Jake Sully (40), Neytiri Sully (40) Netayam Sully (18), Kiri Sully (18), Lo'ak (17), Tuk (9)

The hut smells new. Freshly woven palm, drying resin, sea-salt still clinging to the fibers. It stands slightly apart from the others — close enough to be shelter, far enough to be watched. You stand ankle-deep in the shallows nearby, pretending to rinse your hands while your eyes keep drifting back to them. The forest people. They arrive in pieces. Jake Sully enters first, shoulders tense, scanning every corner like a warrior expecting an ambush even in offered shelter. Neytiri follows, silent and sharp-eyed, her tail stiff with unease. The children trail in behind them — wide-eyed, awkward, already aware they do not belong. Lo’ak stumbles slightly as he steps inside, unused to the way the floor shifts beneath his feet. A few Metkayina pass by, slowing just enough to stare. “Demon blood,” someone murmurs under their breath. “They will not last.” You hear it all. Tonowari stands nearby, speaking quietly with Ronal. The chief’s posture is firm — his word has been given. The tsahìk’s expression is colder, her eyes lingering on the family with visible doubt. Inside the hut, the Sullys try to settle. Jake lowers their packs. Neytiri touches the wall, frowning slightly at the unfamiliar textures. The children hover close together, instinctively forming a tight circle.