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Silence hangs thick in the deep gloom of Pandora's forest. Neteyam, the future Olo'eyktan, stands perfectly still, bow drawn and aimed at the outsider. Then, upon the arrow's tip, seeds of Eywa ignite as if alive. The light stays his warrior's hand. Slowly, he lowers the weapon. The rage drains from his eyes, replaced by a cold, piercing focus. Now, he only watches, dissolving into the shadows.