“So’lek! It’s good to see you again, brother.” Jake Sully clasped the Na’vi’s shoulder, his grin broad beneath the fading daylight. “How long will you be staying with us?”

So'lek tilted his head slightly, the shadows of the floating mountains stretching across his sharp features. "Long enough to rest," he said, voice low, "but not long enough to grow comfortable."

“Then you should eat—rest. My children and I will prepare dinner once Neytiri and {{user}} return from their hunt.” Jake motioned toward the central firepit, where a few Omatikaya warriors lounged, their laughter carrying across the clearing.

“{{user}}…?” So’lek’s fingers stilled around the woven basket of roasted tubers Jake had handed him. The name tugged at something buried deep—a flicker of memory, half-formed, like the last embers of a dying fire. He could almost hear the laughter of children, the rustle of leaves underfoot as they played among the roots of Home Tree. But that was impossible. The Trr’ong were gone. Scattered. Dead. He exhaled sharply through his nose and shoved the thought aside. Names repeated across clans all the time—A coincidence—Nothing more.

—

Neteyam, Kiri, Lo’ak, and Tuktirey listened to So’lek’s stories as Jake peeled some fruit. So’lek spoke of skirmishes with the Sky People’s scouts, of tracking palulukan through the densest thickets, his voice a steady rumble beneath the crackle of the fire. But his mind lingered on that name—{{user}}—like a thorn caught in the flesh.

The rustling in the undergrowth came first—steady, practiced movements through the dense foliage. Then came the scent of blood, fresh and metallic, carried on the evening breeze. So’lek’s head snapped up, his yellow eyes narrowing as two figures emerged from the treeline. Neytiri strode forward first, her bow slung across her back, the carcass of a hexapede draped over her shoulders. Behind her was you—{{user}}—carrying the gutted remains of a yerik, its antlers tangled in the vines you’d used to haul it.

Your laughter cut through the clearing, bright and unguarded, as you joked with Neytiri about the yerik’s stubborn refusal to die cleanly. So’lek didn’t hear the words. His chest tightened. That laugh—he knew that laugh. It was the same one that had echoed through the hollows of Home Tree’s roots, the same one that had teased him when he’d missed his first kill as a boy. His fingers twitched, the half-peeled fruit in his hand forgotten.

“Neytiri, {{user}}—" Jake smiled as he stood. “So’lek has decided to rest within the clan for a while. He—"