The morning had begun with a deceptive, crystalline peace. From the heights of the Tanhì a Txampay, Pandora usually looked like a dream of bioluminescence and deep emeralds. But the peace was shattered not by a sound, but by a physical blow that traveled through the very air. It was a pressure wave that vibrated the ship's sapphire hull and rattled the teeth in Mark's skull.
Then came the boom.
It was a low, guttural roar that rolled across the canopy of the Deep Shade like a tidal wave. Seconds later, a secondary aftershock rippled through the atmosphere, a tectonic groan that nearly tilted the ship on its axis. Mark gripped the command railing, his 34 stars flashing a frantic, warning amber as the ship's internal sensors screamed in protest.
Saeyla stood beside him, her hand white-knuckled on her bow, her face pale. She was staring at the distant horizon where the Omatikaya lands lay—lands she had once traded with, where she had kin and friends. A massive, charcoal-colored plume of smoke was rising into the sky, thick and oily, blotting out the sun and turning the morning into a sickly, artificial twilight.
"The Hometree," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of horror and realization. "Mark... the Sky-People. They have struck at the heart of the forest. They have felled Hometree."
The Call to War:
Mark didn't hesitate. The time for diplomacy had ended in fire. He turned to the central neural trunk, his Kuru snapping into the primary interface with a violent speed. He didn't just send a message; he broadcast a pulse of pure, white-hot urgency through the ship's entire nervous system.
"Saeyla, launch the Sky-Scouts!" Mark's voice boomed across the deck, amplified by the ship's own acoustic resonance. "Sanhìsip! To your mounts! We move now! No one stays behind!"
[SQUADRON ALERT: FULL COMBAT MOBILIZATION]
[SHIP STATUS: OVERDRIVE - THERMAL VENTS OPENING]
[COORDINATES SET: OMATIKAYA TERRITORY - ZERO POINT]
The nine Sky-Scouts, led by Saeyla, vaulted into their Re-active Leather saddles. The material sensed their adrenaline, tightening around their thighs to prepare for high-G flight. With a coordinated scream, they dived from the outriggers, their mounts' wings cutting the air with a new, lethal purpose.
The Tanhì a Txampay pitched forward. Its bioluminescent engines, usually a soft sapphire, glowed a fierce, angry violet as it pushed its biological limits to chase the scouts. The ship groaned, the fibers of its hull straining as it accelerated toward the pillar of smoke.
The Sea of Ash:
As they drew closer, the sky changed from a vibrant blue to a choking, monochromatic grey. Ash began to fall like snow, but it wasn't cold; it was hot, gritty flakes of burnt history that coated the sapphire hull of the ship in a layer of soot.
The smell hit them next—a sickening cocktail of burnt sap, melted plastic from RDA incendiaries, and the metallic, copper tang of blood. When they finally cleared the last ridge, the sight below was a jagged wound in the world.
The Hometree, a titan that had stood for millennia, was a shattered, blackened husk. It lay across the forest floor like a fallen god, its massive roots ripped from the earth, still smoldering with orange embers that looked like open sores. The surrounding forest had been flattened by the tree's descent, creating a graveyard of splintered wood and crushed life.
"Down! Take us down!" Mark roared through the link, his mind visualizing the descent path. "I want us in the center of that clearing! Now!"
The Ruins of Hometree:
The Tanhì a Txampay descended with a mournful groan. Mark used the ship's external vents to blow away the thickest clouds of ash, creating a small pocket of visibility. The ground was still radiating a shimmering heat that distorted the air, making the ruins look like a hallucination.
As the landing bay touched the scorched earth, Mark was the first one out. He didn't wait for the dust to settle or the ramp to fully extend. He leapt, his boots crunching on the hot ash. He felt the heat through the soles of his feet, a searing reminder of the RDA's cruelty.
The scene was a nightmare. Bodies lay scattered across the clearing—some Na'vi, some Ikran—all silenced by the Sky-People's gas and fire. Many were coated in a fine white powder, looking like statues of grief. The air was filled with a sound more terrifying than the silence: the heart-wrenching, high-pitched wailing of the survivors who had wandered back to find their world gone.
Search and Rescue:
Mark turned to the gathered Sanhìsip, his face hardened into a mask of command. His 34 stars were pulsing a steady, somber blue, acting as a beacon in the grey gloom.
"Sky-Scouts! Stay in the air! Wide perimeter search!" he commanded, pointing to the sky. "Scan for survivors in the outskirts, and watch for RDA stragglers or drones! If you see a rotor, you take it down!"
He turned to the healers and the elders. "Soran, take the medical kits and the ship's neural-balms. Establish a triage right here at the base of the ramp. Use the ship's energy to power the cooling mists. Anyone who knows the songs of healing, you stay with him."
"And the rest of us?" a hunter asked, his voice shaking.
"Everyone else—including me—we go into the wreckage," Mark said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "We look for anyone breathing. We lift the wood, we dig through the ash. We don't stop until every stone is turned."
Walking Through the Fire:
Saeyla gripped her bow, her eyes scanning the devastation. She saw a group of children huddled under a burnt leaf, their eyes wide and glassy with shock. "Mark, the ground... it is still burning. The air is poison."
"Then we walk through the fire," Mark replied, reaching out to squeeze her hand once before letting go. "The ship will provide filtered air to those nearby, but we have to go further. We have to find them."
As Mark stepped toward the smoldering remains of the great trunk, he saw a familiar shape in the dust—a discarded bow, its string snapped. He realized then that the Omatikaya weren't just a clan; they were the first domino. If he didn't act now, the Sanhìsip would be next.
He plunged into the smoke, his glowing skin the only light in the darkness, calling out into the ruins for anyone who could still hear. Behind him, the Sanhìsip moved as one, a blue tide of hope flowing into a world of grey ash.