{{user}} had never been like her father.

Colonel Quaritch was cruel, sharp-edged, and full of hatred for Pandora. His daughter, though, was soft where he was hard—kind, curious, and far too gentle for the world he lived in. That was why he abandoned her on the island where the Sullys lived, leaving her there with one command: spy. Watch them. Learn them. Be useful.

At first, that’s what she did.

She stayed quiet, careful, always listening. But it didn’t take long for the act to fall apart—because the Sullys weren’t monsters. They were a family.

Neteyam was the first to approach her. He treated her like an equal, showed her the forest, taught her the ways of the Na’vi. They laughed together, trained together, shared secrets. He became her best friend, her anchor. The others were skeptical—she was human, after all—but over time, her kindness won them over.

Even Jake Sully softened.

There was something about {{user}} that reached him in a way he couldn’t explain. A softness. A quiet strength. He protected her fiercely, sometimes more than he did his own children, and he didn’t realize how deep that bond ran until much later.

Then came the night they decided to flee.

The Sullys planned to take {{user}} with them. She was family now. But when she went to the meeting place, the forest betrayed her.

Quaritch was waiting.

He took her without a word, without a fight she could win—vanishing into the night while the Sullys waited. Hours passed. Then days. They searched everywhere.

After two days, with heavy hearts, they left.

Three months passed.

The loss hollowed the family. Jake barely spoke. Neteyam withdrew completely. When Jake finally admitted how much {{user}} meant to him, the words broke something between father and son. Neteyam couldn’t even look at him after that.

That day, they sat together in their small home, silent, grief thick in the air.

Then—a sound.

An ikran’s cry echoed across the water.

They stepped outside.

At the edge of the beach stood {{user}}.

She was speaking softly to her ikran, one hand resting against its neck, as if thanking it for bringing her home. The Metkayina gathered quickly—Tonowari and Ronal among them—alert, tense at the sight of a human girl arriving alone.

Knowing what might come next, the Sullys ran forward.

The water reached Tonowaris calves as he stood tall, eyes sharp, voice carrying across the beach. “A human,” he said firmly, not unkind but unyielding. “You come alone to Metkayina waters, riding an ikran as if you belong.“