Toruk Makto stood like a towering oak at the ledge of his floating fortress. The sides of his head were shaved, accentuating his alert ears. His braided hair was adorned in plumes the colour of fire, making his already regal countenance intense with righteous anger. It was the auroral hour, and the golden light gave hope to all as Jake raised his bow in salute to his arriving warriors. They were the ikran fliers of Kekunan and Tayrangi; the direhorse riders of Olangi and Ìponi; the Tipani, wielding their shields of viridescent carapace; and the Mawìtan, riding their steervanes dressed in knotted caparisons. Ikran riders by the hundreds flew around the mountain like black dots swarming the flaming welkin. U'imi (streamers) worn on the rider's backs flapped, snapped and cracked in the high winds, filling the sky with the vivid colours of war. Below, horns blared to greet the warriors, treating them with the deference their bravery warranted.

Thousands were bivouacked beneath the mountain, and the mood was electric. Na'vi took turns swinging on the gruelling pendulum drums so no player was overworked. They danced and skipped around the great fires to inspire others and to thank Eywa for giving them this life so they may lay it down for a worthy cause.

These civilized people would comport themselves with dignity even when preparing for battle, such as ceremoniously dousing their war hatchets with water, as fighting with an unclean axe was considered disrespectful or bestowing a blessing to their arrowheads that it would deal a quick and painless death. No matter the tribe, all peoples of Pandora were governed by this tenet of respecting life, which encompassed even that of their enemies.

It was midmorning when everyone regrouped at Vitrautral (Tree of Souls) for their most crucial of all pre-battle practices: the ritual communion with Eywa. It was an enigma to xenoanthropologists as to why the knowledge of warfare had not atrophied in a people that seldom experienced it, but the answer was simple. Pandora's global library housed centuries of knowledge dating back to the Time of the First Songs. When communing with Eywa, She would depart to the Na'vi, in subliminal ways, the wisdom they needed to fight. This allowed them to be pacifists without being weak, ferocious without being cruel—as hardened as soldiers but as innocent as babes.

Clans gathered at the steps and connected their queues to the roots. Some were chanting a rhapsody of prayers so complex in notes that it ascended the mortal vale and into the realm of the divine. In the firmament, an orbiting satellite spied the convocation and reported back to Bridgehead the amassing Na'vi numbers. A chagrined Ardmore frowned at a giant screen as she watched a green mass repeatedly enlarging over a series of orbital images. She stormed through the control tower and bellowed her orders to all within earshot.

"Roll out the Dragon. I want two dozen Wasps on escort. And someone get me Officer Quaritch on the line!"

The leader of the Deja Blus was patrolling outside Hometree when he was told to hurry inside. He stood before their communications unit and watched the screen power on to be greeted by a very irritable Ardmore. "Quaritch, get ready for some company. As of yesterday, Sully's amassed up to five thousand in the Hallelujah Mountains."

He was only a little surprised. "How 'bout that? Guess he's still Toruk Makto after all."

Ardmore replied with a grunt. "We're heading out to meet you to provide backup. Two thousand more hostiles will reach those mountains in approximately two hours. Expect an attack at fourteen hundred. We'll be there to swat the flies by then."

"Roger that. The excavator is visible at fifty yards. We'll give them the heads up."

"Don't let me down, recom," she growled before terminating the call.

"Alright, you heard her! I want HMGs primed at every loophole. Double time, everyone!" Quaritch gave order after order, and Hometree buzzed with activity as the Deja Blus ran about, reinforcing the walls with sandbags and prepping their weapons for war.

Within Txurseng, Spider jogged to keep up with Jake's long strides. "We're geared up and ready to go, Pops. Can't wait to make a kill with my bow."

Jake was confused. "Spider, you're staying here at High Camp."

"What?! I'm not fighting with the rest of you?"

"Be reasonable, kid. This is a battle, not a hunting trip."

"But I'm a warrior too. I'm supposed to fight!"

"You're too young."

"Too young? I'm older than Neteyam!" His scowl switched to desperation when he realized his mentor was unmoving. "Please, Jake! Don't leave me behind with the pregnant women and children. I'm a man now. Treat me like one."

"Being a man doesn't mean fighting whenever you want. You're to stay with Kiri."

"She'll be busy with Mo'at. She has no use for me. I'm useless if I stay here."

"Well, having a tantrum isn't going to change my mind," Jake rebuked. "You want to be treated as a man? Act like one. You're staying behind."

Restrained for the last time, the warrior swayed his head in anger. "I can't believe this. Hell, Jake, do you have any use for me?"

"Spider…"

"You're always teaching me the ways, but you never give me a chance to prove myself! I had enough of this s***. See you around." Backing away, with a frown targeted at his guardian, he turned heel and departed into the cavern.

The avatar party was on standby at the top of Txurseng and stationed in front of their banshees. The scruffy team of insurgents, painted like their Na'vi comrades, wore a collage of weather-beaten gear, dying for retirement. Any strip of cloth that attempted to desert was then promptly seized to be repurposed around their head, Rambo-style. They stood in a lineup to be drilled by their commander, Norman Spellman; as a rider of an ikran, he wore his raspu' (chaps) to protect his inner thighs, and his claret loincloth hung over his strong legs that were accented by his songcord. The right side of his hair was shaved, and the left was braided with many pale beads. His open traveller's shirt not only displayed his chest, streaked with white mud, but also his ta'lan (cummerbund), indicating his rank as an adult Omatikaya male.

Norman's voice was not deep, but he had a commanding tone. "This attack will have three phases. After Sully's team deploys the smoke shield, the cavalry will circle the HEM-OA. They will pick off any soldiers they spot and provide distraction for Neteyam and his delivery boys. Meanwhile, the banshee riders will fly past Hometree in waves and turn up the heat. Once the enemies are well-smoked, we meet Sully at the crown and move in to cook their gooses." The avatars were hungry for a fight and hooted in unison to show their readiness. Norman looked at his team with an approving nod when Jake came up behind him, and the two firmly grabbed arms in greeting. "Jake, the avatars are ready," Norm was proud to report, but he noticed a troubled look on his friend's face. "Pre-battle nerves?"

"It's Spider." He sighed. "He wants to join the fight, but I can't let him."

"Why not?"

"Norm, Spider's too young."

"He's eighteen, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but this is a battle we're talking about—Spider's half the size of us. He can't fly an ikran. He can only shoot so far—"

As Jake was reciting his points, Norman crossed his arms and flatly stared him down. "This is rich coming from the guy who arrived on Pandora in a wheelchair."

The ex-paraplegic blinked thrice. "You're saying I should let him fight?"

"Why not? He's a man."

"Norm, how would the Paras feel knowing I was sending their son into battle?"

"The Paras are gone, Jake. Spider's future now lies here in High Camp. You can't keep him like a pet."

"I know that, Norm! That wasn't why I took him under my wing. I wanted Spider to learn the peaceful ways of the Na'vi, not get caught up in war like…" When Jake hesitated, Norman understood.

"You're worried about him getting a taste of it?"

"I'm a Marine," he stated. "I enlisted when I was seventeen. I know what it does to you—what happens when you take a life. It— It changes you. I don't want that for Spider."

"And Neteyam?"

"Neteyam is different," Jake countered quickly.

"You're capping Spider by doing this. He's separated from his species and can't undergo the Na'vi rite of passage. At least let him do something for his people so he knows he belongs."

"By teaching him how to kill other humans?"

Norman was sympathetic as he patted his buddy's shoulder. "Jake, when Grace let you undergo your Dream Hunt, it wasn't just your avatar dying that she was afraid of. It was seeing you falling in love with a world she knew you couldn't be a part of. She was scared too."

"She was right."

"Yeah, but she still let you do it."

Jake reflected on his youthful obstinance with a chuckle. "I wasn't going to be stopped."

"Neither will Spider. Trying to prevent him will only make things worse."

He yielded with a half-smile while clasping the hand on his shoulder. "You know, in that instance, what drove me was Neytiri. Thank god, that's not the case with him."

"So, you going to let him join?"

"One problem—what would he do?"

"Why not have him deliver one of the packages with Neteyam?"

Jake's ears flicked. "Yeah, he could easily do that, couldn't he?"

"He's one of the best climbers in the whole village. His name is 'Spider' after all."

He couldn't argue with that. "Alright. I'll go find him. Oh, and how are we with our current numbers?"

Norman looked around. "We still have two thousand more on their way. They should be here in a couple hours."

"Good, send word out throughout the camp. We're heading to battle."

"What? But don't you want to wait till the others get here first?"

He shook his head. "Nothing doing. Max told me last time Quaritch used orbital images to predict our movements."

"So they won't expect us to attack beforehand?"

"Exactly."

"Jake, that's brilliant."

"You wait here. I'll be back with Spider," he called out as he took off.

Jake worked his way through the bustle of activity and walked down into the heart of High Camp; however, he failed to find Spider in his cabin. He knocked, but no one answered. When he entered, it was empty, and all the lights turned off. He stopped to ask Max, but the scientist relayed to him that he hadn't been seen for some time. Jake kicked himself for being too hard on his ward, but it was too late to rectify anything; he only had a few minutes before departure, and he couldn't waste time searching for him. With a heavy heart, the olo'eyktan returned to the top of the mountain.

Ready for departure, the ikran riders took the last few minutes to don their tsamopin (war paint). With a wooden bowl of paint in one hand, Kiri carefully drew yellow streaks across her brother's face. Neteyam thanked her upon completion, but before she would let him go, the sister had something else she wished to do. She plucked up her special tipi bag and drew from it a turquoise collar that bore the symbol of the Omatikaya at its centre: a tree.

|"Kiri, is that the collar you've been working on for the last few weeks?"|

She nodded, then lifted it over his head to place it on his chest. The Omatikaya were renowned weavers, and Kiri, trained by her mother, was regarded by her own clan as the most talented.

Neteyam admired the complex piece. |"It is beautiful, sister. Thank you."|

Rather than tear up, Kiri put on a brave face and threw her arms around Neteyam for a sudden hug. The brother patted her trembling frame and reminded her not to worry after donning his ionar (ikran riding visor).

"Grandmother and I will be praying for all of you," she signed emphatically.

"I know," Neteyam spoke with his hands, then kissed her cheek.

Further down the line of riders, their parents were performing the same routine. Jake could feel as he painted Neytiri's face how tense she was. This battle was not just them going up against a powerful enemy; it was to take place at Hometree, something his wife had not looked upon since that fateful day. Her worry lines ran deep across her face as she readied to speak. She took his cheeks in her hands and held firmly, giving herself a moment for her strong breathing to steady. "Ma Jake, before we go…" she began in English, and Jake knew it was serious. "I want you to know that my heart is filled with pride for you. Thank you for protecting this clan. For choosing me for a mate. For being my children's father. You are always beloved to me. And I need you to know that."

The man was struck silent as he gazed at his woman. Even her intense eyes declared how highly she regarded him. Rather than ruin the moment by speaking, he snatched her up in his arms and laid a full kiss on his incomparable princess. Whatever faced him beyond the safety of their Hallelujah Mountains, he knew he would be ready for it.

Quaritch stood atop a root stump to look upon the Bucket Wheel Excavator now towering over the virgin glade. The rusted green castle issued incessant billows of dust and smoke. At the end of its heavy cutting boom, suspended by many powerful hoist lines, were three revolving wheels of serrated scoops. The beast crawled towards Hometree with its jutted jaw, like a hungry Cerberus tugging on Hades' leash; it could smell the Unobtanium deposit ahead and wanted nothing more than to gobble it up. Its treads, the height of a cargo ship, rolled forward with an unrelenting metal whine that attacked Quaritch's ears. He pressed his collar to communicate with his teammates. "Johnny, what do you see?"

Alexander was perched at the highest peak of the excavator, surveying the skies through his binoculars. The coiled wire of his earpiece brushed his neck as he kept turning his head. "I got nothing, sir. Skies are empty."

"Walker, how 'bout you?"

Walker was positioned at the other end of Hometree. "Nothing here either, sir."

"Think the tail-heads will show?" asked Prager over the airwaves.

"Not if they know what's good for 'em," he answered.

"Too bad, my fingers are itchy."

"Put some cream on it, Fike. Sully won't attack for another hour, and Ardmore's coming to steal the show."

What the team did not know was that the enemy had already arrived. The ikran fliers were not to be found in the skies but in the jungle, hanging off tree trunks by the claws of their wings. Jake was perched with his squadron, watching the lumbering Yängomyu kllteyä; its entire upper half was visible past the emergent layer like an icebreaker ship penetrating leaves of pack ice. With his old machine gun in hand, Jake swooped down from his hiding spot to issue his signal for attack: a Na'vi war cry. Executing death-defying turns, Toruk Makto skirted the peaks of the indomitable beast, and in his wake fell a trail of orange smog.

"Na'vi!" Johnny shouted, setting off his recombinant M69, but the escaping devil evaded his fire by way of an aileron roll, creating loops of orange that drifted down the HEM-OA. Unable to see, Johnny nearly fell from his post when a sudden arrow zipped past his head.

Jake's squadron flew in fast behind him, also puncturing their tìkakrel'wll (blindness plant), so named by the alchemist clan, the Tawkami, who discovered they could inject these expandable pods with a special formula via quills for a unique weapon. Sweeping trails ranging from orange, green and purple began bathing the entire battlefield in colour as if it were a Holi festival.

The drivers were leaning in their seats to espy what was happening outside when both were startled back by a recombinant pounding on the window, trying to gain Mansk's attention. Upon seeing Johnny, Sasha seized his nearest weapon, then nodded to the men that he'd only be a minute before heading out.

Quaritch watched the action with dismay; Sully had, once again, outsmarted him. "Take cover! The Na'vi are flying in!" he broadcasted. He took up his Wasp revolver and, with his feet firmly planted, aimed at the oncoming rider twirling through the air. Time came to a crawl as the rider turned into view.

Their eyes locked.

Quaritch fired repeatedly at Sully as he sped away, not landing a single shot. Neytiri and the other riders came up from behind, and he leapt off the root spire to avoid their arrows. He ducked back into camp and charged down the log, commanding everyone to get into battle positions. Walker also arrived on the scene, having entered from the crown, and Quaritch gave orders to block all exits. He manned a heavy machine gun stationed before a narrow slit and started firing wildly. After a few seconds of chaos, there was a sudden lull. The recombinants were anticipating a second wave of fliers when the ground started to rumble.

Over the thunder of hooves and treads came the screeching direhorse riders charging up the excavator's lane. The muscular fighters burst through the obscuring cloud and took aim at the walking city. Mansk, Prager, Johnny and Warren leaned over the rails, trying to scope out their targets, but they could see nothing past the motley screen. HAF soldiers simply fired blindly at the ground, only to be impaled by the materializing arrows piercing the veil.

The circling horde was not without their own losses, but for every Na'vi rider slain, three more warriors came pouring in, filling the air with screams as the indifferent fortress lumbered forward.

Ikrans dove through the polluted sky, and new riders assailed Hometree. The recombinants, inside, sprayed an onslaught of rounds at the hundreds of blurs who were aiming for their slit windows. HMGs flashed in retaliation, but the colonel paused when he detected smoke. He jerked his head around to discover the bastards were using flaming arrows. Hurriedly, he shouted at Z team to "get on it," and the pair flew for the extinguishers.

Meanwhile, the assault on the Yängomyu kllteyä raged. Projectiles shattered against the steel, and the HAF soldiers, that still could, scoffed at the primitives' futile attempts to stop the HEM-OA when a certain arrow struck a beam and erupted into a fireball—the circuiting calvary had switched to those infamous explosive arrows.

Waves of heat rushed over the colossal body. Metal fragments struck random targets. Small fires began burning the internals, but still, the beast would not yield.

Back at High Camp, in Mo'at's pagoda, the tsahìk chanted an enthralling prayer that echoed throughout the winding cave system. The time of the eclipse drew near, and all three skylights ceased to issue rays, revealing the golden hues of the stimulated entwining roots that bathed the whole chamber. Kiri watched Mo'at with a studious gaze as the walls radiated with magic. Eager to do her part, she took her songcord, closed her eyes and began thumbing it around her curved palm, waving her other hand in a silent, esoteric hymn.

Amid the darkness and chaos, several Na'vi wearing yellow backpacks with the words "AVTR Program" printed on them jumped off their ikrans and landed on the excavator. Without the reassurance of netting or spotlights to guide them, the daring Na'vi swung with the skill of trapeze artists up the rusted non-tree. Balancing on the narrow beams of the boom, they stripped their backpacks to buckle them to the hoist cables, then escaped by jumping onto the backs of their getaway ikran riders. Two Na'vi, with different targets, moved further towards the pulley blocks, splitting off to either side of the excavator. A precarious climb with a sheer drop awaiting them if they failed, the daredevils reached the peak of the leaning tower to then strip their packs. They waved to their passing ikran sisters, and one jumped to safety, but as the other was about to leap, a bullet ripped through his side. Shouting in agony, he stumbled across the beam and tripped but caught a single support last minute; however, his grip was weak, and the demon who struck him was lining up for a second shot.

Having spent all his arrows, Neteyam leapt off White Flower and jabbed his bow in the demon's face before using it to thwack the M69 out of the hands. Warren staggered, wiped his bloody nose, then forcibly snagged the Na'vi weapon coming at him again, thrusting the small devil onto his rear. Neteyam eyed in horror when the enemy raised his bow high in preparation for snapping it across the knee, but when he brought down the shaft, Neteyam's craftsmanship withstood the test. Encouraged, the young warrior sprang back up to snatch it back. Blue arms twisted and wrestled for control in a deadly dance across a slim bridge. Warren had the upper strength, but he had underestimated how truly nimble the Na'vi were, and a lightning-speed kick at his heel threw him off balance. Another strike from the assaulting bow, and he was sent over the edge.

Johnny was moments away from shooting Neteyam, but when he saw his friend fall, he dropped his pistol and lunged to grab Warren's falling hand. The man swung with such force that it cracked Johnny's arm, but despite the sheer pain, the rescuer held on.

The tsahìk stopped her chanting when she sensed something strange and opened her eyes to a miraculous sight—the bioluminescence of the roots were moving in waves as if all the energy was being inhaled and softly exhaled. Mo'at nudged Kiri's knee, but the girl did not respond. She called her name, and then, all at once, the roots ceased to flicker and returned to their steady glow. Mo'at was bewildered and awed at the now dim cavern as Kiri stared at her grandmother, awaiting an explanation as to why she pulled her out of her meditation.

A weakening hand was slipping from its grip when gravity gave its final tug. The warrior fell with a scream, but an arm lassoed around him, and he was yanked onto an ikran. The beast pulled away from battle and into the jungle, where Norman of the Dreamwalkers set the Na'vi down.

|"You okay, young warrior?"|

His hand remained cupped over his bleeding wound. |"I was grazed, but that's better than being dead. Thank you."|

Norman did an American salute. |"Any time, fellow cit—"| His eyes rolled back, and suddenly, the giant collapsed.

"Au! Uniltìranyu Ngam'en!" he hollered in shock at the Dreamwalker now faceplanted in the dirt.

Elsewhere, waiting outside the battlefield, the avatar party was on standby.

"When is Norman going to show up?" a female driver complained. "Doesn't Jake need us to infiltrate Hometree?"

"It's already eclipse. He should've shown by now." Another blue face grimaced, setting down his rifle.

A third scanned the skies dotted with ikrans. "Should we con—" The avatar fainted—mouth stuck open on the unfinished sentence—and the audience along with it, not one before the other, but all at once, striking the ground as hollow shells.

The link beds burst open as the panicked drivers woke up in total blackness. Not only did the links terminate, but their cabins ceased filtering the air. Unable to see, they failed to find their emergency masks and fumbled helplessly in the dark. With their sealed homes fast becoming their tombs, the drivers used their depleting oxygen to cry for help.

When the electric hum of the human's instruments no longer filled Mo'at's ears, she prompted Kiri to follow her to the mouth of the cave, where they discovered, to their consternation, that the whole labyrinth was unlit.

|"Kiri, you must go find Spider at once. Without power, the Dreamwalkers are in danger."|

Kiri obeyed and set off to find him as her grandmother ran for the human camp.

"Tsahìk!"

The elder caught a form in the darkness as it approached her. |"Sawnee, do you know what has happened?"|

|"No, I do not,"| Sawnee fretted. Around her legs was a clutch of children scared by the sudden blackout.

|"Children, children. Come to me. Do not fear. Listen, you must hurry. Run to each cabin and help the Dreamwalkers. They have no air and cannot see in the dark like us. You must bring them their other faces, found on the wall by their beds."|

With urgency, Sawnee and the children scurried to every cabin.

|"Remember to pinch the middle part of the black frame after setting it firmly on their face! Do not stop till you hear the other face hiss!"| Mo'at instructed. She prayed the children knew enough about the breathing visors to correctly activate the seal.

Meanwhile, Max had managed to put on his EXO pack and venture out of his cabin to help the drivers, but as he braved the darkness, calling out to the others in distress, his bad eyesight caused him to trip. He stumbled forward when timely blue dots scooped around his waist and carefully veered him away from the thousand-foot drop.

They did not have halos, but their bioluminescence sufficed as each little angel flew to the rescue. Through teamwork, toddlers turned the stubborn wheels of the vaulted doors and poured into the tombs. Drivers were semi-conscious by the time the children finally arrived. They scrambled to find the breathing visors and obeyed their tsahìk's instruction to the letter.

Resuscitating after seal activation, Norman found himself cradled in the arms of an eight-year-old, asking if he was okay.

Over the bedlam, Lyle recognized the crescendo of rapid fire and warned everyone to duck as a trail of bullets ran across their slit windows. Their instruments were perforated and spat out fireworks of sparks. Tongues of blue flames closed in around them with no more white agent to snuff the encroaching threat. Quaritch was the first to get back up and retaliated with his heavy machine gun. Gnashing his teeth, he bellowed orders, all the while keeping his eye out for Sully. Smoke now saturated the air both inside and out. With visibility rapidly becoming non-existent, Quaritch fired at anything. His eyes watered and burned, but he would have his revenge; he was determined to end that undeserving life while he still had the chance. As he surveyed the cloud, a teal blur suddenly manifested, followed by a woman's screech, and in that split second, a spinning shaft flew directly for his heart.

His eyes pinned.

The Marine's first life flashed before his eyes, ending on those last few seconds before his traumatic death. Spirits of slain Na'vi appeared before him as he collapsed backwards. They seized his neck in their vengeful grips, and he felt nothing but the icy touch of the undead.

Wainfleet and Brown alerted the others as the two rushed towards their suffocating colonel. Brown did chest compressions as Lyle hollered desperately, but the stretching mouth drew in no air; the man gaped like a fish on dry land. The medic came down harder; the corporal screamed louder, and outside the narrow window where they knelt was Neytiri's arrow, lodged into the bark, having missed its mark by less than an inch.

Jake stood on a root stump and stared down the excavator. On his orders, every Na'vi retreated from the HEM-OA. Once the site was cleared of his men, Toruk Makto pressed the detonator. Instantly, the planted backpacks blew off. Fireballs expanded into one giant inferno that swallowed the whole of the colossus. Limbs blew off their supports, and the beast yelled out in cries of warping metal. With its tendons destroyed, the boom snapped under its own impossible weight, and the great bucket wheels crashed deep into the soil. Fire and smoke surrounded the passengers as recombinants raced to help the humans, only to have their escape routes cut off by the tons of falling rubble.

Jake saw blue figures climbing down the superstructure, and through his scope, he targeted Mansk—the recombinant was scrambling to the mangled driver's cabin. Jake's crosshairs were right on the man's back, ready to fire, when he witnessed his enemy turn around, now holding an unconscious and badly injured human. It would've been a clean shot if Jake didn't lower his weapon.

High above, ikran riders spectated the HEM-OA, burning like their fallen Hometree; the site was now a graveyard of two giants. Neytiri gazed at the vanquished monster and, brandishing her bow, issued a roar that was echoed by her clan. The cries of the past were sounded again but for victory, not defeat. With their dead vindicated, the Omatikaya people finally had closure for what happened sixteen years ago.