The surrealist jungle contorted into liquified swirls like oil paint mixed on a palette. The painterly trunks undulated and broke apart, reforming into new trees, new branches, new leaves, and the cycle of life would repeat. Behind the transparent vale was a golden web of wonder: the sacred neural network that permeated the moon. In the icy blue sky hung a brilliant prism that shone forth a myriad of rays. A toruk's black shadow passed overhead, and its song rolled across the land.

Jake roamed through the forest, accompanied by his mate and son. With bow in hand, he stopped to tap his forehead to both, and the family was happy. A hexapede darted through the forest, and Jake fired an arrow after it. In pursuit, his chase brought him to a glade where he stopped in his tracks. To his horror, in the centre of the clearing was a derelict AMP suit and lying before it was his daughter, shot dead from his arrow. Jake dropped to his knees in shock. He cradled the lifeless body in his arms and desperately called her name, but her eyes did not open. He stared at the blood dripping from his quivering hand. The red droplets splattered against the ground, and from them rose a black miasma.

The world darkened, and Jake looked up at the miasma as it swirled around a skeleton inside the AMP suit. The black mass took the shape of a man writhing about in his death throes, but instead of collapsing, the shape grew and grew till it towered over Jake. The shadow convulsed and, from its side, burst four sinewy limbs. The essence solidified into a palulukan. The beast roared, and the whole land trembled. Through eyes of fire, it spotted Jake and fell upon him.

Jake screamed.

Neytiri was startled out of her sleep and found her husband in a cold sweat. She shook him as she called his name. He opened his eyes, and the vision of her was enough to calm him down from his panic.

"Ma Jake," she breathed. |"This is happening so much."|

He sat up as she petted his brow. |"I know."|

|"I thought they had come to an end."|

Jake wouldn't look her in the eye. |"I thought so too. This one was…different."|

|"How different?"|

Jake didn't want to answer. He clutched his wife and set his head on her accepting shoulder. In the privacy of their placid tent, the hardened Marine entrusted himself so completely to her tender caress that he said what few men were brave enough to say.

|"I'm afraid."|

She breathed him in. |"Have you prayed to Eywa?"|

The question caught him unawares. Despite all the talk of Eywa, especially in the most recent clan meeting, compounded with the war, praying as a solution had been the farthest thing from his mind. He respected that there was a consciousness to the world, even miracles he'd been a firsthand witness to, but that wasn't to say he held a devotee's view of Eywa; She was a concept that always evaded him. While Olo'eyktan Zayksuli revered Her, Jake Sully couldn't help but raise a brow.

Neytiri took his silence for a no. |"I know it has been hard because of Her silence. Sometimes, I wonder if She has abandoned us."|

The skeptic could not offer much encouragement. |"Well, maybe She's resting—taking a breather after that last roar?"|

His plebeian explanation lifted her spirits more than any sermon. |"Yes. A mother does not forget her children,"| she murmured. |"We will hear Her again."|

|"We will,"| Jake seconded, but he was thinking of someone else.

Jake flew for the Tree of Souls on his wife's insistence. Its glow was visible on the horizon, but Jake dove through the emergent layer and perched on a tree limb farther off. He dismounted and patted his ikran on the head. The loyal beast appreciated the prolonged chin rub, as Jake was hesitant to climb down the tree.

"I'll only be a minute, boy," he finally spoke, then, after a strong inhale and exhale, made the journey down through the understory.

Jake dropped into a meadow, where he was lit up from below by the lambent blues of the jungle floor. Flecks of phosphorescent spores drifted past him and faded into the night. A few yards beyond him was the site where he and the colonel last battled. The events replayed in his mind in perfect detail.

Quaritch was a threat unfathomable in his AMP suit, searching the jungle for the one responsible for destroying his ship, and, unfortunately for Jake, the enemy was headed in the right direction. The shack Jake was linking from was secreted away in a section of forest that he prayed wouldn't be discovered, but it was. Quaritch was primed to destroy Jake—when something alerted the colonel.

Elsewhere, having deemed her worthy, Eywa bestowed to the princess a palulukan for a mount. The beast lowered its head in submission, allowing Neytiri to form the bond. Sensing Jake was in danger, she rode the terrifying creature through the thick of battle to where her beloved slept unprotected. She spotted the demon about to kill him and pounced. The screams of rider and mount collected into one petrifying roar, and she tackled the steel golem. Muscle versus metal, the evenly matched Titans were locked in a duel. Vicariously, Neytiri bellowed through her palulukan and brought her claws down on Quaritch. His suit's windshield was ready to shatter when he pulled his gambit: a serrated blade. Clenched in his metal fingers was a sword the size of an adult male. He plunged it into the animal's side, and Neytiri felt its cold teeth as he stabbed her mount again and again. He slayed the creature, and Neytiri was trapped under its hide. With his weapon high, the demon was about to destroy the Omatikaya princess when her champion arrived to save her.

Jake lured Quaritch away from Neytiri, and the two fought. The avatar of flesh was outmatched by the one of steel, but through cunning agility, he robbed the Titan of his blade. With it, Jake penetrated his windshield and made him vulnerable to the poisonous air. Jake allowed his enemy time to strap on his breathing visor, but his opponent was not so honourable. Quaritch felt that the traitor should be reminded of his own weakness, and so, abandoning his fight with Jake, he targeted the link shack. With a swing of his AMP suit's fist, he shattered the window and the Dreamwalker was violently woken, gasping for air. Jake held his breath long enough to repossess his avatar and, by sheer willpower, dreamt himself back into battle, but it wasn't long before the more powerful opponent held his queue in an iron fist.

Savouring his advantage, the colonel pointedly dislodged the Na'vi knife that was stabbed into his seat and, with a leer, primed it on Jake's jugular when a figure emerged from the corner of Quaritch's eye.

There, standing tall with her father's bow drawn, was Neytiri, and she fired an arrow straight through the demon's black heart.

The golem staggered; the driver gasped—already dying. Neytiri fired another shaft.

In his final seconds, Quaritch reached for the arrows twice his length, but the poison of their tips seized his mind, and he could do nothing but feel his punctured lungs heave for the air they could no longer hold.

The AMP suit collapsed, and the battle was over.

The dark memorial was regarded as taboo by the Na'vi, who believed the demon's restless spirit still dwelt there. None were allowed near the site, and seldom did Jake break this custom. Slowly drawing one foot before the other, Toruk Makto soundlessly approached the sepulchre of Colonel Quaritch.

The organic sentries felt Jake brush against their green hands, and they saluted him with heightened bioluminescence. He froze at the border of the dark meadow where his night vision picked up the curved outline of the AMP suit and the straight lines of the link shack, both now victims to overgrowth. Ignis faatus glinted in the murky blackness beyond the ghostly meadow. It was unnaturally quiet, and the air did not smell of animals; they, too, steered clear of the site. He entered the grounds and walked towards the suit with obeisance, for even the remains of his enemy commanded respect.

Jake neared the fallen suit, fearing he'd discover an empty cockpit, only to breathe a sigh of relief.

The sight wasn't grotesque like the one from his nightmare but strangely beautiful. Nature had stripped away the flesh, leaving behind a yellowed skeleton burgeoning with life. Sun lilies made their homes on Quaritch's scapula, striped creeping vines with delicate pale blooms weaved through his rib cage, and the length of his sternum was coated in sparkling blue lichen. This was the power of Pandora—to transform even his remains into a den of beauty. The scene harkened to Jake a line from a Na'vi prayer spoken over the dead, and he found himself mumbling it aloud.

"Tokx 'ì'awn slu Eywevengyä hapxì (Your body stays behind to become part of Pandora)."

Jake had a start when he caught movement on the skull, but it was nothing more than a cluster of Cat Ears; the zooplantae's ear-like stalks would pivot in the direction of sound, and Jake's prayer had triggered them. He cocked his head in defiance at the skeleton—smug about being alive while his enemy was not; then, once he was satisfied, Jake exited the clearing and left Quaritch to Pandora. He was Hers now and free to do with him as She deemed fit.

He soon arrived at the Tree of Souls. The olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya bade an "I see you" to Eywa before journeying down into the recess. An air of calm ruled the glade; no violence occurred here; no bloodshed desecrated the hallowed ground. The pure spirits played in their Mother's haven and swirled around Jake as he made his way over the network of roots. The Tree of Souls reminded him of the willow trees of Earth, whose gnarled miens lent them a sense of wisdom and strength. Jake walked up the steps and knelt at the altar of root like he once did many years prior. He had begged Eywa for help, warning Her of the threat the human race posed to the precious world of Eywevengyä (Eywa's Child)—It's a humbling thing for a man when he finds himself supplicating to a plant.

With one hand, Jake drew up his queue and the illuminated branches with the other. The nerves of his kuru knew to unfurl, and they wrapped around the sprays with gladness. Instantly, the peace of the world permeated his soul. It had been a while since he communed with Her, Jake thought.

"Great Mother," he started, trying to think of the right words. Should he talk in English or Na'vi? He wondered. Did it matter? Was this entity capable of understanding someone beyond the limitation of speech? Jake didn't really know, but he opted for English as he could articulate better in his mother tongue than his Mother's tongue. "My heart is heavy. My efforts to defend this land have been marginal at best. We've lost so many, and the enemy continues to grow like an invisible cobra, choking us. I can only keep the Omatikaya safe by hiding them, and now I'm told I'm leading them astray.

"Flipping hell. What am I doing? Who am I kidding? I'm kidding them, that's what. They preach the name of Toruk Makto at me, and in my heart, I know I'm just an alien who got lucky—that's it!" Jake slammed his anger onto the roots of Her altar, and it responded, causing him to immediately regret the outburst.

He clenched his fists tightly as the heart of the issue surfaced. "I'm scared, Mother. I'm deathly scared for my family." The father squeezed his face trying to block out the intrusive nightmare that kept replaying in his mind. "Help me understand what's happening—what to do," he choked. "We need another miracle…"

With nothing else to add, Jake undid the connection and lingered, head still pressed against his fists as he rested on the altar. The loss of Anotang still weighed heavily on him and the fear of losing more, his own family—Jake was arrested by nightmarish thoughts.

Eventually, the olo'eyktan drew himself up and leaned his head back, seeking to wash his face with the cool night air. After a deep inhale that absorbed all that he could, his eyes rested on the beauty of the pink canopy thereupon his pupils dilated when he noticed a blue tree limb.

Recognizing the bracelet of woven bark, Jake called up to the nymph. "Kiri?"

The sudden announcement of her name startled the girl awake. Kiri stumbled from her resting spot, but Jake swooped in to catch her in time. He set her gently on a bed of ferns while panting from the close call. "Jesus, Kiri. What are you doing all the way out here?"

She made several gestures, and it took a while for Jake to decipher them.

"You always come here at night?"

She nodded.

"Kiri, you shouldn't fly out alone, especially at night. It's too dangerous."

"It's safe here," she reminded him.

Jake exhaled in defeat. Her way of thinking always found a way to circumvent his point. Unsure of what else to say, he lay there beside her on the bed of ferns, and together, they gazed at the twinkling atokirina' fluttering about. More gathered by the minute, and soon, a bouquet of the delicate sprites were dancing overhead.

"I've noticed you're always attracting these things," her father mentioned as one skipped across his nose.

Being on her back, Kiri held up her hand and waved it back and forth in lieu of a nod.

"Do you know why?"

Her palm dipped, meaning "I don't know."

Kiri was a unique girl that Jake, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't fully understand. She was a mystery while also being as normal as an adolescent girl could be. For one, no one could figure out why she couldn't talk. Two months after Neteyam spoke his first word, the family wondered why Kiri wasn't doing the same. Jake thought she was simply the quiet type, but after a year of silence, it was obvious something was wrong. She was examined by human scientists, and while they found no physical deformities, Kiri was diagnosed as mute. There were many theories tossed around as to why, from being gestated in a brain-dead avatar to a fault in how the cesarean section was performed, but in the end, no amount of theorizing was going to give the girl what she needed: a voice.

Norman came to her rescue with his knowledge of ASL. He was raised by a deaf father, and it was actually due to Norm's saturation in mute/deaf culture that sparked his interest in the field of anthropology. It was an added blessing that the Omatikaya were already an expressive people accustomed to hand gestures. Mo'at taught Kiri a universal sign language more commonly applied by other tribes and encouraged the Omatikaya to be diligent in their use of it. Since the Na'vi didn't have an alphabet, Norman also taught Kiri to fingerspell English.

Life carried on, but a new issue surfaced. Each year, it became more apparent that Kiri was mentally developing at a slower rate. Jake didn't see it at first; he thought her mood swings and fussy attitude were normal for a teenager. Norman had to point out that it was normal—for a human teenager; the Na'vi reached full maturity much sooner. It was evident to the tribe that Kiri suffered from arrested development.

This baffled Jake, for how could a girl fluent in four languages be considered slow? Kiri knew English, Na'vi, and two forms of sign. She was quadrilingual by the age of six. On top of that, she had an affinity for botany, weaving and medical care. By Na'vi standards, Kiri may have been considered autistic, but Jake was endlessly in awe of her brilliance.

Kiri reached out her hand to let an atokirina' tickle her fingers and delicately guided it over to Jake.

"What's the sign word for our little friends here?" he politely asked, already knowing the answer.

Kiri brought over her free hand and wiggled her fingers in a way that mimicked their movements.

Jake copied the gesture as he took up the sprite, but it floated away from him and disappeared among the weeping sprays.

She sat up so as to sign to him. "Why did you come here tonight?"

"Me? Uh, well, I came to…" Jake trailed off, then silently chastised himself for feeling embarrassed. "I came to pray to Eywa," he answered proudly.

"That is good! I have been worried about you. I have been asking Eywa to help you."

Jake didn't have words.

"Are you okay?"

Her father nodded.

As they relaxed under the great tree, it dawned on Jake how rare a father/daughter moment like this was, and he wanted to cherish it. "So…how have you been doing?" he began, feeling the waters; his mind had been weighted with concern for her since their last clan meeting.

"I have been good. Mo'at's training is confusing, but I try to learn."

"I'm sorry, uh, but what does"—he mimicked her gesture of drawing a round hand down from the neck—"this mean?" he asked, this time genuinely not knowing.

"That is my word for my grandmother. She braids her tswin in front."

"Oh, it's one of your special words? I don't know those too well. Are you happy learning the ways of tsahìk?"

She bobbed her hand, meaning "yes."

"That's good. Your mother never really took to it. Between you and me, I think she's too headstrong to be a tsahìk." He grinned. "I think she'd rather be olo'eyktan."

Kiri seconded the sentiment with a laugh, but Jake didn't completely understand her signed reply. He wanted to kick himself. Here they were having a moment's respite away from tensions, away from war, and he couldn't fully enjoy it because of his limitations in the skill. Fears of losing her had been plaguing him. Now, with his daughter nearly an adult, it was all too apparent to Jake how he had wasted those few years. She wasn't a child anymore, and one day, before he'd know it, she'd be someone else's. He cursed himself for being a bloody galah and wished he spent more time learning her sign. If the past was beyond him, he'd make do with the present. "I'm sorry," he apologized through finger-talk. "What does this gesture mean?" He then mimicked drawing a bow.

Kiri was elated to see her father making the effort to reply in her language. "It is Mother's sign name. I made it up with Spider."

"You mean, N-E-Y-T-I-R-I?" he fingerspelled.

Kiri bobbed her fist again and showed him that Grace's name was a combination of the words "mother" and "sleeping."

"So, each sign name has to do with what that person means to you?"

Kiri grinned her yes and then asked, "Can you tell me what J-A-K-E means?"

"I do not know. I was named after Grandad's direhorse."

Kiri tilted her puzzled head. "You have direhorses back on your star?"

Jake chuckled softly. "No, we have an animal which is similar. I just don't know the sign word for it."

She laughed, then curved her brows in question. "Father, why did you name me K-I-R-I?"

Jake pursed his lips in thought. "Well, you were a Kiri-ous birth."

She stared at him flatly.

"Your mother came up with it. If she left it to me, I would've gone with something simple like 'Jessica.'"

"That doesn't sound very simple." She winced.

"It's simple for me." Jake smiled. "At least I get credit for your nickname 'Kiwi.'" The father nudged her shoulder with his. "I could tell you the story behind that again?"

She grimaced from embarrassment.

"Alright. Alright. So, uh…" He took a moment to figure out how to form his next sentence. "What is my special sign name?"

Kiri crossed the thumbs of her flat hands with palms facing away and directed the "V" formation heavenward.

"That's my name?"

"What is wrong?"

"All this time, I thought you were saying, 'Shove off, Dad.'"

Kiri made a face and adamantly shook her head no.

"Well, I didn't know. I'm just a dumb grunt. You know that."

She replied with many, many nods.

"Okay, okay, don't agree too much. So, what does"—he echoed her gesture—"this mean?"

She fingerspelled the word for him.

"T-O-R-U… Wait… Your special word for me is 'Toruk Makto'?"

"Yes. Because that is what you are." She finished by placing her palm over her heart.

Kiri didn't understand why he went quiet or why he suddenly stared at her so intently, but when he swallowed whatever words were forming in his mouth, she recognized the tell-tale sign of creases forming on his chin. She thought it best to lean in and let him take her in his embrace. The little princess set her cheek against his sturdy chest as his coarse hands petted her shoulder. She felt his warm breaths part the tufts of her hair, and his body faintly tremble as he rocked her.

All was quiet on Homestead but not peaceful. It was an uncomfortably hot night for Quaritch, who tossed about his bunk in a restless sleep. His perspiring face was contorted in anguish. In the distance, a great leonopteryx's bellow startled him awake. He lay there panting upon his pillow, staring up at the boards of his cabin, processing the fact that he had woken up screaming. Quaritch came to his feet and wiped his face, thinking the world was playing tricks with his mind; as such was the intrinsic nature of moons seducing men into madness.

Without bothering to don pants, he strutted outside in his boxers for some fresh air. He strolled a ways away from his cabin. The undeveloped plains their home sat on was very dark at night—away from Bridgehead's light pollution and away from the luminary jungles blocked off by walls. Only the stars, the planet, and his bioluminescent freckles emitted light. Quaritch stroked his striped arm and studied the dots that would, here and there, cluster in groups of six. CJ was right, he thought with a smile; they did look like daisies. His eyes returned to Bridgehead, where its fluorescence stained the horizon and attempted to overpower the shine of the celestial bodies. The city had grown significantly in the last year and would only continue to swell. For all of man's advancements, his boyhood fields of dust were prettier than that smog-filled, concrete jungle that flaunted before him. No longer impressed by it, Quaritch's gaze shifted right, towards the unfinished headquarters of the investors—the future realm for the demi-gods who funded his existence. It was a row of bizarre-shaped towers awaiting completion. Exposed levels were roped off by tendinous cords that wrapped around its reinforcement-beam skeleton. In the night, its silhouette looked more like a ripped-open cadaver than a Mount Olympus.

How long, Quaritch thought, before another city would be built? And another and another? How would mankind take control of this arcane moon, and where did the recoms fit in the grand scheme of things? They were products of an afterthought—the preservation of their minds: a fluke. For the first time since his rebirth, the recombinant started to ask questions. He was an astute man who could see the writings on the wall. It was not his life that was a concern but the eleven others he was responsible for, and he didn't honestly know if he could protect them from the cold justifications of their utilitarian overlords. Without answers, he could only continue serving the city and keep his focus on the upcoming mission.

Having finished cooling himself, Miles motioned for his cabin when he caught a subtle movement overhead. There, just a few metres above him, was something he couldn't believe—a woodsprite.

The frailest of Eywa's creations had made its way through the two-mile-wide kill zone and climbed over the hundred-foot wall. Ignored by the legion of automated sentries that deemed it too insignificant to shoot, it infiltrated the purportedly impregnable fortress of Bridgehead. The little invader commanded the soldier's full attention. He bodily tracked its movement as it curved around him and, by its latent strength, ascend over the wall on its return journey home.