The cold, sterile light of the holding cell washed over the four of them, casting long, hollow shadows against the reinforced concrete walls. No one spoke. The silence was heavier than the heavy transparent doors locking them inside.
Jake sat on the edge of his wheelchair, his elbows resting on his knees. He was staring at his hands. His human hands. Pale, trembling, and entirely clean. But he couldn't see them. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how hard he ground his teeth together, all he saw were the massive, blue, four-fingered hands of his Avatar, completely slick and dripping with warm, crimson blood.
Tony's blood.
A ragged, shuddering breath escaped Jake's lips. A single tear broke free, tracking through the dirt on his cheek and dropping onto his knuckles. He closed his eyes, but the darkness behind his eyelids offered no escape. The image of the massive tree coming down, the sickening crunch of metal, the sight of that small, broken boy buried under a mountain of burning ash—it played on an endless, torturous loop.
Across the cell, Grace sat on the floor, her knees pulled tight to her chest. She stared blankly at the opposite wall, her eyes completely devoid of the fierce, unyielding fire that usually defined her. Norm paced the short length of the cell, running his hands through his hair, muttering frantic, fragmented prayers under his breath. Trudy leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her jaw set in a hard, dangerous line, though her eyes were raw and red.
A sharp, authoritative knock on the reinforced glass door snapped them all to attention.
Outside in the corridor, Max stood beside a metal food cart. He looked nervous, his eyes darting toward the security camera in the corner before focusing on the guard sitting at the surveillance desk.
The guard sighed, hitting a button on his console to crack the comms channel. "What are you doing down here, Patel?"
"Orders from Selfridge," Max said, his voice surprisingly steady. He gestured to the cart. "Sent me down to feed Grace and the traitors. Can't exactly have the head of the Avatar program starving to death in a cell. It's a bad look for the quarterly reports."
The guard rolled his eyes, pushing his chair back and standing up. He unclipped his stun baton from his belt, walking over to the cell door. "Selfridge is too soft on these tree-huggers," he grumbled, swiping his keycard. The heavy magnetic locks disengaged with a loud clack. "Let me inspect the cart first. Open the lids."
"Sure," Max said, stepping back.
The guard bent over, peering into the top tray.
In a single, fluid motion, Max pulled a high-voltage taser from his lab coat. He slammed the prongs directly into the exposed skin of the guard's neck and pulled the trigger.
The guard's body locked up instantly, a choked gasp escaping his lips as thousands of volts surged through his nervous system. He collapsed to the floor like a sack of lead, out cold before he even hit the linoleum.
Max immediately reached down, snatching the guard's keycard and weapon. He threw the heavy cell door wide open.
"Hurry!" Max hissed, his eyes wide with adrenaline. "We don't have much time before they do a comms check."
Jake turned his chair, the fog of grief violently shoved aside by the immediate need to move. Grace scrambled up, leaning on Norm for support as they rushed out of the cell.
"Lead the way," Trudy ordered, grabbing the guard's dropped radio and clipping it to her belt.
Max guided them swiftly through the labyrinth of the RDA base, avoiding the main corridors, using the dimly lit maintenance shafts and service hallways. His badge got them through the restricted doors, leading them closer and closer to the echoing expanse of the loading docks.
"Trudy, fire up the Samson," Grace ordered, her voice tight, the old authority creeping back in. "Don't wait for us to strap in, just get the rotors spinning."
"Copy that," Trudy nodded.
Max stopped at a supply cache near the hangar doors. He popped it open, pulling out a standard-issue RDA sidearm. He handed it to Norm, who took it with trembling hands, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the polymer handle.
"Don't shoot unless you absolutely have to," Max told him. He reached back into the cache, pulling out a small, heavy plastic case, and shoved it into Norm's chest. "Exopacks. Don't leave the airlock without them."
Norm popped the case open, handing a clear breathing mask to Trudy. They strapped them over their faces, the distinct hiss of filtered oxygen filling the narrow hallway.
"Go," Max urged.
Norm and Trudy slipped through the heavy blast doors leading into the aircraft hangar. The sprawling bay was a hive of activity, mechanics shouting over the roar of distant engines. Norm and Trudy crouched low, using the massive, steel shipping crates and loaded pallets as cover, weaving silently through the shadows toward Trudy's impounded Samson helicopter.
Back in the hallway, Grace, Max, and Jake caught up to the final exit door. Max swiped his card, the red light turning green. The heavy door hissed open, revealing the catwalk that led down to the flight line.
Grace stepped through immediately, her eyes locked on the prize. Max took a step to follow her, but Jake's hand clamped down like a vise on his arm.
"Max, stop," Jake said, his voice rough. He looked the scientist dead in the eye. "Stay here."
Max blinked, confused. "What? Jake, I have to go with you. If Quaritch finds out I did this—"
"He won't know it was you if you get back to the lab," Jake interrupted, his grip tightening. "We need eyes and ears on the inside. We need someone we can trust to tell us what Quaritch is planning next. You're our only lifeline to this base."
Max swallowed hard, looking out at the hangar, and then back at Jake. The reality of the situation settled heavily onto his shoulders. He gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Okay. Okay, I'll stay."
"Go," Jake said, turning toward the door.
"Wait!" Max shouted, keeping his voice as low as he could.
Jake paused, looking back.
Max reached into the large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His hands were shaking violently as he pulled out a familiar, slightly scuffed white backpack. The red accents on the straps were unmistakable.
Tony's backpack.
Jake's breath hitched. His chest tightened so painfully he thought his ribs might crack.
Max stepped forward, tears pooling in his eyes, his lip trembling. He pressed the heavy pack into Jake's chest.
"Thank you," Max whispered, his voice cracking, entirely unable to hold back his grief. He looked down at the pack, and then up at Jakes face. "Thank you for trying to save him."
Jake took the straps in his hands. He held the backpack against his chest like it was made of glass. He couldn't speak. He just gave Max a single, sharp nod, before turning and wheeling after Grace.
Out on the flight line, Trudy was already in the cockpit. The Samson's massive dual turbines whined, a low pitch rapidly building into a deafening roar.
"Come on! Come on!" Trudy shouted through the open cockpit window, frantically flipping switches on the overhead console.
Norm stood by the open side doors, waving his arm frantically. "Let's go! Move it!"
Grace scrambled up into the bay, gasping for breath through her mask. Jake rushed up right behind her, his arms burning. Norm grabbed Jake's armz, hauling him up into the cabin as the helicopter began to lift slightly off its landing skids.
Norm looked down at what Jake was clutching to his chest. His eyes widened. "Is that...?"
Jake sat heavily in the jump seat, pulling his harness over his shoulders. He didn't answer. He just nodded his head, pulling the white backpack onto his lap, wrapping his arms securely around it, holding it close to his heart.
BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!!
At the far end of the catwalk, Colonel Quaritch stood in his combat gear, a massive assault rifle pressed tightly to his shoulder. Two heavily armed RDA soldiers flanked him.
"BRING 'EM DOWN!" Quaritch roared, opening fire.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Trudy slammed the throttle forward. "Hang on!"
Sparks erupted in a violent shower inside the cabin as heavy caliber bullets ricocheted off the reinforced titanium plating of the Samson. The sound was deafening, a terrifying metallic shrieking that made Jake duck his head instinctively over the backpack.
"Go, go, go!" Norm screamed, returning fire blindly toward the catwalk, the recoil of the pistol jerking his wrist.
Trudy yanked the yoke hard to the left, diving the helicopter straight out of the hangar's massive open doors and plummeting toward the dense, green canopy of the jungle below. The sudden drop left their stomachs in the air. As the ship leveled out and shot forward over the trees, leaving the RDA base far behind, a massive, collective cheer erupted in the cabin.
"Yeah! Whoo!" Jake yelled, the adrenaline temporarily washing away the darkness.
Norm laughed, collapsing back against the bulkhead. "We did it! We actually did it!"
But Grace didn't cheer.
She was slumped against the wall, her breathing shallow and ragged. Her hands were clamped tightly over her stomach. Thick, dark blood was leaking steadily between her fingers, pooling on the metal floor beneath her.
"Crap," Grace whispered, her face completely drained of color.
From the cockpit, Trudy checked her rearview monitor. "Everybody good back there?"
Jake was still grinning, the wind whipping through the open doors. He clapped Norm on the shoulder. "You good, man?"
"Yeah, man, I'm good," Norm gasped.
Jake turned to his left. "Grace, you—"
His voice died in his throat. His eyes locked onto the expanding pool of blood. The smile vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a cold, paralyzing dread.
Grace slowly held out her hand. Her palm was entirely coated in crimson. She offered a weak, trembling smile. "This is gonna ruin my whole day."
"Grace is hit!" Jake screamed, dropping the backpack and scrambling across the floor on his hands and knees. "Norm, get the trauma kit! Now!"
Norm scrambled frantically, tearing open the emergency compartments on the wall. "What?! She's hit?!"
Trudy's voice pitched into pure panic over the headset. "What?!"
In the middle of the chaos, the white backpack resting on the floor suddenly emitted two sharp, pleasant beeps.
Beep. Beep.
The vinyl latches released automatically. With a quiet hiss of pressurized air, Baymax slowly inflated, rising from the floor of the turbulent helicopter cabin.
Jake stared at him, his heart pounding. Since Tony had died, Baymax hadn't spoken a single word. He hadn't activated. He had been completely, utterly lifeless, as if a part of his core programming had died with his creator.
Baymax stood at his full, towering height. His black, unblinking eyes scanned the room. But he didn't offer his usual, cheerful greeting.
"I have been alerted by the 'Keep Grace Standing' protocol," Baymax stated, his calm, synthetic voice cutting perfectly through the noise of the wind and the rotors. "It was programmed by Tony Stark. He noted that Dr. Augustine is notoriously stubborn and requires mandatory intervention when experiencing severe physical trauma."
Everyone froze. Even Grace, bleeding and pale, stared at the massive white robot in complete disbelief.
Baymax waddled forward, his heavy, soft footsteps completely immune to the swaying of the aircraft. He knelt beside Grace. His eyes glowed with a soft, scanning blue light, sweeping over her abdomen.
"Projectile detected. Severe laceration to the descending aorta," Baymax reported calmly. He reached out with his massive, marshmallow-like hands.
"Wait, Baymax, you can't—" Norm started, holding the first aid kit.
Before Norm could finish, Baymax's right index finger smoothly retracted, revealing a sterilized, high-precision surgical laser and a pair of microscopic forceps.
In slow and delicate precision, Baymax moved. The laser cut cleanly. The forceps dove in, extracting the crushed, deformed bullet with a sharp clink against the metal floor. From his other finger, a rapid-seal medical adhesive sprayed over the wound, instantly binding the torn tissue and stopping the bleeding completely.
The entire process took less than four seconds.
Grace gasped, her back arching slightly, before slumping back down. The burning agony in her stomach vanished, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache and the cold sensation of the medical gel.
Baymax retracted his tools. He looked at Grace, tilting his head slightly. He reached out with his massive, soft hand, and gently patted the top of her head twice.
"Pat pat," Baymax said softly. "It is going to be all okay. I will remain here and monitor your vitals to ensure no further damage happens."
He sat down heavily beside her, completely ignoring the stunned silence of the crew, his calm presence a haunting, beautiful echo of the boy who had built him.
They arrived at Site 26, the mobile link shack hidden deep in the Hallelujah Mountains, within the hour.
Norm didn't waste a second. He strapped into his link bed, his mind throwing itself into his Avatar body. The massive blue scientist emerged from the shack, grabbed the heavy steel towing cables, and hauled them over to the Samson. With his enhanced strength, he secured the shack to the underside of the helicopter.
Trudy lifted off again, the heavy load straining the rotors. Jake sat beside her in the copilot seat, guiding her through the treacherous, floating mountains, pointing her north.
"Keep it steady, Trudy," Jake instructed quietly. "Bring it down near the Tree of Souls. The clan will go there. It's where they go when they have no home left."
"Copy that," Trudy murmured, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
In the back of the cabin, Grace sat entirely silent.
She wasn't bleeding anymore, but she was hurting. A deep, profound, agonizing ache that radiated not from her stomach, but from her chest. She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the vibrating metal of the fuselage.
"You know, for a genius, you really suck at keeping your lab clean, Grace."
She squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear his voice so clearly.
"I'm satisfied with my care! Just let me finish the thruster calibration!"
A tear slipped free, carving a line down her cheek. She covered her ears, her breath hitching, trying to block out the sound of his laughter ringing in her memory. Everywhere she looked in this cabin, she saw him. Sitting on the crates, tinkering with his gauntlets. Arguing with Norm over chemical compounds. Calling Jake a 'wheels.'
It was breaking her heart.
Because in the frantic, desperate rush to survive, in the fire and the smoke and the bullets, none of them had stopped. Not Norm, pacing nervously by the doors. Not Jake, staring out the window with hollow eyes. Not Trudy, gripping the flight yoke until her knuckles cracked.
Not one of them had had the time to mourn him. To actually mourn Tony.
Trudy eventually brought the Samson down in a dense, secluded clearing, a few tens of kilometers away from the Tree of Souls, far enough to remain undetected by the grieving Na'vi.
As soon as the shack was detached and powered up, Jake wheeled silently to the open doors of the mobile unit. He sat by the link beds, his face a mask of determination covering a well of absolute exhaustion.
"What's the plan now, Jake?" Norm asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
Jake looked at the link bed before jumping in. "There is no plan."
"Jake, Tsu'tey is Olo'eyktan now," Norm warned, his voice tight. "He hates you. He won't let you anywhere near that place. He'll kill you before you even get to the perimeter."
"I've gotta try," Jake said simply before lying down and closing the top over him.
"Launching," Norm sighed, hitting the initialization sequence as the heavy glass clamshell closed over Jake's body, sending his consciousness across the forest.
With Jake gone, the silence of the clearing became deafening.
Norm walked outside. He found Grace and Trudy already there, standing at the edge of the tree line.
They had gathered stones. Smooth, heavy river rocks from a nearby stream. They piled them carefully at the base of a massive, ancient tree, arranging them into a small, respectful mound. A grave.
It was empty, but it didn't matter. They needed this. If they were going to move on, if they were going to fight and defend the Na'vi the way Tony had sacrificed everything to do, they needed to let his spirit rest. They needed to allow themselves time to heal, no matter how much the jagged edges of his absence tore at their hearts.
For two hours, they sat by the stones. Nobody spoke. Norm cried silently, his face buried in his hands. Trudy leaned against the tree, staring at the sky tear marks and dirt on her cheeks. Grace simply sat on the moss, her hand resting gently on the top of the stone mound, saying a quiet, wordless goodbye to the boy who had become a son to her.
Finally, Grace took a deep breath. She stood up, wiping the dirt from her knees.
"Alright," she said, her voice steady, the fire finally returning to her eyes. "Let's go help Jake."
She walked back into the shack, climbing into the link bed directly across from Jake's. Norm sat at the terminal, his fingers flying across the keyboard, initiating the sequence.
Grace closed her eyes.
Deep within the glowing, bioluminescent cradle of the Tree of Souls, the Omaticaya people were broken.
Hundreds of Na'vi knelt in the damp earth, their voices rising in a haunting, sorrowful chorus of prayers to Eywa. At the forefront of the gathering knelt Neytiri, her face stained with tears and ash. Beside her was her father, the great clan leader, and Tsu'tey, his face painted for war and mourning. Mo'at stood directly before the cascading, glowing willow branches of the sacred tree, her arms spread wide, leading her people in the spiritual chant, begging their Great Mother for salvation.
Suddenly, the singing stopped.
A massive, terrifying shadow eclipsed the soft, glowing light of the tree. As the darkness grew, so did the sound—the deafening, thunderous beating of incredibly powerful wings.
The Na'vi screamed in horror. Mothers grabbed their children, warriors drew their bows, diving backward into the roots as the king of the sky descended.
Toruk.
Its massive, orange wings beat fiercely, generating a violent, hurricane-force wind that sent several hunters flying backward into the dirt. Toruk landed heavily in the center of the gathering, letting out a terrifying roar that silenced the forest.
And then, to the absolute shock and paralyzing awe of the entire clan, Jake casually jumped off the monster's back.
He reached up, placing a firm, calming hand on Toruk's massive snout, soothing the beast as it growled softly in its throat.
A few yards away, Grace's Avatar woke up with a gasp. She sat up in the dirt, immediately surrounded by the joyous, relieved cries of the clan's children, who rushed forward to hug her waist.
The Na'vi dropped their weapons. They stepped forward, their eyes wide with reverence. They bowed deeply, reaching out to gently touch Jake's arms and shoulders as he walked past them, whispering a single, legendary title over and over again.
"Toruk Makto... Toruk Makto."
Jake walked through the parted crowd until he reached the center. Neytiri slowly stood up, her golden eyes wide, reflecting the glowing light of the tree and the awe in her heart. They stood before each other, the space between them charged with a thousand unspoken apologies.
"I see you," Neytiri whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Jake smiled, a soft, heartbreakingly gentle expression. He raised his hand, gently touching her arm, feeling her fingers brush against his. He moved his hands up, gently cupping her cheeks. "I see you."
"I was afraid, Jake," she confessed, a tear slipping down her blue skin. "For my people."
"I'm not anymore," she finished firmly, as Jake brushed the tear away.
He turned, looking up at the imposing figures of Tsu'tey and Neytiri's father. He stood tall, speaking clearly in fluent Na'vi, addressing Tsu'tey by his full title and lineage, honoring his position as a warrior. He then turned to Neytiri's father, bowing his head slightly.
"You are a great leader," Jake said in English, his voice echoing through the silent cavern, knowing they understood the weight of his words. "And a great man. I am ready to serve the Omaticaya people. But I cannot win this war without you."
Behind him, Toruk let out a low, rumbling roar of agreement.
Tsu'tey and Neytiri's father exchanged a look of profound respect. They stepped forward in unison, placing their right hands firmly over their hearts.
"We will fly with you, Toruk Makto," Tsu'tey declared.
Jake let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Grace smiled brightly from the crowd.
But Jake's smile faded quickly. His expression turned incredibly solemn. He looked at Neytiri, his voice dropping to an anxious, quiet plea.
"I couldn't find Tony's body in the ashes," Jake said, his voice cracking slightly. "Where... where is he?"
Neytiri's expression softened into deep sorrow. Tears welled in her eyes once again. She took his hand gently and turned, guiding him away from the crowd, leading him directly toward the dense, glowing heart of the Tree of Souls.
Grace followed closely behind, her heart hammering against her ribs.
They parted the glowing, purple willow vines, stepping into a small, secluded hollow at the very base of the ancient trunk.
There, resting peacefully on a bed of soft moss, was Tony.
He was still wearing the heavily damaged, scorched remnants of his Iron Man armor. His chest plate was caved in, the metal scarred by impossible heat and pressure. But what caught Jake's breath were the woodsprites. Dozens of glowing, ethereal seeds of the sacred tree were gently resting all over his broken armor and his face, illuminating his pale skin in a soft, holy light.
"Tony!" Jake cried out, falling to his knees beside the boy.
Grace dropped down next to him, a sob tearing through her throat. She reached out, carefully pulling his small, heavy head into her lap, burying her face in his hair, crying openly, the tears she had held back at the grave finally pouring out.
Suddenly, the distinct, high-pitched whistle of thrusters pierced the air.
The Na'vi gasped, warriors reaching for their spears, wary of another attack from the Sky People. But it wasn't a gunship.
Baymax landed heavily in the clearing, his remaining thrusters sputtering out. His white vinyl suit was scorched and torn in several places, exposing the carbon-fiber skeleton underneath, but he stood tall.
"Baymax?" Jake asked, completely stunned, wiping his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Baymax slowly walked into the hollow. He looked down at the boy in Grace's lap.
"My sensors detect signs of life," Baymax stated, his voice ringing clearly in the quiet. "Tony is still alive."
Grace gasped, her head snapping up. "What?!"
Jake didn't hesitate. He grabbed the jagged edges of the caved-in titanium chest plate. With a grunt of effort, his Avatar strength allowed him to pry the heavy, bent metal away from the boy's chest, throwing it to the side.
Grace immediately leaned down, pressing her large blue ear directly against Tony's bloodstained t-shirt. She closed her eyes, holding her breath, the entire forest seeming to fall perfectly silent to let her listen.
Thump... ... ... Thump.
It was incredibly faint. A terrifyingly weak, irregular rhythm. But it was there.
"He's alive!" Grace cried, looking up at Jake with wild, desperate hope.
"His internal injuries are catastrophic," Baymax warned. "He is in critical health and requires immediate, advanced medical treatment. I do not have the facilities required to sustain him."
Mo'at stepped forward, her eyes locked on the boy who had held up the sky. "The Great Mother does."
The Na'vi did not hesitate. The same ritual they had used to try and save Grace's life in the original timeline, they now used to save the boy who had bled for them.
They sat in wide concentric circles radiating outward from Tony's body. They linked arms, swaying gently, their voices rising in a powerful, unified chant that vibrated through the very roots of the earth. The Tree of Souls responded. Massive, glowing, neural tendrils descended from the canopy above, wrapping gently around Tony's broken body. The glowing roots completely encased his legs, his arms, and his chest, pulsing with a brilliant, rhythmic light, connecting his fragile, failing human nervous system directly into the planetary neural network of Eywa.
Tony woke up.
He didn't open his eyes immediately. He just breathed. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his chest didn't burn. The crushing, suffocating weight of a million tons of timber was gone.
He groaned softly, slowly forcing his eyes open.
He wasn't under a tree. He wasn't in the Malibu lab.
He was lying on his back in the middle of a massive, impossibly beautiful forest. But it wasn't Pandora. At least, not the Pandora he knew. The entire realm was bathed in deep, luminescent shades of violet and indigo. The air felt thick, charged with an electric, humming energy that made the hair on his arms stand up.
He pushed himself off the ground, surprised to find that his armor was gone. He was wearing his simple black t-shirt and jeans. No blood. No pain.
"Where am I?" Tony whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the strange, vibrant woods.
"Tony..."
A voice called out to him. It wasn't a sound he heard with his ears; it was a resonance he felt in his chest. A warm, echoing whisper that felt like a memory of a lullaby.
"Tony.."
"Who's there?" he called out, his defensive instincts kicking in, though he didn't feel any danger. He began to walk, pushing aside massive, glowing purple fern branches, following the pull of the voice. "I hear you!"
He broke into a light jog. As he moved through the luminescent brush, the forest around him began to come alive.
From the shadows, animals emerged. Not to hunt, but to run with him. A pack of six-legged Viperwolves bounded seamlessly alongside a pack of grey Earth wolves, their strides perfectly synchronized. A massive, armored Hammerhead Titanothere crashed through the brush, running shoulder-to-shoulder with a towering African elephant. A flock of Banshees soared overhead, weaving beautifully between a flock of Earth eagles.
A profound, overwhelming sense of absolute peace washed over Tony. A deep, bubbling joy rose in his chest, entirely unbidden. He threw his head back and laughed, a bright, clear sound that echoed through the trees as he ran with the incredible stampede of two worlds unified in spirit.
He ran until the trees suddenly parted, opening into a massive, breathtaking clearing. The animals stopped at the edge, bowing their heads respectfully, allowing Tony to step forward alone.
In the center of the clearing stood a tree unlike anything Tony had ever seen or imagined. It was so impossibly large it had no discernible end, its canopy blending directly into the purple cosmos above. But it wasn't just a tree.
The trunk was shaped perfectly like a towering woman.
She looked like a true goddess of this universe. Her skin was a deep, radiant blue, intricately patterned with bark-like textures that blended flesh and forest. She possessed three glowing, serene eyes that radiated an ancient, bottomless warmth. From her head and back, an infinite number of arms stretched outward, morphing into massive, sprawling roots and branches that wove the very fabric of the sky, cascading with vibrant purple strands of light.
Tony stood before her, panting slightly, his eyes wide with absolute awe.
The colossal figure smiled, and a soft, echoing giggle resonated through the clearing, like the sound of wind chimes in a summer breeze.
"Welcome, child," she spoke, her voice the sound of rustling leaves and shifting tectonic plates.
"Who... what are you?" Tony breathed, taking a tentative step forward.
"I am the Great Mother. I am the network. I am Eywa."
Tony blinked, his scientific mind furiously trying to process the absolute impossibility of the divine entity standing before him. "Okay. Great. The planetary consciousness is a giant tree lady. Why am I here? Am I dead?"
"You stand on the threshold, Tony Stark," Eywa replied gently, her three eyes looking deep into his soul. "You gave your life to protect my people. Your body is broken, but your spirit was strong enough to reach my shores. You are suspended between the waking world and the long sleep."
Tony looked down at his hands. He remembered the pain. He remembered the tree falling. He remembered telling Baymax to take Grace and Jake away.
He looked back up at Eywa, the awe slowly fading, replaced by a deep, sudden spark of anger.
"I saved them," Tony said, his voice hardening, taking a step toward the towering goddess. "I held up that tree because they were going to be crushed. Because Quaritch and the RDA blew it up."
"I know, child," Eywa said sorrowfully. "The pain of my forest echoed through the roots of the world. So many were lost."
"And where were you?!" Tony shouted, the sudden fury boiling over. The absolute injustice of it all tore through his chest. He wasn't afraid of her. He was furious at her. "They pray to you! They sing to you! They live their entire lives honoring you, asking you for protection, for a home, for guidance, and you just abandoned them to die!"
"I do not take sides, Tony," Eywa said softly, her expression calm, completely unbothered by his rage. "I only protect the balance of life."
"That is complete bullshit!" Tony screamed, tears of absolute frustration springing to his eyes. He wasn't crying for himself. He was crying for Neytiri, for Mo'at, for the children who had choked on the tear gas. "Your people needed you! They risked everything for you, they died for you, and you did nothing!"
He pointed a shaking finger at her. "You call yourself the Great Mother? A mother loves her children with everything she has!"
Tony's voice cracked. He thought of Maria. He thought of the nights he would wake up terrified of a thunderstorm, and his mother would be there, sitting by his bed, holding his hand, protecting him from the dark.
"A real mother stays up to protect her child when they're afraid," Tony cried, his voice ringing with absolute, raw emotion. "She loves them for all they are. She fights for them. If you loved them, then why did you abandon them?! If you can't save your own people when they are burning... then what kind of mother, what kind of goddess, are you?!"
He stood there, panting, his chest heaving, tears streaming down his face, fully expecting the goddess to strike him down for his insolence.
Instead, Eywa slowly lowered one of her massive, root-like hands, resting it gently on the ground before him. She looked down at him not with anger, but with profound, boundless admiration.
"You possess a fiery, beautiful spirit, Tony Stark," Eywa murmured, a tear of glowing sap falling from her eye. "You would scream at a god and weep for a people who are not your own. You cry for those who have no one to protect them. That is why you are a guardian."
Tony sniffled, wiping his eyes, looking up at her in confusion.
"I see the love you hold. I see the sacrifice," Eywa continued, her voice washing over him like a warm tide. "The balance is shifting. And perhaps... you are the fulcrum. Wake now, child of iron. Your family is waiting."
The purple realm flashed with a blinding, brilliant white light.
Tony gasped, his eyes snapping open.
The heavy, suffocating scent of moss and ozone filled his lungs. He took a massive, shuddering breath. The glowing tendrils of the Tree of Souls rapidly retreated, uncoiling from his healed limbs, sinking back into the earth.
He was lying in the dirt. He felt no pain.
A deafening cheer erupted around him. The Na'vi were shouting in absolute, overwhelming joy.
Before he could even sit up, a massive, blue blur crashed into him. Jake pulled Tony tightly against his chest, burying his face in Tony's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Grace collided with them a second later, wrapping her arms completely around both of them, kissing the top of Tony's head over and over again, laughing and crying all at once. Neytiri dropped to her knees beside them, her golden eyes shining with relief, pulling the three of them into a fierce, protective embrace.
"You got me," Jake sobbed into Tony's shirt, holding the boy like he would never let him go. "You got me, kid."
"Hey...Wheels."