The air buzzed with the electric hum of laughter and music, the jungle clearing alive with the warm glow of bioluminescent flora that pulsed in time with the rhythm of drums. Lanterns woven from pandanus leaves swayed overhead, casting dappled shadows over the Na'vi and humans mingling below, their faces flushed with the heat of dancing and shared stories. The scent of roasted yovo fruit and spiced stew lingered in the humid air, clinging to your skin as you wove through the crowd, Jake's shoulder brushing yours. His grin was lazy, exhaustion tugging at the edges of his voice as he nodded toward the tangled network of hammocks strung between the gnarled limbs of the Home Tree's lower branches. "C'mon," he said, voice rough with laughter, "even Toruk Makto needs sleep."

You followed, your bare feet sinking into the mossy earth, cool and soft after hours of dancing on packed soil. The cacophony of the feast faded behind you, replaced by the symphony of the jungle at night—chittering insects, the distant call of a night predator, the rustle of leaves in a breeze that carried the faintest kiss of salt from the distant sea. The hammocks swayed gently, like cocoons spun from moonlight and shadow, their woven fibers glowing faintly under the twin moons' silver gaze.

You'd just gripped the edge of your hammock, fingertips tracing the familiar ridges of its knotwork, when a hand closed around your wrist—warm, calloused, urgent. Neytiri's scent hit you first: ash from the fire, the sharp tang of herbal dyes in her beads, and something wild, like rain on wind. She stepped into the dappled light, her eyes wide and luminous, their golden-green intensity cutting through the dim. Her tail lashed once, a quick, restless flick, as she glanced over her shoulder toward the distant murmur of the party.

"Wait, Y/N," she murmured, her voice low but fraying at the edges, like a chord plucked too tightly. Her fingers didn't loosen their hold. "I need to talk to you."

The world narrowed to the heat of her touch, the way her breath hitched as your eyes met. Moonlight caught the faint tremor in her lower lip, the tension in her shoulders as if she were bracing against a storm only she could feel. Around you, the jungle seemed to still—the insects holding their breath, the leaves pausing mid-shiver.

"Yes?" you prompted softly, turning fully toward her. Jake's snores rumbled faintly from a nearby hammock, oblivious.

She hesitated, her gaze darting to the vine-wrapped trunk beside you, then back. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper, raw and unguarded. "It's about the dreamwalkers. About your people." Her free hand rose, hovering near your cheek as if to cup it, before curling into a fist at her side. "I... do not know how to say this without breaking what is between us. But silence is a poison."

The words hung there, fragile as a spider's silk, and in the silence, you could hear your own heartbeat, loud as the drums that had pulsed through the night.

Her sigh was a soft, fractured thing, carrying the weight of a hundred unspoken questions. The warmth of her hand enveloped yours, her fingers interlacing with a gentleness that belied the tension coiling in her shoulders. Bioluminescent patterns flickered across her skin like starlight trapped in ink, but her eyes—those piercing, molten-gold eyes—burned brighter, pinning you in place. "Is it true you're not one of them?" she pressed, voice trembling like a bowstring drawn too taut. "Like... you're not a dreamwalker? Not even human?"

The words struck like a viper's bite. You flinched, your free hand instinctively brushing the base of your throat where your pulse thrummed too fast, too loud. The Na'vi form you wore—taller, leaner, your stripes a shade bluer than the others'—had always felt like a second skin, yet now it itched with the lie of omission. You'd hoped the differences would blur: the faint shimmer of iridescent scales along your collarbone, hidden beneath woven beads; the way your pupils narrowed to slits in moments of fear, like now. But Neytiri noticed everything.

"I..." Your voice faltered. Somewhere deep in your bones, the ancient fire of your lineage stirred—a dormant heat that prickled beneath your ribs, threatening to betray you. Dragonborn. The word clawed at your mind, a secret etched into your very blood. There was no human body sleeping in a lab, no avatar to discard. You were this—always this—a fusion of Na'vi grace and primordial flame, a living bridge between myths.

Her gaze dropped to your joined hands, and you followed it, dread coiling in your gut. The lantern light caught the subtle ridges along your knuckles, the faintest suggestion of scales where skin should lie smooth. You yanked your hand back as if scorched, but it was too late. Her breath hitched, a sharp inhale that echoed the hiss of the jungle's night breeze.

"Neytiri, I—"

"You lied," she whispered, not with anger, but a hollow ache that cut deeper. Her tail curled tight against her leg, a defensive reflex you'd only seen in battle. "All this time, you let me believe you were... like us."

The accusation hung between you, thick as the humidity. Overhead, a stray petal from the Spirit Tree drifted down, glowing faintly, and for a heartbeat, it illuminated the truth neither of you could escape: the delicate tracery of gold veining your wrists, the way your shadow seemed to ripple, stretching, when the twin moons aligned just so.

You stepped back, the silken vines draping your torso catching the light, their fibers shimmering like liquid metal. The movement sent a cluster of bioluminescent moths scattering from the hammock, their wings painting fleeting streaks of cyan in the dark. "I need to sleep," you murmured, the lie ash on your tongue. Sleep wouldn't silence the roar in your veins, the fire that begged to rise and prove what you were. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Alright?"

She didn't move. The silence stretched, taut and suffocating, until at last her ears flattened, and she gave a single stiff nod. "Tomorrow," she echoed, the word a vow—or a threat.

You climbed into the hammock, its fibers creaking as you curled into yourself, fingers pressed to the ache in your chest where your true heart beat, primal and untamed. Neytiri lingered for a breath, her silhouette framed by the distant glow of the feast, before melting into the shadows. Only then did you let the tears fall—hot, silent streaks that sizzled faintly against your skin, leaving tiny wisps of steam curling into the night.

Somewhere far above, a creature screeched, its cry echoing the turmoil in your soul. Tomorrow would come. And with it, fire.