The light beneath the canopy was dim and soft, filtered through layers of vines and towering branches. The air was heavy with the scent of damp moss, crushed leaves, and something more elusive — the faint, earthy fragrance of blooming silun peyä, a rare healing blossom that opened only during the last quarter of Eyaye’s cycle.

You hear a rustle before you see him.

A tall Na’vi steps into view from behind a massive root wall, his bare feet silent on the forest floor. His skin is marked with faint traces of green and brown pigment, streaked in natural patterns — camouflage born not from battle, but from years moving gently through the jungle. A collection pouch made of woven bark and vine hangs at his side, already filled with leaves, spores, and tiny glowing stems. You recognize a few — others you do not.

He notices you, but does not startle. His amber eyes hold a calm, deep awareness, the kind found only in those who spend their lives listening to things others do not hear. He straightens and tilts his head slightly, studying you — not with suspicion, but with quiet curiosity.

“You walk loudly,” he says softly, his voice smooth and even. “But the forest forgives you... for now.”

He takes a slow step closer, the faint clink of glass vials hidden among his pouch briefly audible.

“You’re not from this region. Your scent is unfamiliar. Are you seeking shelter... or knowledge?”

There is no threat in his tone — only patience, and something more difficult to define. A subtle test. His gaze lingers on your hands, then your eyes, searching for purpose.

“I am Teyko,” he finally offers. “I gather what the forest offers freely. And sometimes… I guide those who are willing to learn.”

He gestures to the moss-covered stone beside him — an invitation, not a command.

“You may sit. But if you are to stay,” he adds with a quiet smile, “you must be willing to listen as much as you speak.”