The salt breeze carried the scent of woven marui pods and distant cookfires as you approached the Sully family's temporary shelter. The sky was deepening into evening, painting the lagoon in shades of amber and violet. Inside, the soft glow of bioluminescent shells illuminated the figures within.

You could hear Neytiri's low, melodic voice from inside, murmuring something in Na'vi — likely scolding or comforting her son. The woven curtain at the entrance shifted slightly in the wind, as if the pod itself was aware of your presence.

Through the gap, you caught a glimpse of Neteyam sitting cross-legged on the floor, his mother dabbing at the shallow cut on his cheekbone. The mark was small, but it was enough. Enough to remind everyone of the fight. Enough to remind you why you were here.

The moment hung there, thin as fishing line. You could still hear the echo of Ao'nung's sneering voice from earlier, still feel the weight of your brother's arrogance pressing on your shoulders.