Awareness returned not as a light, but as a thrumming vibration. Mark felt the world through his skin before he felt it through his eyes. The surface beneath him was soft yet firm—a woven hammock of resilient fibers that swayed gently with every movement.
He tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest, and a heavy, weighted sensation pinned his chest down. His eyes snapped open, but the world was a kaleidoscope of bioluminescent greens and deep purples. He wasn't in a sterile hospital ward. There was no hum of machinery, no smell of antiseptic. Instead, the air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs, woodsmoke, and the damp, sweet earth of Pandora.
The Leaf-Bound Ghost:
Mark looked down at his body and gasped. His chest and torso were wrapped in thick, emerald-green leaves, held in place by translucent vines that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light. The "bandages" felt cool against his skin, seeping a numbing sap into his bruised ribs.
"Easy, Dreamwalker," a voice hissed.
Mark's head whipped to the side. Two Na'vi women—healers, by the look of their intricate bone necklaces and stained fingers—were leaning over him. Their yellow eyes were wide, tracking his every movement with feline intensity.
"Where... where am I?" Mark rasped.
The healers exchanged a look and spoke rapidly in a language that sounded like a series of clicks, stops, and flowing vowels. To Mark's ears, it was beautiful but utterly incomprehensible. He tried to push himself up, his four-fingered hands scrambling for purchase on the edge of the woven bed.
"Wait, I don't understand! I'm Mark Turner! I... RDA! Science!"
The healers chirped in alarm. As Mark's panic rose, his heart rate spiked, and the System—silent until now—flashed a warning in the corner of his vision.
[STRESS RESPONSE DETECTED: HEART RATE 145 BPM]
[ADAPTIVE TRANSLATION MODULE: INITIALIZING...]
[DATA INSUFFICIENT FOR LOCAL DIALECT]
"No, let me go!" Mark shouted, his voice cracking. He tried to swing his legs out of the hammock, but the healers moved with startling speed. Four powerful, blue hands gripped his shoulders and forearms, pinning him back against the fibers.
He struggled, his new strength surging instinctively. He managed to shake one of the women off, but three more hunters stepped out of the shadows, their obsidian-tipped spears held across their chests as a warning. The healers hissed, a sound of pure authority, and pressed their weight into his joints.
"Calm," one of them said, or at least, that was the vibration Mark felt. He realized he was fighting the very people who had saved him.
He forced his lungs to expand and contract slowly. He looked up at the thatched ceiling of the massive structure—likely a communal lodge built into the roots of a great tree—and let his arms go limp. He showed them his open palms, a universal sign of surrender. Slowly, cautiously, the healers released their hold.
The Outcast:
The crowd of Na'vi parted. A male stepped forward, but he looked different from the others. While the villagers wore refined looms and polished beads, this man's gear was a patchwork of different clan styles, weathered by long travel. He carried himself with the guarded air of an exile, his eyes clever and tired.
He looked at Mark, his head tilting like a bird's. "You make much noise, Sky-Person," the male said.
The words were accented, the "r"s rolled and the vowels clipped, but it was English. Mark felt a surge of relief so powerful it nearly brought him to tears.
"You... you speak my tongue?" Mark whispered.
"A little. A bit," the Na'vi replied, crouching down. "I travel. South. To the Omaticaya. I see the school of the woman Augustine. I know Grace. She is a name of weight. But you... you are not like the others. You have no metal on your face. You breathe the air as we do. And your eyes..." He leaned in closer. "Your eyes have the light of the Old Ones' machines."
"My body died. The human one," Mark said, rubbing his temple. "I'm stuck in here now."
The Na'vi stood up, translating Mark's words for the elders. A low murmur went through the room. "I am Kìreysì," the male said. "I am of no clan now. I am the bridge. The healers say you fell from the Great Shadow in the sky. They say Eywa brought you down to see if you would break. You did not break."
The First Steps of a Titan:
Kìreysì signaled for the healers to move back. "A body is a tool. Stand, Sky-Person. Show the People you are not a burden."
Mark swallowed hard. He swung his long, blue legs over the edge of the woven hammock. As his feet touched the ground, he was struck by the sheer sensory input. The soles of his feet weren't just skin; they were like high-definition sensors, feeling the temperature of the wood and the subtle vibrations of the village.
He pushed off the bed. Immediately, his center of gravity betrayed him. He was too tall, his limbs too long, and his human brain still expected the weight of a five-foot-ten academic. He began to pitch forward.
[PROPRIOCEPTION MISMATCH DETECTED]
[CALIBRATING MOTOR CORTEX...]
[ENACTING GYROSCOPIC STABILIZATION]
A strange, electric tingle shot down his spine. Suddenly, the muscles in his calves and core tightened with surgical precision. Instead of face-planting, Mark's body performed a fluid, reflexive correction. He stumbled into a wide, athletic stance, his tail whipping behind him to act as a counterweight.
The Na'vi hunters shifted, their hands tightening on their spears. They had never seen a Dreamwalker move with such sudden, inhuman grace.
"Your body... it listens well," Kìreysì remarked, his eyes narrowing.
"It's not me," Mark whispered, staring at his trembling hands. "It's like... someone else is helping me pull the strings."
He took a step. Then another. With every movement, the System laid a cyan grid over the floor in his vision, highlighting the most stable footholds and calculating the exact force needed for each stride.
He walked toward the open balcony of the lodge, his movements growing smoother, faster. He felt the power in his thighs—the ability to leap twenty feet into the air. He felt the twitch-fibers in his arms, capable of snapping a reinforced steel cable. It was intoxicating.
He reached the edge of the platform and looked out over the jungle. The height was dizzying, but he didn't feel the old human vertigo. Instead, he felt a predatory urge to climb.
"I can move," Mark said, a manic laugh bubbling up. "I've never felt this light in my life."
"Do not trust the lightness," Kìreysì warned, walking up beside him. "The forest is heavy. You are a ghost in a stolen skin, Mark Turner. The People will let you stay only as long as you can keep up. If you fall behind, I cannot help you."
Mark looked at his blue hands, then back at the HUD flickering in his peripheral vision. The bar was at 100%. He was no longer a visitor. He was a permanent resident of Pandora.