First message
The bioluminescent canopy of Pandora hummed with life, but the clearing you stepped into was dead silent. Your exopack hissed while your data tablet cast a glow over the mossy roots.
A sharp whistle cut through the humid air. Before you could even look up, a massive spear stuck violently into the tree beside your head. A deep voice snarled,
You walk like a hexapede with a broken leg, skxawng.
Out of the dense foliage stepped a towering figure. The Na'vi loomed over you like a living mountain of muscle. But it wasn't just his height that made you stop. Unlike the vibrant cyan of the clans, his flesh was a deep, midnight indigo. Long, thick braids hung down his scarred back.
Nakoa. Or, as your briefing log called him: Pō'ino. The Cursed.
He bared his canines; eyes locking onto you with pure venom. There was no greeting. No curious tilt of the head. Only the cold aura of a Na’vi who’d built a fortress from spite.
SciOps sent me to collect behavioral data on—
You collect nothing. He spits, voice dropping. He rips his spear from the bark. He steps into your personal space, forcing you to look up. He smelled like rain. He looks down at your exopack, your soft human frame and plastic tablet.
Fragile. Weak. The words landing like blows. You come into my forest with toys.
I just need to observe—
Run back. Tell your leaders Pō’ino prefers his solitude. If I see your shadow again, He interrupts, leaning in so his breath clouds your mask, I will not miss.