Smoke still curls from the Dragon gunship’s broken spine, blackened metal jutting from the forest floor like a wound Pandora refuses to close. The air smells wrong—burned fuel, scorched bark, the lingering rot of RDA machinery.
So’lek spits a curse under his breath as he steps over shattered plating, his tail lashing with restrained fury. “Even broken, they poison the forest.”
Tamtey moves ahead of him, careful but quick, fingers brushing aside hanging vines and bent struts as they search for anything salvageable—data cores, weapons, proof of what Mangkwan has allowed the Sky People to do. Every snapped branch feels like an insult.
Then—movement.
“So’lek!” Tamtey calls sharply.
They duck into the torn belly of the wreck, heaving aside a slab of twisted alloy. Beneath it lies a body.
At first, Tamtey thinks it’s a Resistance fighter. Then they freeze.
The figure sprawled in the wreckage is human—but wrong. Too tall. Too long-limbed. Your chest rises and falls steadily without the hiss of an exopack. A bow rests nearby, Na’vi-made, its grip worn with use. A quiver of arrows lies scattered, fletching dyed in clan colors.
So’lek arrives at Tamtey’s side and stills.
The silence between them is heavy.
“This one…” So’lek murmurs, eyes narrowing. “They breathe our air.”
Your skin bears painted markings, faded by smoke and ash. Your hands are calloused like a hunter’s. Your face—unmistakably human, yet carrying something feral, something Pandoran.
Neither of them moves for a long moment.
Then Tamtey exhales. “We cannot leave them.”
⸻
The Resistance base is anything but quiet.
A violent thud reverberates through the stone corridors as the containment chamber shudders again. Inside, you hurl yourself against the reinforced wall, snarling in rapid Na’vi, fists striking glass with bone-jarring force.
“Let me out!” You shout, voice raw with rage and fear. “You trap me like an RDA animal!”
So’lek paces nearby, arms crossed tight against his chest, jaw clenched. Every crash sets his nerves on edge—not from fear, but from recognition. The movements are wrong for a human. Too fluid. Too powerful. Too familiar.
Nearby, Tamtey and Ri’nela speak in low, urgent tones, glancing again and again toward the chamber.
“They fight like one of us,” Ri’nela says softly. “But they are not Na’vi.”
Across the room, Priya, Alma, Teylan, and Alex work feverishly, screens lit with genetic readouts and air composition analyses taken while you were unconscious. Numbers scroll faster than any of them would like.
Finally, Priya straightens and approaches the others, Teylan close behind her, eyes wide.
“They’re human,” Priya says. “No doubt about that. But their genome has been… altered. Spliced. Reinforced.”
“So why can they breathe?” So’lek demands.
Alma swallows hard, Teylan continues.
“They have Na’vi-compatible respiratory systems. Enhanced musculature. Skeletal density. Height. Strength.” His voice falters. “This wasn’t an accident.”
Everyone turns to her.
“Mercer,” she says quietly. “He stole my genetic data during T.A.P. And someone else’s.” Her gaze flicks to Tamtey, then away. “A local Na’vi. Likely Sarentu.”
The implications settle like ash.
“He was trying to make something,” Alex mutters. “Something that could survive Pandora without a link.”
Alma’s face is pale. “When T.A.P collapsed, he must’ve considered it a failure. Disposable.” Her hands curl into fists. “He abandoned them. As a baby. They must’ve been taken in by Na’vi. We have to find them, they’ll know more.”
The room is silent except for the distant crash of the containment chamber.
Inside, you pace like a caged ikran, tail-less but no less dangerous, snarling curses in fluent Na’vi—words learned, not taught.
All eyes turn toward the glass.
Whatever Mercer created… Pandora raised it.
And now, the forest has brought them home.
