oehu nga ’awvea — n. sully
part one | part two
note: im sorry for taking so long, i had exams.. but here i am, here you go!
the forest felt wrong without them.
not empty.
never empty.
pandora itself could never truly feel empty—life breathed through every root, every creature call at dawn, every glowing plant beneath her feet.
but something familiar had been removed from it.
like a song missing notes.
the first weeks after the sullys left hurt the worst.
ne’geza still turned instinctively toward places neteyam usually stood during gatherings. still found herself listening for lo’ak’s loud voice somewhere in the distance. still woke some mornings already thinking about finding kiri before remembering she was oceans away now.
it came in ugly little moments.
reaching automatically for an extra bowl during meals.
saving stories to tell tuk later.
catching sight of broad shoulders in the distance only for disappointment to settle afterward.
yet life continued anyway.
because eywa never stopped moving simply because hearts broke.
and neither did ne’geza.
she still trained beneath the tsahìk daily.
still climbed faster than most hunters her age.
still argued with kxan every single morning like tradition itself demanded it.
“you are distracted,” he informed her while sparring.
their staffs cracked violently together.
“i am about to hit you.”
“see? distracted.”
she swept his legs instantly.
kxan crashed flat into the dirt hard enough to knock breath from his lungs.
ne’geza stood over him smugly.
“say it again.”
he stared upward wheezing before bursting into laughter anyway.
“there she is.”
she rolled her eyes, though relief softened inside her quietly too.
because kxan never treated her delicately.
never tiptoed around her sadness.
and somehow that helped more than pity ever could.
sometimes he accompanied her during deliveries to the scientists too. sometimes they sat together high above the trees speaking of nothing important while bioluminescence flickered below them.
he stayed.
quietly.
always there when she needed grounding without asking for it.
ne’geza never noticed the way his gaze lingered when she spoke about neteyam still.
perhaps because nobody could compete with ghosts.
months later, when norm finally announced a visit to the reef clans for supply exchange and communication updates—
ne’geza nearly dropped the basket she carried.
“the metkayina?” she repeated immediately.
norm smiled knowingly.
“yeah. the sullys too.”
her heart launched so violently against her ribs it almost hurt.
she tried to hide it.
failed miserably.
kxan snorted loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
“look at her ears.”
“be quiet.”
“they went up so fast i thought you saw eywa herself.”
she kicked him.
hard.
the journey to the reefs felt unreal.
the air changed first.
salt replacing damp forest earth.
wind stronger.
open skies stretching endlessly without thick canopies above them.
and the water—
eywa, the water.
vast.
glittering endlessly beneath sunlight.
ne’geza stared openly from the moment they arrived near the metkayina villages, awe briefly overwhelming nervousness entirely.
everything looked alive differently here.
woven marui suspended above crystal waves.
ilu and skimwings gliding through the ocean.
children laughing while diving fearlessly into water clearer than anything she had ever seen.
the metkayina themselves looked beautiful and unfamiliar all at once—stronger tails, broader forearms, different markings, movements smoother within water than on land.
they stared too.
curious.
not hostile.
just observant.
ne’geza suddenly became deeply aware of her forest-striped skin, thinner tail, narrower arms.
different.
a metkayina child whispered something while pointing openly toward the omatikaya visitors.
kxan immediately waved at them obnoxiously.
the child fled.
ne’geza smacked his shoulder.
then—
she saw them.
the sullys.
walking down from one of the woven platforms alongside the reef clan.
everything inside her chest stopped.
lo’ak spotted her first.
“forest girl!”
he practically launched himself forward immediately.
kiri laughed softly behind him while tuk screamed happily and nearly tackled ne’geza into the sand.
all warmth.
all familiar.
all painfully missed.
then neteyam reached her.
and suddenly the noise around them dimmed.
he looked different already.
subtle changes.
sun-darkened skin.
new reef beads woven into his braids.
his posture calmer somehow, shaped by the ocean’s rhythm now.
beautiful.
still beautiful.
always beautiful.
his eyes softened immediately upon seeing her.
“you came.”
soft.
almost disbelieving.
ne’geza realized then how much she had missed hearing his voice directly.
not through memory.
real.
alive.
“of course i came,” she answered quietly.
his gaze lingered over her face carefully, almost like checking she truly stood there.
then his hand touched her arm lightly.
brief.
gentle.
yet enough to make warmth bloom painfully beneath her skin.
lo’ak groaned loudly behind them.
“by eywa, finally.”
“lo’ak,” neteyam warned immediately.
“what? she looked like she was dying without you.”
“i was not.”
“you absolutely were.”
“i hate you.”
“not as much as you love him.”
kiri burst out laughing.
neteyam rubbed his face tiredly.
some things never truly changed.
meeting the metkayina leaders afterward felt intimidating in entirely different ways.
tonowari carried himself like the ocean itself; steady, immense, calm enough to hide danger beneath it.
and ronal…
eywa.
ne’geza straightened immediately beneath the tsahìk’s gaze.
ronal observed people sharply, almost spiritually, like she could pull truths directly from their ribs.
ne’geza lowered her head respectfully at once.
“daughter of the forest,” ronal greeted.
“i see you.”
“i see you, tsahìk.”
ronal’s eyes lingered briefly upon the beads marking ne’geza’s own spiritual training.
understanding flickered there immediately.
approval too perhaps.
small.
subtle.
but present.
that alone nearly relieved ne’geza more than anything else.
then came ao’nung.
and immediately—
immediately—
ne’geza understood why lo’ak complained about him constantly.
the metkayina boy stood tall and smug beside the others, chin lifted slightly with obvious confidence. beside him lingered tsireya, gentler immediately, along with rotxo and several other reef youths.
ao’nung’s eyes traveled openly over the visiting forest na’vi.
assessing.
curious.
slightly mocking.
“your arms are thin,” he remarked toward kxan.
kxan grinned instantly.
“your forehead is large.”
lo’ak exploded laughing so hard he nearly fell backward into the water.
ao’nung narrowed his eyes immediately.
ne’geza sighed.
“we arrived less than one hour ago.”
“and already i dislike him,” ao’nung informed her.
“good,” kxan answered. “the feeling is mutual.”
tsireya looked exhausted already.
through all of it, neteyam remained near ne’geza almost unconsciously.
small things.
guiding her across slippery reef stones once with a hand against her back.
quietly explaining customs she did not understand.
watching her reactions whenever she stared too long at ilu swimming beneath the docks.
he noticed every moment of wonder crossing her face.
and ne’geza—
despite the strange ocean, the unfamiliar clan, the ache of realizing how much the sullys had already begun adapting here..
felt something settle softly inside her chest for the first time in months.
because they were still here.
changed.
far away.
yet still hers somehow.
still reachable.
although peace does not last long for people like them.
and perhaps it never would.
the ocean had begun feeling almost gentle around ne’geza by then. unfamiliar still, yes, but no longer uncomfortable. she learned how to walk along wet reef paths without slipping, learned the sound of ilu calls at dawn, learned which metkayina children would stare openly and which would eventually smile first.
and selfishly,
dangerously..
she had wanted one more day.
just one.
“you are staying again?” kxan asked flatly after hearing her ask norm.
they stood near the edge of the docks while evening light melted gold across the water.
“one more night.”
“your parents are going to skin you alive.”
“norm already knows.”
“norm is not your mother.”
“good.”
kxan groaned dramatically.
yet he stayed too.
of course he stayed.
because for all his complaints, kxan had become attached to the sullys in his own crooked way as well.
and perhaps—
perhaps he noticed the way ne’geza looked at neteyam beneath sunset light and could never quite force himself to drag her away from it.
and then the sky people came again.
violently.
and suddenly.
metal roaring across the ocean horizon while panic spread through the villages in seconds. alarms. shouting. ilu diving beneath waves. metkayina warriors gathering weapons immediately while children were rushed away from open docks.
ne’geza’s blood ran cold the moment she heard the engines.
not again.
‘not here too.’
everything afterward blurred violently.
movement.
orders.
fear.
she remembered gripping her bow so tightly her palms hurt while kxan cursed beside her. remembered seeing smoke rising beyond the waterline. remembered neteyam grabbing tuk protectively toward cover while lo’ak shouted over the chaos.
but eywa spared them that day.
barely.
because despite the destruction, despite the terror tearing through the reefs again..
they survived.
all of them.
alive.
yet survival only birthed another horrible truth afterward.
war had fully returned.
and with it came the need for allies.
for the forest clans.
for home.
the flight back to the omatikaya alongside jake sully felt heavy with dread.
the entire journey, ne’geza barely rested.
every time she closed her eyes she saw fire reflecting across ocean water.
heard tuk crying.
heard engines screaming overhead.
when they finally reached the forest again, her parents nearly exploded upon seeing her.
sa’eyla’s relief lasted approximately three seconds before fury overtook it completely.
“you stayed after permission ended?”
“mother—”
“during active danger?”
“i did not know—”
“that is exactly the problem!”
tsmukan rarely lost composure.
he did now.
“you left clan territory without approval during wartime!”
ne’geza stood rigid beneath the scolding, ears pinned tightly downward while exhaustion and fear twisted together painfully inside her chest.
yet even then,
even now,
only one thought kept repeating.
they need help.
“please,” she interrupted suddenly.
both parents stopped.
tears already burned in her eyes again.
“please help them.”
silence.
“they cannot fight alone.”
“ne’geza—”
“they protected us too! all of them did!”
her voice cracked hard.
“they left because of us!”
because of the people.
because of the clan.
because of all of them.
sa’eyla’s expression faltered first.
then tsmukan’s.
they exchanged one long look between themselves—warriors first, parents second in moments like this.
finally her father exhaled heavily.
“the clan will answer the call.”
relief nearly made her knees weak.
that night before battle felt unreal.
too quiet.
the ocean breeze moved softly across dark waters while distant reef lanterns glowed pale blue beneath the stars.
ne’geza sat beside neteyam far from the others, knees drawn loosely toward her chest atop smooth rock overlooking endless waves.
neither spoke for a long while.
they did not need to.
the silence between them had never been uncomfortable.
only full.
neteyam rested his forearms over his knees, gaze fixed toward the horizon where darkness swallowed sea and sky together.
“you should not have stayed,” he murmured eventually.
ne’geza almost laughed softly.
“you sound like my parents.”
“they are right.”
“i know.”
a beat passed.
“…i would do it again.”
his ears flicked slightly.
not surprised.
never surprised by her anymore.
below them, waves crashed gently against reef stone.
ne’geza watched the water quietly before speaking again.
“do you remember the river?”
neteyam looked toward her immediately.
“when you attacked me?”
“i did not attack you.”
“you pulled my hair.”
“because kxan is annoying.”
“that is still not my fault.”
despite everything—
despite war looming only hours away—
they smiled.
small.
soft.
real.
ne’geza’s chest ached horribly from it.
because suddenly memories kept flashing painfully through her mind.
tiny neteyam handing her half his fruit because she scraped her knee climbing trees.
young neteyam pulling her away from dangerous roots during storms.
him laughing breathlessly while she tried fighting older boys twice her size for insulting him.
him quietly adjusting her crooked necklace during ceremonies because her hands shook too much from nerves.
all those years.
all that love.
pure and innocent once.
something deeper now.
something terrifying.
“i used to think,” she admitted softly, “that eywa made you only to test my patience.”
neteyam huffed laughter quietly beside her.
“only your patience?”
“…and my heart.”
the words slipped out before she could stop them.
silence followed instantly.
heavy.
warm.
dangerous.
ne’geza’s breath caught immediately.
but neteyam did not pull away.
did not look startled.
instead his gaze softened so deeply it nearly hurt to witness.
his hand moved slowly beside hers against the stone.
their fingers brushed.
then remained there.
not fully holding.
not innocent either.
the ocean wind moved through their braids gently.
“ne’geza,” he said quietly.
just her name.
yet somehow it sounded like everything he could not say aloud.
her throat tightened painfully.
she wanted to tell him.
eywa, she wanted to tell him.
that she had loved him since rivers and polished stones and tiny bruised fists.
that every future she imagined held him somewhere inside it.
that leaving him behind felt like tearing pieces from herself.
but war waited at dawn.
and fear poisoned beautiful moments too easily.
so instead she leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.
neteyam went still only briefly before relaxing beside her.
his temple rested gently against her braids.
close.
closer than they had ever truly allowed themselves before.
below them, the sea breathed endlessly beneath moonlight.
and for one impossible little moment—
they were children again somehow.
safe.
innocent.
loving each other without understanding yet how much it would one day hurt.
battle did not feel glorious though.
there was no honor in the screaming.
no beauty in fire spreading across water.
only terror.
only survival.
ne’geza barely remembered when the fighting truly began because suddenly everything moved too quickly at once—explosions tearing through the sea air, ilu shrieking beneath the water, warriors diving from skimwings while gunfire cracked violently overhead.
she and kxan fought alongside the metkayina near the outer villages first.
protect the people.
protect the children.
protect the wounded.
that was all either of them cared about.
“left!” kxan shouted.
ne’geza spun immediately, arrow flying before she fully processed the target. a sky person collapsed backward into the water while her chest heaved violently from exertion.
smoke burned her lungs.
salt stung her eyes.
everywhere she looked there was panic.
where are mother and father?
the thought struck suddenly.
sharp.
violent.
she had not seen them since the battle separated everyone apart.
had not seen her father’s ikran.
had not heard her mother’s voice.
fear twisted instantly inside her stomach.
then another thought.
where is kxan—
he slammed into her shoulder a second later while dragging another metkayina child toward cover.
“focus!” he barked breathlessly.
she hated how relieved she felt seeing him.
then came the screaming.
the sully girls.
tuk.
kiri.
captured.
everything shifted instantly after that.
lo’ak’s horrified shout carried across the battlefield while neteyam turned so fast it nearly looked painful.
“they took them!”
and suddenly they were moving.
all of them.
neteyam.
lo’ak.
kxan.
ne’geza.
diving into chaos without hesitation.
because of course they did.
because none of them had ever learned how to leave family behind.
the ocean roared around them while they pushed toward the ship.
gunfire.
water.
blood.
movement.
too much movement.
ne’geza lost track of time almost immediately.
one second kxan swam beside her.
the next—
gone.
completely gone.
she turned sharply beneath the water, panic exploding through her chest.
nothing.
only shadows and debris drifting through dark water.
no no no—
“KXAN!”
her voice vanished uselessly against explosions.
lo’ak grabbed her arm roughly.
“move!”
“he was right there!”
“we cannot stop!”
panic clawed violently through her ribs.
parents missing.
kxan missing.
the sully girls trapped somewhere ahead.
and beside her neteyam still moved forward despite exhaustion already dragging at all of them.
she followed.
because there was nothing else to do.
move.
survive.
keep moving.
yet horrifyingly—
her mind kept slipping elsewhere.
stupid places.
small places.
she remembered sitting beside neteyam as children while they threaded pieces into their songcords together beneath glowing roots.
“this bead is for when you fell into the river,” she had told him proudly.
“you pushed me.”
“you survived.”
“barely.”
she remembered his laughter.
the warmth in his eyes.
she remembered tiny fingers brushing together while choosing shells near the reef days ago.
remembered neteyam helping tie new pieces into her cord because her hands kept shaking from excitement.
most of their lives existed tangled together inside those cords now.
memories.
moments.
each one tiny proof of love.
‘why am i thinking about this?’
the frustration almost hurt.
people were dying.
everything was collapsing.
yet her mind kept dragging her backward toward innocent things because somewhere deep inside herself—
she was terrified there would be no more memories after this.
and suddenly,
neteyam was hurt.
she never fully understood how it happened.
everything blurred.
water flooding compartments.
gunfire.
screaming.
then neteyam staggered.
a horrible sound escaped him.
and blood—
too much blood.
“neteyam!”
the panic in her own voice barely sounded human.
he still tried moving.
still tried helping.
always helping.
even while dying.
no.
no no no—
they dragged him desperately through flooding corridors, through chaos and sinking metal while ne’geza pressed shaking hands against his wound uselessly.
blood soaked between her fingers immediately.
too warm.
far too warm.
“stay awake,” she kept whispering.
she did not even know if he heard her.
“stay awake, stay awake—”
they reached the shore somehow.
she never remembered how.
only that suddenly sand pressed beneath her knees while neteyam collapsed against them both.
and blood.
still blood.
her hands shook violently trying to stop it.
pressure.
more pressure.
‘why would it not stop—‘
memories kept striking her again in cruel flashes.
neteyam smiling sleepily after long training nights.
his fingers carefully fixing beads into her braids.
the way he always waited for her during ceremonies.
the night beside the ocean.
and tiny tiny neteyam laughing after she nearly bit another child for insulting him.
“you are scary,” he had giggled.
“good.”
she should have protected him better.
she should have—
voices approached suddenly.
jake sully dropping beside them immediately.
neytiri right behind him.
spider.
tsireya.
everyone talking at once.
moving.
panic.
fear.
someone touched ne’geza’s shoulder.
she ignored them.
because neteyam looked cold now.
too cold.
his breathing sounded wrong.
wet.
small.
“baby boy,” neytiri whispered brokenly.
jake pressed desperate hands against the wound while speaking quickly, voice trembling despite trying not to.
ne’geza heard none of it fully.
she only stared at neteyam.
eyes wide.
unmoving.
intense enough to hurt.
he looked back weakly at first.
barely conscious.
for one horrible moment his gaze found hers specifically.
and suddenly she remembered another memory.
tiny neteyam beside the river.
laughing softly after she accidentally pulled his braids.
“it is alright.”
she had loved him even then.
before she understood what love was.
then—
he stopped breathing.
and silence followed.
not real silence.
the ocean still moved.
people still cried.
neytiri broke apart beside them completely.
but for ne’geza—
everything became distant suddenly.
muted.
wrong.
she did not react.
could not.
someone was sobbing loudly nearby.
maybe lo’ak.
maybe neytiri.
jake’s face twisted in devastation while holding his son.
yet ne’geza simply remained there beside neteyam’s body, hands still stained red against him.
watching.
waiting perhaps.
for him to breathe again.
for someone to say it was a mistake.
nothing happened.
jake eventually spoke hoarsely through grief.
“we gotta move. we have to get the girls.”
nobody answered immediately.
finally movement returned around them.
people forcing themselves upright.
painfully.
desperately.
but ne’geza did not move.
not even when tsireya touched her shoulder carefully.
not when lo’ak stood shaking nearby.
not when spider looked at her with horrified pity.
she stayed beside neteyam silently.
staring at him.
because leaving him there,
alone,
felt impossible.
because every memory inside her belonged to him somehow.
because somewhere deep inside herself..
a little omatikaya girl still believed if she stayed close enough beside him—
he would wake up laughing softly again, saying it was alright.
everything after neteyam’s death blurred strangely.
people spoke to her.
she knew they did.
hands touched her shoulders. voices called her name. tuk cried against her chest at some point. kxan stayed near enough she could feel his presence constantly like a shadow refusing to leave.
yet the memories felt underwater.
distant.
broken apart.
she remembered neytiri screaming.
remembered lo’ak shaking violently from guilt and grief.
remembered jake looking suddenly older than anyone she had ever seen.
then nothing clear again until the funeral.
until the sea.
the metkayina gathered silently beneath gray skies while waves moved softly against the shore, far gentler than they had any right to be.
neteyam’s body rested prepared carefully according to reef customs, surrounded by woven shells, beads, prayers whispered into the wind.
he looked peaceful.
that was the cruelest part.
peaceful while everyone else shattered around him.
ne’geza stood beside the sullys without moving.
her parents behind her.
kxan beside her.
alive.
all of them alive.
and neteyam—
not.
her fingers curled tightly around her own songcord until the beads dug painfully into her palm.
she remembered making some of them with him.
a tiny carved wooden piece from when they first climbed the hallelujah mountains together as children.
a shell from the reef he had handed her shyly only weeks before.
“for your cord,” he had murmured.
as if pieces of him had not already filled every inch of it.
the sea carried him slowly away.
the metkayina sang softly.
neytiri collapsed against jake with a sound ne’geza would remember forever.
not loud.
not dramatic.
just… broken.
like something sacred tearing apart.
and ne’geza—
she felt empty.
not numb.
empty.
there was a difference.
numbness eventually faded.
emptiness stayed.
because grief was not loud most days.
it was quiet.
it was reaching instinctively toward someone who no longer existed beside you.
it was turning to speak before remembering.
it was silence where laughter should have been.
the ocean took him deeper.
deeper.
and deeper.
until eventually he became part of the ocean itself.
gone.
for always this time.
and ne’geza realized something horrifying then.
she could no longer remember the sound of his heartbeat.
days passed.
then weeks.
nothing improved.
not truly.
the sullys changed entirely after losing him.
lo’ak especially.
the reckless sharpness inside him dulled into something heavier now. quieter. older. grief carved responsibility into him whether he wanted it or not.
yet somehow—
through all the pain—
tsireya remained beside him constantly.
steady.
gentle.
she understood how to hold broken things without suffocating them.
ne’geza noticed the way lo’ak slowly began reaching for her instinctively too.
the way his grief softened slightly whenever tsireya touched his arm.
love surviving tragedy somehow.
meanwhile neytiri and ne’geza became inseparable in mourning.
because nobody else understood the shape of the loss between them.
some nights ne’geza slept beside her simply because neither could bear being alone with memory.
they prayed together.
cried together.
sat silently beside the ocean for hours saying nothing at all.
neytiri braided her hair again sometimes like she had when ne’geza was younger.
and once—
only once—
neytiri held ne’geza’s face between her hands and whispered brokenly:
“he loved you.”
ne’geza stopped breathing right there.
but neither of them spoke about it afterward.
they did not need to.
war continued.
because of course it did.
the sky people returned again and again, uglier each time.
and ne’geza changed with it.
whatever softness humans once slowly taught her died beside neteyam.
she hated them now.
completely.
violently.
their language.
their weapons.
their machines.
their smell.
she stopped entering laboratories entirely. refused medicine touched by them. refused their explanations, their pity, their careful voices.
scientists included.
norm tried speaking with her once.
she walked away before he finished the sentence.
because somewhere deep inside herself she believed humans had taken every beautiful thing from her eventually.
during the conflicts that followed—the ash people, the burning territories, the battles spreading across clans, ne’geza fought like something feral.
fierce.
merciless.
the humans began fearing her specifically.
good.
let them.
kxan never left her side through any of it.
not once.
where ne’geza went, kxan followed immediately—through fire, through blood, through grief she no longer knew how to survive alone.
he watched her become harder.
watched her stop smiling.
watched her return to the forest eventually beside her parents while her soul remained somewhere beneath reef waters beside a dead boy.
and still—
he stayed.
loyal as breathing itself.
back in the omatikaya forest, nothing felt correct anymore.
the trees still glowed.
the rivers still sang.
children still laughed somewhere distant at night.
yet ne’geza moved through all of it like a spirit haunting her own life.
her tsahìk training suffered terribly.
during tsaheylu she felt disconnected.
prayers felt hollow in her mouth.
every time she reached toward eywa—
she found silence.
and that terrified her more than grief itself.
because neteyam had become part of eywa now.
so why could she not feel him?
why could she not find him?
had he vanished completely?
the frustration poisoned everything.
she snapped at elders.
fought recklessly.
prayed angrily.
cried only in private where nobody could hear.
sometimes she woke from dreams convinced she heard his laugh nearby only to realize she was alone again.
again.
again.
again.
until finally—
she broke.
completely.
it happened beneath the tree of voices.
alone.
rain pouring heavily through the canopy while bioluminescent tendrils swayed softly around her.
ne’geza collapsed against the roots shaking violently from the force of grief she had held trapped for far too long.
and she cried.
not pretty tears.
not quiet mourning.
she sobbed until her throat burned raw.
until her chest hurt.
until years of rage finally cracked apart enough for pain beneath it to breathe again.
“why can i not feel you?” she screamed brokenly toward eywa herself. “why did you take him?”
her voice echoed uselessly into glowing darkness.
“i cannot do this without him!”
the forest answered only with rain.
and for the first time—
ne’geza admitted the truth aloud.
“I loved him.”
the words shattered something open inside her.
small.
fragile.
honest.
she bowed forward against the roots trembling desperately while tears soaked into glowing tendrils beneath her hands.
then—
warmth.
faint at first.
familiar.
her breath caught violently.
the tree glowed brighter around her.
light moving through roots like breath itself.
and suddenly—
she was no longer alone.
neteyam stood before her beneath the spirit trees exactly as she remembered him.
young.
gentle-eyed.
alive in the way only eywa could allow now.
ne’geza stared.
unable to breathe.
unable to move.
his expression softened immediately upon seeing her.
the same look he had always carried for her since childhood.
“hello, ne’geza.”
her knees nearly gave out.
“no,” she whispered instantly, tears beginning all over again. “no, please—”
but he stepped closer.
careful.
like she might break.
“you found me.”
his voice.
eywa.
his voice.
ne’geza made a horrible sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob before throwing herself against him.
or what felt like him.
warmth met her immediately.
not fully solid.
not fully spirit.
yet enough.
enough enough enough.
she buried her face against him shaking violently while his arms wrapped around her carefully.
just like they always had.
“i looked everywhere,” she cried.
“I know.”
“i could not feel you—”
“because you stopped feeling yourself.”
his hand moved gently through her braids.
familiar.
achingly familiar.
ne’geza pulled back only enough to look at him desperately, memorizing every detail again like she feared eywa would take him twice.
“i do not know how to live without you.”
neteyam’s eyes saddened softly.
yet he smiled anyway.
small.
loving.
“you already are.”
she cried harder.
he wiped tears from her face gently with his thumbs.
“you were always stronger than you believed.”
“i do not want strength.”
“I know.”
rain no longer touched them beneath the glowing spirit tree.
only warmth.
only him.
for one final impossible moment, they sat together again like children beside rivers and polished stones and unfinished futures.
neteyam rested his forehead against hers softly.
their breaths mingled.
their bond finally spoken without fear now.
“I loved you too,” he whispered.
the words healed and destroyed her all at once.
ne’geza closed her eyes immediately.
because part of her had always known.
yet hearing it still felt sacred.
when she opened them again—
the glow around him had begun fading gently into eywa’s light.
panic returned instantly.
“wait—”
neteyam only smiled softly.
peacefully.
“eywa is never separate from you, ne’geza.”
his fingers slipped slowly from hers.
“and neither am i.”
then the forest glowed.
the rain returned.
and ne’geza found herself alone beneath the tree once more.
alone—
but breathing.
for the first time in a very long while.
years continued anyway.
that was perhaps the cruelest thing grief ever did.
it never stopped the world beside you.
seasons still changed across pandora. children still grew taller. wars ended and began again. clans rebuilt themselves from ash and memory. people laughed somewhere every morning whether your heart survived or not.
and ne’geza—
ne’geza survived.
though sometimes only barely.
as the years passed into adulthood, she became quieter in ways few people understood. not cold. never truly cold. there remained kindness inside her always, tucked carefully beneath layers of reverence and restraint.
but the bright fierce girl who once laughed loudly through the forest while chasing neteyam beneath glowing trees—
she never fully returned.
pieces of her did sometimes.
small pieces.
during prayer.
during births.
during the rare moments eywa allowed her glimpses of him again beneath the spirit trees.
those moments sustained her more than food some years.
because every now and then, during deep tsaheylu beneath sacred roots, warmth would brush against her spirit gently.
neteyam.
never for long.
never enough.
but enough to remind her she had not imagined their love.
and so ne’geza devoted herself entirely to eywa in return.
because if eywa held him—
then ne’geza would spend her life listening closer.
she trained endlessly beneath the tsahìk path until eventually elders no longer referred to her as apprentice at all. her prayers became powerful. her voice during ceremonies carried calm deep enough to still entire gatherings. wounded warriors sought her counsel. grieving mothers sat beside her for comfort.
people trusted her with sacred things now.
yet even then—
there was still a sadness inside her impossible to remove completely.
soft.
ancient.
permanent.
through all those years, kxan never left.
not once.
he remained beside her through every ugly season of grief without demanding she heal faster.
when she wandered too deeply into silence, he followed quietly beside her.
when rage consumed her, he stood between her and danger where he could.
when she woke from dreams shaking violently after spirit visions, he sat awake with her until dawn touched the trees.
sometimes they still argued exactly like children.
older warriors often sighed watching them.
“you are impossible,” ne’geza muttered once while kxan repaired a broken hunting harness beside her.
“yet you continue speaking to me every day.”
“unfortunately.”
“your devotion moves me deeply.”
she rolled her eyes.
he grinned.
some things truly never changed.
and despite everything—
they had moments.
quiet ones.
sitting together high above the forest in companionable silence.
sharing meals late after clan meetings.
kxan gently fixing broken beads into her songcord because his fingers remained steadier than hers after long ceremonies.
once, years later, he pulled her away from heavy duties entirely just to show her a bioluminescent grove he discovered beyond omatikaya territory.
“it reminded me of you,” he admitted awkwardly.
ne’geza stared at the glowing flowers quietly.
“…why?”
“because it is beautiful and difficult.”
he regretted the honesty immediately.
she looked at him too long afterward.
not with romantic devotion.
not the consuming softness she once carried for neteyam.
something quieter.
older.
grateful perhaps.
and for kxan—
that alone was enough.
because he had loved her almost his entire life.
even when she belonged unknowingly to someone else.
eventually he became olo’eyktan.
strong.
steady.
far wiser than the reckless boy pulling braids beside rivers years ago.
the clan respected him deeply.
and when the time came for partnership before eywa—
it was ne’geza who stood beside him.
many celebrated it as inevitable.
they had survived everything together after all.
grown together.
bled together.
grieved together.
and ne’geza…
she accepted.
not from pressure.
not from duty alone.
but because somewhere along those long painful years, kxan became home in a different way.
not wildfire.
not soul-consuming devotion.
something steadier.
something human almost.
he knew the truth of it too.
knew there would always remain a sacred untouched place inside her belonging to neteyam.
sometimes, in ugly private moments he hated himself for it.
for resenting shadows.
for wondering briefly what it might feel like to be looked at the way she once looked at toruk makto’s son.
because no one else ever received that from her again.
not truly.
not even him.
yet he never blamed her for it.
how could he?
he had witnessed that love himself since childhood.
it would have been crueler if she forgot.
and despite everything—
she chose him.
she stood beside him before eywa willingly.
she placed her forehead against his during tsaheylu.
and during their union ceremony, beneath glowing trees and sacred chants, kxan saw something he had not witnessed in many many years.
ne’geza smiled.
fully.
small.
soft.
real.
his chest nearly broke from relief seeing it again.
he memorized the sight forever afterward.
their children came later.
two sons.
beautiful loud little things with endless energy and their father’s terrible habit of climbing where they should not.
ne’geza adored them immediately.
not loudly.
not extravagantly.
she was never overly affectionate after grief changed her.
but her love existed in devotion instead.
in brushing braids carefully before sleep.
in sitting awake beside fevers all night without complaint.
in quietly weaving tiny protective charms into their songcords while praying over each bead.
her sons worshipped her gently.
perhaps because even as children they understood their mother carried something sacred and sorrowful within her.
sometimes they found her beneath the spirit trees at night long after ceremonies ended.
kneeling silently before eywa.
listening.
always listening.
and every so often—
very rarely—
eywa answered.
through warmth.
through dreams.
through fleeting glimpses of golden eyes and familiar laughter moving somewhere beyond life itself.
neteyam remained with her that way.
not as an open wound anymore.
something deeper.
woven into her spirit permanently.
kxan understood this too.
one evening deep into adulthood, after their children had finally fallen asleep, he found ne’geza sitting beneath the marui entrance staring toward the glowing forest quietly.
he settled beside her wordlessly.
after a while, he spoke.
“…you saw him again.”
not a question.
she nodded once.
kxan looked outward toward the trees.
pain touched him briefly.
small.
old.
manageable now.
then he exhaled softly.
“good.”
ne’geza turned toward him slightly at that.
his ears flicked awkwardly.
“he worried too much about you to disappear completely.”
something fragile crossed her face then.
not grief.
not joy.
something gentler.
she leaned lightly against his shoulder afterward.
and kxan closed his eyes briefly.
because even if he had never been the first great love of her soul,
he had still been chosen to remain beside it.
this is me rn
