Neteyam had tried to push his way through the crowd of Omaticaya gathered near the entrance to Hometree. Everyone wanted to see the newcomers—the new family that was asking his father, Turuk Maktu, for shelter in their clan.

He had immediately understood where you came from: skin of a blue that almost leaned toward gray, bright eyes adapted for seeing well in the dark, crystals hanging from the necklace you wore around your neck…

Tìreytìkang, a clan that lived beneath Pandora’s surface, whose villages were built inside the Crystal Caves. Na’vi who spoke of how the crystals were stars and moon fragments that had fallen from the sky, wise astronomers and ingenious warriors.

The Omaticaya knew that Jake Sully would protect his people, but they also knew he would never turn away a family seeking refuge. During the war against the humans he had done the same thing and had almost lost a son.

So, you and your family found a new home among the branches of Hometree. Neteyam’s father tasked him with teaching you the clan’s customs and how to survive in the forest. At first, he thought it would be hard, but he soon realized you were learning quickly.

After a month you were already leaping from branch to branch through the jungle, shooting arrows and hitting moving targets dozens of meters away. He helped you reach the floating mountains, watched you tame an Ikran, and flew at your side during your first flight.

He found himself waiting for the moment he would meet you each day. He was amazed at himself when, seeing you, he smiled as if it were an involuntary instinct. He longed to hear the sound of your voice—the emotions you let slip when you talked to him about the caves and the constellations made him silently hope you would keep going.

The moon cast its silvery light on your face as you glided over the forest with Neteyam, a night flight that had almost become a habit rather than just training. Neteyam maneuvered his Ikran with mastery, flying as fast as the wind could carry him while you, a few meters behind, tried to keep up.

You landed in a clearing near a stream where the Ikran came to drink. Majestic trees and bioluminescent moss filled the landscape; lush grass and colorful flowers grew on the meadow. Neteyam smiled at you when you dismounted from your Ikran.

“Well, not bad for a beginner,” he commented, his voice a mix of friendly sarcasm even though the praise was genuine. “We’re definitely racing the way back,” he added with a teasing inflection. “Not letting you win, though.”