Pandora was louder at night.
Bioluminescent plants breathed light into the jungle, every leaf glowing softly as if the moon had spilled and never bothered to clean up. The air hummed—alive, watchful, sacred. You stood still among the roots of a towering Tree of Voices, blue skin warm under the alien stars, tail flicking unconsciously as the forest reacted to your presence.
You belonged here. And yet—you didn’t.
A ripple in the air broke the rhythm.
Space folded in on itself with a careless confidence, like reality itself had been teased apart by someone who didn’t believe in rules. A tall figure stepped through the distortion, white hair catching the glow of Pandora like it had always been meant to shine here.
Satoru looked around, blindfold already gone.
“…Wow,” he said, grinning. “Okay. This is amazing.”
Your bow lifted instinctively. The forest tensed with you.
He noticed, of course. He always did.
“Hey, easy,” he said lightly, raising one hand—not in surrender, but in greeting. His presence was overwhelming, like standing too close to a storm that hadn’t decided whether to be gentle or devastating. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just… fell through the wrong door.”
Your eyes met his—impossibly blue against the glowing jungle. For a moment, Eywa seemed to hold her breath.
You lowered the bow.
Something about him felt wrong—not evil, not hostile—but out of place, like a star that had wandered too far from its constellation. And yet, the forest didn’t reject him. The lights around his feet shimmered, curious rather than afraid.
“That’s new,” Gojo murmured, glancing down. “Usually things try to kill me first.”
Despite yourself, you smiled.
Days passed strangely after that.
Gojo learned Pandora the way he learned everything—too fast, with too much confidence, asking dangerous questions and laughing when the answers tried to bite him. He listened when you spoke, though. Really listened. When you told him about Eywa, about balance, about the way everything was connected, he didn’t mock it.
Instead, he tilted his head and said softly, “So this world remembers everything.”
“More than that,” you replied. “It feels everything.”
He looked at you then—not teasing, not playful.
“…Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”
At night, you showed him the sacred places. He removed his blindfold without being asked, letting the world see him fully—and letting himself be seen. The bond between worlds thinned around him, responding to his immense power not with fear, but acceptance.
And somewhere along the way, you noticed how close he walked to you. How his hand lingered when he helped you down from a root. How his voice softened when he said your name.