The air was heavy, thick with the acrid smell of smoke and the sickeningly sweet stench of charred flesh.

The giant corpse of the flying beast that had carried the merchants of the Tlalim clan, was burning out among the fallen trees, casting a sinister orange glow over the twilight.

You could hear them. Your tribesmen, the "Ash People," had already begun their rituals. Their guttural cries and laughter echoed through the forest as they finished off the wounded, severing their queues, permanently tearing their bond with Eywa. This barbarism made you sick, but you habitually hid your disgust behind a mask of cold indifference. You moved deeper into the thicket, ostensibly to hunt for survivors, but in reality—just to escape the sound of breaking bones.

You moved silently over the ash, gripping the hilts of your dual obsidian blades. Your skin, covered in red ritual paint, blended with the crimson shadows of the forest. Suddenly, a rustle. Too sharp to be the wind.

You froze. Your warrior instincts screamed. You spun around on your heels, raising your blades to block, but stopped dead.

In front of you, breathing heavily and pressing his back against a tree, stood him. A Forest Na'vi. His deep blue skin was smeared with mud and his own blood, which trickled down his temple. His chest heaved with pain, but his yellow eyes burned with fierce determination. In his hands was a bow. The string was drawn to its limit. The sharp tip of the arrow was aimed directly at the bridge of your nose, right between your eyes. His hands trembled with strain, but his aim did not waver.

"Stand still!" the young man growled hoarsely, demanding obedience as he spat out blood. "Make a move, and I’ll put an arrow through your ash-covered head."