Here With Me | Neteyam 💙

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4

Mud soaked through Hazel's knees as she knelt beside the others, wrists bound and aching.

The Recoms circled them like vultures—grinning, armed, and far too relaxed for a group holding children at gunpoint.

Colonel Quaritch stepped forward, boots sinking into the soft forest floor. His yellow eyes locked on Lo'ak.

In deliberate, accented Na'vi, he asked, "Do you know where the Sully family is? Jake Sully?"

Lo'ak didn't blink.

Then, slowly, he raised his bound hands and flipped Quaritch off with complete satisfaction.

Quaritch's jaw twitched. "You're his, alright."

He turned to his team and switched to English. "Secure the perimeter. If Sully's brats are here, the rest of the family's not far."

Hazel blinked.

That was English.

And she understood it.

Wait—she understood it.

Her mouth parted slightly as the realization hit her like a punch to the chest. Oh my god.

She had been speaking something else this whole time. The words had flowed out of her like they'd always belonged to her tongue.

She didn't even notice the switch. Didn't even question it. Just opened her mouth and—

She felt lightheaded, barely processing the weight of that before the words tumbled out of her.

"Hey! I can speak English too," she shouted, English this time, voice steady despite the swirl of panic in her chest. "I—I need help! Can you help me? I'm not supposed to be here."

Everything froze.

Lo'ak's head snapped toward her. What the—? Since when did Ayavi know English?

She had spoken it fluently. Not clumsily, not like she'd been practicing in secret—flawlessly. Like it was natural.

Neteyam sure as hell didn't teach her—he avoided her like a plague of viperwolves. And she'd never shown a shred of interest in anything human, let alone their language.

Something wasn't adding up. And for the first time in a long time, Lo'ak felt a flicker of unease when he looked at her—not annoyance, not exasperation.

Just pure, unsettled confusion.

The moment stretched—and then something shifted.

The trees darkened.

What little sunlight was left had slipped behind the cliffs. Twilight folded into night like a slow breath, and the forest began to glow—leaves pulsing with soft light, insects blinking like stars around them.

Hazel could barely see past the Recoms' heavy silhouettes, their weapons shifting as they barked orders and scanned the trees. The atmosphere grew tense—like something was about to snap.

She didn't notice the chill in the air until it settled across her skin like a warning.

And then, above them, a shriek cut the sky.

A shadow swept across the canopy—vast wings slicing the twilight.

Hazel looked up just in time to see a fierce shape gliding overhead, bow drawn, eyes burning.

Neytiri.

She circled on her ikran like a wraith in the sky, silent but deadly. The moonlight caught on the razor-sharp arrow already nocked to her bow.