"Kill them all."

These are words used only by men that are in complete charge. Leaders, Tyrants, and kings. These are the very same words that were used to wipe out my people. Because my people were a growing threat to his people. My people would no longer take their rule. My people no longer exist because of these words. And these are words that I never wish to hear again.

My tribe was a thriving group of people. Some would even go as far as to say that we were divinely favored. But the way I see it, we were destined for doom the moment we came into existence. We weren't distinguished by our fighting skill, or our abundant produce even though these were more than average. The world knew us because of our physical features. Our skin ranges from the darkness of night, to the smoothest of browns. Our hair, however, is as white as the first snow. And our eyes are so blue they could rival any ocean.

We were strong, independent, and one of the ancients.

Until the day they came and wiped us all out. All except for me, the last Ikniri.

I'm running. No sprinting. My legs are pumping and aching from running so hard for so long. But I don't care. I have to get away. Away from everyone and everything.

Freak. Cursed. Witch.

The kids in the village are evil to me. They pelt me not only with rocks and twigs but their insults as well. Insults that their parents are sure to drill into their minds. It's no secret that I am the last of my kind. No one knows the true story of why the king killed them when he did, but I am the lone survivor. If it weren't for Gran taking me in, I would be dead, the history of my people wiped from this earth. But I'd rather be dead than here dealing with this.

In my running, I don't pay attention, and my foot snags on an upturned root, throwing me forward. I roll and smash through the bushes and branches, the momentum carrying me forward. I brace my body for impact, and finally, come to a halt when I hit a boulder. Stars explode across my vision, my forehead colliding with the boulder.

"Owwww," I moan as I sit up, holding my head in pain. I sniffle pathetically as I feel a warm liquid trickling down my face. I quickly swipe my hand over the area, revealing blood. My head is throbbing, and I have scrapes and bruises on my knees as well as the bruises from the rocks that actually made contact.

When I look around, I realize that I don't recognize the area. I've run off and gotten myself lost. I look up at the sky, to see it shrouded by the tall trees. There are no markers near me though, so I can't tell where I am.

I begin walking, not intending on going back. Not in the least. They all hate me, and I've done nothing but make Gran's life worse as everyone called her a witch-lover because of me. She was once a respected woman, and now she is blamed for all the wrongdoings in the village on my behalf. So, I walk. I keep walking until the sun begins to set, casting an orange glow over the land. I can hear the insects beginning to wake, calling out to each other, making a symphony of noises distracting me from my pain only temporarily.

After a while, my vision begins to blur from the amount of blood loss and I can barely feel my legs any longer. I don't know where I am, and I don't know which way to go to even begin making my way home. Things will be better this way. Gran will be able to live the rest of her life in peace, and I won't have to deal with the endless torment and looks of disgust.

A protruding rock catches my foot, and I stumble forward, my heart dropping when there isn't ground in front of me. My body drops quickly, down the steep cliffside hitting the ground in a matter of seconds. Only a wheeze leaves my lips as I hit the bottom, the air ripped from my lungs.

I don't know how long I lay here, but I realize as I come to, that I'm in a meadow. There are no more trees just grass and flowers. The sound of footsteps and people shouting invades the silence and when I look up, I see the glint of steel. The men surrounding me are shouting in a language I do not understand, but a part of me recognizes it somehow.

Suddenly the shouting stops, and I hear footsteps. They're different than these men. They're smooth. Confident. Without hesitation. I blink rapidly trying to clear my vision but to no avail.

"Rit Suri Leuroya."

The words whip through the air, chilling my spine. I feel hands on my arms, hauling me up. My head lolls forward, and I feel heated fingers on my chin, forcing my head up. My eyes widen as I take him in.

I've never seen anything like him. He is unique. His dark hair falls past his waist with a small hanging braid near his ear. There are symbols engraved on his face, but only on the left side that wrap around his throat disappearing into the fabric of his clothing. I feel my breathing hitch as I take in his eyes.

What should be white is a dark, smokey black like a demons would be. But the color of his iris pulls my attention even further. It gradates from black to black to gray starting from the edge before melting into the most vivid of reds I have ever seen encircling his pupil.

His eyes shift from my face to the blood crusted on my forehead. Once he studies me long enough, he stands giving an order to his men and to my relief, they release me. He makes a strange expression kneeling to my height before speaking.

"You're lost little Ikniri."

His voice is terrifying, my body immediately shivering from the sound. My actions force him to smile, revealing his sharp canines. I don't know if he's asking or telling me, but all I can manage is a small nod of my head.

"Where did you come from?" I take note that he speaks differently than Gran's people. His words are accented. I don't open my mouth. Gran always told me to keep where I live a secret. People would rat us out to the king, and he will kill me and all of them for harboring me. So I shake my head, which makes his smile widen.

He reaches out to me, and I immediately flinch away, but he only pats my head softly.

"A rare sight indeed. Where are the rest of your people?" he asks me.

"D-dead...," I manage. He raises a brow. "T-the blood king killed my people," I stutter. He smiles, and a laugh escapes him.

"I know the history little girl. What I want to know is why you are here when the... king killed all of you off," he says calmly. My eyes widen in fear as I realize the severity of my situation. Tears well up in my eyes, and I shake my head vigorously.

"Please... don't kill me...," I sob. Fear coils up inside of me as I look this man in the eyes, pleading for my life. He stares me down without an ounce of emotion on his face and it's scary. He doesn't look completely human and there's something ancient about him. Not only that, but he has such a savage glint in his gaze.

"What is your name?" he asks. I bite the inside of my cheek trying to staunch my tears.

"Neytiri," I say. My voice comes out shaky and barely above a whisper. But he hears me.

"You are very lucky, Neytiri. Very, very lucky." He reaches up, placing his flat palm against my forehead. I feel a pinch, where my cut is, and then the world goes black.