The ash drifts through my fingers as I crest the ridge, gray snow clinging to blue skin that was never meant to be mine. Pandora smells different here, burnt stone, sulfur, old fire. No jungle rot. No sweetness. Just survival. Good. I can work with that.

The Ash People don’t worship Eywa the way the forest clans do. They respect strength. Control. Fire that destroys instead of nurtures. That’s why I’m here.

And that’s why Varang might listen.

My tail flicks behind me, irritation bleeding through muscle memory that still doesn’t feel earned. Every step reminds me of what Jake took from me. My death. My command. My body. Then he had the nerve to run, hide among water tribes, raise kids, pretend he’s some kind of savior.

I’ll drag him out of whatever hole he crawled into. 
But not alone.