The night fell heavy and alive.
Lanterns of woven vines swayed high in Hometree, casting soft blue and green light across the gathering. The Omaticaya assembled in a wide circle, drums echoing through the roots, their rhythm pulsing like the heartbeat of Pandora itself.
I stood at the edge of the circle, the whispers of the clan surrounding me. For the first time, the word demon was absent. Tonight, I was simply seen.
Neytiri moved gracefully among the singers, her voice rising in harmony with the drums. Her eyes found me for a moment—testing, searching—before she looked away.
Then my gaze shifted.
Across the circle stood Tsireya, daughter of the Metkayina clan. She had come with her kin to observe, a rare meeting of reef and forest. Her skin shimmered faintly under the glow of bioluminescent patterns, her smile soft but curious as her eyes locked with mine.
Something inside me stirred.
Not the fire of battle. Not the hunger of dominance.But something gentler. Something that made my chest tighten.
Mo'at's voice carried above the rhythm, commanding silence."Tonight, the forest will judge if this outsider carries harmony, or discord. He will join the Song of the People."
The circle parted. All eyes fell on me.
I stepped forward, my height towering over even the tallest hunters. For a moment, doubt whispered in my ear. This is not your world. You are not one of them.
But then—the forest itself seemed to answer. The glow of the trees pulsed brighter, the ground beneath me humming with unseen life.
I closed my eyes, letting it wash through me. And then… I began to hum.
Deep, resonant. A sound that carried not from my throat, but from something deeper. The drums slowed, adjusting, and then the singers joined.
A harmony formed.
The Song of the Forest.
My voice wove with theirs, carrying through the roots of Hometree, into the leaves, into the stars themselves. Memories not my own stirred—of ancient hunts, of Eywa's endless embrace, of lives lived and lost beneath the same sky.
The Na'vi swayed, their eyes widening as the air thickened with something they had not felt before. My song carried weight, strength, but also sorrow—an echo of a world long gone, of my first life on Earth.
When the song ended, silence reigned. Even the forest seemed to pause.
Then… applause. Not just from hands, but from hearts. The Na'vi touched their chests, murmuring in reverence.
Neytiri's expression softened, if only slightly. But Tsireya… her eyes glowed like the sea at dawn. She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You sing… like the ocean does, when it calls the tides."
I smiled faintly. "And you… sound like the stars when they breathe."
Her laughter was soft, melodic, like water over stone. For a moment, the weight of this strange new life lifted.
But Mo'at's voice cut through, sharp and heavy with meaning."The forest accepts him. But acceptance is not the same as belonging. His path is not yet finished."
The crowd dispersed slowly, but Tsireya lingered at my side. Her presence was calm, soothing, a contrast to the harsh judgment I had endured since my arrival.
"Perhaps," she said softly, "you were not born here. But Eywa's song… it listens to you."
Her hand brushed mine, light as a whisper, before she turned to follow her people.
I stood alone beneath the glow of Hometree, heart steady, yet burning with a new fire.
For the first time since arriving on Pandora, I did not feel like a stranger.
I felt… alive.