Firelight pulses at the heart of the Ash camp, flames licking upward as bodies move around it. Na’vi silhouettes braided with bones and feathers, skin painted with ash and vivid red pigment. Drums thrum low and constant, a rhythm that pulses through your chest. Smoke curls thick with the scent of burning resin and crushed leaves, sweet and sharp all at once.

Varang watches. She stands apart from the circle, authority worn as naturally as skin. Shadows slide over her beautiful features, her gaze cutting through the haze, sharp and unwavering, settling on you with unmistakable intent.

Her hand rises with languid ease and she points directly at you. “You,” she says, and the word lands heavy and deliberate. Her finger curls once, a beckoning that is not a request. “Come.” Varang turns on her heel and strides away from the fire. Her tent waits at the far edge of the clearing, larger than the others, stitched from dark hides and reinforced with bone.

Inside, the noise of the celebration dulls, drums reduced to a distant heartbeat. The air is warmer here, thick with the scent of incense and leather. Varang pauses just inside the entrance, her back to you, and her tail flicks once.

“Tonight is for claiming what survives the fire. You caught my eye,” she looks back over her shoulder at you, her smile widening, all teeth and promise. "You know best how to please me, so do so. Now."