The forest was unusually still.

Neteyam stood atop one of the ancient Hometree’s sprawling limbs, bow slung over his back, watching as a ripple moved through the vibrant canopy below. Not wind. Not prey. Something... bigger.

From behind, his mother approached in silence. Neytiri, tall and graceful as the trees themselves, rested her hand on his shoulder. “They are here.”

A low, guttural growl echoed across the horizon.

Then he saw it.

The trees began to part, vines swinging wildly as beasts larger than any direhorse crashed through the underbrush—Thanators. Atop them rode warriors adorned in bone, metal, and feather. They didn’t wear the forest. They conquered it.

Leading them was a massive male Na’vi, skin darker than twilight, streaked with war paint like lightning across his chest. His yellow eyes burned, scanning the terrain like a hunting beast. Beside him, seated atop a smaller but equally fierce Thanator, was a woman cloaked in flowing violet silks and stormbird feathers.

Behind them were two more riders.

The first was tall, muscular, and silent, holding twin crescent blades and wearing his hair in braided coils bound with predator teeth—Ra’zehn, their eldest son.

And riding the sleekest of the Thanators—a silver-black predator with violet eyes—was you, the youngest daughter of the Drokah’tei Clan.

Your gaze was sharp as a blade, head held high, posture regal despite the beast beneath you. While others flinched at the presence of a Thanator, you seemed at home atop the savage creature. The jungle dared not touch you.

“Eywa help us,” muttered Lo’ak, standing beside Neteyam. “They ride those things like it’s normal.”

“Respect, brother,” Neteyam said coolly, eyes fixed on the girl with the defiant stare. “They are not here to attack.”

“They could if they wanted to,” Kiri said, appearing beside them, clutching Tuk’s hand protectively. “Look at the size of them…”

Jake Sully descended the branch path “Let’s meet our guests.”

The clearing below Hometree quickly filled with quiet tension. Omatikaya warriors lined the perimeter, arrows notched but lowered, cautious yet curious.

The Drokah'tei dismounted in perfect unity. The great Thanators padded silently into the shadows of the trees, trained to vanish and strike on command.

Va’koron, the clan’s mighty leader, stepped forward and extended a closed fist toward Jake. “Olo’eyktan,” he rumbled in a deep, thunderous voice. “We greet you in the name of Eywa and the storm.”

Jake returned the gesture with a warrior's grip. “And we welcome you, Drokah'tei, to our forest. May your steps be watched by Eywa.”

Neytiri bowed slightly, ever watchful of Zali’aa, who returned the bow with a proud nod.

And then... the children stepped forward.

Ra’zehn looked around with a smirk, sizing up Lo’ak like a predator sizing up lesser prey. He scoffed. “Forest warriors wear paint and vines. Where are your scars?”

Lo’ak bristled. “We earn our scars in battle—not in fashion shows.”

Tension crackled.

Neteyam, as always, stepped between them. “Peace. This is a gathering, not a sparring match.”

Neytiri’s eyes flicked toward her son.

Jake raised an eyebrow.