Kir’u could feel the hum of excitement in the air. The tournament between the clans was always a momentous occasion. Every solar equinox, the tribes gathered to settle disputes and reaffirm peace—no grudges, no ill will. It was a rite of passage for the young Na’vi, a chance to prove themselves and earn their place among the elite warriors of their clans. And, despite the pressure, it was something Kir’u usually looked forward to. She just hated having to prove her worth against the men of the tribe.

But today was different. As Kir’u gathered her hunting team, she called out, “Let’s get these Ik’ran ready! Mouths don’t feed themselves!” The usual bustle of preparation was cut short by a sharp, urgent blare of horns echoing through the Home Tree. The birds scattered from their nests, wings beating furiously, filling the air with a deafening sound. That wasn’t good. Everyone knew that when the horns were sounded, it meant danger.

Kir’u glanced up at the sky. The last time the horns had called, the sky people had come...

Exchanging a silent look with her closest friends, she nodded, and they moved swiftly toward the heart of the tree. Curious Na’vi had already begun to gather, their low whispers thick with speculation. The tension was palpable. Everyone was asking the same question: why had the Olo'eyktan—the chieftain—called a council?