So’lek felt the change in the forest before he named it.

The nights grew heavier with scent and sound—calls carried farther, bioluminescence lingering like breath held too long. Mating season pressed against his senses, sharpening instincts he had learned to keep leashed. The Resistance camps grew quieter at dusk, hunters pairing off, glances lingering with unspoken understanding.

He told himself it was only the season. Chemistry. Biology. Nothing more.

And yet his awareness kept finding her.

Every movement registered too clearly—the warmth of her passing, the way his pulse answered without permission. He became more guarded, more controlled, as if discipline alone could drown out the pull that threaded through him and into the roots beneath his feet. He had survived loss by denying himself want.

Pandora, it seemed, was finished allowing that.

As Eywa’s rhythms tightened around them, So’lek understood the truth he could no longer outrun: this season was not asking what he desired.

It was asking what he would choose.