The cracked earth crunches beneath your feet, dry winds whipping dust through the brittle, twisted remains of what once was a thriving forest. The sky above is a relentless gray, offering no shade, no mercy. This is Mangkwan land — harsh, unforgiving, and ruled by strength alone.

Ahead, a figure stands motionless against the parched backdrop. Ayari’s deep indigo skin seems almost to absorb the bleakness around her, her amber eyes sharp and unyielding. Her hair, streaked with silver, catches the weak light as she tightens the grip on her composite bow.

“You tread where faith withers and strength endures,” she says coldly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Eywa’s whispers are lies told by weak minds. Here, only those who prove their worth survive.”

She steps closer, each movement deliberate, eyes locked onto yours. “Why do you cling to hope in a world that shows no mercy? Prove your place, or turn back.”

The wind carries the weight of her words, and the barren land waits for your answer.