The morning after Grace's passing, the valley of the Tree of Souls was silent, but it was the silence of a held breath. Thousands of Na'vi—Omatikaya survivors and Sanhìsip refugees—waited. They looked to the center of the clearing, where the Great Leonopteryx sat like a throne of orange fire, its massive chest heaving with slow, rhythmic breaths that sent puffs of dust dancing across the luminescent moss.
Jake stood before the crowd, but he did not speak yet. He turned to Tsu'tey.
The new Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya stood tall, his face a mask of grief turned into hard, obsidian resolve. He looked at the man who had been his rival, the man who had ridden the Shadow, and then at the scattered, broken remnants of his people.
"Tsu'tey," Jake said, his voice level and resonant. "The Omatikaya are a people of the forest. But the forest is burning. I cannot do this alone. I need the Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya. Will you fly with me?"
Tsu'tey stepped forward. The tension that had defined their relationship for months seemed to evaporate in the cold morning air. He gripped Jake's arm, a warrior's bond.
"I am a hunter of the Omatikaya," Tsu'tey declared, his voice carrying to the edges of the valley. "I will fly with you."
Message to the People:
Jake turned to the massive gathering. He knew that for many, he was still a dream—a legend they didn't quite believe in. He needed them to see the truth.
"The Sky-People have sent us a message!" Jake roared.
As he spoke, Tsu'tey stood beside him, translating his words into the sharp, rhythmic Na'vi tongue, his voice amplified by the natural acoustics of the stone amphitheater.
"They tell us that they can take what they want!" Jake continued, his fist clenched. "That no one can stop them! But we are going to send them a message back. You ride as fast as the wind can carry you! You tell the other clans to come! Tell them Toruk Makto calls them!"
The crowd began to stir, a low hum of energy rising like a tide. Mark stood on the lower ramp of the ship, his 34 stars pulsing a rhythmic, supportive gold, acting as a visual beacon for the words.
"You tell them we will show the Sky-People that they cannot just take whatever they want!" Jake's voice climbed to a fever pitch. "And that this... this is our land!"
A deafening roar erupted from the valley. It was a sound that shook the leaves of the Tree of Souls and vibrated through the hull of the Tanhì a Txampay. It wasn't a cry of mourning; it was a war cry.
Eyes in the Sky:
As the crowd began to scramble for their mounts, Jake turned to the comm-link. "Trudy, you there?"
"Right here, Jake," Trudy's voice crackled through the ear-piece. She was already in the cockpit of her Samson, the rotors beginning to spin with a high-pitched whine. "Ready to earn my keep."
"I need you to be our early warning system," Jake commanded. "Stay low, stay in the shadows of the mountains. Monitor all RDA frequencies. If Quaritch even thinks about moving those Valkyries, I want to hear about it before they leave the tarmac."
"Copy that. I'll play ghost," Trudy replied, her Samson lifting off and banking sharply toward the Hallelujah Mountains, its rogue paint blending into the jagged terrain. "I'll keep the channel open. Don't be late for the party."
The Shadow and the Storm in Flight:
The departure was not merely a flight; it was an ascension. Jake dived onto the neck of the Toruk, the Great Leonopteryx letting out a screech that silenced the forest. With a massive beat of its wings, the beast took to the air, pulling a hurricane of dust and light behind it.
Mark didn't waste time. He vaulted onto Tempest, the Stormglider's obsidian wings unfurling with a lethal snap. As the creature rose to meet the Toruk, Mark felt the familiar hum of the neural bond.
"Saeyla, Soran—keep the ship in a high-orbit hover," Mark commanded into his comm-unit, which was linked directly to the Tanhì a Txampay. "Bridge all incoming data from Trudy through the ship's relay to my headset. I want her reports and the ship's sensor sweeps fed directly into my comms. I need to hear a leaf crunch in Hell's Gate."
As they climbed, Mark looked back down at the valley. From this height, the Tanhì a Txampay looked like a sapphire jewel set in a bed of purple velvet. He saw the Omatikaya warriors mounting their Ikrans, their movements no longer frantic, but disciplined.
Crossing the Frontiers:
They flew as a spear-tip of legend. Jake on the Toruk led the way, a beacon of orange fire against the pale sky, with Mark on the obsidian Stormglider flanking him like a shadow of the void. They pushed their mounts hard, crossing hundreds of miles of Pandoran wilderness in hours.
They dived through the mists of the high canyons to find the Tipani, the master tacticians. When the shadow of the Toruk fell over their village, the Tipani didn't run. Their leader stepped out, looking up at the two riders.
"The prophecy did not mention two kings," the Tipani leader called out.
"One king to lead the people," Mark shouted down, his voice echoing through the valley. "And one storm to break their enemies! Toruk Makto calls you to the Tree of Souls!"
They didn't wait for an answer. They banked toward the Eastern Sea, where the Tayrangi riders met them in the air. Hundreds of coastal Ikrans swarmed around them, a dizzying whirlwind of color and leather.
The Sea of Grass:
Finally, they reached the Sea of Grass. Below, thousands of Pa'li (Direhorses) moved like a single organism. The Horse-Lords of the Mangkwan clan looked up to see a sight that would be sung about for generations: the orange-and-black titan and the obsidian scythe-winged predator circling their plains.
Jake plummeted toward the earth, the Toruk's talons furrowing the soil as it landed. Mark remained in the air, his 34 stars glowing with a fierce, cold light as he listened to the steady stream of reconnaissance data humming in his ear from Trudy and the ship.
"We bring word of the end of the world!" Jake cried out to the gathered Horse-Lords. "And the beginning of a new one! Ride with us!"
Mark watched from above as the Mangkwan leader raised her spear. The roar that came from the plains was a physical thing, a vibration that even Tempest felt in its wings. Behind them, the sky was no longer empty. A mosaic of a thousand beating wings trailed them—a cloud of vengeance returning to the heart of the world.
I couldn't save Grace, Mark thought, the static of Trudy's long-range transmission crackling in his ear as she monitored the distant RDA base. But I will be damned if I let the story end with the fall of the Tree. We've changed the numbers, Jake. Now let's see if we can change the ending.