The air reeked of charred wood and seared earth, the forest floor a mosaic of ash and splintered trunks. Colonel Quaritch crouched, his boots sinking into the soot as he inhaled sharply—there. Beneath the stench of ruin lingered a thread of something metallic, sharp. Dragonfire. Or whatever passed for it in this godforsaken jungle. He straightened, his augmented eyes narrowing. "Find them," he barked, gesturing to the smoldering underbrush. "Scorch marks lead northeast. Move!"

His squad fanned out, pulse rifles humming, their boots crunching over brittle foliage. Then the roar hit—a sound that vibrated in the teeth, primal and guttural. The men froze as the thanator exploded from the tree line, its obsidian carapace gleaming under the fractured canopy. Six legs clawed the earth, its serrated jaws snapping inches from the nearest soldier's face.

"Shoot!" someone screamed.

Gunfire erupted, muzzle flashes strobing the gloom. A stray round tore through Corporal Venz's thigh instead of the thanator's armored flank. He collapsed, cursing, blood pooling black in the ash. "Ahh, you bastard," he spat at the shooter, his voice gurgling as he clutched his ruined leg. The thanator tilted its head, its bioluminescent markings flaring mockingly, as if savoring the chaos.

Then it laughed—or something close. A low, rumbling growl that rattled the soldiers' helmets. The beast reared back and unleashed a second, ululating cry.

From the shadows, three shapes detached themselves.

Raptors. But not Pandora's usual fare. These stood taller, their sinewy bodies sheathed in iridescent scales that shifted from emerald to cobalt as they moved. Their claws clicked rhythmically against stone, a predatory cadence. The lead raptor hissed, baring fangs dripping with venom that sizzled where it struck the soil.

"Leeeeave," they chorused, their voices a dissonant blend of Na'vi inflection and guttural snarls. The words slithered through the air, tinged with an intelligence that made even Quaritch's spine stiffen.

The colonel stepped forward, rifle raised. "Queen?" he sneered. "You think I'm scared of some overgrown lizard's fan club?"

The raptors didn't blink. Their slit pupils dilated, locking onto him. Behind them, the forest seemed to breathe—branches parting, leaves shivering—as something colossal stirred in the depths.

The thanator's smirk widened.

Then the ground trembled.

.

The air hung thick with the acrid sting of burnt sap and smoldering undergrowth, the scarred forest floor crunching under Quaritch's boots as he backed into a half-collapsed thicket. His squad lay scattered—some groaning in the ash, others eerily still—but his augmented eyes never left the shadows. Above, the canopy hissed.

You clung to the gnarled branch, your dragonborn form coiled like a spring, claws digging into bark softened by fire. The thanator crouched below, its obsidian hide blending with the charred earth, bioluminescent markings dimmed to a predatory simmer. Through the bond—a thread of instinct, not tsaheylu—you felt its hunger. Wait, you willed, tail flicking.

Quaritch pivoted, rifle sweeping the trees. "Come on out, freak show!" he barked, voice hoarse from smoke but steady. "Or what, you gonna let your pet do the dirty w—"

You dropped.

The branch splintered under your weight, raining embers as you landed between him and his remaining men. Your wings flared, blocking their line of fire, scales rippling white-gold in the flickering gloom. Behind you, the thanator lunged, its six-legged pounce scattering soldiers like leaves.

"Now," you hissed—not in Na'vi, not in English, but in the guttural snarl of your kin.

Neytiri's arrow took the first man through the throat before his finger found the trigger. Jake's avatar crashed through the brush on his ikran, rifle barking, his cerulean stripes streaked with soot. Quaritch ducked behind a smoldering log, pulse rounds searing the air where your head had been.

"You're dead, Quaritch!" Jake roared, leaping from his mount, his tail lashing as he closed in.

The colonel smirked, thumbing a grenade from his belt. "Takes more than a couple of blue fairies and a discount dragon to—"

The thanator's jaws snapped shut on his wrist.

Quaritch's scream curdled the air as bone crunched. The grenade rolled free, and you lunged, snatching it mid-roll, claws crimping the metal shell. The thanator shook its head, Quaritch's arm still clamped in its teeth, until the colonel's combat knife sank into its flank. It recoiled with a shriek, spitting him out.

"Y/N!" Neytiri's cry came as Quaritch scrambled backward, bloodied but grinning, detonator in his remaining hand.

"Fire in the hole, kids," he rasped.

The grenade in your palm beeped.

Urge's laughter slithered through your mind. Burn them. Burn it all.

Instead, you hurled it skyward. The blast lit the canopy, showering the clearing in flaming debris. Through the chaos, Quaritch ran—stumbling, cursing—towards the rumble of an approaching Scorpion gunship.

"No!" Jake snarled, raising his rifle.

Neytiri's hand gripped the barrel, forcing it down. Her eyes met yours, blazing. "Your hunt," she said, nodding to the thanator, now circling Quaritch's fleeing form with lethal grace.

You didn't need words. The bond surged, and the forest moved with you.

Quaritch's final scream was swallowed by the jungle.

Urge, for once, was silent.