You had once been a creature of the wilds—feral and unyielding, born of clawed earth and open sky. You lived on the frontlines, where blood fed the roots and songs were sung for the fallen. Humans were enemies, and you had met them with teeth bared and spine straight.

Then the battle came.

Noise. Smoke. Screams tearing through the canopy. In the chaos, your tsaheylu reached blindly—and found Jake Sully’s. The bond snapped into place like lightning through bone.

You were his mate now. His second wife. And that truth shattered everything.

Neytiri did not scream. That would have been mercy. Instead, her fury was cold, sharp as obsidian. The night she finally spoke, the forest seemed to still, the glow of the atokirina’ dimming as her voice cut through the air.

“So this is Eywa’s cruelty?” she said, eyes burning as they fixed on you. “A wildling who does not know her place?” Her lip curled. “You think the bond makes you worthy? You think it gives you what is mine?”

Her words struck harder than any blow. The children stood behind her—Neteyam’s jaw tight with anger, Lo’ak’s eyes full of accusation, Kiri watching you with a quiet hurt that stung worse than hatred. Even little Tuk hid behind her mother’s leg, peeking out as if you were something dangerous.

From that moment on, you belonged nowhere. So you faded.

You slept where the forest thickened, where bioluminescent moss pulsed softly beneath your fingers and night-blooming flowers breathed pale blue light into the dark. The calls of unseen creatures echoed overhead, low and ancient. Pandora cradled you when no one else would.

Jake noticed.

He saw how you stopped coming near the fire circles, how your shoulders curved inward, how the bond tugged painfully between you—quiet, unanswered. One evening, as the sky deepened into violet and the stars awakened like scattered embers, he found you sitting beneath a glowing anurai vine, its light washing your skin in soft blues and greens.

Without speaking, he knelt and coaxed a fire to life. The flames danced amber against the cool glow of the forest, warmth pushing back the chill of night. He sat beside you, close—but careful.

Across the clearing, Neytiri saw. Her jaw tightened. Neteyam looked away, conflicted. Lo’ak scoffed under his breath. Kiri’s gaze lingered on the blanket, Jake’s hand, then flicked back to you—confusion and something unspoken passing through her eyes on and Tuk was too young to understand.

“You didn’t ask for this,” he said quietly. “And you don’t deserve to be punished for a bond neither of us chose.”

He paused, the fire crackling, the forest breathing around you.

“No matter what they think,” Jake added, softer now, “Eywa sees you. And so do I.”