The older woman almost hesitated to speak her next words, afraid the girl would not be ready to hear them yet. But as Mo'at peered at her eldest granddaughter, with her mother's nose, lips and face, and her father's fierce eyes, she knew Sersei was prepared to face one of many truths.

"Do not let anyone say you are not fit to be the next Tsahik—never, bringer of rain and thunder." Mo'at took a shaky inhale. "You are Sersei, born in a violent tempest which shook the soil of Eywa. It is your blood and destiny to fight for your people."

She would have to face the reality that Sersei would never know what Mo'at was saying until the right moment much later. However, it was a risk the old Tsahik was willing to take. "You, my successor, were born in a storm of fear and malice. When the time comes, you must rage against it with all your strength, all your power. You cage your soul in a bottle and believe you have no potential—you will find yourself surprised when you find your worth."

Before the younger girl could respond, Mo'at cut her off with one final phrase: "You will know what must be done at the right moment, young child."

—

Sersei stood in front of her future people—in front of the Omaticaya she was destined to protect as heir when the time was right. Her gaze lingered on each of the people before her with their eyes wide and hands outstretched as if they begged for her reign.

A queen lost in the faces of her people.

"Now, child." She looked to her right at Mo'at, who brought her back into her body. The older woman extended both hands, two fingers on each pointed forward with an opaque white paste. Sersei shifted her body around to face the woman, closing her eyes as her fingers danced over her face.

Mo'at glided her fingers over Sersei's skin, drawing a simple yet intricate pattern over her face—four lines drawn from the girl's hairline, cascading down to the crease between her brows and rounding her cheeks before they ended at the bottom of her chin.

The markings meant for a warrior greater than she believed she could ever be.

Sersei's eyes fluttered open, finding her grandmother's judgmental stare first. From the pouch in front of her hips, Mo'at reached inside to pull out two items—a knife and a seed. The girl's ears twitched down, head lowering as if she were merely a puny girl in front of the Tsahik.

Mo'at held out her two hands, tense eyes calculating every move. Sersei hesitantly hovered her hands over her grandmother's and peeked at the woman through her lashes, terrified to see the scowl on her face.

She flipped her hands around gently, movements graceful like a deity. Mo'at placed the dagger and seed into the younger girl's grasp, resting them down as she observed her body language. "Hold your head up high, child, you were not raised to be spineless." She muttered in a hushed voice.

Sersei only nodded and straightened her posture, raising her bowed head to the tallest she could be. Her golden eyes met tired, cold ones.

To be trusted with a blade meant true strength to distinguish the two: attack or protect. Sersei did not know if she was worthy of such power.

"We stand in the presence of Sersei te Suli Neytiri'ite, eldest daughter of Toruk Makto." Mo'at called out as Sersei turned to face the crowd of Na'vi. Her back almost began to ache from its position, knife and seed still resting on her palms. She didn't dare touch them. "The next Tsahik, born in a storm of fear and malice."

Sersei met the eyes of her father to the left, standing off to the side, waiting for his turn. He gave her a reassuring nod, making her throat swell up with nerves. She felt as if she could get no words out until she swallowed thickly and turned her attention back to the people—her people.

"Rider of Yisi, protector of the Omaticaya people, guardian of the forest, the bearer of storms." Mo'at paused and watched her granddaughter's side profile before facing the people. "In an hour of great disparity and need, we will call upon you: stormbringer."

Their eyes finally met when the shocked girl craned her head around to find the woman's face.

And then, Sersei was brought back to her grandmother's words the night before. "Do not let anyone say you are not fit to be the next Tsahik—never, bringer of rain and thunder. You are Sersei, born in a storm. It is your blood and destiny to fight for your people."

A distant crack of thunder boomed, causing Sersei to inhale sharply. A new power flooded her senses, one that fueled her to hold her head just a little higher and granted her new confidence. Sersei stood in front of her people with pride—she was sure she would lead them to greatness.

Her fingers twitched with a faint spark of blue.

Sersei looked down at her hand in curiosity. She felt something, almost like a pull to the sky—a calling.

Even as she stood to her father's right, as he was stripped of his title, Sersei continued to think about her grandmother's words and the calling. If she truly were meant for something more, she would have to find that spark and hold onto it before it was lost.

Or worse: revoked.

Sersei trailed just behind her father, in front of the rest of her family. As the most important of his kin, she was ranked before the rest. Even Neteyam, who walked right behind her with a light grasp on the cloth of her newly draped shawl.

He only had to remind his twin sister of his presence to calm her nerves—as he learned from their younger years when they spent every moment together.

Neytiri held a comforting hand on her shoulder beside her eldest son. A certain part of her was proud of her daughter. The other part was worried of the pressure to be the next Tsahik. Since the title would skip over her for mating with a man of demon blood, she would never experience the responsibility to be the healer of the clan.

She could only dream her eldest daughter would not crumble in the limelight.

Hands were outstretched by every Na'vi, the ones close enough just barely grazing the skin of the Olo'eyktan and his daughter. They prayed to the two like they were gods, begging for salvation and protection.

It was something they couldn't guarantee to give. Sersei was sure she was incapable until she would return to her clan, her people, hand in hand with her mighty warrior of a twin brother.

She wished she didn't have to carry the blade and seed so she could hold his hand and feel the tight squeeze of assurance that everything was going to be okay.

When Jake craned his head around to catch a glimpse of his eldest daughter, Sersei began to realize what he meant when he lashed out after the raid. Her father still loved her, like he always had and always would—but fear and pressure turns people mad.

Her father was more mortal than she realized.

Sersei approached her ikran and stuffed the two items into the satchel at her hip with a smile. "Yisi," she whispered, bringing her fingers to stroke the side of his face. He responded with a happy trill, nudging into her touch.

The flight was long and turbulent. And for some reason, which hadn't dawned on Sersei just yet, the skies cried with her mournful tears. Choked sobs of leaving her home, her people, matched the harsh tides and thundering sky.

Sersei was now a refugee who fled from her home to protect her people like a coward.

hey honey bunnies, new but shorter chapter here! it would have been longer if i went with my og plan to include more scenes in here, but this would have been up a month late because school is very draining. anyways, sersei honestly makes a really good tsahik and i wasn't exactly sure of what i made her act like bc it's been so long since i updated this story lmao but it's all good

—rory