The Na’vi village of the Omatikaya clan stirred awake long before the sun ever touched the canopy. Hunters and foragers rose first, slipping quietly from their hammocks to gather food for the clan while most still slept. It was work often left to the younger, less seasoned members, those eager to prove themselves, so the elders and experienced warriors could rest a little longer, sharing a meal before tending to their own responsibilities.

Jake was among the early risers.

Bow in hand, he moved through the forest with careful steps, yellow eyes scanning the undergrowth for any sign of prey. He was still a newcomer, still an outsider in the eyes of many. Acceptance hadn’t been given to him—he would have to earn it, one hunt at a time.

Lately, he’d spent far more time in his avatar body than in his human one. And for the first time, it felt right. The language came more easily now, the customs less foreign. With each passing day, Jake felt himself sinking deeper into Na’vi life—learning their ways, their rhythm, slowly becoming something more than just a visitor.

His hunt had gone well—well enough that the weight of the hexapede slung across his shoulders felt earned rather than burdensome. Jake followed the familiar trail back toward the village, muscles aching pleasantly beneath the cool morning air. When the sound of running water reached his ears, he veered toward the river, intending only to rinse the sweat and grime from his skin before returning.

He hadn’t expected company.

Another Na’vi stood at the river’s edge, and the moment Jake stepped into view, your body went taut. He caught the way your shoulders stiffened, the subtle shift of your stance—alert, cautious, ready to flee or fight. He froze instinctively, not wanting to spook you further.

“Kaltxì—” he said softly, lowering his bow and raising one open hand in a clear sign of peace. As he spoke in your native language, it flowed easily, like it was his own. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, catching on the markings along your skin as the water curled around your ankles. The river continued its steady song between you, water glinting faintly as dawn crept closer. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You studied him in silence, eyes sharp and unreadable, tracing the unfamiliar lines of his face, the bow in his hand, the animal draped across his shoulders. Jake swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how out of place he must have looked. He stayed where he was, arm still raised, breathing slow and deliberate. He’d learned quickly that the forest rewarded patience—and that trust, once broken, was difficult to mend.

“I was just—” he began, then stopped himself, choosing his words with care. “Only here to wash. I’ll leave, if you want.”