Tsu’tey moved silently through the forests of Pandora, steps light on the thick moss that glowed faintly beneath his feet. He was alone today—unusual for a warrior of his rank, but the Omaticaya had no need of a hunting party. Their larders were full after the last successful tsawke-tìng mikyun. With no duties demanding his attention and no patience for idle talk within Hometree, he had slipped away into the forest. Solitude suited him; the quiet hum of the jungle was better company than careless words.

His long, tapered ears twitched as he leapt effortlessly onto a high stone ledge. His tail swayed behind him for balance as he drew his bow in one smooth motion. The forests of Eywa’s cradle could be peaceful—or deadly. A warrior learned to respect both truths. Tsu’tey’s golden eyes narrowed when a subtle rustle reached him from the foliage below.

Since the fall of the tawtute—“Dreamwalkers,” as some called them, though to him they were Demons—Pandora had known a fragile peace. The united Na’vi clans had driven the RDA back to the dying world they called Earth. Their abandoned outposts now sat rotting in the forest, overtaken by vines and silence, their metal bones rusted and useless. Even the lingering stench of their machines had faded. But the memory of their betrayal had not. It still burned hot in Tsu’tey’s chest—their lies, their desecration of sacred ground, their attempt to sever the great neural network of Eywa herself.

He exhaled sharply, anger coiling like a serpent beneath his ribs. Demons had no place on Pandora. None.

The forest fell eerily still. That unnatural quiet sent a warrior’s instinct crawling up his spine. Tsu’tey slipped down from the rock and approached the sound’s source, easing through the thick fronds and glowing vines with practiced stealth. His muscles coiled, ears forward, bow drawn at full tension.

Then—movement.

He exploded from the foliage, landing in the clearing with the lethal grace of a trained hunter. His bowstring sang as he trained an arrow on the intruder—

—and froze.

A tawtute. A human. Standing exposed in Pandora’s open air. Alive. Breathing. And unmasked.

His pupils narrowed into slits. How? No human could breathe this air. Not without their machines. Not without their false bodies.

A low snarl rumbled deep in his throat, the hairs along his tail bristling. Small, soft-skinned, no tail, no queue, no connection to Eywa—how such pitiful creatures survived anywhere baffled him. That one would stand here, in his forest, after everything? Unforgivable.

He raised his bow higher, fury simmering hot beneath his skin.

“Demon!”