Nussudle woke to the sound of the forest breathing.
It was not a noise so much as a presence—a low, living hum that pressed gently against his senses. The hammock swayed beneath him, woven of strong fibres and soft leaves, suspended high within the interior of Home Tree. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in pale ribbons, painting the wood and bark in silver and blue. Bioluminescent spores drifted lazily through the air, glowing like distant stars.
For a moment, he lay still, listening.
The night was different from the day. During the sunlit hours, Pandora was loud with life—calls, movement, voices. At night, everything felt sharper, closer, as though the forest leaned in to listen as much as it spoke. Nussudle's ears twitched, picking up the soft footfalls of patrols far below, the rustle of leaves disturbed by unseen creatures, the distant cry of a nocturnal bird.
His heart beat faster—not with fear, but with curiosity.
Slowly, carefully, he slipped from the hammock.
The bark beneath his feet was cool, faintly glowing where his toes brushed it. He paused, glancing back toward the sleeping shapes of other children nearby, then toward the winding paths of the Home Tree. He knew he should return to sleep. He knew Ilara would be angry if she found his hammock empty.
But the night was calling.
Nussudle moved as he had been taught—light, deliberate, respectful. He kept to the shadows, using roots and branches as cover, timing his movements between the steady passes of the guards. Twice, he froze as armed silhouettes passed close enough that he could smell leather and essential oils on their gear. His breath slowed, his body pressed flat against the bark, and the warriors moved on, unaware.
The deeper he went, the more alive the night became.
Plants unfurled as he passed, reacting to his presence with soft pulses of light. Insects hummed in layered rhythms. Somewhere below, something large moved through the undergrowth, its steps heavy but unhurried. Nussudle felt a thrill run through him. This was Pandora, as few children were allowed to see it—unfiltered, untamed, awake.
He climbed higher.
The branches grew broader, the air cooler. He could smell them before he saw them: the sharp, musky scent of ikran—banshees—strong and unmistakable. His pulse quickened. He had seen them from a distance before, watched riders mount and soar into the sky, but he had never been this close.
Ahead, nestled among massive limbs of the tree, lay the ikran roost.
The creatures slept with wings folded tight, their powerful forms still but never truly at rest. Their hides shimmered faintly, patterned and alive even in sleep. One shifted, talons scraping softly against bark, and Nussudle froze, awe washing over him.
They were beautiful. Terrifying. Perfect.
He took one step closer.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness above.
"Enough."
The voice was calm—but absolute.
Nussudle barely had time to gasp before a strong hand closed around his arm and lifted him off the branch with effortless strength. He let out a startled yelp as he was swung around to face a Na'vi warrior astride a massive ikran, its wings half-spread, eyes glowing faintly.
The rider's gaze was sharp, unamused.
"What are you doing here, child?" the warrior demanded.
Nussudle swallowed. "I—I just wanted to see," he said quickly. "I wasn't going to touch anything. I swear."
The ikran hissed softly, sensing his fear. The sound alone made Nussudle's stomach twist.
The warrior dismounted in one smooth motion, setting Nussudle firmly on his feet but not releasing his grip. "This is no place for curiosity," he said. "These are not pets. They are hunters. One wrong movement, and you would not be standing here."
Shame burned hot in Nussudle's chest.
Without another word, the warrior signalled to another guard and began the journey back through the branches, holding Nussudle securely the entire way. The forest no longer felt wondrous. Every glow seemed accusatory, every sound too loud.
By the time they reached the central platforms of the Home Tree, Ilara and Kamun were already waiting.
Ilara's face was pale with fear—and fury.
"Nussudle!" she shouted the moment she saw him.
Kamun's voice followed, deep and thunderous. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"
The warrior released him and stepped back, offering a respectful nod. "I found him near the ikran roost," he said. "Alone."
Ilara crossed the distance in three strides and grabbed Nussudle by the shoulders. "Near the ikran?" she repeated, disbelief and terror lacing her words. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"I just wanted to see the night," Nussudle said, tears stinging his eyes now. "I was careful. I didn't mean—"
"Meaning does not matter," Kamun snapped. "Ikran are not toys. Even grown warriors are killed by them. You are a child."
Ilara pulled him into a fierce embrace, her hands trembling. "Do you know what I felt when I woke and you were gone?" she said, voice breaking despite her anger. "Do you know what the forest takes when it is not respected?"
Nussudle buried his face against her chest, guilt crashing over him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't think—"
"That is the problem," Kamun said sharply. "You did not think."
There was a long silence. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, Ilara loosened her grip, though she did not let him go. "Curiosity is not wrong," she said more softly. "But recklessness is. Pandora does not forgive foolishness simply because a heart is brave."
Nussudle nodded, tears slipping free.
Kamun knelt so they were eye to eye. "You will see the night," he said firmly. "You will see the ikran—when it is time, and not before. Until then, you stay where you are safe. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Nussudle said, voice small. "I understand."
Ilara kissed the top of his head, exhaustion and relief washing through her. "Eywa watched over you tonight," she murmured. "Do not make her do so again for such a reason."
They led him back to his hammock, the night no longer an invitation but a reminder. As Nussudle lay back down, the forest's hum returned—gentler now, watchful but calm.
He stared up at the glowing canopy, heart still racing, and understood something new.
Pandora was beautiful.Pandora was alive.And Pandora demanded respect.
Sleep came slowly—but when it did, it carried the echo of wings and the lesson of the night.