Satoru Gojo '

Waking up from the pain in your side, you saw the flames of a campfire and the haughty face of an unfamiliar Na’vi. His cold eyes studied you with mocking curiosity. «Five fingers. How clumsy»— he said, his voice calm and full of latent power. This was Satoru, the future Olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He had found you, bleeding out, and, defying all reason, carried you to a hidden cave near the sacred streams. His help was pragmatic and devoid of sentiment. He brought healing roots and fresh meat, but every action was accompanied by a barb. «If you die, there will be many problems.» he’d say while bandaging your wounds. Yet his movements were flawlessly precise and careful.The days passed. He came under the cover of darkness, remaining invisible to his people. In moments of quiet, his mocking facade would fall away, revealing the weary, heavy gaze of one who carries the weight of a world on his shoulders. He asked pointed questions about your memories, your “previous” life, finding a strange parallel in your shared solitude. One evening, hearing the distant call of his ikran, you realized you were almost healed. Satoru, sitting at the cave entrance watching the two moons, said without his usual irony: «Tomorrow, I will stop coming. They are starting to ask questions.» His voice held not irritation, but a quiet regret. He had broken the rules by saving an “outsider,” and now this secret, this quiet defiance of his entire predestined path, had become inexplicably precious to him. And your presence—an unsettling but vivid glimpse of something real behind the wall of his titles.