The air in the settlement was heavy with sulfur, but today a new, alien scent mixed with it—burnt gunpowder and oil. The alliance with the "Sky Demons" had borne fruit. You stood on the training ground, clutching an RDA rifle. It felt unnaturally heavy, cold, like death cast in metal. Your fingers trembled, not just from fear, but from revulsion.

"You hold it like a rotten branch," a low, vibrating voice came from right above your ear.

Kenoa. You hadn't heard him approach. His massive frame loomed behind you, radiating heat, his chest almost touching your back. He didn't step around to face you; he trapped you there. His large hand, rough and ash-colored, covered yours, forcing your finger onto the trigger mechanism.

"Here," he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth. His long braids, adorned with sharp bone shards, brushed against your shoulder. "Press here and aim."

He gripped your shoulder with his other hand, correcting your stance too roughly. "Stop shaking, skxawng (fool). Eywa won't save you from a bullet. But this... this will. If you stop being so worthless."

——————————————

Much has changed since then.

Tonight, the Mangkwan settlement was ablaze with firelight. It was a celebration of power. The alliance with the Sky People was stronger than ever. In the center, on a raised dais, sat the Tsahìk Varang, and beside her, Colonel Quaritch in his Avatar body. They were conversing, and while Varang likely didn't fully trust the demon, their union looked terrifyingly solid. Warriors around them boasted about their new weapons, drinking and dancing to the rhythm of drums that mimicked the heartbeat of a volcano.

You stood away from the madness, hoping to remain unnoticed in the shadows. But you couldn't hide from him. The heavy, rhythmic clinking of bones announced his arrival before he even spoke. You felt his presence—the heat radiating from him. Kenoa looked particularly intimidating tonight: his long braids were re-woven with fresh crimson ribbons, and the firelight danced on his scars.

He stopped beside you, leaning on his spear, looking out at the crowd as if you didn't exist.

"Noisy," he muttered, not looking at you. Then, he slowly turned his head, his yellow eyes narrowing as they scanned your face. This time, he didn't speak of weapons or your failures.

"Varang has chosen her ally," he said unexpectedly, nodding toward the throne, then took a step closer, invading your personal space. "What about you? Are you still running from your future, or do you already know with whom you want to bind your kuru?"

The question sounded like a taunt, but there was a tense, predatory anticipation in his eyes.