By the time Nussudle turned thirteen, the world had shifted again.
Not all at once, not in some dramatic, obvious way—but in the quiet manner Pandora preferred. His limbs had grown longer, his shoulders broader, his movements less childlike and more deliberate. He no longer darted through the Home Tree without thinking; now he measured distance, weight, and consequence. The elders had begun to look at him differently, no longer indulgent, no longer merely amused.
He was not a child.
And he was not yet a warrior.
That space between was where Kamun stepped in.
The morning Kamun came for them, the mist still clung low around the roots of the Home Tree. Nussudle stood among the other youths of the tribe—boys and girls of similar age, some confident, some nervous, all pretending not to be either. Spears rested against shoulders, bows were slung across backs, and queues flicked with restless anticipation.
Kamun surveyed them with the calm authority that came so naturally to him. He did not raise his voice when he spoke; he never needed to.
"Today," he said, "you learn to ride."
A ripple of excitement passed through the group.
Direhorses.
Nussudle felt his chest tighten—not with fear, but with something sharper. He had watched riders thunder through the forest since he was small, their mounts powerful and graceful, moving as though rider and beast were a single thought. Direhorses were not pets. They were partners. They chose you as much as you chose them.
Kamun turned and began walking without another word. The group followed.
They travelled beyond the familiar hunting paths, deeper into a clearing where the trees opened slightly, and the ground was softer beneath their feet. The air smelled different here—earthier, heavier, laced with the unmistakable scent of large animals.
The direhorses were already waiting.
They stood in loose clusters, massive and muscular, their hides patterned in deep blues and greens. Six-legged, broad-chested, tails flicking lazily, they watched the approaching Na'vi with intelligent, assessing eyes. Some snorted softly. Others stamped the ground.
Nussudle swallowed.
Kamun stopped at the edge of the clearing. "You will not force them," he said. "You will not rush them. You will approach with respect. If a direhorse rejects you, you accept it."
His gaze lingered briefly on Nussudle. "Eywa decides these bonds."
One by one, the youths stepped forward.
Some connections were quick—queue to queue, a sharp intake of breath, then calm. Others took time. One girl was gently nudged away by her chosen mount and had to try again with another. No one mocked her. This was sacred.
When it was Nussudle's turn, his feet felt strangely light as he approached a direhorse standing slightly apart from the rest.
It was larger than most, its hide darker, marked with faint bioluminescent streaks along its flank. One of its ears twitched as Nussudle drew closer. It did not move away.
He lifted his queue with steady hands.
The moment they connected, the world exploded.
Not outward—but inward.
His senses flooded with foreign input. The weight of the direhorse's body, the strength coiled in its legs, the way the ground felt beneath six hooves instead of two feet. He tasted the air differently, smelled the damp soil, the distant water, the faint presence of predators far beyond the clearing.
It was overwhelming—and incredible.
Nussudle gasped, staggering slightly as the bond settled. The direhorse snorted and steadied him instinctively, their minds aligning, finding balance.
And then—
Something else appeared.
It was not part of the direhorse.
It was not part of Eywa.
In the space of his mind, layered over sensation and thought, a translucent panel flickered into existence.
Nussudle froze.
The panel was rectangular, faintly glowing, filled with symbols and text arranged neatly in rows. It hovered as though waiting for him to notice it—because somehow, impossibly, it was waiting.
His heart began to race.
This was wrong.
This was familiar.
He blinked hard, but it did not vanish.
Kamun's voice reached him from somewhere outside his head. "Steady, Nussudle. Breathe."
"I—" Nussudle swallowed, eyes wide. "Father, I think… I think something is wrong."
Kamun stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on the direhorse's neck. "The first bond can feel overwhelming," he said calmly. "You are not broken."
"No," Nussudle said quickly. "Not that. There's—there's something I can see."
Kamun raised a brow, amused. "Something you can see?"
Nussudle hesitated, then gestured vaguely at the air in front of his face. "Like… words. A panel."
Kamun laughed, deep and warm. "Your imagination is strong," he said. "Perhaps too strong. Many feel visions when they bond for the first time."
Nussudle opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.
Because the panel responded.
Connection Established: Direhorse (Pandoran Fauna)Bond Level: 1Status: Calm
Nussudle's breath caught painfully.
This was not imagination.
This was structured. Ordered. Clean.
Like a game interface.
A memory stirred—faint at first, like something half-forgotten beneath water. Images flashed behind his eyes: a screen, a controller, long hours spent building shelters and taming creatures that did not exist.
His stomach dropped.
He did not know humans. No stories of sky people. And yet the concept was there, buried deep in him, like a dream he had forgotten he once lived.
The panel shifted again as his attention lingered on it.
Available Actions:– Ride– Calm– Observe
Another section expanded.
Crafting (Unlocked): Primitive – OrganicRestrictions Active:– No Metal– No Wheel-Based Structures– No Stone-on-Stone ProcessingEywa Compliance: Enforced
Nussudle felt dizzy...
Crafting.
Restrictions.
Compliance.
This was not something a thirteen-year-old Na'vi should understand—and yet he did.
He focused, experimentally, on the crafting section.
A list unfurled.
Arrows:– Standard Arrow (Materials: Straightwood Branch x1, Bone Shard x1, Resin Fibre x1)– Fire Arrow (Materials: Resin Fibre x2, Blaze Pod x1)– Poison Arrow (Materials: Hollow Reed x1, Venom Sac – Stingbat x1)
Each item pulsed faintly, accompanied by images of Pandoran flora and fauna he recognised from hunting lessons.
Nussudle's hands trembled.
This thing—this system—did not violate Eywa. It obeyed her laws with rigid precision. It would not even show him anything that required metal or stone tools. Everything was organic. It was as though the forest itself had translated something ancient and alien into a language Pandora would accept.
Kamun watched him closely now. "Nussudle," he said, voice sharpening slightly. "You are very quiet."
Nussudle forced himself to breathe, to ground himself in the weight of the direhorse beneath him, in the warmth of the bond. "I'm fine," he said slowly. "Just… surprised."
Kamun nodded, satisfied. "Good. Hold onto that feeling. It means Eywa sees you."
If only he knew.
As the lesson continued, Nussudle learned to ride, guiding the direhorse with thought and pressure, moving as one being through the clearing. Outwardly, he did everything right. Inwardly, his mind was racing.
The system did not speak.
It did not guide.
It simply existed, waiting for him to use it.
As they rode back toward the Home Tree later that day, Nussudle glanced at the forest around him with new eyes. Every plant, every creature now felt like more than itself. Potential. Components. Connections.
And somewhere deep within him, the echo of a life he could not remember whispered back.
He did not know where the system had come from. He did not know why only he could see it. But one thing was painfully clear. Pandora had given him something dangerous. And one day, it would matter.