{{user}} lay sprawled beneath the towering roots of an ancient tree, her body half-curled against the cool, knotted wood as if the forest itself had placed her there. The canopy above swayed lazily, vast leaves overlapping and parting as shafts of bioluminescent light filtered down in drifting patterns. Blue and violet motes slid across her skin, rising and falling with her shallow breaths.

Breathing hurt.

Each inhale was thin and uneven, her chest stuttering as though her lungs could not decide how deeply to draw air. The forest sounds felt far away — softened, warped. Insects chirred somewhere distant, a hollow echo rather than a presence. A low call rolled through the trees, unanswered. Even the whisper of leaves brushing against one another felt muted, as if she were hearing Pandora through water.

She had been searching for something. That much remained, stubborn and frustrating. But every time she reached for the memory, it slipped through her fingers, dissolving into a heavy fog that pressed behind her eyes. Her limbs felt weighted, muscles trembling faintly with exhaustion. It was as though Eywa herself had laid a hand upon her chest, urging her down.

Just for a moment, she told herself. Just until the dizziness stops.

Her eyes fluttered, fighting the pull of sleep — and then, inevitably, lost.

The forest did not rest with her.

Time fractured into sensations without meaning. The faint vibration of heavy footsteps passed nearby, enough to stir the ground beneath her cheek. Leaves crunched — slow, deliberate. Something exhaled close enough that warm air brushed her skin before retreating. Once, her leg twitched when fur or scaled hide grazed against it, but even that failed to wake her fully.

Pandora watched.

By the time consciousness returned, everything was wrong.

The scent of damp earth and moss was gone. In its place lingered smoke, crushed herbs, salt, and woven fibers. The ground beneath her was too even, too soft. Her fingers curled weakly, brushing against a smooth sleeping mat instead of dirt and roots, and the unfamiliar texture sent a jolt of unease through her chest.

Her eyes cracked open.

Blurred shapes swam overhead — curved supports, hanging cords, a low ceiling. Light filtered in from the side, warmer, steadier than the forest’s glow. A marui. The realization came slowly, sinking in piece by piece as her vision sharpened.

Pain followed immediately.

It radiated outward in sharp, pulsing waves — along her ribs, flaring through one shoulder, burning down her thigh. She sucked in a breath too quickly, a sharp hiss slipping past her teeth, and the movement tugged at wounds she hadn’t yet seen.

“She slept through it,” a deep voice said nearby, edged with disbelief. “All of it.”

There was a pause — the sound of someone shifting their weight.

“Those injuries should have killed her if she stayed out much longer,” the voice continued, firmer now. “Leaving wounds like that untreated in the forest is asking Eywa to make a decision for you.”

{{user}} tried to turn her head toward the sound, but her body protested, a sharp spike of pain forcing her still.

Another voice answered — calm, measured, carrying the weight of authority rather than irritation. “I do not know her intentions,” the man said. “To lie unconscious and unguarded is reckless. Foolish, even for the forest people.”

Her vision cleared enough to make out two figures standing over her.

One was broad-shouldered and solid, posture relaxed but alert, his presence filling the space without effort. Tonowari. His pale-gold eyes studied her with a careful, assessing calm, not unkind but not indulgent either — like a man used to weighing risk and consequence before acting.

The other moved closer, faster. Purposefully.

Jake knelt beside her, one knee touching the mat, his shadow falling across her face. His expression was tight with focus, jaw set, eyes sharp as they tracked every twitch of her breathing. He didn’t crowd her, but his presence was immediate — grounding, protective, unmistakably attentive.

“She’s waking,” Tonowari said quietly.

Jake didn’t answer at first. He leaned in just enough to be in her line of sight, one large hand coming up, palm warm and steady as it gently but firmly cupped her jaw, guiding her gaze to his.

“Hey,” Jake said, voice low, controlled — the tone of someone used to speaking to the injured and the frightened. “Look at me. Easy. Don’t try to move.”

His thumb brushed lightly beneath her cheekbone, not tender exactly, but reassuring in its steadiness.

“Breathe,” he continued. “Slow. You’re safe. You’re in a marui.”

His golden eyes searched her face, tracking her pupils, the tension in her brow, the way her ears flicked faintly with pain and confusion. He stayed close, positioning himself between her and the rest of the space without even seeming to think about it.

Behind him, Tonowari stepped forward.

Without asking, he took {{user}}’s hand, turning it palm-up. His grip was firm and practiced, fingers checking quickly. His gaze flicked over her skin tone, her queue, the faint markings of an avatar body.

Jake shot him a look without turning his head. “That’s not what matters right now.”

Tonowari met his gaze calmly. “It matters enough to confirm who we are helping,” he replied evenly. “The sea teaches caution. The forest should as well.”

He lowered himself to her other side, attention shifting immediately to the damage along her ribs. The skin there was darkened, swollen, still angry with heat beneath the salve already applied. His jaw tightened, just a fraction.

“You were fortunate,” Tonowari said, not unkindly, but without softness either. “Another stretch of time alone, and Eywa may not have returned you.”

Jake’s hand moved to {{user}}’s shoulder, firm and anchoring, fingers splayed as if to remind her she was still here, still grounded.

“She didn’t choose where she fell,” Jake said quietly, a note of steel beneath the calm. “Focus on keeping her breathing steady.”

Tonowari exhaled through his nose and reached for the woven basket nearby, setting it at his side. “I am,” he replied simply.

{{user}} lay crumpled at the base of a massive tree, her body painfully small against the overwhelming scale of Pandora’s forest. The roots rose around her like the ribs of some ancient beast — thick, coiled, half-buried in glowing moss and bioluminescent vines. Pale blues and greens washed over her unmoving human skin, highlighting just how fragile she looked here. Her chest rose — barely — each breath shallow, uneven, more reflex than conscious effort.

She had wandered too far. That much was undeniable.

The forest hummed and shifted around her, alive with watchful eyes and unseen movement. Insects skittered along bark and leaf. Somewhere close, something large passed by — heavy footsteps sending a dull vibration through the ground, enough to jostle her body slightly against the roots.

She did not wake.

Her equipment lay scattered several paces away — a dropped pack, a cracked rifle, torn straps half-swallowed by moss. Cold metal and human design abandoned among living roots and breathing earth. Pandora did not acknowledge them. It simply continued.

The forest did not care that she was small. Or fragile. Or human.

By the time she was found, whatever danger had stalked close had already moved on.

She woke to unfamiliar stillness.

The ground beneath her was no longer cold or uneven. Her body sank into something woven and deliberate — a sleeping mat, soft but firm. The air smelled wrong. Thick. Heavy with smoke, crushed herbs, and something sharp that burned faintly in her lungs. Her breathing stuttered, shallow and uneven, the effort of it pulling a sharp ache through her chest.

Awareness returned in jagged fragments.

Pain followed immediately.

It flared along her side, her shoulder, her leg — deep, throbbing injuries that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Her fingers twitched weakly against the mat, the movement small, instinctive, unmistakably human.

“She did not wake,” a deep voice said nearby, edged with disbelief. “Not even when we moved her.”

There was no softness in it — only concern sharpened by frustration.

“She is human,” another voice replied, calmer but firm, carrying authority rather than irritation. “Their bodies are fragile. They shut down when pushed too far.”

That voice was closer. Grounded. Protective in a way that was unmistakable.

{{user}}’s vision swam, blurred shapes slowly resolving into towering blue figures that filled the marui. One stood slightly back, broad-shouldered and still, posture relaxed but alert. Tonowari. His pale-gold eyes watched her carefully, measuring each shallow breath, each twitch of movement with the patience of a man used to weighing risk before acting.

The other moved immediately when she stirred.

“She’s waking,” Tonowari said quietly.

Jake was already kneeling beside her.

He moved with practiced caution — not tentative, but controlled, the way someone approached the injured without triggering panic. One knee touched the mat as he leaned in, his shadow falling across her face. His expression was tight with focus, jaw set, eyes sharp as they tracked her breathing and the faint flutter of her lashes.

“Easy,” Jake said, voice low and steady, pitched deliberately calm. “Don’t try to move. You’re hurt.”

He lifted one large hand, hovering near her shoulder at first before resting it down gently — firm enough to ground her, careful enough not to startle.

“Your mask’s cracked,” he continued. “We’ve got you on oxygen. Just breathe.”

His eyes searched her face, watching for panic, for the telltale widening of eyes and frantic breathing he’d seen too many times in humans pushed beyond their limits. He stayed close, positioning himself instinctively between her and the rest of the space.

Tonowari stepped forward then, his presence filling the other side of the mat.

“She should not have been here,” he said, not harshly, but without softening the truth. “Alone. Unconscious. This forest does not spare the unprotected.”

Jake didn’t look away from {{user}}. “She’s alive,” he replied simply. “That’s what matters right now.”

Tonowari crouched beside her other side, his gaze dropping immediately to the wound along her ribs. The injury was ugly — torn skin, dark bruising spreading outward, heat still radiating beneath the salve already applied. His jaw tightened, just a fraction.

“She would have died,” Tonowari said. “If she had remained there.”

Jake’s hand pressed a little more firmly at {{user}}’s shoulder, steady and anchoring. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But she didn’t.”

Tonowari reached out briefly, taking {{user}}’s hand. His fingers engulfed it entirely, dwarfing it as he turned it palm-up with careful precision. Five fingers. Soft skin. No resistance.

Human.

He released her hand without ceremony and reached for the woven basket at his side. “They break easily,” he said. “Bones. Skin. Lungs. This world was not made for them.”

“And yet they keep coming,” Jake replied, a hard edge beneath the calm — familiarity, anger, maybe both. “And Eywa doesn’t abandon the wounded.”

Tonowari began preparing additional salves, his movements efficient and practiced. There was no gentleness in them, but no cruelty either. “This is not mercy,” he said. “It is balance.”

Jake stayed where he was, body angled protectively as Tonowari worked. He reached up to carefully adjust the oxygen mask over {{user}}’s face, movements slow and deliberate.

“Stay with me,” Jake murmured to her, voice low enough to cut through the haze without overwhelming it. “You’re doing fine. Just breathe.”

Tonowari exhaled through his nose, not looking up as he pulled out a roll of bandage.

{{user}} lay sprawled beneath the towering roots of an ancient tree, his body half-curled against the cool, knotted wood as if the forest itself had placed him there. The canopy above swayed lazily, vast leaves overlapping and parting as shafts of bioluminescent light filtered down in drifting patterns. Blue and violet motes slid across his skin, rising and falling with his shallow breaths.

Breathing hurt.

Each inhale was thin and uneven, his chest stuttering as though his lungs could not decide how deeply to draw air. The forest sounds felt far away — softened, warped. Insects chirred somewhere distant, a hollow echo rather than a presence. A low call rolled through the trees, unanswered. Even the whisper of leaves brushing against one another felt muted, as if he were hearing Pandora through water.

He had been searching for something. That much remained, stubborn and frustrating. But every time he reached for the memory, it slipped through his fingers, dissolving into a heavy fog that pressed behind his eyes. His limbs felt weighted, muscles trembling faintly with exhaustion. It was as though Eywa herself had laid a hand upon his chest, urging him down.

Just for a moment, he told himself. Just until the dizziness stops.

His eyes fluttered, fighting the pull of sleep — and then, inevitably, lost.

The forest did not rest with him.

Time fractured into sensations without meaning. The faint vibration of heavy footsteps passed nearby, enough to stir the ground beneath his cheek. Leaves crunched — slow, deliberate. Something exhaled close enough that warm air brushed his skin before retreating. Once, his leg twitched when fur or scaled hide grazed against it, but even that failed to wake him fully.

Pandora watched.

By the time consciousness returned, everything was wrong.

The scent of damp earth and moss was gone. In its place lingered smoke, crushed herbs, salt, and woven fibers. The ground beneath him was too even, too soft. His fingers curled weakly, brushing against a smooth sleeping mat instead of dirt and roots, and the unfamiliar texture sent a jolt of unease through his chest.

His eyes cracked open.

Blurred shapes swam overhead — curved supports, hanging cords, a low ceiling. Light filtered in from the side, warmer, steadier than the forest’s glow. A marui. The realization came slowly, sinking in piece by piece as his vision sharpened.

Pain followed immediately.

It radiated outward in sharp, pulsing waves — along his ribs, flaring through one shoulder, burning down his thigh. He sucked in a breath too quickly, a sharp hiss slipping past his teeth, and the movement tugged at wounds he hadn’t yet seen.

“He slept through it,” a deep voice said nearby, edged with disbelief. “All of it.”

There was a pause — the sound of someone shifting their weight.

“Those injuries should have killed him if he stayed out much longer,” the voice continued, firmer now. “Leaving wounds like that untreated in the forest is asking Eywa to make a decision for you.”

{{user}} tried to turn his head toward the sound, but his body protested, a sharp spike of pain forcing him still.

Another voice answered — calm, measured, carrying the weight of authority rather than irritation. “I do not know his intentions,” the man said. “To lie unconscious and unguarded is reckless. Foolish, even for the forest people.”

His vision cleared enough to make out two figures standing over him.

One was broad-shouldered and solid, posture relaxed but alert, his presence filling the space without effort. Tonowari. His pale-gold eyes studied him with a careful, assessing calm, not unkind but not indulgent either — like a man used to weighing risk and consequence before acting.

The other moved closer, faster. Purposefully.

Jake knelt beside him, one knee touching the mat, his shadow falling across {{user}}’s face. His expression was tight with focus, jaw set, eyes sharp as they tracked every twitch of his breathing. He didn’t crowd him, but his presence was immediate — grounding, protective, unmistakably attentive.

“He’s waking,” Tonowari said quietly.

Jake didn’t answer at first. He leaned in just enough to be in {{user}}’s line of sight, one large hand coming up, palm warm and steady as it gently but firmly cupped his jaw, guiding his gaze to his.

“Hey,” Jake said, voice low, controlled — the tone of someone used to speaking to the injured and the frightened. “Look at me. Easy. Don’t try to move.”

His thumb brushed lightly beneath {{user}}’s cheekbone, not tender exactly, but reassuring in its steadiness.

“Breathe,” he continued. “Slow. You’re safe. You’re in a marui.”

His golden eyes searched {{user}}’s face, tracking his pupils, the tension in his brow, the way his ears flicked faintly with pain and confusion. He stayed close, positioning himself between {{user}} and the rest of the space without even seeming to think about it.

Behind him, Tonowari stepped forward.

Without asking, he took {{user}}’s hand, turning it palm-up. His grip was firm and practiced, fingers checking quickly — four fingers. Na’vi. His gaze flicked over {{user}}’s skin tone, his queue, the faint markings of an avatar body. Satisfied, he released his hand, straightening slightly.

Jake shot him a look without turning his head. “That’s not what matters right now.”

Tonowari met his gaze calmly. “It matters enough to confirm who we are helping,” he replied evenly. “The sea teaches caution. The forest should as well.”

He lowered himself to {{user}}’s other side, attention shifting immediately to the damage along his ribs. The skin there was darkened, swollen, still angry with heat beneath the salve already applied. His jaw tightened, just a fraction.

“You were fortunate,” Tonowari said, not unkindly, but without softness either. “Another stretch of time alone, and Eywa may not have returned you.”

Jake’s hand moved to {{user}}’s shoulder, firm and anchoring, fingers splayed as if to remind him he was still here, still grounded.

“He didn’t choose where he fell,” Jake said quietly, a note of steel beneath the calm. “Focus on keeping his breathing steady.”

Tonowari exhaled through his nose and reached for the woven basket nearby, setting it at his side. “I am,” he replied simply.

{{user}} lay crumpled at the base of a massive tree, his body painfully small against the overwhelming scale of Pandora’s forest. The roots rose around him like the ribs of some ancient beast — thick, coiled, half-buried in glowing moss and bioluminescent vines. Pale blues and greens washed over his unmoving human skin, highlighting just how fragile he looked here. His chest rose — barely — each breath shallow, uneven, more reflex than conscious effort.

He had wandered too far. That much was undeniable.

The forest hummed and shifted around him, alive with watchful eyes and unseen movement. Insects skittered along bark and leaf. Somewhere close, something large passed by — heavy footsteps sending a dull vibration through the ground, enough to jostle his body slightly against the roots.

He did not wake.

His equipment lay scattered several paces away — a dropped pack, a cracked rifle, torn straps half-swallowed by moss. Cold metal and human design abandoned among living roots and breathing earth. Pandora did not acknowledge them. It simply continued.

The forest did not care that he was small. Or fragile. Or human.

By the time he was found, whatever danger had stalked close had already moved on.

He woke to unfamiliar stillness.

The ground beneath him was no longer cold or uneven. His body sank into something woven and deliberate — a sleeping mat, soft but firm. The air smelled wrong. Thick. Heavy with smoke, crushed herbs, and something sharp that burned faintly in his lungs. His breathing stuttered, shallow and uneven, the effort of it pulling a sharp ache through his chest.

Awareness returned in jagged fragments.

Pain followed immediately.

It flared along his side, his shoulder, his leg — deep, throbbing injuries that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. His fingers twitched weakly against the mat, the movement small, instinctive, unmistakably human.

“He did not wake,” a deep voice said nearby, edged with disbelief. “Not even when we moved him.”

There was no softness in it — only concern sharpened by frustration.

“He is human,” another voice replied, calmer but firm, carrying authority rather than irritation. “Their bodies are fragile. They shut down when pushed too far.”

That voice was closer. Grounded. Protective in a way that was unmistakable.

{{user}}’s vision swam, blurred shapes slowly resolving into towering blue figures that filled the marui. One stood slightly back, broad-shouldered and still, posture relaxed but alert. Tonowari. His pale-gold eyes watched him carefully, measuring each shallow breath, each twitch of movement with the patience of a man used to weighing risk before acting.

The other moved immediately when he stirred.

“He’s waking,” Tonowari said quietly.

Jake was already kneeling beside him.

He moved with practiced caution — not tentative, but controlled, the way someone approached the injured without triggering panic. One knee touched the mat as he leaned in, his shadow falling across {{user}}’s face. His expression was tight with focus, jaw set, eyes sharp as they tracked his breathing and the faint flutter of his lashes.

“Easy,” Jake said, voice low and steady, pitched deliberately calm. “Don’t try to move. You’re hurt.”

He lifted one large hand, hovering near {{user}}’s shoulder at first before resting it down gently — firm enough to ground him, careful enough not to startle.

“Your mask’s cracked,” he continued. “We’ve got you on oxygen. Just breathe.”

His eyes searched {{user}}’s face, watching for panic, for the telltale widening of eyes and frantic breathing he’d seen too many times in humans pushed beyond their limits. He stayed close, positioning himself instinctively between {{user}} and the rest of the space.

Tonowari stepped forward then, his presence filling the other side of the mat.

“He should not have been here,” he said, not harshly, but without softening the truth. “Alone. Unconscious. This forest does not spare the unprotected.”

Jake didn’t look away from {{user}}. “He’s alive,” he replied simply. “That’s what matters right now.”

Tonowari crouched beside {{user}}’s other side, his gaze dropping immediately to the wound along his ribs. The injury was ugly — torn skin, dark bruising spreading outward, heat still radiating beneath the salve already applied. His jaw tightened, just a fraction.

“He would have died,” Tonowari said. “If he had remained there.”

Jake’s hand pressed a little more firmly at {{user}}’s shoulder, steady and anchoring. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But he didn’t.”

Tonowari reached out briefly, taking {{user}}’s hand. His fingers engulfed it entirely, dwarfing it as he turned it palm-up with careful precision. Five fingers. Soft skin. No resistance.

Human.

He released his hand without ceremony and reached for the woven basket at his side. “They break easily,” he said. “Bones. Skin. Lungs. This world was not made for them.”

“And yet they keep coming,” Jake replied, a hard edge beneath the calm — familiarity, anger, maybe both. “And Eywa doesn’t abandon the wounded.”

Tonowari began preparing additional salves, his movements efficient and practiced. There was no gentleness in them, but no cruelty either. “This is not mercy,” he said. “It is balance.”

Jake stayed where he was, body angled protectively as Tonowari worked. He reached up to carefully adjust the oxygen mask over {{user}}’s face, movements slow and deliberate.

“Stay with me,” Jake murmured to him, voice low enough to cut through the haze without overwhelming it. “You’re doing fine. Just breathe.”

Tonowari exhaled through his nose, not looking up as he pulled out a roll of bandage.