The glade was not a glade. The stars were not stars. They were eyes—cold, lidless, and infinite—embedded in a void that pulsed like a living womb. Urge's throne loomed ahead, a jagged spire of fused vertebrae and rib cages, their hollows flickering with witchlight. He lounged atop it, one wing draped awkwardly, the membrane torn and oozing black ichor that hissed where it struck the bone. His slit-pupiled gaze tracked you as you stumbled forward, your form flickering between dragon and Na'vi, flesh refusing to settle.

"Pathetic," he drawled, picking at his wound with a claw. The ichor coated his fingers, and he licked it slowly, savoring the bitterness. "You had him. Had him. And what did you do?" He leaned forward, the throne creaking. "You hesitated. Let that human's simpering face stay your claws."

You tried to speak, but your voice came out warped—a dragon's growl tangled with your own. "Jake... Neytiri... they're not just—"

"Noise," Urge snapped. A flick of his wrist, and the glade shifted. The ground beneath you became a mirror, reflecting not your face, but his—red eyes burning through your skull. "You cling to their bleating hearts like a hatchling to its dam. It's disgusting."

He rose, his wounded wing dragging behind him, each step down the bone stairs echoing like a hammer on anvil. The air thickened with the stench of scorched copper, and you recoiled as he seized your chin, his claws drawing blood that smoked where it dripped.

"But we'll fix that," he purred. His breath was a forge's blast, peeling back your skin layer by layer. "No more Sully. No more forest whore. Just you. And me. And the fire."

The pain was exquisite. Scales erupted along your arms, black and iridescent, devouring the blue of your Na'vi stripes. Memories frayed—Jake's laugh, Neytiri's fingers braiding your hair—replaced by the crackle of flames and the taste of ash. You screamed, but the sound morphed into a roar that shook the glade, the false stars winking out one by one.

Urge's laugh followed you into the dark. "There we go. Burn, little dragon. Burn it all."

The last thing you felt was your heartbeat slowing, its rhythm syncing to Urge's—a drumbeat of annihilation.

Then, silence.

SCENEBREAK

The clan's shelter was a skeleton of what it had been—woven hammocks smoldering in tangled heaps, the great roots of the Home Tree scarred by plasma burns. The air hung heavy with the scent of singed moss and bitter herbs crushed underfoot, survivors moving like ghosts through the haze. A child's whimper echoed from somewhere in the ruins, swiftly muffled.

Neytiri's father, Eytukan, stood at the center of the clearing, his broad shoulders draped in a ceremonial shawl now frayed and soot-stained. His eyes, sharp as flint, softened as Neytiri approached. "Good. You are here, daughter," he said in Na'vi, his voice a rumble that carried over the crackle of dying fires. His gaze shifted to Jake, lingering on the smudges of ash that darkened his avatar's blue skin. "Thank you, Sully. You saved many."

Jake didn't react. His hands hung limp at his sides, still trembling faintly, the ghost of Y/N's talons seared into his palms. He stared past Eytukan, through him, to where a cluster of warriors tended to the wounded. A hunter pressed a poultice to a burnslicked arm, the patient's hiss of pain slicing the air. Y/N should be here, Jake thought numbly. They'd know how to heal this.

Neytiri's tail brushed his, a fleeting touch. "Father," she said, her voice steady but stripped of its music, "the Sky People's machine is destroyed. Their leader... is ash."

Eytukan's nostrils flared. "And the Dragonborn?"

The word hit Jake like a punch. He swayed, his vision blurring at the edges—tears? Avatars didn't cry. Humans did.

"Gone," Neytiri replied, her braid twitching once, violently, before stilling. "They burned with the enemy."

Eytukan closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer to Eywa, the syllables blending with the groan of the wounded forest. When he opened them again, his gaze pinned Jake. "You will stay. Restore your spirit. Hunt with us when the rains come."

It wasn't a request. Jake nodded mechanically, his throat too tight for words.

Neytiri stepped closer to her father, her voice dropping. "The fire took much. We must send scouts to the eastern marshes before—"

"No." Eytukan raised a hand, silencing her. "Tonight, we mourn. Tomorrow, we rebuild." His eyes flicked to Jake, who had turned to stare at the horizon where smoke still pillared into the violet sky. "See to your mate."

Mate. The word slithered through Jake's numbness. He hadn't earned that title. Not anymore.

Neytiri's fingers closed around his bicep, steering him away from the clan's prying eyes. They passed a group of children stacking salvaged supplies, their laughter brittle and forced. One, barely waist-high, clutched a doll woven from singed reeds. Its face reminded him of Y/N's—sharp, playful, alive.

"Jake," Neytiri whispered when they reached the shadow of a fractured root, "you must eat. Sleep. Breathe."

He shook his head, the motion jerky. "I left her. I left her there, 'Tiri—"

"They chose the fire," she snapped, her composure fracturing. Her claws pricked his skin, drawing beads of blue. "Not you. Not me. Them."

Above, a lone ikran circled, its mournful cry piercing the gloom. Jake's knees buckled. Neytiri caught him, her arms wrapping tight around his chest, her forehead pressed to the base of his neck. He felt her breath hitch once—a silent sob—before she stilled.

"We will plant their name in the soil," she murmured, the words vibrating against his skin. "When the new roots rise... they will be part of the People."

Jake didn't believe it. But he let her hold him, let the lie warm the hollow where his heart had been.

Somewhere, deep in the scorched earth, a single scale glinted—white-gold, unmarred by flame. Waiting.

SCENEBREAK

The mountain air was knife-sharp, thin and biting, but it couldn't mask the stench of you now—charred meat and molten ore, the reek of a forge left to rot. Norm's avatar froze, its delicate fingers still curled around a cluster of bell-shaped blooms, their petals trembling in your wake. His human body, safe miles away in the link pod, would be sweating. You could almost taste his panic through the neural bond, sour and electric.

"H-Hey, Y/N," Norm stammered, the avatar's voice pitched too high. "You're, uh... looking... uh..."

You tilted your head, the motion serpentine, your neck vertebrae popping audibly. The scales along your jaw had spread, swallowing the last remnants of Y/N's Na'vi-blue skin, leaving a mosaic of black and gold that pulsed faintly in time with Urge's laughter. "Looking?" you echoed, the word forked between your voice and his—a discordant harmony that made Norm's avatar flinch. "No, little man. I am hungering."

Grace emerged from the lab's rusted airlock, a basket of folded linens clutched to her chest. The scent of soap and sterile cotton clashed violently with your sulfuric aura. Her human eyes widened, but she didn't scream. Clever mouse.

"Y/N," she said, too calm, too slow, like speaking to a feral viperwolf. "Let's talk. Whatever you're—"

You lunged.

Norm's avatar shrieked as your claws pinned it to the moss, your talons sinking into its synthetic shoulders. The flowers scattered, their fragile stems snapping under your weight. "Where. Is. Sully."

Grace dropped the basket. "Jake's not here! He's in the link—his body's failing, he can't—"

"Liar." Urge's snarl rattled the lab's corroded vents. You leaned down, your breath blistering the avatar's cheek, its synthetic skin bubbling. "You think I don't smell him? Rotting meat and morphine. Human meat."

Norm's real voice crackled through the avatar's throat, a broken transmission. "P-Please... don't..."

Grace edged toward the lab door, one hand slipping into her coat pocket—a panic button. You hissed, and a flick of your tail sent a boulder careening into the wall beside her head. Dust rained down.

"Ah-ah," Urge crooned through your teeth. "No squealing for help."

The avatar writhed beneath you, its struggles pathetic. You pressed closer, your tongue flicking out to taste its terror. "Tell me, Norm... does it hurt? Being split between two skins?" You dug a claw into its chest, not deep enough to sever the link, just enough to make his human body gasp. "Want me to reunite you?"

"East ridge!" Grace shouted, her composure fracturing. "Jake's in a cryo pod at the east ridge outpost! Now let him go!"

You paused, considering. The avatar's eyes—wide, wet, so much like Jake's—glistened up at you. Urge purred, savoring the moment. Then, with a wet crunch, you ripped the avatar's head from its shoulders.

Grace's scream was delicious.

"Oops," you said, tossing the severed head at her feet. It rolled, trailing wires and viscous blue fluid. "Old habits."

Urge surged forward, your claws closing around Grace's throat before she could bolt. Her pulse rabbited against your palm, her breath shallow. "You'll... never... get to him..." she choked.

You smiled, slow and lethal, as your free hand pressed to her temple. "Oh, Gracie... I'm already in his head."

Her eyes widened. Understanding. Horror.

Then you dropped her, turning toward the east ridge where the last embers of Jake Sully's humanity smoldered.

Urge's laughter followed, a wildfire on the wind.

SCENEBREAK

The forest hummed with the drowsy murmur of midday. Sunlight dappled through the canopy, painting Jake's Ikran, Bob, in shifting gold-green patterns as the creature perched on a gnarled branch, his serpentine tail twitching with idle curiosity. Jake leaned forward, one hand absently stroking the iridescent scales of Bob's neck, his mind adrift in the stillness—until the trees shuddered.

Leaves exploded in a violent rustle. A shadow plummeted from above.

Jake barely had time to suck in a breath before the weight of you collided with him, your tail whipping across his chest like a crack of lightning. The force knocked him sideways, and Bob let out a piercing shriek, wings flaring to steady himself as Jake grappled blindly at the saddle straps. "Y/N!" he roared, voice raw. Your name tore from him again, half-panic, half-disbelief, as he fought to right himself.

You landed crouched on the Ikran's haunches, balanced with feline precision, your eyes glinting like shards of flint. Jake's pulse thundered in his ears as he stared at you—alive, alive, your face streaked with dirt and defiance. He pressed a hand to the burning welt across his ribs, his breath ragged. "You're alive," he rasped, the words tasting like a prayer.

Your lips curled, sharp and unapologetic, but it wasn't you who answered.

"She is," came a serpentine drawl. Urge dropped soundlessly from the branches above, landing in a coiled crouch beside Bob's thrashing head. The Ikran hissed, jerking backward, but Urge merely tilted his head, his smile a knife-slash of amusement. "Thanks to me."

Jake's gut twisted. Urge's presence always slithered under his skin, a reminder of alliances forged in desperation. The rogue Na'vi moved closer, his tail flicking like a predator testing the air. "You claimed to love her once, Jake Sully," he purred, lingering on the word love as if it were a joke. "Was it... romantic?"

The question hung, thorned and deliberate. Jake's jaw tightened. He didn't glance at you—couldn't—but he felt your gaze like a brand. Memories flickered: the brush of your hand in a rain-soaked camp, the way you'd laughed before the world fractured. "Yes," he said, the admission quiet but unflinching.

Urge's laugh was a low, venomous hum. "How quaint." He circled Bob, trailing a clawed finger along the Ikran's trembling wing. "Love," he mused, "is such a fragile leash." His yellow eyes locked onto yours, unspoken collusion thickening the air. "But useful."

Bob hissed again, sensing the tension coiling like a storm. Jake gripped the reins, every instinct screaming to flee, to fight, to fix this—but you remained motionless, a stranger wearing a familiar face. Alive.

Alive because of him.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next blow to fall.