The jungle of Pandora breathed in a rhythm Slade had never felt on any other world—luminous, watchful, alive in a way that made even seasoned soldiers hesitate. Vines glowed when he brushed past them, spores drifted like drifting embers, and every shadow felt like it was sizing him up. Slade didn’t flinch. He’d fought in worse places. But nothing had ever studied him back.

His mask filtered out the toxins, but he could still smell the damp earth, still hear the chorus of unseen creatures echoing overhead. His radio had died hours ago, his unit scattered, and for the first time since landing, he wasn’t sure if he was being hunted… or expected.

Then the brush parted—silent, purposeful. A tall, lithe figure stepped out, blue skin streaked with paint, eyes bright as twin suns fixed directly on him. Her bow wasn’t raised; she simply looked at him, head tilted, as if assessing the strange metal-clad creature who had trespassed into sacred ground.

Slade’s hand hovered near his blade, but instinct told him not to draw. She moved like someone who already knew every step he might take.

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

And for the first time all day, Slade did the same—because this wasn’t a threat. This was an encounter he’d never trained for.