AN: Here is just a little preview, The next chapter does not connect to the ending of the chapter, so don´t be surprised.
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I drew a deep breath. Yet this breath was unlike any I had ever known—no crisp, cold air of my homeland, but a warm, damp fragrance filled with salt, the faint scent of algae, and the distant song of creatures I could not name. As I opened my eyes, I saw above me the shimmering light of gentle waves—water that glowed and sparkled in the sun like a thousand tiny blades of light.
My name was once Saito Hiroshi. Samurai, servant of the Daimyo of Edo. Yet now… I was something else. In that moment, I did not know what had brought me here. Only that I remembered everything: my sword, the code I lived by, the countless hours of training. My duty—and the shame I had never wanted to carry. An old man reborn in a body that was not his, in a world that was not mine.
Slowly, I sat up. The water reached my chest, warm yet touched by a strange coolness. It felt alive, flowing and breathing. How many times in my past life had I meditated in the quiet gardens of my home, listening to the sound of water? Yet here… everything was different.
I looked at my hands. They were strong, sinewy—no longer marked by age, but young and filled with quiet power. Muscles, tendons, veins—strange and yet familiar. I had been reborn. A life not my own, but carrying my heart within it.
"Saito Hiroshi…" I murmured. But the name felt ill-suited to this place. My spirit was the same, but my body was of this world. I needed to learn, to understand.
I rose, feeling the water cascade from my skin in rivulets of liquid light. Before me stretched a lagoon, encircled by gently curved rocks from which bioluminescent plants hung like living stars. The colors—azure, violet, a deep, glimmering green—were so vivid they brought tears to my eyes.
In that moment, I understood: this was Pandora. A place I had never dreamed could exist, yet one that now was my home.
A group of figures approached. Na'vi—tall and lithe, their skin a shimmering blue, their movements as fluid as the currents themselves. Their eyes—large and golden—watched me with a mix of curiosity and caution. At their head was a woman whose presence was both graceful and commanding. Her hair, braided in long cords, gleamed like obsidian under the sun.
She spoke in a tongue I did not know, yet it sounded to my ears like the whisper of a river—soft, but with an undertow of power. I did not answer at first. Instead, I bowed my head, hands folded at my waist in the manner befitting a samurai.
She studied me, her gaze narrowed, movements careful and deliberate. A man stepped forward, his voice calmer, almost curious. He gestured from me to the water around us, a word repeated again and again: "Payakan." A sacred name, I would later learn—a spirit of the water, a guardian and a force of nature.
I knew then that I did not come here as an enemy. But trust, I understood, was like a fragile plant that needed time to root and grow.
The woman spoke once more, slower this time, then pointed to herself. "Ayla." She turned her gaze to me, a silent question in her eyes. I felt the weight of the code within me. Even without my sword, without my armor—I must be honest. "Hiroshi," I said at last. "My name is Hiroshi."
She inclined her head, a gesture of respect that I returned in kind. Then she offered me her hand—a gesture I had only known in distant lands. I took it. Her fingers were strong, warm, shaped by a life lived in the water.
So began my new life.
**
In the days that followed, I learned of the people who had taken me in. They called themselves Tsahìk'an—the Water Runners. Their bodies were slender and swift, shaped by the currents of the lagoon. Their skin shimmered beneath the sun, and their eyes glowed like golden lanterns in the darkness. They lived in harmony with the ocean, swimming alongside great creatures that moved like spirits in the deep.
I watched and listened, often silent. I was never a man of many words, yet I felt their questions in every glance. Who was I? Why did I bear the eyes of a man who had seen more than he wished to remember?
Still, I did not hesitate to learn. The code demanded it. A samurai always learns, even in a world that is not his own.
Ayla became my teacher. She showed me how to harvest the water-plants that fed her people. How to listen to the song of the waves, to predict the coming storms. How to breathe—slowly, evenly—so that even beneath the water, my heart would remain still.
I took up my meditation once more. At the edge of the lagoon, I would sit, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The spirits of the samurai—my ancestors—seemed to whisper in the murmur of the waves. "Discipline," they reminded me. "Humility. Duty." Words that guided my every step.
And within me, I felt something stirring. A power I had never known before. It thrummed in my veins whenever my hand touched the water—a shiver of cold that ran to my fingertips. At first, it was only a whisper—a faint ripple on the surface. Yet with every breath, every moment of stillness, it grew.
**
One morning, as the sun rose weak and silver in the sky, I stood at the water's edge. My movements were slow, deliberate. I remembered the kata, the forms of the sword that had once been my life. But here, my sword was the water itself.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. "Mizu no kokoro…"—"The spirit of water." A thought that anchored me.
When I raised my hands, I felt the water tremble beneath my fingers. A wave, no higher than my palm, followed the path of my movements. Hesitant, fragile—but it was there.
I repeated it again and again. Breathing. Focusing. Listening. Finally, after hours, I felt it: a connection. A current that gripped my spirit. The water was no longer just an element—it was a part of me.
A small smile touched my lips. Not from pride, but from gratitude. I knew this was the path I must walk—that my duty here was no less sacred than it had been in my homeland.
**
But I made mistakes. Too often, I tried to force my will upon the water. It would not be commanded like a sword. It had to be guided—with respect, never with violence. Once, when I pushed too hard, the water struck back, slamming me to the ground. I tasted salt and blood. Yet when I rose again, I laughed softly. Every blow, every fall—they were teachers I would honor.
Ayla watched me often, her eyes calm and deep. One evening, when I sank to my knees in exhaustion, she came to my side and helped me to my feet. "You do not fight the water, Hiroshi," she said softly. "You become part of it. As we all must."
I bowed my head low. "Domo arigato, Ayla-san."
**
The days passed. I learned to swim with the Tsahìk'an, to join their chants that honored the spirits of the sea. My heart grew wide, became gentle, yet never weak. The water taught me patience. It took me in, cradled me—yet I knew it could also claim me if I dishonored its flow.
And within me grew a thought, as quiet as the tide's murmur: this was more than a new life. It was a test. A fate I had not chosen, but would embrace. I would not allow those I called family to stand unguarded if the storm I could not name ever came.
**
On a calm evening, we sat around the fire. Flames danced, their light flickering in the eyes of my new brothers and sisters. Ayla sang softly, a hymn to the spirits of the ocean. I listened, feeling the deep, steady power in each note.
Suddenly, the singing ceased. A young warrior—Ralun—rushed into the circle. "Something comes," he said, his voice ragged. "Something large. Something unknown."
My heart quickened, but my breath remained calm. In that instant, I knew that this would be no ordinary night. I rose slowly, my hand pressed over my chest. I drew a long breath. "Then we will be ready," I said softly.
And I vowed to myself: never would I allow what was entrusted to me to be taken. For even without my sword, I was still a samurai.