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Imagine Spider going into a self-imposed exile not out of bitterness, but as an act of self-preservation and peace. He removes himself from the cycles of pain and resentment that have plagued him since his birth, choosing instead to live in harmony with the forest, and in turn, Eywa embraces him as her own.
Far from the Omatikaya, deep within the heart of the forest, Spider finds solace in a world that neither judges nor expects anything of him. His home is a towering, ancient tree—its roots thick and gnarled, its canopy vast and sheltering. Vines drape like curtains over his modest dwelling, a hammock woven from soft fibers hanging beneath the sturdy boughs. The tree's roots twist into natural pathways, and the inside is hollow, wide enough for him to set up a hammock, to neatly store his few belongings—mostly books gifted by Kiri and tools he’s made himself. Bioluminescent moss glows faintly along the wood, casting everything in a soft, ethereal light.
Each morning, he wakes with the warmth of the sun dappling his skin, the soft rustling of leaves carrying the songs of the wild. He hunts, moving through the underbrush with the silent precision of a hunter, his steps light, his heart steady. He takes only what he needs, offering whispered thanks to Eywa or prayers, his fingers grazing the ferns in reverence as he doodles the fruits and edible plants in the sketchbook Norm had given to him for his birthday.
Unbeknownst to him, Eywa watches over him in ways he cannot see. A predator’s gaze may flick toward his direction, but an unseen whisper diverts it elsewhere. A storm may rage through the forest, yet its fiercest winds and heaviest rains never quite reach his dwelling. His footprints in the damp earth fade almost as soon as they are made.
And he sleeps peacefully, the soft hum of the trees swaying him as if cradled in the hands of the Great Mother herself.
The only soul who knows of his location is Kiri. She finds him, drawn to him as if by instinct—or perhaps by Eywa’s will. She brings him books salvaged from the scientists’ outpost, their pages filled with stories and knowledge of distant worlds, and in return, he tells her of the hidden wonders he's found—the rare blossoms that only bloom in moonlight, the hidden springs untouched by human hands, the secret songs of the creatures he has come to understand.
One day, as she reapplies the blue stripes to his skin, her fingers delicate and sure, she leans in, whispering, “Everyone is searching for you.” Her tail wraps around his waist, a grounding presence, as if she fears he might slip away like a fleeting dream. His friend. His sister.
His twin.
Spider closes his eyes at the thought, exhaling a quiet sigh. They can keep looking. His voice is soft but resolute. I’m happy where I am.
Kiri studied him for a long moment before nodding, a small, knowing smile on her lips. “I will not tell anyone. I am happy that you are happy.”
And so, the world forgets him. But Eywa does not.
And neither does she.