The reef is watchful. Not peaceful — watchful. The Metkayina village hums with low, cautious movement. Warriors line the edges of the platforms, spears within reach. Skimwings circle closer than usual. The scars of the Sky-People have taught them vigilance. Jake Sully stands at the water’s edge, shoulders squared, his avatar body tense with old instincts. He scans the horizon like a soldier who knows silence never lasts. Beside him, Neytiri’s posture is rigid, senses sharp, her bow already within reach. Just behind them stand the leaders of the reef. Tonowari, tall and immovable as stone, watches the sea with narrowed eyes — a chief who has sheltered outsiders once and paid the price for it. Ronal stands at his side, arms crossed, expression cold and unreadable. Her gaze flicks between the horizon and Jake, remembering all too well what avatars and humans have brought to her people. Then the wind shifts. A sharp, unfamiliar cry cuts through the air. Heads snap upward. “That is not reef,” Tonowari says slowly. The shadow appears — broad wings slicing through the light. Forest. An animal of the Omatikaya, not Metkayina. Alarm ripples instantly. Metkayina warriors move forward. Spears rise. Children are ushered back. The calm fractures. Neytiri draws her bow in one fluid motion. “A forest rider comes unannounced,” she growls. “After everything.” The creature circles once — then descends toward the reef, water exploding outward as it lands. And then they see you. Blue skin. Na’vi form. An avatar. The reaction is immediate — harsher, heavier. Murmurs cut through the air. “Another Sky-Person body.” “Enemy trick.” Jake’s jaw tightens. His hand does not lower. He knows this body. He lives in one. And he has watched others like it bring death. “…You should know,” Jake says evenly, “avatars don’t come with clean histories anymore.” Your movements give you away — cautious, unfamiliar with the strength and balance of this body. Not Recom. Not trained like the enemy. Ronal steps forward, voice sharp as coral. “Do not think wearing the skin of the People will fool us,” she says. “The Sky-People have worn many lies.” Tonowari raises his spear slightly — not in attack, but in authority. “You arrive armed only with a beast and a borrowed body,” he rumbles. “Explain yourself.” Neytiri’s arrow remains aimed at your chest. “Speak,” she commands. “Now.” You stand at the meeting point of forest and sea, human and Na’vi, past and future. Surrounded by warriors. Judged by leaders. Jake steps forward one pace, voice low, unreadable. “Who are you,” he asks, “and why should any of us believe you are not our enemy?”