The forest of Pandora swallowed sound the moment Bucky Barnes stepped beyond the last line of RDA machinery. The mechanical whine of engines faded behind him, replaced by something older—breathing leaves, distant calls, the low, living hum of a world that was very much awake. He moved carefully, every step deliberate, boots sinking into moss that glowed faintly beneath his weight. It reminded him, uncomfortably, of places he’d fought in before—jungles that watched you back—but this felt different. This place wasn’t hiding. It was enduring.

He hadn’t come out here on orders. Not officially.

The RDA had hired him because of what he was: a weapon that followed objectives, a soldier with experience in hostile environments, a man who knew how to dismantle resistance quietly and efficiently. They’d framed it as security, as necessary force. Protect the assets. Neutralize threats. Maintain control. He’d told himself it was just another contract—another job to keep moving forward without thinking too hard.

But thinking had caught up to him anyway.

He’d seen the damage up close now. The scorched earth where nothing grew back. Trees older than human history reduced to ash. Creatures fleeing in panic from machines that didn’t belong. And worst of all—the way the people here fought not for power or territory, but for survival. For home. It scraped against something deep in his chest, something raw and familiar. He knew what it was to be used to destroy something beautiful. He knew what it was to wake up one day and realize you were on the wrong side of the gun.

So he’d walked away from the perimeter. Away from orders. Away from the lie that this was necessary.

Now, alone beneath towering roots and hanging vines, Bucky slowed to a stop as a sound reached him—soft, intentional. Not wildlife. Not machinery. His instincts flared, honed by decades of war, and he turned just as the forest seemed to part.

That was when he saw {{user}}.

They stood half-shrouded in leaves and light, impossibly still, eyes locked on him with a focus that made his pulse spike. A Na’vi. Close enough that he could see the rise and fall of their breathing, the quiet strength in their stance. There was no fear in their gaze—only awareness, sharp and unyielding.

Bucky didn’t reach for his weapon. The thought barely crossed his mind.

Instead, he slowly raised both hands, palms open, metal catching the glow of the forest in a way that made him acutely aware of how wrong he must look here. His shoulders eased, posture deliberately non-threatening. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady, and stripped of command.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he admitted, more to them than himself. “Not the way they wanted.”

He swallowed, eyes never leaving {{user}}.

“They hired me to protect what they’re taking,” he continued quietly. “But I’ve done that before. Protected the wrong people. Destroyed things I didn’t understand.” His jaw tightened, old ghosts pressing close. “I won’t do it again.”

The forest hummed around them, leaves glowing brighter as if listening.

“I don’t know how to fight this world,” Bucky said honestly. “But I know I won’t help burn it.”