Scene: Pandora-Earth Cultural Exchange Gala – Blue Moon Amphitheater
A gentle waterfall flows behind the glowing stage. Na’vi children sit cross-legged beside Earth-born youth. Bioluminescent plants pulse in rhythm as Beyoncé stands barefoot on the platform, draped in turquoise silk and woven feathers. Jake Sully steps forward, microphone in hand, his tone both humble and heartfelt.
Jake Sully (to Beyoncé):
Bey…
The world knows your voice can shake mountains and heal hearts.
But tonight… I ask for something deeper.
Sing for the Cherokee.
Sing for the forgotten languages, for the stolen songs,
for the grandmothers who hummed lullabies while their world was being erased.
Your voice could bring them back.
Beyoncé nods slowly. The air shifts. A hush falls over the crowd.
Jake (softer now, with a half-smile):
And in return…
I’ll do my best to keep Jay Z out of jail.
He’s got a problem, see—
He confesses too much in his lyrics.
You know it. I know it.
The feds definitely know it.
Polite laughter ripples through the audience, even from a few suited agents in the back.
Jake (looking into the camera):
But Jay’s not the enemy.
He’s a mirror. A poet of the empire.
He just needs… a little Na’vi discretion in the booth, ya feel me?
Beyoncé steps up to the center, hand over her heart. She nods to a Cherokee elder in the front row, who offers a prayer and a melody line. She begins to sing—clear, ancient syllables flowing like water over stone.
The Na’vi bow their heads. Drones go silent. Earth listens.