Chapter Text
My name is Elara Voss, and at twenty years old, I had already forged a path as one of the youngest and most dedicated scientists in the RDA's avatar program. I was born on an Earth suffocated by pollution and urban chaos, where gray skies and ruined buildings were the everyday landscape of my childhood. My mother, a visionary biologist who participated in the first expeditions to Pandora, left me a legacy of holographic recordings filled with wonders: vivid descriptions of bioluminescent jungles, flying creatures that defied gravity, and a blue people who lived in harmony with their world. She died in one of those early missions, a victim of an accident that the RDA covered up as "unavoidable risks," but her words ignited an unquenchable passion in me. Growing up in sterile laboratories and virtual classrooms, I devoured data on alien ecology, dreaming of stepping onto Pandora's soil not as a conqueror, but as an ally. When I was finally approved for the avatar program, it felt as if the universe had granted me a second birth. My avatar was a masterpiece of bioengineering: deep blue skin with luminous spots that activated in the darkness, pointed ears that caught the faintest whisper of the wind, yellow eyes that saw the infrared spectrum of Pandoran life, and a sensitive tail that moved with its own emotions, sometimes betraying my human nervousness. In that body, I felt alive in a way my fragile Earth form had never allowed; I could leap between branches with feline agility, connect my queue to Eywa's neural network and feel the planet's pulse like a shared heartbeat. For me, it wasn't just science; it was a spiritual calling, a bridge to the home my mother had promised me.
I arrived in Omatikaya territory in the aftermath of the great battle against the human invaders, when the air still carried echoes of explosions and the ground was scarred by fire. The Sully camp was a hive of activity: warriors repairing weapons, healers tending wounds, and children playing among the giant roots of the home trees. Jake Sully, the human turned Na'vi, the legendary Toruk Makto who had led the resistance, intercepted me in the central clearing. His imposing figure, marked by scars that told stories of valor and betrayal, stood like a guardian. His eyes, a piercing blue inherited from his human heritage, scrutinized me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, as if he could smell any trace of divided loyalty.
—Another one from the RDA —Jake growled, crossing his muscular arms, his tail lashing the air impatiently—. Tell me, are you here to study or to spy? We've had enough of scientists who promise peace and bring destruction.
I swallowed hard, holding his gaze steadily in my avatar. —Mr. Sully, I am Elara Voss. My mother was part of the first expeditions, but she believed in coexistence, not conquest. I come to learn from Eywa, to collect data that will protect Pandora from future human threats. I bring no weapons, only respect.
He watched me a moment longer, then nodded slowly. —Fine. Prove it with actions, not words. Neytiri will watch you.
Neytiri, his mate, emerged from the shadows like a panther, her bow slung over her shoulder and her fierce expression framed by braids adorned with feathers. Her ears flattened slightly, an instinctive sign of distrust toward any "sky demon." She circled me, sniffing the air around me, her yellow eyes piercing my soul.
—Why should I trust one who smells of metal and death? —Neytiri asked, her voice a soft but lethal hiss.
I answered honestly, extending my open hands. —Because I've seen what my people have done, and I despise it. Let me help: I can heal with knowledge from both worlds. Let me prove it.
After a tense silence, Neytiri inclined her head. —I will watch you. One mistake, and I'll send you back to your metal box.
Over time, I earned their trust. I helped in the camp: mixing Earth ointments with Pandoran herbs to treat infections, analyzing soil samples to predict landslides, and sharing stories from Earth that illustrated human mistakes, hoping they would serve as warnings. Jake and Neytiri became reluctant mentors, teaching me Na'vi customs during group hunts or nighttime ceremonies under the bioluminescence.
It was during those days of integration that I met their children, each one a unique mosaic of Sully resilience. Neteyam, the eldest, was the archetype of the perfect heir: tall, athletic, with a maturity that made him seem like an experienced warrior despite his youth. His blue skin was marked by the first scars of training, and his tail moved with controlled precision. He found me one morning practicing with an improvised bow, miserably failing to hit a target.
—Your stance is stiff like a dry branch —Neteyam commented, approaching with a courteous but genuine smile—. Allow me to help you.
He took my bow, gently adjusting my fingers. —Feel the bow as an extension of your arm. Eywa guides the arrow, not force.
We practiced for hours, and between shots, we talked. —Being the eldest is a burden —he confessed as we gathered arrows—. Dad expects me to lead, to be flawless. Sometimes, I just want to fly free.
I smiled, releasing an arrow that finally hit the center. —You're more than a leader, Neteyam. You're a protector. That's a gift.
He laughed softly. —Thank you, Elara. You're strong too, bridging worlds.
His lessons extended to riding ikran: in the floating mountains, where the wind roared like an enraged spirit, he guided me in the tsaheylu bond. My ikran, a green beast with iridescent wings, accepted me after an aerial struggle that left me exhausted but euphoric.
—Don't look down —Neteyam shouted during the flight, his own ikran gliding beside mine—. Feel the freedom!
Below, the jungle stretched like a living sea, and we laughed like children, the wind carrying our voices. Neteyam became a reliable friend, his calm presence an anchor in the chaos.
Tuk, the youngest of the family, was a whirlwind of innocence and boundless curiosity. At seven years old, her small figure with messy braids and huge eyes followed me everywhere, tugging my tail as if it were a toy. One afternoon, while collecting samples of glowing moss, she sneaked up behind me.
—Elara, what is that? Does it glow like the stars? —Tuk asked, her little fingers reaching for the vial.
I laughed, kneeling to her level. —It's extract from a plant that Eywa uses to light the night. Do you want to see how it works?
I let her hold it in the shade, and when it glowed, her eyes lit up. —It's magic! Tell me about your world. Are there trees that fly?
I told her stories from Earth: vast oceans with singing creatures, cities that touched the sky, though I warned about human destruction. Tuk listened spellbound, hugging me at the end.
—I don't want the bad ones to come here —she said, her small voice firm—. You'll protect us, right?
I hugged her tightly. —I'll try, Tuk. With all my heart.
Her mischief brought comedy: once, she smeared bioluminescence on my face while I slept, and I woke up glowing like a spirit. —You look like an atokirina! —she laughed, and I chased her playfully around the camp.
Spider, the adopted human who ran through the jungle with his exopack mask and an agile body despite his fragility, was my partner in scientific explorations. With his messy hair and curious eyes, we shared a "nerd" affinity: hacking RDA ruins, unearthing forgotten data.
—Look at this, Elara —Spider said one day in an abandoned structure, pointing to a flickering hologram—. Records from Grace Augustine. Your mom knew her, right?
I nodded, excited. —Yes, they were colleagues. Can we download them?
We worked together, laughing when a faulty drone chased us. —Run, human monkey! —I joked.
He shot back: —You're the clumsy blue one!
Spider dreamed of his own avatar. —Someday, I'll be like you all. Not just a visitor.
I gave him a playful punch. —You already are, Spider. In spirit.
But Kiri... Kiri was a soulmate on a deep, almost mystical level. Adopted by the Sullys, spiritual daughter of Grace Augustine—the mentor of my mother—she had an innate connection to Eywa that fascinated me. I found her for the first time in a sacred clearing, lying on the ground with her queue connected to the roots of a Tree of Voices. Her serene figure, with pale blue skin and an aura of peace, seemed to float in trance. When she opened her eyes, she smiled as if she'd always known me.
—Are you the new scientist? —Kiri asked, rising with fluid grace—. I feel your energy. It's... curious, but pure.
I sat beside her. —I'm Elara. And you're Kiri, right? I've heard you see things others don't.
We talked for hours that first time. —Eywa isn't just a neural network —she explained, touching a flower that opened at her contact—. It's the breath of life, connecting everything. Have you felt it?
I confessed my scientific skepticism. —I try, but my human mind doubts.
She laughed softly. —Then come with me. I'll show you.
We explored the jungle together: floating in bioluminescent rivers, watching swarms of fan lizards, debating Pandoran philosophy. One night, under a starry sky, we connected to a tree.
—Of course it's not just biology —Kiri said, her voice a whisper—. Feel the flow. Eywa speaks to you.
I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I felt a collective pulse, like a universal heart. —I feel it... it's overwhelming.
Kiri squeezed my hand. —Welcome, sister.
Our friendship grew in depth: we shared secrets, laughed at nonsense, and her presence made me feel less alone in two worlds.
And then there was Lo'ak, Jake's second son, a whirlwind of fifteen years full of rebellion, bravery, and disarming charm. Tall for his age but with that immature energy that made him seem like a playful pup, he burst into my life like a storm. I met him in my improvised lab, a repurposed RDA pod, where he was nosing around my vials with curious fingers.
—Hey, blue-human —he said with a mischievous grin, his fangs gleaming—. Is this poison? Or something to fly higher?
I laughed, taking it from him. —Neither, Lo'ak. It's extract from a flower that heals. And I'm Elara, not blue-human.
He shrugged, sitting on my table. —Well, Elara. Show me something cool. Dad says you're smart.
From then on, he became my mischievous shadow. He dragged me on adventures: climbing slippery cliffs at dawn, where dew made everything dangerous.
—Come on, slowpoke —Lo'ak challenged, extending a hand from above—. Don't be a coward!
When I reached the top, panting, I pushed him. —You're crazy! We could have fallen.
He laughed. —But we didn't. Life is risk, right?
In a hidden cave, we swam in glowing pools. —Look at this —he said, diving and emerging with a shining pearl—. For you, for being my friend.
I accepted it, touched. —Thanks, shorty.
But there were deep moments. One night on a high branch, with the jungle singing below, he opened up.
—I'm not like Neteyam —Lo'ak murmured, looking at the moons—. He's perfect, the favorite. I just screw up. Dad always scolds me.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. —You're brave, Lo'ak. That matters more than perfection. And I see you, just as you are.
He smiled, a spark in his eyes that I attributed to childish gratitude. —Thanks, Elara. You're the best.
Kiri, Lo'ak, and I formed a dynamic trio: her the mystic, him the rebel, me the scientist. Once, on an expedition, Lo'ak took us to a viperwolf nest for "fun," and we ended up fleeing laughing.
—Of course it wasn't my fault —Lo'ak defended when Kiri scolded him—. I just wanted adventure.
Kiri rolled her eyes. —You're impossible.
We laughed, the comedy easing any tension. But time was running out. My RDA contract required my transfer to a base in the floating mountains to investigate extreme bioluminescence. It was a golden opportunity, but the pain of leaving gripped me.
On the day of farewell, the camp gathered. Jake gave me a firm handshake.
—You've been more than an ally, Elara. You've been family. Take care up there.
Neytiri gave me a woven bracelet with luminous fibers. —Wear it as a reminder of Eywa. Return if you can.
Tuk cried, hugging my legs. —Don't go! Who will tell stories now?
I lifted her. —I'll return with more, I promise.
Spider gave me a high-five. —Send me weird data, huh?
Neteyam bowed his head. —May the winds carry you safely.
Kiri hugged me long, tears in her eyes. —Our bond doesn't break. Feel Eywa, and you'll find us.
Lo'ak stayed back, arms crossed, ears low. —Don't do stupid things without me.
I ruffled his hair. —You neither, shorty. Stay whole.
I mounted my ikran, heart heavy, and flew toward the horizon, the jungle blurring in tears.