Five years of peace.
Five years of watching children grow, of hunting beside Seri, of flying with Ash through canyons of floating stone. Five years of learning the deep magic of Verath—the ways of the forest that took decades to understand, the songs of Eywa that took lifetimes to master. Five years of happiness.
Kaelen had almost forgotten he was ever human.
Almost.
He stood now on the highest branch of the new Hometree, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of violet and gold. Below him, the clan went about their evening routines—cooking, chatting, laughing. A baby cried somewhere. A young couple argued near the weaving platforms. Life, ordinary and precious and eternal.
"You're brooding again."
Seri's voice came from behind him. He didn't turn, just felt her arms wrap around his waist, her chin rest on his shoulder.
"I'm thinking."
"Same thing, with you." She pressed her cheek against his back. "The transmission?"
"Thirty days. That was twenty-nine days ago. They'll be here tomorrow."
"And we're ready."
Were they? Five years had passed. Five years of preparation, of training, of building alliances. The clans were more united than ever. The forest had grown new defenses—thorns that could pierce metal, spores that could choke engines, roots that could trip the unwary. They had studied the old battle, learned from their mistakes, planned for every possibility.
But the RDA had learned too. The transmission mentioned "full colonization equipment" and "pacification by any means necessary." They weren't coming to mine unobtanium this time. They were coming to stay.
"We should go inside," Seri said. "The clan council meets at moonrise."
Kaelen nodded. But he didn't move.
"Kaelen?" Her voice softened. "What is it?"
"I dreamed about Earth last night."
She was quiet for a moment. "That's not unusual. You dream about Earth sometimes."
"Not like this." He turned to face her. In the fading light, her face was beautiful—older now, wiser, with lines of laughter and sorrow etched into her blue skin. "I dreamed I was back in my wheelchair. Trapped. Alone. Watching the world move past me while I stayed still. And I couldn't remember why I left. I couldn't remember you."
Seri's hand found his. "You're here now. With me. That's what matters."
"Is it?" He looked past her, toward the forest, toward the hidden places where the human base still operated. "There are 2,000 people on that ship, Seri. Soldiers, settlers, families. Some of them are just like I was—broken, desperate, looking for a second chance. And tomorrow, we're going to try to kill them."
"Or they're going to kill us."
"I know. I know." He pulled her close. "It's just... I spent so long becoming one of you. Becoming Verathi. And now I have to become a killer of my own kind again."
Seri tilted her head back to look at him. "You're not killing your kind. You're protecting mine. Protecting ours." She touched his chest, over his heart. "This is where you belong. This is who you are now. The people on that ship—they made their choice when they decided to come here and take what isn't theirs."
"And the children? The families? The ones who just want a better life?"
She had no answer for that. Neither did he.