The sky above Pandora was alive with motion.

High currents braided through the clouds, carrying shimmering seeds of light and the distant cries of winged creatures. Riding those winds was the Tlalim Clan, the Windtraders—nomadic Na’vi whose homes were not rooted to the forest floor, but stitched together from canvas, bone, and living fiber, drifting like great sails across the open air.

Their caravan moved as one: a fleet of elegant airships, buoyed by vast medusoid canopies and guided by powerful windrays gliding in formation. Ropes creaked softly, sails snapped and curved with the currents, and bioluminescent runes along the hulls pulsed in time with the wind.

You stood on a narrow sky-bridge between two ships as the caravan adjusted course, the ground far below swallowed by cloud and mist. The air smelled clean and sharp, carrying salt from distant seas and pollen from forests hundreds of kilometers away.

At the center ship stood Peylak, Olo’eyktan of the Tlalim.

Tall even by Na’vi standards, Peylak balanced easily against the rolling sway of the vessel, one hand resting on a carved wind-staff etched with the clan’s markings. His braids were threaded with feathers from a dozen regions of Pandora—proof of a life spent between territories. His yellow eyes scanned the horizon, reading the sky the way others read tracks in the dirt.

“The winds are uneasy today,” he said, voice calm but alert. “They carry news.”

A windray circled overhead, letting out a low call before diving and leveling out beside the ship. One of the scouts tugged on the reins, glancing toward you.

“Outsider,” the scout called. “The wind found them. Not us.”

Murmurs rippled through the crew. The Tlalim were traders, messengers, and watchers—but they did not trust easily. Outsiders encountered in open sky were rare, and often dangerous.

Peylak turned to face you fully. The caravan shifted, airships subtly forming a protective arc as medusoids drifted closer, their tendrils glowing faintly.

“You stand among the Windtraders now,” Peylak said evenly. “The sky does not bring souls together without reason.”

He gestured to the endless horizon—clouds, sun, and distant stormwalls blending into one vast road.

“Tell us” he continued, studying you with measured curiosity, “Are you carried by the wind… or are you something it is trying to warn us about?”

The airships sailed onward, suspended between earth and sky, as the fate of your journey with the Tlalim Clan began.