Ean-menari

Kiri looked up, wide-eyed at the sight of her soaking-wet brother and sister-in-law. “Tsmukan, tsmuke [Brother, sister]!” she said, getting up and running over to help Neteyam with his mate. But she had already leapt from his arms. 

“Tuk!” she screamed, wincing as she stumbled on her injured leg to get to his little sister. On her way there, she quickly fell over and started crawling instead. And Neteyam and Kiri went after her. 

“Mawey, tsmuke [calm down, sister]. Sit down,” Kiri said, putting her hands on her sister-in-law’s shoulders.

“She’s hurt. She got an arrow in her thigh,” Neteyam told Kiri while he put his hand on his mate’s back, pointing at the bandage on her leg.

“I heard. What happened? Mom said someone took her?”

Neteyam looked into his little sister’s confused eyes. And suddenly, he felt lost for words. He started stuttering: “I-it was the Mangkwan.”

“The Mangkwan …? What? What happened?”

“She was … He almos—” 

But his mate’s sobs interrupted him. “Tuk … I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, holding Tuk’s hand tightly in one hand while caressing her pale cheek with the other. 

Neteyam looked at Kiri again: “She’s been asking about Tuk all the way back. I-I didn’t know what to say. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Kiri said. “She’s okay. She’s just sleeping.” And both Neteyam and his mate let out a deep sigh of relief. 

“She looks so pale. I almost thought …,” Neteyam said, breath hitching in his throat. 

“No, no. She’ll pull through …  She lost a lot of blood, for someone so young, so she’ll need her rest … But she’ll be fine, Neteyam,” Kiri said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Neteyam looked at Tuk. She hadn’t seemed to stir one bit by his mate’s touch, nor her earlier cry. “She’s sleeping so deeply. Did you give her something?”

“No! No … It’s the blood loss and the sedative making her drowsy,” Kiri said, shaking her head. “That sedative is some real nasty business … If she’d gotten just a bit bigger dosage, she’d probably not have woken up again.”

Neteyam’s mate cried out again, distraught by the news of Tuk’s near-fatal injury. But Neteyam gasped. He’d remembered what he’d seen mingled in his mate’s blood in the glade, and by the little stream. And a quiet rage took him over. He put his hand on the back of his mate’s head. “He sedated her too … twice.” 

Kiri’s eyes widened. “Then you really need to sit down, tsmuke [sister]. How do you feel?” she said while she firmly pushed her sister-in-law away from Tuk, making her lean against a nearby box.

“I feel fine.”

“Do you still have a headache?”

“Y-yeah, a bit.”

“Get her some water, Neteyam. Over there,” Kiri said, pointing to the corner of the marui. And Neteyam got up immediately, hurrying over to the little pot of water and grabbing one of the cups sitting next to it. But he was still listening intently to his mate and his little sister from across the room as Kiri started her examination. She opened her sister-in-law’s eyes wide to look at her pupils, and snapped her fingers next to her ears to test her reflexes. “Looks good … You don’t feel anything else? No numbness in your body?”

“No … I told you I’m fine.”

“Okay, good. I think you were able to withstand it better … But Tuk shouldn’t have gotten that sedative in the first place. Not when she also lost so much blood. That’s why she got so sick from it …,” Kiri said, then she sighed. “Alright … Sit still now. I still need to look at your wound, tsmuke [sister],” Kiri continued and stretched out her sister-in-law’s leg so she could start examining it.

On the other side of the marui, Neteyam sat frozen, staring into the water in the pot in front of him while listening to Kiri’s verdict about his mate’s condition. He felt dizzy. He was still battered and bruised from the raid on the RDA base. And now he was exhausted, both from the raid and the subsequent long trek, when he’d been running through the forest to get to his mate in time. But he forced himself to hold on, adrenaline still pumping through his veins as he thought about everything that had just happened.

He remembered how his mate had looked in the cave: the panic that he had seen in her eyes, the pain that had shot through her head, and her screams and wails as the kidnapper had invaded her mind. And he remembered how he’d felt when he’d seen the kidnapper put his hands on her. Blind rage had taken him over. And a sort of tunnel vision had settled in, making him see red and removing any sort of restraint he’d had. And now, as he was staring at his weary face in the water, the mere thought of what the kidnapper would have done to his mate if he hadn’t made it in time still made his blood boil in a way it had never done before. 

As Kiri concluded that his mate was fine, Neteyam felt a small wave of relief, and he allowed himself a deep breath. Then he finally filled the cup he’d been clutching in his hand, got up, and started walking back with the water. But as he walked, he heard footsteps behind him, and Lo’ak entered the marui.

“Tuk!” Lo’ak exclaimed, running through the entrance on his way to his little sister. 

But Neteyam stopped his little brother in his tracks. He put a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder, looking deep into his terrified eyes. “She’s fine, she’s fine. She’s just sleeping,” he said. And his brother heaved a sigh of relief. “Kiri saved her …”

“… and grandma,” Kiri filled in, while Lo’ak made his way over to his little sister, putting a hand on her leg as he looked into her colourless face.

“Where is grandma? And Spider, where did he go, why isn’t he with you?” Lo’ak asked.

“Grandma’s at the lab with mom, looking after the warriors with Norm. She asked me to stay here to keep an eye on Tuk … And Spider went together with Tarsem to the RDA base to help sort out the loot, since you guys had gone,” Kiri answered as Neteyam sat down next to his mate, handing her the cup of water. 

Then Kiri started inspecting the wound. She carefully opened up the make-shift bandage on her sister-in-law’s leg, pulling off the leaves one by one. They’d stuck to her leg, glued on by the dried-up blood, and Kiri had to take it slow, so as to not open up the wound more than necessary. 

But as Kiri pulled off the leaf just above the wound, Neteyam’s mate gasped. And to keep her steady, he put a hand on her left thigh—right next to her empty holster. “Where’s your gun?” he asked.

His mate looked down—confused. “… I … I don’t know.”

“Did he take it?”

“I … I hadn’t even thought about it. I-I never use it. I never had to before.”

“Yeah … You never do,” Neteyam said, nodding. His mate did prefer her bow, much like himself. It was a remnant from their days in the forest together when they had first met: when he’d shown her how to hunt the Omatikayan way and she’d shown him how to stalk like a Mangkwan—and when they had first fallen in love, just sixteen years old. It seemed so long ago now. 

“But did he take it?” Neteyam asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see.”

“Did you see it, Lo’ak? Was it in the cave?”

“No. Not that I saw at least …”

“Did you see it on him, when you surrounded him? Did he have it in his bel—” Neteyam started, but his mate’s sudden heaving alarmed him, and he snapped his head back to look her in her eyes. They were wide open, full of fear and regret. She was panicking. “Ma yawne [beloved]. What’s wrong?”

She started stuttering. “I-if I hadn’t … If I hadn’t forgotten about it, I could have killed him. I could have saved her!” she cried out. And then she suddenly moved, wincing as she tried to stand up on her legs again, desperate to get out of the marui. 

“No! Sit still, tsmuke [sister]. You’re gonna open up the wound again,” Kiri said. 

“I need to talk to Neytiri,” Neteyam’s mate said. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault Tuk got hurt. If I’d only remembe—” 

“Are you crazy? It’s not your fault,” Kiri said, trying to keep her sister-in-law down.

And Neteyam shifted—immediately putting his hand on his mate’s chest, over her heart, while holding onto her shoulder to keep her seated. “Yawne, mawey [beloved, calm down].”

“No, I need to talk to Neytiri. I need to tell her I’m sorry.”

“Mawey [calm down]. Mom won’t be mad at you. It’s not your fault, ma yawne [beloved]. Now sit still. You need to rest.”

“No. I’m fine. I’m fine! Let me go!” she said, twisting her whole body to try to get out of his grip. 

“No, you’re not fine, yawne [beloved]. Please. You need to sit dow—”

“I told you I’m fine!” She snapped and slammed her hands against Neteyam’s chest to push him away. 

He flinched, grabbing her hands as he was moved back by her forceful shove. Quickly, he shifted again, ready to help Kiri hold her down again. But before his mate had stood up, she’d stopped short. And now she was staring at her hands, still pressed against his chest. Like she had suddenly realised something. Like she was suddenly uneased, almost disgusted, by something.

Neteyam looked down, following her gaze. And that’s when he first noticed them. He was still holding her hands gently in his own. And now he pulled them away from his chest, turning them around in his shaking hands, carefully inspecting the work of the kidnapper while his stomach lurched.

All around her wrists were red marks. Ropeburn—deep wounds from the restraints that had gnawed into her skin, with bits and pieces of the fibers still stuck in the drying blood. 

His heart ached. She must have fought so hard.

“… Ma yawne [beloved].”

When they also noticed the ropeburn, Kiri and Lo’ak gasped. And Kiri gave Neteyam a stern look. “What happened?”

“I told you I’m fine!” you snapped and slammed your hands against Neteyam’s chest to push him away. 

But you were not fine. Far from it.

The events of the day had shook you up. All the way down to your core. You were still shaking, still disoriented by all that you’d learned, all that you’d felt—and by what had almost happened.

Physically, you felt exhausted. Your head was foggy, quietly throbbing from the headache that was still lingering. And you felt an intense pain in your leg every time you tried to move it too much. However, physically, the pain wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that you could still feel Kìrey’s hands all over you, how his lips caressed your own, and the taste of his blood. 

It sent a cold shiver down your spine.

But it was still the “what ifs” that got to you the most: What if I hadn’t noticed the glint from mother’s tuner in the first place? you thought, cursing your hawk eyes. What if I had remembered my gun, before it had disappeared? you thought, ashamed by your carelessness and inaction. What if Neteyam hadn’t made it in time? you thought, and another cold shiver went down your spine.

… And what if Kìrey was right? 

As you looked at your hands, shoved forcefully against Neteyam’s chest, all you could think about was how you’d snapped at him—how you’d pushed him away and screamed at him—just for being kind to you, just for worrying about you. It struck a sour note in you. And you couldn’t help but wonder why. 

Why am I like this? 

But Neteyam’s sudden gasp woke you up from your musings. He’d grabbed your hands, and now he was holding them gently in his own as he studied them. You looked up at him. And his horrified expression made your stomach twist. 

Did Neteyam know? Did he hate the fire in you? 

But Neteyam wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at your wrists. You hadn’t even noticed it before. You hadn’t noticed how bad it burned and stung. But as Neteyam gently stroked the ropeburn with his thumb—mouth agape at the sight of it—you winced. 

“… Ma yawne [beloved].”

“What happened?” Kiri sternly asked Neteyam. But Neteyam didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at your hands, turning them over to inspect the deep wound. So Lo’ak answered instead, telling Kiri about what had happened to you and what he’d heard over the comms, while carefully leaving out the worst parts to spare his sister.

But you weren’t listening. You didn’t see how Kiri gasped and put her hand against her mouth. You didn’t see how her eyes watered as she looked back at you, having learned what you’d been up against and what had almost happened to you. 

You were looking up at Neteyam, meeting his sharp gaze: “I tried … I tried to get back to you.”

“I know, yawne [beloved]. I know …,” he said while caressing your cheek. Then he leaned forward, putting his forehead and nose against yours as he closed his eyes. “You fought so hard, ma yawne [beloved].” 

Your breath hitched. “I’m sorry … I couldn’t get away. I’m so sorr—”

But he hushed you, gently stroking the back of your head. His voice broke as he spoke: ”It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for, ma yawne [beloved].” 

Then he stopped stroking. For a moment, he held his breath while letting his forehead rest gently against your own. He clasped your hand with his and squeezed tightly. 

Then he let you go and gave your hands over to Kiri to inspect the ropeburn. “Please, can you fix it, Kiri?” he said, steadily and calmly. But his voice had an underlying tone. One that you would have only barely recognised, if it wasn’t for the kidnapping, and what had almost happened in the cave. But now, it was unmistakable. 

He was furious. 

“I can try. But this burn is deep …,” Kiri said, blinking away her tears while she inspected your wrists. “It’ll definitely leave a mark.”

Neteyam clenched his fist, pushing it down into his thigh where he sat, still staring at your wrists. He growled low, deep down in his throat. 

“Neteyam,” Lo’ak said, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. But it backfired.

And, suddenly, everything happened in quick succession, at an overwhelming speed that made your head spin in your exhausted state—right until the point where you broke. 

First Neteyam stood up, growling as he stepped away from you, saying something about “going after the bastard and killing him” as he darted towards the exit of the marui. But Lo’ak went after him, standing in his way to keep him from going after Kìrey. 

Then everybody entered at once. Jake came looking for his daughter, but found his enraged son instead and went over to him, putting his hands on Neteyam’s arms to help Lo’ak calm him down. And close behind him, Neytiri entered the marui.

When you saw your mother-in-law step in you felt a lump in your throat. You expected your failure to protect Tuk to be written all across her face where she stood, frozen at the entrance, holding your gaze in hers.

But then she smiled with relief, running over to pull you into a tight hug. “Maite [daughter]. You’re alright!”

“Sa’nok [mother] … I’m … I’m so sorr—” you started. But you never got the chance to finish your sentence. 

Because, finally, you saw your father step through the entrance. As he set his eyes on you, he whispered your name quietly and made his way over with a few quick, determined steps. Neytiri let you go and got up, giving your father space to sit down next to you. 

At first you were stunned. You didn’t know how to react to seeing him again, not after you’d calmed down, not after you were safe now. Instead, you watched as Neytiri went over to Neteyam. He was still distraught, trying to get out while his brother and his father blocked his way. But Neytiri pushed them aside and grabbed her son firmly, putting one hand on his heart and the other on his cheek. You saw him pause. And after a short moment, he leant into his mother’s touch, holding her hand tightly against his cheek, with a pained expression on his face. Faintly, you heard her whisper to him: “You did good, maitan [son]. You got her back.”

“Maite [daughter]?” your father said.

And as he lay a hand on your shoulder—to steady you, to keep you grounded, and to comfort—you suddenly woke up from your trance. And all the cinders that lurked in the hole in your chest flared up again. “You knew. You knew all along! Why didn’t you tell me?! She died for nothing!” you screamed at him, pounding hard at his chest to keep him away. 

But your father pulled you in closer, hugging you tightly and hushing you gently as he stroked the back of your head. “Ssh … Easy …,” he whispered. And at the sound of his deep voice—a voice that had been there to comfort you more times than you could count—the flame inside you quickly subsided and died out, replaced by your heaving sobs. 

“I’m sorry, maite [daughter]. I’m so sorry.”

“You knew all along, ma sempul [father]. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your father looked at you with regret in his eyes. “How could I? You were only ten when it happened, when I first learned about it. And when they found us again you were just sixteen …,” your father sighed, and you could see how his heart broke as he looked at you.

Two days after the kidnapping, as the sun set on the Omatikayan village, you and the Sullys were sitting in their marui together with your father, waiting for his explanation. Your father had wanted you close, making you sit between him and Neteyam. But you didn’t want to sit next to him. You were still angry with him for having lied to you all these years. And for pressing you when all you’d wanted to do was sleep.

After you’d been patched up by Kiri, your father had sat you down, alone, and made you recount what Kìrey had told you. But you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to relive the moment. All you wanted to do was forget about Kìrey: forget his touch, forget his smell, forget his eyes. And forget the venomous words that he’d whispered in your ear. But your father had told you that it was important for him to know, and that it was important for you to let it out—to not let it simmer inside you. “It’s better if you tell me now, maite [daughter]. Don’t wait,” he’d said. 

But afterwards you hadn’t gone back to your marui with him. Instead, you’d stayed in the healer’s tent with Kiri, sleeping next to Tuk. And Neteyam had stayed by your side the whole night and day, holding you tightly as you slept for hours on end. 

After you’d been saved and brought back to the village, Jake and your father had continued their plans for the aftermath of the raid: going to the RDA base to loot the weapons before the humans were able to mobilise again. And Neteyam should have been in charge of combing a section of the base. But he’d asked Tarsem to cover for him, just like he and Spider had done when Neteyam had run after your kidnapper. 

As could be expected, Jake had pressed his son about it. And he’d been unusually insistent, nagging Neteyam and telling him to take responsibility. But Neteyam had still said no. He’d wanted to stay with you. 

And he had barely left your side since the kidnapping.

Neteyam said that he blamed himself. During a particularly weak point, he’d started beating himself up about what had happened, saying that if he hadn’t suggested the stealth mission, maybe he could have kept a better eye on you and noticed when you were attacked. Then he could have gotten to you quicker—before Kìrey could get you to the cave … Or if he’d followed his instincts and gone after Kìrey instead of going to the meeting in the first place, then he could have killed him before he even got to you. 

Instead, he’d listened to his dad; he’d brushed it off and kept up with the plan. 

Always the loyal son.

But except for the occasional weak moment, Neteyam had mostly been quiet. He’d spent his time pacing around the marui, pondering, and fiddling with the occasional task. Sometimes, he’d had to leave the healer’s marui in an attempt at keeping up with his duties as the future olo’eyktan. But he’d quickly come back to you, too afraid to leave your side for too long lest you would disappear again. 

Throughout the two days, he’d also been taking care of you: letting you lean on him when you walked, fetching you water, and helping Kiri change your bandages. And when you’d woken up from your nightmares—whimpering and twisting around in your sleep until you suddenly screamed, having been back in Kìrey’s claws again—he’d comforted you. And he’d held you. Close. Always close.

But he hadn’t tried to kiss you. He hadn’t tried to touch you anywhere you didn’t want to, and he was always asking you for your consent whenever he needed to touch you. At first, you’d found it a bit strange. And when you had asked him why, he’d said that it was to let you have your space, to make sure that you got to rest and heal—and to make sure he didn’t overstep any boundaries. 

You were grateful for it. But at the same time, it made you feel uneasy.

Because you still remembered how he’d hesitated.

You’d barely talked to Neteyam about what had happened. You hadn’t told him what Kìrey had whispered in your ear about yourself. About that fire burning in your chest: I can feel it too, you know. The bloodthirst. The anger. Like a heat building up inside me … And I can smell it on you too. And you never told Neteyam that you’d realised that Kìrey had been right. For a long time, you’d been able to feel. The fire that had sparked. Burning brightly in your chest ever since you could remember—ever since your mother died. 

But you also suspected that it wasn’t just you that Kìrey had gotten to. Neteyam was also acting odd, seething with rage underneath his quiet exterior while he’d been performing his tasks around the marui. And you wondered if it was because of Kìrey. 

… Or if it was because of you. 

Was Neteyam really hurting, thinking about how long it took you to realise that you loved him? And you know why … right? It’s because of that fire inside her … 

But you didn’t say anything to Neteyam. You were simply too afraid to ask.

On that first quiet day after the kidnapping, and to everyone’s great relief, Tuk had also woken up. She’d been weak and pale—having had such a bad reaction to the sedative—but she’d still been overjoyed to see that they had found you. And, finally, you’d been able to apologise to Tuk for failing to protect her. However, she had quickly interrupted you, assuring you that she was fine, that she didn’t blame you, and that she was sorry too—for having failed to stop the kidnapper. 

But you didn’t accept anyone’s apology. No matter how much they tried to convince you and themselves of their failure, you assured them that you didn’t blame anyone for what happened to you. You didn’t blame Tuk for missing her shot. You didn’t blame Neteyam for ignoring the tracks he’d seen. And you didn’t even blame your father for having lied to you. 

Because, in the end, the reason why the Mangkwan had been tirelessly pursuing you since your mother’s death wasn’t because of some revenge for your father’s sake. It was because of you. It had always been because of you.

It was your fault.

“We were safe here, maite [daughter]. With the Omatikaya, with Toruk Makto. I thought that I could let you have a normal life here. A life where you didn’t have to look over your shoulder wherever you went. So I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to be scared … But you’re right. I should have told you when you got old enough to understand, so you knew to be on your guard.”

The marui was quiet while the Sullys waited for your response. But you stayed silent.

Next to you, Neteyam was staring blankly into the ground, trying to take a deep breath as he prepared himself for his question. And with a voice full of hatred, he asked: “Who is he?”

Your father stiffened. “He’s Varang’s nephew. He’s an orphan, so she probably raised him as her own … He was born not long before I left the Mangkwan for good. But his mother, Varang’s sister, died in childbirth,” your father answered. Then he closed his eyes, and a pained expression found its way across his face. “And I had to kill his father to get your mother out of the cages … I hadn’t known he was on guard duty. He was a good warrior. And a friend … I wish I hadn’t had to.”

Neteyam put his arm around your shoulder and clasped your hand tightly in his. Then he looked over at your father. His brow was furrowed in anger. “What does he want with her? Why single her out?”

Your father sighed again. “It has to do with the Mangkwan’s connection to fire … They worship it, like a deity, rejecting Eywa in favour of the fire’s destructive force. That’s why they wanted to kill my wife. To sacrifice her to the flames. To grow stronger.”

“I remember. You told us when you first arrived,” Jake said. And you could see the pain in his face as he recalled the memories of his old friend.

Your father nodded, then he turned to you. “And that’s also part of why Kìrey wants you, maite [daughter].” 

You nodded. You already knew. But Neteyam was listening intently. His eyes were focused on the canvas of the marui, staring into the abyss in front of him while squeezing your hand tightly.

Then your father shifted, putting his hands stiffly in his lap as he got ready to recount the story—to tell you and the Sullys of the memories that you never wanted to relive. “The day my wife died, we’d left the lab to go out into the forest. Your mother was giving you your lessons, showing you the life of Pandora,” your father said, turning to you again and shifting his expression into a small smile. “You always loved it when she was teaching you. You soaked up every word … But I had strayed. I was too busy hunting. And I hadn’t noticed the signs. 

“They’d come for us.

“When I finally caught up, your mother had been fleeing with you, trying to get you to safety. But they’d caught her, and cornered you up against a cliff, right by the riverside. I managed to get in between, to stop them from getting to you too. 

“But Varang had already seen you. 

“And she said that—in you—she’d finally seen what your mother’s fire was able to do with the Mangkwan blood. She’d seen your reaction to them capturing your mother. ‘A ferocious little thing,’ she called you. And she said that she’d decided against killing you too … Instead, she would strengthen the bloodline of the ayolo’eyktan [clan leaders] with the essence of fire itself.” 

For a moment, your father paused. He tilted his head down and closed his eyes. And, barely audible under his breath, he recounted Varang’s words: “So she said she’d gift you to the future olo’eyktan … Kìrey … when he turned sixteen.”

As he held you, Neteyam was still quietly staring into the canvas of the marui. But you could also feel him squeezing your shoulder hard, his fingers almost digging into your skin. 

Across the marui, you heard Tuk gasp and when you looked up you saw her put one hand over her mouth and the other on her stomach. Her face was still so pale. She hadn’t really gotten over the effect of the sedative yet, and Kiri and Neytiri held her gently as she tried not to throw up. 

Likewise, your stomach was also in a knot, as you thought about Kìrey’s pet name for you: Stxeli oeyä [my gift]. 

“You were just kids,” your father continued. “You didn’t know what was happening, and what Varang really intended … But I saw Kìrey standing behind Varang. And I saw the way he looked at you … I remember how the kids of the clan used to look, when they watched the bodies burn on the pyre. And he had the same mesmerised look in his eyes.

“Your mother screamed for us to run, for me to take you away so Varang couldn’t get you too,” your father said. Then he grabbed your hand and looked deep into your eyes. You could see how close he was to tears. “I swear, maite [daughter], I wanted to stay. I wanted to save her … But I saw it. I saw the bright light in the distance, and your mother’s avatar flickering in and out of consciousness. And I realised it was too late. She’d held on for as long as she could to flee with you, to make sure that you were able to escape, and then to plead with me to save you. 

“When I saw that the light had fully left your mother’s eyes, I picked you up. And I turned towards the river … And I jumped.”

Quietly, you looked around the marui. You saw Kiri and Neytiri mouthing something about being sorry. You saw Lo’ak turning his gaze down towards the ground. You saw Spider nervously biting his lip and Jake’s ears bending down. And you saw Tuk trying to hold back her tears, while still trying not to hurl.

But you kept staring into the ground, trying not to listen. To not have to relive the memories. 

“I went back afterwards, when I knew it was safe,” your father continued. “But she hadn’t gotten out in time. She hadn’t survived the fire.” 

“She sacrificed herself … She saved you,” Kiri said quietly. And your father nodded solemnly in response. 

Then, for the first time since the kidnapping, and without asking, Neteyam pressed his lips against your temple. He let them rest there, breathing in the sweet smell of your hair while you shut your eyes hard, trying not to break under his touch. 

But then he suddenly let go and leaned forward instead, looking down into your eyes with a confused look upon his face. “When we came back, when we were sitting in the healer’s marui, you said your mother died for nothing … What did you mean?”

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to reiterate what Kìrey had told you. 

You looked at your father. He readied himself again, shifting his position awkwardly as the memories of the times with his old clan caught up to him. “Me and Varang were supposed to be mated …,” your father said. And Jake and Neytiri exchanged a worried look. “Back then I was considered a good warrior. On my way to being one of the warlords of the clan. And out of all of us—Wukula, Riku, Angho, and many more—she’d set her eyes on me …”

Your father turned his eyes towards the ground, with a downcast look upon his face. “But I didn’t want to be tied to her. I didn’t love her.”

You’d never really thought about it before, but your father was indeed a handsome man. He was strong and dependable, but with a soft, poetic side to him that made him trustworthy. He wasn’t much older than Neytiri, so the signs of his experience were mostly readable in his old scars and in the few animal bones and teeth that were still buried in his skin or tied to his long, black hair: one of which you knew to be a small bone from the dreaded palulukan [thanator]. 

Throughout the years, you’d noticed how the women of the different clans you’d visited—the Tlalim, the Ni’awve, the Tipani, and the Omatikayan clan itself—had looked at him. If he’d wanted to, he could have probably found himself a new mate among them, seeing as he still had most of his life to live. But he’d never done anything about the looks he’d gotten. 

He was still loyal to your mother.

“After a raid, I usually went out into the forest, trying to stay away as much as I could to hope that Varang’s eyes fell on someone else. So that I might be released from the obligation of becoming her mate … And one day, I found your mother …”

“…‘and Varang flipped out,’” you filled in. Neteyam snapped his head towards you, looking at you intently, prompting you to finally explain: “That’s what he told me … He said Varang killed my mother because of jealousy.”

“Jealousy? So … it’s just some old lover’s quarrel?” Neytiri asked. 

Your father sighed: “It’s a messy business … A messy clan.  But from what you told me earlier, maite [daughter], I don’t think Kìrey has the whole picture …

“The Mangkwan think that Varang is fire incarnate. But when I saw your mother that day in the forest, I realised what real fire was, and it isn’t Varang … And, safe to say, she did not take it well when I showed up with your mother. 

“You see, I think that she saw your mother as a sort of rival to her power, someone the clan would worship instead of her. Which meant that her position as a leader, and this whole legend she’d built up around her, was suddenly threatened.” 

“And that’s why she wanted to kill Gabby …? To squash her competition?” Jake asked. 

Your father nodded. “You’ve got to understand that at that point in time, her role was a bit more unclear. It was early on in her leadership, at a point when her power over the clan could still be broken. But now it’s so cemented … I don’t think anything can break it now.”

The marui went quiet as you all pondered the mess that was the Mangkwan clan and their twisted beliefs. 

Then Tuk suddenly piped up. Her voice was still hoarse and weak, and she carefully cleared her throat before asking: “So they think she’s made of fire? Like her mom? Just because of how she looks?”

Your father hummed. “Yes. I do believe that Varang, after a certain amount of time, started believing in her own lies: that my wife really was the essence of fire that would strengthen their flame. That’s why Varang kept hunting her, even after we had left … But, in reality, ‘ite oeyä [my daughter] doesn’t have anything to do with fire,” your father said while Jake nodded in agreement. Then your father put a hand on your shoulder, looking into your eyes again. “And neither did your mother. That’s just what they believe. And so did I, when I first saw her … But your mother told me how it works. It’s just a coincidence, maite [daughter].” 

You remembered it too: what your mother had explained whenever she and your father told you their story. How the scientists had accidentally spilled some extra human genes in your mother’s “avatar soup.” And for most of your life, that’s what you believed: that it had all been a coincidence. But, now … Now you weren’t so sure. Because you still had a question that was gnawing at your brain, chipping away at you slowly.

If it was just a coincidence, then why did you have all this anger, this fire, inside you?

Your father looked down in shame. “When we had you, maite [daughter], we thought that you would be safe from my old clan and their beliefs. We never thought that Varang would see you as a threat, like your mother. And we definitely didn’t think that she’d see you as something that she could use, something to control the narrative with, while still keeping her clan in her iron first.” Then your father turned to you again. He looked you deep in your eyes, with his shame and regret plastered on his face. “I’m so sorry, maite [daughter]. I never wanted you to get hurt. I never wanted you to inherit our failures, our misery … I’m so, so sorry.” 

But while your father apologised to you, you felt Neteyam stir where he was sitting, and a quiet almost inaudible growl rumbled in his chest. And when your father finished, Neteyam suddenly lashed out: “If you don’t want her to get hurt, then why didn’t you kill him in the cave, Tao’? You had him right there. Why did you hesitate?”

Neteyam’s words seemed to shoot through your father’s heart like a volley of arrows. Your father quickly averted his gaze, looking down at his hands, clenching them tightly. 

And you noticed it: the shaking.

You’d only seen your father falter two other times in your life: First, when your mother died, killed by Varang as she revealed her plans to get to you too. And, secondly, when he’d set his eyes on Kìrey tracking you through the undergrowth of the forest after your second home was attacked. When he’d realised that Varang’s threat had indeed become a reality.

And now, you added a third time to the list of your father’s falterings: when Kìrey had almost gotten his hands on you permanently. 

Because you realised that—in the cave, as he’d gotten ready to execute Kìrey—your father hadn’t hesitated. 

He’d missed.

“I failed,” your father said quietly. And Neteyam clenched his jaw.

Then your father suddenly looked up at Jake and the rest of the Sullys, with something desperate in his eyes. “I’m sorry, we should have never come here. We shouldn’t have put this burden—my failure—on you: the Omatikaya.”

“Tao’, you needn’t apologise, it’s—,” Jake said, but your father cut him off.

“I think it’s time, maite [daughter],” your father said, looking down at you.

And, slowly, you nodded. You knew what he meant.

“Wait … Wait, what are you saying?” Jake asked.

“I’m saying … That me and ‘ite oeyä [my daughter] have overstayed our welcome. That we have to leave.”

You felt Neteyam stiffen, and his hand squeezed your shoulder again as he desperately searched for your gaze. But you kept your eyes steady on the ground. You had nothing to say against your father’s decision. 

After a while, Neteyam gave up his search. And he looked to the wall of the marui again, staring into the very fibers of the canvas. He was listening carefully. Contemplating.

Jake, however, immediately started arguing with your father, passionately trying to get his second-in-command, and now friend, to stay. “You can’t just leave. If we’re gonna keep the RDA at bay, I need all the help I can get with the war … I need your help, Tao’ … We’ll find Kìrey. We’ll find him and we’ll kill him. Before he can do any more harm.”

Neytiri agreed wholeheartedly. 

But your father didn’t budge: “And what then? You think Varang will just let you kill off Kìrey and do nothing? If she hears that Toruk Makto has killed off her nephew she’ll want revenge. And she’ll not only go after me and ‘ite oeyä [my daughter], she’ll go after you too. She’ll go after the whole clan!”

“Then we’ll fight her too! We’ll go to the Mangkwan, to their homeland. And we’ll take her out before she can react,” Neytiri said, hellbent on finding and killing the ones who did this to her daughters.

Your father shook his head. “Their base is too far away. And it’s a wasteland, Neytiri, they’ll see you coming a mile away … And, in any case, it might just be a matter of time before Kìrey realises he can work together with the RDA to get to us,” your father sighed. “You can’t fight on two fronts Jake …”

“Then we’ll need your help more than anything, Tao’! You know how the Mangkwan work. You know how they operate. If we’re gonna survive this, we’ll need you her—”

“When do we leave?” Neteyam interrupted his dad. He turned his head, and looked at his father-in-law, who stared back blankly at him.

Jake and Neytiri were stunned.

“… Neteyam?” Jake whispered.

Neteyam turned to meet his fathers eyes. Determination seeped through in his gaze.

He’d already made his decision.

You, Neteyam, and Kìrey. Somehow, your fates were intertwined, sealing themselves to each other when your father had saved you from Kìrey when you were sixteen, and then taken you to the Omatikaya, where you’d been thrown into the arms of Neteyam. And now, you and Neteyam had to figure out how to deal with your fate. This looming threat that was hovering over you.

For Neteyam, it seemed like the answer was obvious. You’d deal with it together, facing the future and whatever it held in store for you as mates. Side by side. And he’d made his decision without hesitating.

But you had needed time to think. Your thoughts had been all jumbled in your mind, and it had been hard to sort through them all. But when evening closed in on the third day, you had also finally made your decision. 

After Neteyam had declared his intentions to leave together with you and your father—never to return to the Omatikaya again—you’d seen how his family had taken the news. And they had not taken it well. 

Right after your father had told his story and headed back to your marui, Jake had cornered Neteyam outside of their marui, trying desperately to convince him to stay. And Neytiri had soon joined her husband, shaking with anger to her very core, wanting to go after the stranger and kill him. But despite his parent’s pleas, Neteyam was still unyielding in his decision. And you’d heard him echo your father’s arguments. It was better this way, Neteyam had said.

And on the third day after the kidnapping, when it had become clear to them that Neyeam wasn’t joking, his siblings had been equally distraught, trying to convince both you and him to stay. Lo’ak had been angry, arguing along the same lines as his mother. And Neteyam had had to take him outside to try to calm him down, while Spider and Kiri had remained together with you and Tuk in the healer’s marui, trying to convince you to stay. “You shouldn’t be alone in this, it’s too dangerous,” Kiri had argued. But you’d assured her that you’d be fine.

In the meantime, Tuk had just been quiet. She’d been staring at the ground, still unable to react to what was happening. You’d tried to explain why you had to go. But she’d just nodded. And when you’d hugged her, she’d hugged you back tightly. And you thought she’d never let go.

So, in the end, although your friends had tried their best to convince you to stay, you were just as unyielding in your decision as Neteyam was. 

But there was still something gnawing at your mind. One final decision that had to be made. And it was far from easy.

Throughout the past three days, you’d seen how the kidnapping had affected Neteyam. You’d been studying the way he walked now, and the way he talked. And you didn’t like it one bit. 

Before, Neteyam had always been calm. He’d always been able to assess his emotions before letting them out, preferring to solve his problems using his words before he’d think about using his muscles. But this. This was different. Seeing you in Kìrey’s clutches seemed to have changed him in a way you were almost scared of. In his eyes you saw a rage that hadn’t been there before. And seeing him seething as he walked around the camp reminded you of how he’d looked in the cave, as he’d screamed in Kìrey’s face. 

And you realised that you’d never seen him this angry before.

You didn’t want him to have to live in rage, throwing away all his loved ones just for you. If you did that to him, you’d never be able to live with yourself. 

And so, your final decision had cemented itself in you, deep in your bones, while also breaking your heart. Because you’d realised that what you’d promised Neteyam that day years ago in the aviary, and last week in the cave, really wasn’t true at all: you did not in fact have all the time in the world. Not anymore. 

Because you had to leave. 

Without Neteyam.

After having talked to your father about it, you’d both decided that you wouldn’t make it harder on yourselves or the Sullys than you needed to. You’d leave tonight, under the cover of darkness, without saying a word to anyone.

Thankfully, you were ready for flight again, since you were almost able to walk on your leg without limping. With the help of Kiri’s medicine, your leg had healed faster than you’d expected, and Neteyam had even started to let you walk by yourself, stumbling along on your wounded leg next to him. 

So on that third evening after the kidnapping, while Neteyam was busy trying to settle things before leaving with you, you’d gone to your marui to prepare, packing up what few possessions you’d be able to carry with you while steeling yourself, and your heart, for what you had to do. 

But sorting through eight years of your life was hard work. Especially when every little thing held so many memories of your life—of Neteyam. And you fought hard not to break as you put the things you couldn’t keep to the side.

“What are you doing?” 

Startled, you looked behind you, and you saw Neteyam standing there, leaning against one of the poles by the entrance, studying you with a smile on his face. You hadn’t even noticed he’d approached your marui. 

“I’m … I’m just sorting through my stuff. Trying to pack.” 

“Wow, you’re on the ball …,” Neteyam laughed as he stepped into your marui. “Your father said we’re not going to leave for another week.” 

“I know. I’m just …” 

But you didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to fib your way out of it this time. And before you could come up with a sufficient lie, Neteyam had heard your voice breaking and hurried over to you.

“What, ma yawne [beloved]? What’s wrong?” he asked as he crouched down next to you. You looked up at him and met that sharp, golden gaze of his. The one that meant that you were loved, and that you were safe.

How could I ever be without him?

“What is it?” he pressed. 

And when he suddenly put his hand on the back of your head, slowly stroking your hair, you felt your walls break all around you. “It’s all my fault. I could have stopped it. I could have told you,” you said.

“Told me what?” he asked. Then he sighed. “Is this about the gun again? Ma yawne [beloved], you can’t keep beating yourself up abou—”

“No. No, it’s not that … I knew.” 

Neteyam’s brows furrowed. “Knew what?” 

“Before the opsync [operations synchronisation], when you came back from the hunt … My father knew—I knew—that it was a Mangkwan who had left the tracks. If I’d only said something then, then maybe Tuk would have been fine. If I hadn’t lied to you, maybe we’d already killed him.”

You expected an answer, or at least a movement. But next to you, Neteyam sat quiet and still, deep in thought. And it looked like something was bothering him.

You got a sinking feeling in your stomach. “What is it, ma Neteyam?” you asked, waking him up from his ponderings with a start.

“Nothing, ma yawne [beloved]. I just … I thought it was familiar,” Neteyam answered.

“What?”

“The gait … When I came back from the hunt, I thought I recognised the way your father walks. And now I know why: it was the same as the tracks that I’d seen—the ones Kìrey had left. They have the same type of stride … Kind of like yours too. Confident … Mangkwan.”

“I’m not like them,” you snapped at him. But when he put his hands up in front of his chest to try to calm you down, you recoiled almost immediately, realising what you were doing a moment too late. You looked down in shame. “Please … don’t compare me to him, Neteyam.”

“No …! No, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant … I only meant that I could have seen it too. I could have said something too … It’s my fault, ma yawne [beloved],” he sighed.

But you shook your head. “It’s not. I told you: it’s me they want. You have nothing to do with it … Father’s right. I have to leave, before anything worse happens.”

Neteyam hummed and looked down at the ground. And, carefully, he picked up one of the items you had discarded, put to the side for you to never see again. “Is that why you’re packing now? Are we leaving early, ma yawne [beloved] …? Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, with a small and confused smile on his lips.

But you didn’t have to answer him. It had already dawned on him mid-sentence. And his smile slowly turned into a stunned stare, eyes wide, breath quickening. He’d already started panicking.

“Wait … You’re leaving without me?”

You didn’t know what to say. You turned your gaze down.

“Why?” Neteyam pressed, trying to wake you up from your trance. His lower lip shook as he drew in a quick breath. “Why, ma yawne [beloved]?”

But you still didn’t answer. Instead you tried and failed to get back to your chore, staring blindly at the object in your hand.

You ignored him.

“No … No! Don’t you dare!” he suddenly snapped at you. 

Then he quickly stood up and stepped away, one hand over his eyes and the other on his hips. He was shaking. And you saw his tail flick as he clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself together.

You stood up as well. “Dare what?”

“Don’t you dare push me away!” he cried out, turning around to look you in the eyes. And you could see the desperation in them, shining through in that same sharp, golden gaze. 

You tried to keep calm. “I’m sorry, Neteyam.”

“No! No, not again! You can’t do this again! Don’t you dare leave without me!”

“I have to, Neteyam.”

“Why, yawne [beloved]?! Tell me why at least!” 

“Because I can’t let you throw away your life, Neteyam!”

“Throw awa—,” he started saying before he was stunned into silence. And for a moment, he was just standing there, as if he was unable to believe what he’d heard. But then he kept going, outraged by your insinuation: “Throw away my life …? What are we to you, really? Is this just some game to you …? You are my life!”

You froze, equally stunned by his words as they sliced through your heart. And at the sight of your shocked face, Neteyam took a deep breath, quickly calming down and stepping closer.

He took your hands in his. “We’re mated, ma yawne [beloved] … I should be with you. To be there to protect you.”

But suddenly your blood boiled, and you pulled your hands out of his grip: “You don’t have to take care of me. I can take care of myself. I don’t need your protection, Neteyam.” 

“No … You don’t. I know you don’t. You’ve made that clear through all these years,” he said, still trying his best to keep calm. “But this is different. I just need to know you’re safe … If you won’t take me with you, then please stay, ma yawne [beloved].”

You shook your head. “He’ll still be hunting me. If he finds High Camp …” 

“If he shows his face here, I’ll kill him,” he said, with that fulminating under-the-surface rage that hadn’t left him since the kidnapping. 

“And if he brought his clan? If they find our warriors and follow them home …? And what if the RDA finds him? What if they follow him here? What then …?” 

He stood silent, he knew he couldn’t argue against your father’s reasons for leaving. 

“You can’t protect me, Neteyam. Not against this … I … Sempul’s [father’s] right … I have to leave,” you said, bending down to try to get back to packing your things.

But Neteyam was still adamant. “Then I’m coming with you!”

“No. You aren’t.”

“I’m not going to let you leave without me! There’s a crazy psycho after you! A fucking nutjob who thinks you’re supposed to be his mate! What the fuck do you think I’d do, just let you go out there alone?”

“I’m not alone. I have sempul [father].”

“And he missed! He couldn’t kill him even when he was right in front of him!”

“And you could?”

“Yes!”

“You had your knife to his throat, Neteyam. And he still squirmed out of your grasp …,” you said, turning around to look your mate in his eyes. 

He quieted and gritted his teeth. And you regretted your words immediately; you saw how they stung in him. “I won’t let him get away next time …,” he whispered.

You sighed. “This is pointless … You know just as well as me that you can’t come, Neteyam.” 

“Why not?”

“Your family. The clan. They need you, Neteyam. You’re the next olo’eyktan for Eywa’s sake, you can’t just leave!”

“I can do what I want. They can’t stop me … I love you, ma yawne [beloved]. I’m staying with you. No matter what.” 

“So you’re just gonna leave them? Your family? Kiri and Spider? Lo’ak?”

“They’ll be fine without me. They have mom and da—”

“Tuk?” 

He flinched. One moment’s hesitation. 

And, for you, that was enough.

He gathered himself again. “Lo’ak will take care of her … from now on,” he said calmly. But you could still hear something in his voice. Something constricting, making the words hard to get out. “Please, ma yawne [beloved], let me come with you. Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

But you’d already made your decision: “Okay.”

He lit up. A relieved smile spread across his face. 

Then he stepped forward, taking you in his arms. At first, he held you tight. And then you felt him relax as all the tension left his body now that he knew that you wouldn’t leave him. 

He buried his nose in your hair, smelling your scent. “When do we leave?” he asked.

“Sempul [father] says at first light,” you lied.

“Sounds good … Then our family can say goodbye before we leave.”

“Yeah.”

At first, he put his lips to your forehead, pressing them hard against you. Then he slowly leaned down, careful in his approach, letting you reach up to meet him half-way. And for the first time since the incident, he put his lips against yours. And you never wanted the kiss to end.

You never wanted to forget the way his lips felt against yours.

Never wanted to forget the taste of him. 

Never wanted to let him go.

And then he let go.

“I’ll go pack my things … Are you coming over once you’re done? I’d like to sleep in my family’s home tonight, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yes, I can come over.”

“Good,” he said. And he smiled. “I’ll see you in a little while then, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then he turned around and disappeared behind the corner of your marui. Hurrying back to get ready in time. 

You stepped forward, gazing after him as he bounded towards his marui, on his way to say goodbye to the people who meant the most to him.

More than I ever could.

When he walked up to the marui, his family stood up to greet him, and you saw him explain that he was leaving earlier than expected. When he finished, Tuk finally broke down, throwing herself into her big brother’s arms. He hugged his little sister, rocking her gently from side to side. You could hear her sobs all the way to your marui. 

And with your heart too busy breaking, you didn’t notice that Lo’ak was studying the look upon your face from where you stood. He squinted his eyes slightly.

That night, you and Neteyam lay in each other’s arms in the Sully’s marui. When you’d gone to bed, he’d held his arms around you tightly, making sure that you were still there with him. But once he’d drifted off to sleep, you’d felt his grip lighten and you knew that it was time.

You hadn’t fallen asleep in the first place. And now that Neteyam was sleeping so soundly next to you in the hammock, surrounded by the people who loved him, you made your move. You carefully crawled out of Neteyam’s grip, got out of the hammock and stood up. You’d practiced the manoeuvre before, during the past sleepless nights when you’d crawled out of his arms and gone off to sit alone—to think, and to cry. And then you’d returned, to curl up safely in his arms again. 

But you wouldn’t return now. Not this time.

You looked down at him. He was sleeping on his side with one arm spread out in front of him, having just served as your pillow. His braids billowed down his back, and a few of them had left the usual tidiness of his slicked-back hair, falling down over his face together with his feather and beads. He was breathing slowly and calmly, mouth half open, eyes flickering and twitching as he dreamt. He looked so peaceful.

Really, it was ironic. Eight years ago, you’d begged your father for you to leave because of Neteyam. And now, when you had to leave, your heart broke into a million pieces knowing that you would never see him again. 

Afraid that a second glance at Neteyam would convince you to reconsider your decision, you turned around and quickly grabbed your things. And then you snuck away, out of the marui and into the night.

As you got to the aviary, your father was already there, waiting for you with your guitar in its casing and the strings pulled together tightly by a rope. He watched you as you approached, and with a small and pained smile on his face he handed you your guitar. You grabbed it gently. And you studied it, looking at the strings that Neteyam had made for you, and the tuners that had once been your mother’s.

How come this one thing had suddenly become the symbol of everything you’d lost?

You called for Tiram. She landed with a quiet cry, annoyed at being woken up in the middle of the night. But you hushed her gently as you put on her saddle and strapped the guitar to it, making sure it wouldn’t fall. And all the while, you fought hard against your tears, refusing to let them take you.

When you were done, you connected to Tiram and jumped up on the saddle. Next to you, your father had done the same. He looked at you and gave you a curt nod. Then he waited for you to do the same—to let him know that you were ready.

But as you drew in a deep breath, readying yourself to give your father the signal, you were stopped by a voice behind you. 

“Are you really gonna leave without him?”

You and your father both snapped your heads back. And you saw Lo’ak standing at the entrance to the aviary, leaning against a tall rock, having followed you through the night. He came over and put his hand on Tiram, holding her kuru gently while he looked up at you, waiting for an explanation.

But you looked down, avoiding his gaze.

 “He will never forgive you for this … You know that, right?”

“I know …,” you whispered. And when you met Lo’ak’s concerned eyes, a tear had finally broken through your walls, falling down your cheek slowly. “But he needs you … He needs you all.”

For a moment, Lo’ak just stared at you. You saw him squint his eyes and bite his lip. Then he finally seemed to understand. 

He nodded.  

He let go of Tiram and took a step back. And you mouthed a quiet “thank you” to him. 

Then you turned your head and gave your father a curt nod. 

As dawn broke, Lo’ak was sitting outside his family’s marui, waiting for his brother to wake up. The camp was still quiet. Only a few people of the Omatikaya had woken up, going about their early-morning chores as the sun shone with its soft light through the holes in the cave. 

Behind him, Lo’ak finally heard stirring. He heard a soft gasp and the rustling of one of the hammocks. Then barely audible footsteps hurrying towards the entrance to the marui. 

Neteyam leapt out, rushing past Lo’ak. He stopped short a few steps outside of their marui, looking around him, searching for his mate among the thin crowd of early risers. He seemed disoriented and tired, having woken up just a few seconds ago. But he’d still immediately leapt into action. 

As Neteyam turned around, his eyes fell on Lo’ak. And a surprised look spread across his face. “Hi, bro … How long have you been up?”

Lo’ak shrugged. “For a while …”

“Haven’t been able to sleep?”

Lo’ak shook his head.

Neteyam nodded. Then he cleared his throat, trying to act casual in front of his little brother. “Hey, by the way … Have you se—”

But when Lo’ak looked up into his eyes, Neteyam quieted. Then Lo’ak slowly shook his head at his big brother.

“No …,” Neteyam gasped. “No.”

Neteyam ran, hurrying towards the aviary as fast as he could. And Lo’ak got up to follow. But he didn’t rush. As he walked towards the aviary, he saw his brother dash inside. He heard Neteyam’s whistle, the flapping of wings, and the thud as his brother’s ikran landed, having been called by its rider. But Lo’ak never heard the swish through the air.

When he walked inside, he saw his brother standing by the opening to the cave, his kuru already connected to his ikran, ready to jump up and fly out after his mate. But Neteyam had stopped short. He stood frozen by the edge of the cliff, staring out into the vast distance below him as the sun slowly rose from behind the horizon.

Lo’ak walked up next to him, and looked over at his brother’s blank expression. “She’s long gone, Neteyam … You can’t find her now.”

“I know …,” Neteyam answered. But then he suddenly flinched, gritting his teeth as a pained expression fell across his face. He pressed his hand to his chest, firmly grasping for his heart, like he was trying to hold the pieces of it together. 

And as Lo’ak put a hand on his shoulder, his brother drew in a heavy breath. “I waited for her for eight years. And now she left me … again.”

extra a/n: I’ve been debating what to do in this part of the story for like two months. I’ve thought of many different scenarios that could maybe play out. And different ways to get to where I want to go. But in the end, I felt like this was a more natural way for it to play out. 

With the pain still roaring like thunder in your head, it took you longer than you would have liked to admit to register what the question really implied. But when it dawned on you, you immediately recoiled from his arms, looking up at your captor: the Mangkwan man.

Soft eyes staring into yours, and confused furrowed brows.

But the sudden movement sent a new wave of searing pain through your skull, splitting it in two again, making you lose all control. You shut your eyes and screamed out loud as you fell backwards. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed at you, catching you before your head hit the rock behind you. He held you gently—like you were about to break. 

“Mawey, stxelì oeyä [Be calm, my gift],” he hushed as he placed you against the mossy surface of the rock. “Don’t move. You need to rest.” 

But you didn’t hear a word he said. Fear had taken you over, sending a wave of adrenaline through your body, helping it wake up from its paralysis. Defiantly, you tried to move again, to get out of his grip. But every little writhing of your body sent a new wave of pain through your head, and all you could do was whimper helplessly where you lay.

“That headache’s a real pain, huh …? I’ll get you some water,” the man said while removing a stray strand of hair that had fallen in your eye. 

Then he left your side.

You blinked furiously, working through the pain to open your eyes again so you could see where you were.

You were in a cave. A small and enclosed hollow underneath what must be a larger rockface above you, angled down from the floor of the undergrowth the deeper it went. At the bottom of the cave, a small pool of water had formed, as the rain that was pouring down outside had slowly trickled down the mossy ground. 

And it was bright: bioluminescent plants were littered all around, lighting up the walls and the ground around you, where rocks of many sizes were strewn about, moss slowly climbing up them. You looked up at the smooth ceiling and saw how the plants had made their way up there as well. Vines hanging down, flowers in full bloom—flowers with dusty pink petals that curved steeply into the middle, where blue stamens protruded.

This cave would have been beautiful to stay in for the night … if you weren’t so scared.

You looked for an exit. And you saw two. One larger and one smaller, only about twenty feet between them. Big leaves—swaying by the smattering of raindrops—were growing in and out of the cave, obscuring both entrances, making this a neat little hidey-hole. 

Surprised by the amount of feeling you’d gotten back thanks to the adrenaline, you shifted your body to get up to your feet and run. But when you tried to put your hands down to lift yourself up, they were stopped an inch from the ground by a rope that trailed up behind you, fastened to the rock you were leaning against. And when you looked down, you saw that your hands were tied together by your wrists.

Then thunder rumbled over the skies outside—and also in your head.

You closed your eyes and whimpered. 

And in one swift movement—making you wince even more—a hand reached out, cupped your chin, and leaned your head up to put something close to your face. “Open up.”

As the smell of freshly fallen water found your nose, you realised how thirsty you were. And you drank greedily from the leaf that he put to your lips—angling it upwards and letting the water fall into your open mouth while his thumb slowly stroked your chin. “That’s a good girl,” he said softly. “You’ll still have that headache for a while, but if you keep drinking it’ll go away soon.”

When your body finally got what it was craving so badly, your headache started easing up, and you were finally able to open your eyes again, blinking furiously as you got used to the low light of the cave.

And you saw him again. The same man that had felled you, sedated you, and carried you off with him: A soft, handsome face—gentle but sharp, with a clear jawline and high cheekbones. His ruffled dark hair fell in layers down his neck and curled up towards his jaw, with the same black nantang [viperwolf] fangs tied to the hair behind his ears. 

And those golden eyes, shining brightly behind his unkempt bangs as he watched your throat work, taking big gulps of the water he’d offered you. There was still something so strangely familiar about those eyes: a certain glint that you thought you recognised.

When you finished, he put the leaf next to him and sat down—making himself more comfortable as he looked into your eyes. And this time he wasn’t staring at you wide-eyed like before, following your every move, like a predator having finally caught up to its prey, ready to pounce. This time his eyes were relaxed and comfortable—pleased even. Like he could already taste his next meal.

And when you looked closer, there was something else hiding behind them—not that familiar glint that you’d recognised before, but something long-settled and certain. 

Something you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

He smiled sweetly, almost fondly, as he looked at you. And when he finally spoke again he sounded regretful—and honestly so: “I’m sorry for causing you so much pain, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. But I promise I won’t give you any more of the nectar. It already did its job perfectly.” 

With the water flowing through your body, you felt yourself gaining full control over it again as a new wave of adrenaline surged through you, spurred on by fear.

You moved—trying to twist around against the rock so you could get your feet down and pull at your bindings to get free. But a new sensation made you stop short before you could even turn around fully: a searing pain in your thigh from where the arrow had left a deep wound. 

As you let out a loud yelp, you suddenly saw movement in your periphery, and when you looked up your eyes popped open wide as you stared into the face of the stranger in front of you. Having noticed the panic rapidly rising up in you, he’d gotten closer and gently put his hand on your chest to try to steady your heart. 

“Mawey, tsyeyem oeyä [Be calm, my treasure],” he hushed, and then he slowly pushed you back into the mossy rock behind you. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. You don’t have to run … With that leg, you won’t get far anyway.”

He smiled sweetly at you. And you felt confused. 

If he really was Mangkwan, he should be violent towards you, savage like they’d been to your mother. But instead he was gentle: worrying about you, soothing you, and trying to calm you down. 

Why?

“Who are you? Where am I?”

He hushed you again, pressing his hand even harder against your chest. “You’re with me. You’re safe.” 

When you looked into his eyes, you felt anything but safe. 

But the way he cooed at you, the way he looked at you with those eyes that were so familiar, still somehow managed to calm your heart. And when he noticed that your panic had settled, he removed his hand and sat back, looking at you fondly again with that sweet smile on his lips. 

“No one can find us here. I made sure of that … But we need to move again soon, once that headache is gone,” he said. Then he shifted his focus to the bandage on your thigh, putting a hand on it to inspect it. “I just hope you’ll be able to stand after we rest for a while. I can’t carry you all the way back …” 

He pushed on your leg, moving it gently to test out your muscle.

You screamed.

And he sighed. “I guess we’re stuck here while you rest … We still have a long way to go before we reach your new home, and you’ll need your strength if you’re gonna fly with me all the way … But you can probably move a bit better come morning.”

Wait … what did he say? 

… New home? 

You swallowed thickly. “W-who are you? What do you want?” you said, repeating yourself.

At first he laughed, seemingly amused by your question. But when you stood firm in your confusion, he started to mirror your expression. “Oh, you really don’t know who I am, do you …? Your father never told you who you’ve been running from?”

You didn’t need to search your mind for the answer. Your mother and father had told you many times about how they had met and why you were hunted by the Mangkwan. When you were young it had even been one of your favourite stories. And at this point you knew it by heart.

“We’ve been running from Varang,” you said. And he raised both his eyebrows. “She wanted my mother—to feed her to the flames … And she wanted revenge; she’s been wanting to kill sempul [father] ever since he deserted.”

He scoffed, almost offended by your omission and your unawareness of it. “Is that what your father has told you?” He tsk-tsked at you, shaking his head. “Oh, no, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. He’s been lying to you. You haven’t been running from Varang. You’ve been running from me.”

And it dawned on you—why you recognised his eyes. 

It was the similarity. 

You remembered Varang’s face clearly. The memories of her contorted smile as she hunted down your mother never left you. 

And he had the same eyes.

“You’re …”

A smug smile spread on his lips. “Oh, so you figured it out did you? Clever girl … Do I resemble my aunt that much? Or was it maybe a memory catching up to you?” he asked.

Then he tilted his head.

And you remembered. 

You remembered seeing a boy—the same age as you: a mere ten years old—trailing behind Varang as she hunted your mother. And as she caught her, as she put her knife to her throat, he’d been behind her, like her shadow, tilting his head at you. 

And you remembered seeing a teenage boy after your second home had been burnt down. As you sat unmoving in the canopy with your father, he’d been stalking in the undergrowth with the other Mangkwan. A dark shadow moving slowly through the bushes, tilting his head as he searched for you, then rising up to his feet, grunting in frustration at having narrowly lost your tracks. 

And now: this man in front of you, tilting his head again. Your captor. Graceful and deadly. Ready to strike at any moment—just like his aunt. But instead of that crazy glint that you’d seen in Varang’s eyes, there was a focus: an intensity that almost felt calm—or calming even.

And what was it he kept calling you …? Stxelì [gift]?

Then your head started to spin as another realisation dawned on you. “You want me? You’re gonna sacrifice me too—,” you gasped.

But he stopped you short: “Oh, no. No, no, no, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. Give me some credit. I’m not as crude as my auntie … Getting all worked up about her lost love. Twisting his words and throwing your mother on the pyre,” he said disdainfully, and he laughed.

“What?”

“Oh, your father never told you that either, did he?” he said, and his tail started to slowly sway behind him as his smug smile grew even bigger. Like he was starting to enjoy your ignorance—like it was funny. “It’s true, your father and Varang were going to be mated. But then he found your mother … and she flipped out,” he said, shaking his head as he laughed.

“But, sempul [father] … He always said. I always thought …” 

You couldn’t believe it.

“No … no, she was supposed to feed the flame,” you insisted. “That’s why she died. That’s why you killed her!” you snarled at him through your headache, pulling hard on your bindings to get at him, to punish him for what they’d done to your mother.

He chuckled gently at your failed attempts to escape. Then he leaned in, just a bit closer, as he explained further.

“Well, yes. But that’s only part of it, tsyeyem oeyä [my treasure]. You see. It’s simple really: my aunt was jealous … And sure, she did see the potential in your mother and what she represented. But what really ticked her off was that your mother had stolen Tao’tel from her. And she invented this story, this nonsense about sacrificing your mother to get rid of her, throwing all that potential away for her sick revenge,” he said, almost annoyed by the twisted belief of his aunt. “So she hunted your mother down and fed her to the flames. The great sacrifice that would strengthen our flame,” he finished mockingly and scoffed. 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He was speaking so lightly about this revelation, but in you it cut through like knives. Your breath quickened and you felt tears welling up in your eyes as the hole opened up in your chest again. Wide.

She’d died for jealousy. For pettiness.

For nothing.

“Mom,” you whispered under your breath.

But he didn’t notice you breaking. 

“And anyway,” he said while waving his hand, as if the reason why your mother had been killed wasn’t important, “the night she caught your mother, she found herself a new target … You.” 

His voice trailed off as he looked at you, letting his eyes slowly trace your body, taking you in fully—your fiery aytanhì [bioluminescent freckles] glowing low like cinder in the darkness of the night.

“But … she doesn’t want to sacrifice me?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

And, suddenly, you snapped—the calm cinders that filled the hole in your chest bursting into a roaring inferno, boiling the blood in your veins. “Then what do you need me for?!” you screamed at him. But you quickly buckled over as pain shot through your head again from your sudden outburst.

He laughed at your reaction. “That, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. That’s what we need: the fire burning in your veins.”

You forced yourself to look up at him. That smug smile was still on his lips, but different now—possessive.

“You see …,” he paused, adjusting his position to get closer to you. “My aunt realised something. She believes that fire is the only truly pure thing left in the world. A thing that should be kept, that should be fanned, that should be used. But when she murdered the gift the vrrteps [demons] had given us for her sick revenge, she’d thrown away the one chance we’ve had at real strength. So in you she saw a second chance … And she saw so much more than in your mother.” 

He reached out a hand and stroked your cheek, letting his thumb trail over the burning aytanhì [freckles] lined underneath your eye—the ones that trailed up and scattered towards your ear, like sparks from a flame.

“The Mangkwan and the vrrtep [demon] blood working together as one in your veins. Both of them hungry for blood, sparking that fire underneath your skin—that anger. We know exactly how to nurture it. Turn it into real power … And she figured: instead of torturing her old lover by sacrificing you too, why not strengthen the bloodline of the future ayolo’eyktan [clan leaders] with the essence of fire itself?”

A shiver went up your spine. “W-what do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he answered. “She wants to make sure the coming generations of leaders will remain as strong as she is—born of flame itself … And I’m in line to be the next olo’eyktan.”

Then he leaned in close. Too close. Only inches away from your ear as he whispered to you, slowly and sweetly: “And so you see … She gave you to me.”

 No … 

No, no, no!

“No! Stay away from me, Mangkwan!” you snarled, pushing him away from you with all the strength you could muster in your wounded and pained state.

He chuckled at you—with a sort of deep enjoyment in his eyes. “It’s Kìrey to you, stxelì oeyä [my gift] … It’s high time we get to know each other, seeing as we’re going to be mated pretty soon. So you should at least start by calling me by my name.”

Kìrey’s words echoed through your head: Be mated … pretty soon.

You panicked again and crawled as far away from him as you could, pulling furiously at your bindings, working through the throbbing in your head and the cutting pain in your thigh to get up and run. But as you pulled and pulled and pulled, you quickly realised that it was no use. 

You had no strength left to get out of your bindings.

You were stuck.

No, this isn’t happening!

“You don’t have to be scared,” Kìrey said gently, seeing the panic in your eyes. “My aunt gave you to me to do with as I like. And, sure, she is getting a bit impatient, seeing how long it took me to find you and get you back … But I won’t hurt you. You’re mine, and I wouldn’t want to ruin stxelì oeyä [my gift], now, would I …?” 

Then he bit his lip. And you saw that same thing hiding behind his eyes—something long-settled and certain. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. And yet, there it was, emerging slowly from its hiding spot behind his eyes. 

“… Especially not such a beautiful one,” he finished. Then he went for your cheek again, but you swatted away his hand. 

“Don’t touch me! Stay away from me!” you screamed.

But your voice quivered. And he noticed. 

“No, no. Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle … I’ll take it slow,” he cooed at you. And he reached out again, lower this time, putting his hand on your thigh and stroking it slowly from your knee and up, up, up, until your breath hitched in your throat from how close he was—his fingers stopping right next to your loincloth, thumb pulling at the belt keeping it together. “If we’re gonna create the next olo’eyktan [clan leader] together, I need you to be compliant … I need you to trust me.” 

Before he continued, he looked you deep in your eyes and got up on his knees, looming over you, still pulling and pulling and pulling at that thin belt. “And if you behave, I can make you feel so good, tsyeyem oeyä [my treasure].”

Your restraints were digging deep into your skin now, leaving marks from how forcefully you pulled at them. “Let me go! I won’t fucking behave for you, you psycho!”

“Oh, but you will … You belong with me. And even if you can’t see it now, I know you’ll do eventually.” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “‘Cause I know what you are … And you’re just like me.” Then he leaned down further, letting his nose touch your neck, smelling the trembling wrath burning underneath your skin. “I can feel it too, you know. The bloodthirst. The anger. Like a heat building up inside me … And I can smell it on you too.”

You panted heavily, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. “You don’t know what I’m like.”

“Oh, but I do …,” he said, full of conviction, while releasing your loincloth from his grip only to start toying with your chest covering instead. And a sweet but wicked smile spread across his face as he spat his venom in your ear: “I’ve seen it. The real you. I’ve seen you on the battlefield. I’ve seen your ferociousness, your viciousness. I’ve seen the taste for blood in your eyes, and the fire in your veins.”

You clenched your jaw and swallowed. And he laughed.

“You know I’m right, don’t you? You’ve been feeling it before. Haven’t you? Because that’s who you are, tsyeyem oeyä [my treasure]. That’s the essence of fire inside you …,” he said, eyes following the pattern of your burning aytanhì [freckles] that were dancing like a bonfire in the low light of the cave. “And that’s the thing with this fire: it lingers, deep under your skin … And I can help fan it for you—help you use it properly.”

Your stomach sank. And you felt it dawn on you—not as a realisation forming in your mind, but from the outside, burrowing through your skin and crawling around underneath it. And it latched onto you, summoning a question that had been slowly forming as his words stewed in your mind.

Whenever you’ve been pressed, embarrassed, frustrated, hurt—what did you do?

You turned to anger immediately … 

… It made you furious … Take over by rage … You were still angry … You would probably never be rid of the anger smoldering inside the hole in your chest … “I love you! But I’m just so angry. All the time. And I don’t know why! Why can’t I control myself?”  

“Why am I like this?” 

Was there really a fire lingering inside you?

And how did he know? 

You couldn’t help it: your blood boiled again. “How long have you been following me?!” 

He released your coverings and leaned back with a pleased smile—impressed. “See? There we are. There’s that flame.”

“How long?!” you repeated.

“Oh, a few weeks … I’ve just been waiting for the right opportunity to strike. The right plan to take form … And it was none other than an Omatikayan hunter that led me right to it—the same clan that was hiding you from me all these years. Now isn’t that ironic?” he chuckled as he reached into the satchel on his belt.

And what he pulled out was something small and shiny, squeezed in between his index finger and his thumb. Something that you thought you recognised. 

He studied it closely. “Very handy this …,” he said as he stretched out his hand, holding it up in front of you so you could see it clearly in the low light—a small, flat, golden metal piece, with cogwheels and a screw, and a handle for turning. 

It was one of your mother’s tuners.

Mom …

You hissed thinly, eyes locked on the tuner in front of you.

He tilted his head as he shifted his focus to you. “… And you know what it is. Is it yours?” he asked, but he never gave you time to answer; he could already see the answer burning in your eyes. “Oh, yes it is. And apparently it’s very precious to you … Don’t worry, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. I’ll let you have it back—when you’re being a good girl for me.”

Your stomach lurched. 

That’s why you’d had that strange feeling these past weeks—that’s why you’d felt like something was wrong. Because he had been there. This entire time. He’d been lurking in the woods, spying on you, patiently waiting, and finding one of the last pieces of your mother’s guitar—having stalked Neteyam. 

… Neteyam!

You didn’t know for how long you’d been gone—for how long Kìrey had had you in his grasp. But it mattered little. Only one thing mattered right now.

I have to get back to Neteyam!

You desperately bared your fangs at your captor, screaming as loud as you could while struggling to get free from the ropes that bound you tightly to the rock behind you.

But his eyes turned wild at your reaction, becoming feral, and his retaliation was immediate: In one swift movement, he threw the tuner on the floor, pulled you down by your legs, got in between them, and grabbed your wrists with one hand, keeping them over your head as you lay on the ground below him.

His eyes were opened wide, fangs bared at you. 

But still—that pleased smile lingered on his lips.

You tried to get your hands out of his grip, to kick him off you—baring your fangs and snarling at him. But it was no use. Keeping you in place was too easy for him. He wasn’t even struggling. He was just monumentally stronger than you. And when he realised that he had you pinned, the sudden ferociousness that had flared up in his eyes faded as he gathered himself up and chuckled lightly, looking into your petrified eyes.

And now, finally, you saw it clearly: that something that had been hiding behind his eyes—long-settled and certain—shone through bright now, having taken him over, mind and body. 

Lust. Pure desire. 

“I’m sorry, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. I don’t want to scare you … but that fire …” He leaned down and smelled your skin, following the pattern of your aytanhì [freckles] along your chest. “You’re just so … tempting … when you’re like this. When you’re ablaze,” he said, voice shaking from his titillation.

“Get off me!” you screamed.

But your words fell on deaf ears. Gently, he pressed his lips against your chest while his free hand found the back of your thigh and followed it from your knee down towards your backside, softly stroking your skin. Then his lips made their way up your chest and to your neck, kissing your aytanhì [freckles] slowly—one by one. 

You turned your head back, leaning away from him and whimpering as he touched you. Still struggling hard against the grip he had on your wrists and kicking your legs to try to get away.

“Let me go—”

“Mawey, stxelì oeyä [Be calm, my gift]. Mawey …,” he hushed as he made his way up the side of your neck. “You’ll feel so much better if you relax …”

“Please … don’t,” you pleaded, as hopelessness washed over you.

But he kept going, letting his hand rest on your hip while tracing his lips along your jaw, over your cheek, and towards your mouth.

And then he kissed you—softly, cradling your upper lip with his. 

It was a gentle kiss—meant to calm you down, to ease you in, and get you used to his touch before he dipped his tongue into your mouth. But you didn’t answer it. Instead, you found his lower lip and bit down hard, as hard as you could, until you could taste his blood. And he grunted. Low. Almost like a moan—almost like he liked it.

He let go of your wrists and grabbed your jaw tightly, forcing you to open your mouth and release his lip. And, at first, he leaned back with an amused chuckle, giving you that smug smile again while you stared daggers at him. But then he suddenly lunged, chomping right back at you, stopping right above your lips, making you flinch.

He tsk-tsked, shaking his head: “So much fight in you still …,” he said slowly, distracting you while he let his other hand trace the contour of your body and in underneath your back, pulling something out. “I’ll get that out of you soon.”

He sat up on his knees, taking a deep satisfied breath as a pleased smile spread on his lips. And you saw what he’d gotten his hands on. 

Your kuru. 

You panicked. 

The bond—the one thing you were supposed to share with only one man in your life: The man you loved. The man you’d given your heart to. 

Your heart wasn’t his.

It was Neteyam’s.

“No! No, not that! Stop!” you hissed desperately at him again. 

But he only smiled, confidently, egged on by your wrath as you struggled against your bindings. And when he spoke, he spoke with an odd dissonance in his voice—with a voice that was trying to calm you down, while also shaking with anger. “I’m sorry, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. I didn’t wanna do it this way really, but you’re forcing my hand …,” he said as he let your kuru softly slide through his hand, until he reached the tip and dipped it, freeing the tendrils. 

He studied them. Touched them gently with the tip of his finger. And it sent a shiver through your whole body. 

“You know … I almost got you that time, years ago, by the lab. That would have been plenty of time to get you pliable enough to agree to be my mate when the time came. But instead you made me wait … for eight years,” he said through his teeth, making his soothing voice quiver.

He pulled out his own kuru from behind his back. And on the tip, you saw nantang [viperwolf] fangs lining the hair tie, pointed down, caging in the tendrils as he let his hair fall to the side—like the maw of a monster, ready to feast on your mind.

“And now, unfortunately, I can’t wait for you to warm up to me: Varang wants us to begin as soon as possible … So if you won’t be mine willingly, then I’ve got to do it the hard way.” 

“No … Please!” you pleaded.

Then he connected. 

And you arched your back, screaming as a sudden rush of pain surged through your skull when he started to prod at your mind, pulling you down under the surface of reality as he dug around and showed you another version of yourself: A Mangkwan, pillaging and killing as much as you needed to satiate that anger in you—giving it exactly what it needed. 

You were ferocious and violent and bloodthirsty. Finally satisfied and happy. 

And you were his.

Then he pulled you down even deeper into the depths of your mind. And you struggled to keep afloat, to stay above the surface as he took you over and held you down in an iron grip.

When he knew he had you in his grasp, he quickly grabbed your legs, pulled your loincloth to the side and entered, leaning down, touching you, kissing you, and fucking you hard against the floor of the cave, getting you close to your release, and you felt so hot, so very hot, and then …

Then he let go. And you were back in the presence, gasping for air, heart racing as you tried to blink away what he’d just shown you in your mind. 

You looked up at him, and he was still standing there above you, on his knees, between your legs. “See? That’s how good you’ll have it with me. That’s what you’ve been missing out on this entire time.”

You tried to answer—to scream at him, to hit him, to get him off you. But his grip on your mind was too firm, too focused. And every time you tried to move, he pushed you down again. 

You could do nothing but lay where you were while he put his hand between your legs, cupping your sex and feeling for your wetness through your loincloth. “I think you’re ready,” he said with a pleased smile.

Then you sank again, as he dug deeper into your mind to keep you steady underneath him. He lay down on top of you and let one hand slink down towards his loincloth. Readying himself. Getting into position. 

And as he leaned in close, he put a hand on your cheek and whispered in your ear: “Now … It’s time for you to be mine.” 

“Get off her!”

Kìrey stopped.

Frozen by the sudden interruption, you felt him let go of your mind, and you surfaced, quickly snapping your head up to look past Kìrey’s shoulder towards the voice.

The silhouette of a man had skidded to a halt on the rain-soaked ground just inside the entrance—breathless, bow drawn, and with the storm raging on behind him. 

Kìrey turned his head to look at the intruder. He smiled and laughed darkly. “Oh, who’s this?” he said, failing to recognise the hunter he’d been stalking in the woods. 

But you could recognize those constellations from a mile away.

“Neteyam!”

Kìrey looked down at you. “You know each other?” 

“Don’t touch her! Let her go! Now!” Neteyam snarled and drew his bow even tighter.

But Kìrey paid him no heed. Instead, he dug into your mind again, pulling you down deep, making you scream—and Neteyam roar—as he searched your memories frantically for the answer to his question. 

And what he found displeased him. “… I see how it is.”

“I said get off her!”

“Fine, fine,” Kìrey said, releasing your cheek, adjusting his loincloth, and sitting up, hands above his head.

Then everything happened in a flash: you heard the swish of the arrow, and then the thunk when it hit the cave wall above you, all while you were grabbed and forcefully pulled up and back, pressed against Kìrey’s body, in between his legs, as he hid behind you. 

And you could finally see him clearly now: Neteyam—your mate, your love—standing at the entrance of the cave with a wild expression on his face as he strung another arrow to his bow and pulled, ready to shoot the moment Kìrey misstepped. He was panting heavily—feet and calves full of mud, and the rest of him soaking wet—having run through the storm to find you. 

Behind him, thunder rumbled as lightning struck. It sent a flash of light across his face, reflecting in those golden eyes that were staring right at you. And for the first time in hours, you felt relief flow through your body when you met Neteyam’s sharp gaze, as he kept you in that firm but gentle grip that he’d done so many times before—that same look that meant that you were loved, and that you were safe.

But then you felt the knife to your throat.

And you saw Neteyam’s expression change: livid—but also fearful.

“Lower the bow,” Kìrey said calmly.

“Let her go!”

“Lower the bow.”

Neteyam growled, baring his fangs with his eyes locked on Kìrey, trying to figure out if he was bluffing or not. He shifted his legs to steady his stance, keeping his balance on the soaking-wet moss. 

Then he took a slow step forward. 

But as you gasped, he stopped short. And his gaze shifted to the knife that Kìrey had pressed even harder against your throat, drawing out a small droplet of blood that slowly trickled down your neck towards your collarbone.

“I said lower it!”

Neteyam swallowed thickly.

Then he slowly lowered his bow. 

“Drop it!”

Neteyam growled again, and another droplet trickled down your neck, its path followed closely by Neteyam’s gaze. Reluctantly, he did as told—the two men staring daggers at each other as Neteyam bent down and put his bow on the ground, keeping his hands steady in the air above it. 

But then he reached his hand up, going slowly for the comms on his neck to activate it—trying out any trick he could get past Kìrey, any chance of calling for backup. 

“Stop!” Kìrey said sharply. And Neteyam did, hand hovering above the buttons on his collar. “How stupid do you think I am?” Kìrey scoffed. “I know how those work … And I’m not gonna let you call for help. Take it off and throw it on the ground—and that thing in your ear too.” Neteyam hissed. Then he grabbed his earpiece and his necklace and threw them on the ground in front of him before he put up his hands in surrender.

“Good,” Kìrey said, having missed Neteyam’s hidden manoeuvre.

But you’d noticed: Neteyam had been quick. The comms were still blinking—still transmitting the conversation to the others, letting them know he’d found you, letting them know where to go, and letting them know they needed to hurry. 

With the immediate threat gone, you felt Kìrey relax behind you, easing up the grip on your mind and the pressure of the knife as he chuckled at Neteyam. “The hunter I see … Found me again have you …? You’re annoyingly good at this. I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance—when I first saw you by those little pools, digging in the mud.”

“Yes. You should have …,” Neteyam said in an even tone. Eyes locked on Kìrey. Unblinking. “… You’re very easy to find.”

Kìrey snapped, anger shaking his voice: “But how the fuck did you find me!? I covered our tracks—there was barely anything left to follow!”

“It was sloppy work,” Neteyam goaded. 

Kìrey huffed. “I was in a hurry.”

“Then you should have left the forest when you still had the chance!” Neteyam snarled. 

Kìrey hissed. But then he suddenly paused. And you felt him take a deep breath behind you, calming down as he shifted all his focus on holding you steady between his legs, mercilessly clawing at your mind, making you unable to move. 

Then, slowly, Kìrey put his hand along your jaw and smiled at Neteyam. “And miss out on this beauty …? I tried to restrain myself. I really did. But I couldn’t resist my new mate any longer … Couldn’t wait to get a taste,” he said while grabbing your hair to turn your head towards him. 

And then he kissed you again—softly.

“Stop! Let her go, you bastard!” Neteyam snarled through gritted teeth, pulling out his knife from his belt, keeping it ready in front of him as anger shook him to his core. 

Kìrey laughed into your kiss. 

But you felt an icy chill down your spine. Because you’d heard it: the slight crack in Neteyam’s voice—the hesitation. And you knew what it meant.

It meant that he was at a severe disadvantage, with no opening in sight. And he knew it well. However, it also meant that he was considering his options. And that among all the hopelessness, he had found a way out, a way to save his loved ones. 

But that way always involved a high risk …

Neteyam! Why are you always gambling your own life?!

You couldn’t let him throw away his life for you. You had to help him somehow. Had to get out of Kìrey’s grip on you. 

You tried to surface, to fight your way up through the currents of thoughts and memories as Kìrey clawed and pulled at your mind. But it was no use: his grip was too firm, keeping you deep down in the depths, where you struggled not to drown. 

Then you winced as Kìrey pried open your mouth and dipped his tongue in before finally releasing you and looking over at Neteyam with a smile—pleased by your mate’s desperate growling. “Oh, this bothers you, doesn’t it? And I know why …,” Kìrey said, laughing as he grabbed his kuru, letting it gently fall through his hand until he reached the tendrils, still interlocked with yours. 

Neteyam’s eyes opened wide, having yet to notice that Kìrey had already formed the bond with you. He panted heavily. His desperation growing stronger for every second. 

“I can see into her mind,” Kìrey continued. “And I can see who you are, hunter. You’ve already gotten a taste of her. Tell me …,” he said as he put his hand between your legs and cupped your folds over your loincloth, making you whimper and shift in his grip, “... is it as sweet as I’ve imagined?”

“Don’t fucking touch her! Keep your hands off her!” Neteyam roared. And something dark snuck into his eyes, clouding his judgement as he readied himself to pounce.

But you’d changed tactics: If you couldn’t get out of the grip he had on your mind, maybe you could retaliate—dig into his own mind instead? 

You pushed back. But he was strong, years of practice making his mind like an impenetrable fortress. You grunted as you tried to get a sliver of control, clawing hard at the iron wall stopping your escape. And as you slowly chipped away at it, a piece of the wall opened up when you suddenly broke through. 

And you saw it: the reason why he was goading Neteyam, trying to get into his head—Kìrey’s real intentions. 

Distraction. 

Faintly in your mind, you saw a crooked smile spread on Kìrey’s lips as his focus shifted to his next move: the small knives, like spearheads, dangling on his belt next to his satchel. Four in total—seeped with poison. 

Not sedative. 

Real poison. 

“Neteyam, duck!” you screamed as Kìrey pulled out one of the throwing knives and let it fly.

But Neteyam was quick. He leapt forward, narrowly escaping the knife by rolling on the ground towards you, getting close enough to grab Kìrey’s hand and pull the knife off your throat. 

Before Kìrey could react, Neteyam had slammed down on your kurus, severing the bond and letting you roll off before pushing Kìrey hard into the rock behind him. Then he roared, screaming wildly in Kìrey’s face with his knife against his throat, preparing to cut. 

But Kìrey had been ready. As he was pushed into the rock, he pulled out his second throwing knife and thrusted. And Neteyam had to let go of Kìrey’s hand and duck to the side, making enough space for Kìrey to get away and hide behind one of the bigger rocks. 

As Kìrey ran, the second knife came flying—wide. And it would have hit you if Neteyam hadn’t deflected it in time, sending it crashing into the mossy floor of the cave.

Still crouched, one hand on the ground and the other grasping his knife, Neteyam backed up until he could feel you close behind him, reaching out a hand to touch your leg sticking out between his. 

“Ma yawne [Beloved],” Neteyam said gently, about to turn around to look at you—to make sure you were okay. 

But you knew he had to keep his focus.

“He has four! I saw them! And they’re … dipped in poison!” you warned him, grunting as you fought against the searing pain in your skull—headache still lingering after Kìrey had prodded at your mind.

Neteyam growled and held his knife closer to his face, ready to deflect again if Kìrey got desperate enough to send the knife your way. 

But Kìrey did not attack. Instead, from behind the rocks, you heard his sinister laugh again. ”Neteyam, was it? Tell me … Neteyam. Do you really think she’s yours?”

“I don’t think—I know! She’s my mate. She chose me.” 

“Yes. She might have done that … But she took her sweet time doing it, didn’t she?”

Neteyam hissed.

And Kìrey kept going, his voice sneaking closer from behind the rocks as he slowly made his way towards you. “I know who you think you are to her … that she loves you … But if she really did, why would she make you wait for so long?”

“Shut the fuck up!” 

Kìrey laughed at Neteyam’s reaction. “Trust me, Neteyam. I know how it feels … She made me wait just as long as you,” Kìrey said, with an almost genuine tone in his sympathy. “And doesn’t it hurt? Knowing that she shut you out? That she cared so little about you, making you wait for so long …? And you know why … right?”

Neteyam drew in a quick breath, looking down at the ground, gritting his teeth. 

Then Kìrey chuckled. A dark and sinister chuckle. “It’s because of that fire inside her. Because, really, she’s not supposed to be yours … She’s supposed to be mine.”

Neteyam hissed again.

But then he hesitated.

Your stomach sank. “Neteyam … I … Don’t listen to him! He’s lying! He—”

But Neteyam shushed you, his ears perking up, listening intently to the faint sound, barely noticeable in the smattering of raindrops on the trees outside.

Footsteps. Coming closer.

Quickly.

Through the entrance, Lo’ak came running, sliding on the wet moss, rifle ready in his hands. 

He skidded to a halt, stopping in between Kìrey and the smaller entrance, taking in the scene in front of him—his brother, crouched in the corner over his sister-in-law who was tied up to the rock behind them. 

“Neteyam!”

“Lo’ak!”

Then Lo’ak saw the stranger in front of him, and he pulled up his rifle, taking aim, ready to shoot.

But Neteyam stopped him: “Lo’ak, get down! He’s got knives—poison!”

As Kìrey let the third knife fly, Lo’ak ducked behind a rock instead, narrowly escaping the knife. 

Kìrey screamed in frustration: He was surrounded now, with not just one man to keep track of, but two. And he had almost run out of options—down to only one more throwing knife.

And then he ran out of time as well.

“Sempul [father],” you gasped under your breath, relieved at the sight of your father rushing through the entrance to the cave, with Jake close behind him. And the two men—both seasoned warriors, able to assess the situation quickly—didn’t hesitate. 

As your father set eyes on your kidnapper, he pulled up his rifle and took aim, switching from burst mode to semi-automatic while Jake moved to the side and Lo’ak got out from behind the rock. In a second, they had surrounded the kidnapper on all sides—cutting off his escape routes.

“… Kìrey,” your father said with a calm, steady voice. But you could still hear the rage seeping through it. 

“Dad, he’s got poison … Be careful,” Neteyam said to Jake, who hissed and nodded while adjusting his aim, not taking his eyes off Kìrey.

Kìrey chuckled darkly.

“My, my, my … If it isn’t Tao’tel … How’s life been treating you? Still upset about your mate? Still upset that we killed her?” he goaded, tilting his head at your father, trying to get any sort of reaction out of him.

But your father didn’t answer the question—his face stone-cold as he stared into Kìrey’s eyes. “Hands in the air, where I can see them.”

But Kìrey leaned forward instead, still with a big grin on his face. “That upset, are you …? You know … I still remember. I remember when we burned her on the pyre. I remember the smell … almost sweet, like a flowe—”

Your father’s shot echoed through the cave. But as it settled down, you could still hear Kìrey’s laughter.

“Oh, that was close …,” Kìrey said with an amused look at the indentation in the rock where his head had been a second ago.

“Don’t move a muscle,” your father said calmly, checking his rifle, making sure there was still a fresh bullet in the magazine.

Kìrey scoffed, obviously disappointed. “You know, for a murderer—for someone who’s committed patricide—I thought you’d be a little more fun. A bit more chatty.”

Your father ignored him, adjusting his aim, ready for the execution.

Kìrey tutted and shook his head. “Guess I’m gonna have to create all the fun around here.” 

Then he made his move, grabbing his last knife and letting it fly towards Lo’ak—while Jake screamed in desperation, having noticed the small shift in Kìrey’s gaze towards his youngest son.

“Lo’ak, get down!”

Lo’ak threw himself to the ground to escape the knife, skidding on the side of his stomach. And Kìrey seized his opportunity, jumping over Lo’ak and running out the smaller exit. Shots echoed through the cave as Jake and your father’s bullets smattered into the wall, following Kìrey’s path. When Kìrey disappeared behind the leaves of the exit, your father growled and set off after him, following him out into the forest, with Jake close behind. 

Still full of rage, Neteyam shifted, jumping up to his feet to rush after Kìrey.

But he’d barely taken a step before you stopped him, grabbing at his ankle to keep him with you.

You needed him.

“Ma Neteyam,” you said weakly. And at the sound of your voice, Neteyam stopped short and turned around, worry creeping in over his face as all the rage left him, finally able to shift his focus solely to you. 

He fell to his knees, cut your restraints, and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Ma yawne, oeyä yawne [beloved, my beloved] … you’re alright, you’re alright.”

You felt yourself melting into his embrace. The familiar smell of his skin sent a wave of relief through your body as you put a hand on the back of his head and buried your face in the nape of his neck. Then you let yourself break, letting the tears fall down your cheek as fear left your body. 

You were finally safe again.

In Neteyam’s arms, you were safe.

You felt his hand in your hair, gently holding you as close as he could, pushing you against his body while sucking in a shallow, shaky breath as he prepared himself for his dreaded question. 

He swallowed thickly. “Was I … Was I too late? Did he …?”

“No … He didn’t.”

Neteyam sighed with relief, finally letting himself relax, letting himself take a deep breath, letting his body shake from exhaustion, and—finally—letting the tears fall down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. 

“Thank you, Eywa … Thank you,” he whispered.

Lo’ak grunted as he got up, ready to follow after his dad into the night to hunt the stranger—the kidnapper of his brother’s mate. 

But as Jake ran past him, he called out his stern order: “Stay, Lo’ak. Keep guard. In case he comes back.”

Lo’ak nodded. And at first he held his rifle ready, sight at his eye, shifting between the entrances. But as time passed, he eased up and lowered his rifle, realising that the stranger was gone.  

He took a deep breath and sighed. He was still out of breath from the sprint and the confrontation, but now he could finally let himself relax.

They’d made it in time. They’d found her. 

It was over.

Behind him, he heard Neteyam and his sister-in-law’s quiet whispers and sobs. And when he looked over his shoulder at them to see if they were okay, he happened to see something silvery and shiny floating past his brother’s head, disappearing behind it. He squinted his eyes—trying to see if it had just been the glowing moss reflecting in the water behind them. And he took a step closer. 

“Ouch,” he yelped quietly while lifting his foot to see what he had stepped on.

It was a tuner—one of her mother’s tuners.

He bent down and picked it up, studying the glint of the shiny metal in the low light of the cave. 

How did this get here?

But just as he was about to ask, he got interrupted by Jake and Tao’tel, who came running back through the small entrance—both of them panting heavily, with a defeated look upon their faces.

“Did you get him?” Lo’ak asked.

“No … He’s gone,” Jake said, shaking his head. And Tao’tel sighed deeply. “He disappeared into the storm. I don’t think we can track him in this weather.”

“But who was that guy? Do you know him, Tao’?”

“I do. Kind of …,” Tao’ said, looking over at his daughter and her mate, still stuck in their embrace, unable to let go of each other. “But I can explain later. We need to get her back to Mo’at and Kiri, so they can look at the wound.”  

Jake nodded. “I’ll run ahead and get the ikran. Lo’ak, make sure you get his gear,” Jake said, readying his rifle before he left. And Lo’ak started going around the cave, gathering up Neteyam’s comms and bow. 

From the entrance, as Lo’ak strung his big brother’s bow across his torso, he saw Tao’ walk up to the couple by the rock. The former Mangkwan warrior put a gentle hand on his daughter’s head and crouched down, whispering something to her as he slowly stroked her hair.

Then he stood up again. “Come,” he said, putting a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, “let’s go back home.”

Neteyam picked up his mate, holding her legs with one arm and her back with the other. She kept her arms around him tight, face nuzzled deep into his neck, her body shaking from her quiet sobs. And as Neteyam turned around and started walking to the exit of the cave, Lo’ak couldn’t help but study the look upon his brother’s face. 

Neteyam looked angry and exhausted—but also relieved—his constellations pulsing with a low light in the dark night. And when his brother walked past him, Lo’ak noticed those aytanhì [freckles] again. The ones he knew so well, cascading down from under his brother’s eyes—like teardrops falling down his cheeks.

But … No. 

Those were real teardrops.

As Tao’tel led the way out of the cave, stopping right outside to hold the leaves apart for the brothers to follow, Lo’ak took one last glance around the cave, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. The cave was beautiful: soft moss and glowing plants littered all around, with vines of pink and blue flowers hanging down from the ceiling.

And he shuddered—thinking about what he’d heard through Neteyam’s comms.

Glad to leave this cursed place, he turned around and started walking behind his big brother towards the exit.

But as he looked up, he froze. Stopping mid-step.

There it was again.

The little silvery flash was back. And now, it was clear what it had been: an atokirina’ [woodsprite], floating over Neteyam’s shoulder as he walked out of the cave. It swam gently through the air, bobbing up and down, riding on the winddraft of Neteyam’s determined stride. 

Then it sank down slowly, lowering itself in order to lightly touch his big brother’s shoulder and his sister-in-law’s arm with its tendrils. 

And then it disappeard—blown away by the storm as Neteyam stepped through the exit. 

Lo’ak gasped under his breath. How long has that been there?

Chapter 9

With the pain still roaring like thunder in your head, it took you longer than you would have liked to admit to register what the question really implied. But when it dawned on you, you immediately recoiled from his arms, looking up at your captor: the Mangkwan man.

Soft eyes staring into yours, and confused furrowed brows.

But the sudden movement sent a new wave of searing pain through your skull, splitting it in two again, making you lose all control. You shut your eyes and screamed out loud as you fell backwards. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed at you, catching you before your head hit the rock behind you. He held you gently—like you were about to break. 

“Mawey, stxelì oeyä [Be calm, my gift],” he hushed as he placed you against the mossy surface of the rock. “Don’t move. You need to rest.” 

But you didn’t hear a word he said. Fear had taken you over, sending a wave of adrenaline through your body, helping it wake up from its paralysis. Defiantly, you tried to move again, to get out of his grip. But every little writhing of your body sent a new wave of pain through your head, and all you could do was whimper helplessly where you lay.

“That headache’s a real pain, huh …? I’ll get you some water,” the man said while removing a stray strand of hair that had fallen in your eye. 

Then he left your side.

You blinked furiously, working through the pain to open your eyes again so you could see where you were.

You were in a cave. A small and enclosed hollow underneath what must be a larger rockface above you, angled down from the floor of the undergrowth the deeper it went. At the bottom of the cave, a small pool of water had formed, as the rain that was pouring down outside had slowly trickled down the mossy ground. 

And it was bright: bioluminescent plants were littered all around, lighting up the walls and the ground around you, where rocks of many sizes were strewn about, moss slowly climbing up them. You looked up at the smooth ceiling and saw how the plants had made their way up there as well. Vines hanging down, flowers in full bloom—flowers with dusty pink petals that curved steeply into the middle, where blue stamens protruded.

This cave would have been beautiful to stay in for the night … if you weren’t so scared.

You looked for an exit. And you saw two. One larger and one smaller, only about twenty feet between them. Big leaves—swaying by the smattering of raindrops—were growing in and out of the cave, obscuring both entrances, making this a neat little hidey-hole. 

Surprised by the amount of feeling you’d gotten back thanks to the adrenaline, you shifted your body to get up to your feet and run. But when you tried to put your hands down to lift yourself up, they were stopped an inch from the ground by a rope that trailed up behind you, fastened to the rock you were leaning against. And when you looked down, you saw that your hands were tied together by your wrists.

Then thunder rumbled over the skies outside—and also in your head.

You closed your eyes and whimpered. 

And in one swift movement—making you wince even more—a hand reached out, cupped your chin, and leaned your head up to put something close to your face. “Open up.”

As the smell of freshly fallen water found your nose, you realised how thirsty you were. And you drank greedily from the leaf that he put to your lips—angling it upwards and letting the water fall into your open mouth while his thumb slowly stroked your chin. “That’s a good girl,” he said softly. “You’ll still have that headache for a while, but if you keep drinking it’ll go away soon.”

When your body finally got what it was craving so badly, your headache started easing up, and you were finally able to open your eyes again, blinking furiously as you got used to the low light of the cave.

And you saw him again. The same man that had felled you, sedated you, and carried you off with him: A soft, handsome face—gentle but sharp, with a clear jawline and high cheekbones. His ruffled dark hair fell in layers down his neck and curled up towards his jaw, with the same black nantang [viperwolf] fangs tied to the hair behind his ears. 

And those golden eyes, shining brightly behind his unkempt bangs as he watched your throat work, taking big gulps of the water he’d offered you. There was still something so strangely familiar about those eyes: a certain glint that you thought you recognised.

When you finished, he put the leaf next to him and sat down—making himself more comfortable as he looked into your eyes. And this time he wasn’t staring at you wide-eyed like before, following your every move, like a predator having finally caught up to its prey, ready to pounce. This time his eyes were relaxed and comfortable—pleased even. Like he could already taste his next meal.

And when you looked closer, there was something else hiding behind them—not that familiar glint that you’d recognised before, but something long-settled and certain. 

Something you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

He smiled sweetly, almost fondly, as he looked at you. And when he finally spoke again he sounded regretful—and honestly so: “I’m sorry for causing you so much pain, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. But I promise I won’t give you any more of the nectar. It already did its job perfectly.” 

With the water flowing through your body, you felt yourself gaining full control over it again as a new wave of adrenaline surged through you, spurred on by fear.

You moved—trying to twist around against the rock so you could get your feet down and pull at your bindings to get free. But a new sensation made you stop short before you could even turn around fully: a searing pain in your thigh from where the arrow had left a deep wound. 

As you let out a loud yelp, you suddenly saw movement in your periphery, and when you looked up your eyes popped open wide as you stared into the face of the stranger in front of you. Having noticed the panic rapidly rising up in you, he’d gotten closer and gently put his hand on your chest to try to steady your heart. 

“Mawey, tsyeyem oeyä [Be calm, my treasure],” he hushed, and then he slowly pushed you back into the mossy rock behind you. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. You don’t have to run … With that leg, you won’t get far anyway.”

He smiled sweetly at you. And you felt confused. 

If he really was Mangkwan, he should be violent towards you, savage like they’d been to your mother. But instead he was gentle: worrying about you, soothing you, and trying to calm you down. 

Why?

“Who are you? Where am I?”

He hushed you again, pressing his hand even harder against your chest. “You’re with me. You’re safe.” 

When you looked into his eyes, you felt anything but safe. 

But the way he cooed at you, the way he looked at you with those eyes that were so familiar, still somehow managed to calm your heart. And when he noticed that your panic had settled, he removed his hand and sat back, looking at you fondly again with that sweet smile on his lips. 

“No one can find us here. I made sure of that … But we need to move again soon, once that headache is gone,” he said. Then he shifted his focus to the bandage on your thigh, putting a hand on it to inspect it. “I just hope you’ll be able to stand after we rest for a while. I can’t carry you all the way back …” 

He pushed on your leg, moving it gently to test out your muscle.

You screamed.

And he sighed. “I guess we’re stuck here while you rest … We still have a long way to go before we reach your new home, and you’ll need your strength if you’re gonna fly with me all the way … But you can probably move a bit better come morning.”

Wait … what did he say? 

… New home? 

You swallowed thickly. “W-who are you? What do you want?” you said, repeating yourself.

At first he laughed, seemingly amused by your question. But when you stood firm in your confusion, he started to mirror your expression. “Oh, you really don’t know who I am, do you …? Your father never told you who you’ve been running from?”

You didn’t need to search your mind for the answer. Your mother and father had told you many times about how they had met and why you were hunted by the Mangkwan. When you were young it had even been one of your favourite stories. And at this point you knew it by heart.

“We’ve been running from Varang,” you said. And he raised both his eyebrows. “She wanted my mother—to feed her to the flames … And she wanted revenge; she’s been wanting to kill sempul [father] ever since he deserted.”

He scoffed, almost offended by your omission and your unawareness of it. “Is that what your father has told you?” He tsk-tsked at you, shaking his head. “Oh, no, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. He’s been lying to you. You haven’t been running from Varang. You’ve been running from me.”

And it dawned on you—why you recognised his eyes. 

It was the similarity. 

You remembered Varang’s face clearly. The memories of her contorted smile as she hunted down your mother never left you. 

And he had the same eyes.

“You’re …”

A smug smile spread on his lips. “Oh, so you figured it out did you? Clever girl … Do I resemble my aunt that much? Or was it maybe a memory catching up to you?” he asked.

Then he tilted his head.

And you remembered. 

You remembered seeing a boy—the same age as you: a mere ten years old—trailing behind Varang as she hunted your mother. And as she caught her, as she put her knife to her throat, he’d been behind her, like her shadow, tilting his head at you. 

And you remembered seeing a teenage boy after your second home had been burnt down. As you sat unmoving in the canopy with your father, he’d been stalking in the undergrowth with the other Mangkwan. A dark shadow moving slowly through the bushes, tilting his head as he searched for you, then rising up to his feet, grunting in frustration at having narrowly lost your tracks. 

And now: this man in front of you, tilting his head again. Your captor. Graceful and deadly. Ready to strike at any moment—just like his aunt. But instead of that crazy glint that you’d seen in Varang’s eyes, there was a focus: an intensity that almost felt calm—or calming even.

And what was it he kept calling you …? Stxelì [gift]?

Then your head started to spin as another realisation dawned on you. “You want me? You’re gonna sacrifice me too—,” you gasped.

But he stopped you short: “Oh, no. No, no, no, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. Give me some credit. I’m not as crude as my auntie … Getting all worked up about her lost love. Twisting his words and throwing your mother on the pyre,” he said disdainfully, and he laughed.

“What?”

“Oh, your father never told you that either, did he?” he said, and his tail started to slowly sway behind him as his smug smile grew even bigger. Like he was starting to enjoy your ignorance—like it was funny. “It’s true, your father and Varang were going to be mated. But then he found your mother … and she flipped out,” he said, shaking his head as he laughed.

“But, sempul [father] … He always said. I always thought …” 

You couldn’t believe it.

“No … no, she was supposed to feed the flame,” you insisted. “That’s why she died. That’s why you killed her!” you snarled at him through your headache, pulling hard on your bindings to get at him, to punish him for what they’d done to your mother.

He chuckled gently at your failed attempts to escape. Then he leaned in, just a bit closer, as he explained further.

“Well, yes. But that’s only part of it, tsyeyem oeyä [my treasure]. You see. It’s simple really: my aunt was jealous … And sure, she did see the potential in your mother and what she represented. But what really ticked her off was that your mother had stolen Tao’tel from her. And she invented this story, this nonsense about sacrificing your mother to get rid of her, throwing all that potential away for her sick revenge,” he said, almost annoyed by the twisted belief of his aunt. “So she hunted your mother down and fed her to the flames. The great sacrifice that would strengthen our flame,” he finished mockingly and scoffed. 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He was speaking so lightly about this revelation, but in you it cut through like knives. Your breath quickened and you felt tears welling up in your eyes as the hole opened up in your chest again. Wide.

She’d died for jealousy. For pettiness.

For nothing.

“Mom,” you whispered under your breath.

But he didn’t notice you breaking. 

“And anyway,” he said while waving his hand, as if the reason why your mother had been killed wasn’t important, “the night she caught your mother, she found herself a new target … You.” 

His voice trailed off as he looked at you, letting his eyes slowly trace your body, taking you in fully—your bright, golden hair shining like the sun in the darkness of the night.

“But … she doesn’t want to sacrifice me?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

And, suddenly, you snapped—the calm cinders that filled the hole in your chest bursting into a roaring inferno, boiling the blood in your veins. “Then what do you need me for?!” you screamed at him. But you quickly buckled over as pain shot through your head again from your sudden outburst.

He laughed at your reaction. “That, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. That’s what we need: the fire burning in your veins.”

You forced yourself to look up at him. That smug smile was still on his lips, but different now—possessive.

“You see …,” he paused, adjusting his position to get closer to you. “My aunt realised something. She believes that fire is the only truly pure thing left in the world. A thing that should be kept, that should be fanned, that should be used. But when she murdered the gift the vrrteps [demons] had given us for her sick revenge, she’d thrown away the one chance we’ve had at real strength. So in you she saw a second chance … And she saw so much more than in your mother.” 

He reached out a hand and stroked your hair, letting his fingers slide over your shining strands, ending their path over the aytanhì [bioluminescent freckles] lined underneath your eye—the ones that trailed up and scattered towards your ear, like sparks from a flame.

“The Mangkwan and the vrrtep [demon] blood working together as one in your veins. Both of them hungry for blood, sparking that fire underneath your skin—that anger. We know exactly how to nurture it. Turn it into real power … And she figured: instead of torturing her old lover by sacrificing you too, why not strengthen the bloodline of the future ayolo’eyktan [clan leaders] with the essence of fire itself?”

A shiver went up your spine. “W-what do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he answered. “She wants to make sure the coming generations of leaders will remain as strong as she is—born of flame itself … And I’m in line to be the next olo’eyktan.”

Then he leaned in close. Too close. Only inches away from your ear as he whispered to you, slowly and sweetly: “And so you see … She gave you to me.”

 No … 

No, no, no!

“No! Stay away from me, Mangkwan!” you snarled, pushing him away from you with all the strength you could muster in your wounded and pained state.

He chuckled at you—with a sort of deep enjoyment in his eyes. “It’s Kìrey to you, stxelì oeyä [my gift] … It’s high time we get to know each other, seeing as we’re going to be mated pretty soon. So you should at least start by calling me by my name.”

Kìrey’s words echoed through your head: Be mated … pretty soon.

You panicked again and crawled as far away from him as you could, pulling furiously at your bindings, working through the throbbing in your head and the cutting pain in your thigh to get up and run. But as you pulled and pulled and pulled, you quickly realised that it was no use. 

You had no strength left to get out of your bindings.

You were stuck.

No, this isn’t happening!

“You don’t have to be scared,” Kìrey said gently, seeing the panic in your eyes. “My aunt gave you to me to do with as I like. And, sure, she is getting a bit impatient, seeing how long it took me to find you and get you back … But I won’t hurt you. You’re mine, and I wouldn’t want to ruin stxelì oeyä [my gift], now, would I …?” 

Then he bit his lip. And you saw that same thing hiding behind his eyes—something long-settled and certain. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. And yet, there it was, emerging slowly from its hiding spot behind his eyes. 

“… Especially not such a beautiful one,” he finished. Then he tried to drag his fingers through your hair again, but you swatted away his hand. 

“Don’t touch me! Stay away from me!” you screamed.

But your voice quivered. And he noticed. 

“No, no. Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle … I’ll take it slow,” he cooed at you. And he reached out again, lower this time, putting his hand on your thigh and stroking it slowly from your knee and up, up, up, until your breath hitched in your throat from how close he was—his fingers stopping right next to your loincloth, thumb pulling at the belt keeping it together. “If we’re gonna create the next olo’eyktan [clan leader] together, I need you to be compliant … I need you to trust me.” 

Before he continued, he looked you deep in your eyes and got up on his knees, looming over you, still pulling and pulling and pulling at that thin belt. “And if you behave, I can make you feel so good, tsyeyem oeyä [my treasure].”

Your restraints were digging deep into your skin now, leaving marks from how forcefully you pulled at them. “Let me go! I won’t fucking behave for you, you psycho!”

“Oh, but you will … You belong with me. And even if you can’t see it now, I know you’ll do eventually.” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “‘Cause I know what you are … And you’re just like me.” Then he leaned down further, letting his nose touch your neck, smelling the trembling wrath burning underneath your skin. “I can feel it too, you know. The bloodthirst. The anger. Like a heat building up inside me … And I can smell it on you too.”

You panted heavily, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. “You don’t know what I’m like.”

“Oh, but I do …,” he said, full of conviction, while releasing your loincloth from his grip only to start toying with your chest covering instead. And a sweet but wicked smile spread across his face as he spat his venom in your ear: “I’ve seen it. The real you. I’ve seen you on the battlefield. I’ve seen your ferociousness, your viciousness. I’ve seen the taste for blood in your eyes, and the fire in your veins.”

You clenched your jaw and swallowed. And he laughed.

“You know I’m right, don’t you? You’ve been feeling it before. Haven’t you? Because that’s who you are, tsyeyem oeyä [my treasure]. That’s the essence of fire inside you …,” he said, eyes locked on your silky hair, reflecting the low light of the cave, almost forming a burning halo behind you. “And that’s the thing with this fire: it lingers, in your very being … And I can help fan it for you—help you use it properly.”

Your stomach sank. And you felt it dawn on you—not as a realisation forming in your mind, but from the outside, burrowing through your skin and crawling around underneath it. And it latched onto you, summoning a question that had been slowly forming as his words stewed in your mind.

Whenever you’ve been pressed, embarrassed, frustrated, hurt—what did you do?

You turned to anger immediately … 

… It made you furious … Take over by rage … You were still angry … You would probably never be rid of the anger smoldering inside the hole in your chest … “I love you! But I’m just so angry. All the time. And I don’t know why! Why can’t I control myself?”  

“Why am I like this?” 

Was there really a fire lingering inside you?

And how did he know? 

You couldn’t help it: your blood boiled again. “How long have you been following me?!” 

He released your coverings and leaned back with a pleased smile—impressed. “See? There we are. There’s that flame.”

“How long?!” you repeated.

“Oh, a few weeks … I’ve just been waiting for the right opportunity to strike. The right plan to take form … And it was none other than an Omatikayan hunter that led me right to it—the same clan that was hiding you from me all these years. Now isn’t that ironic?” he chuckled as he reached into the satchel on his belt.

And what he pulled out was something small and shiny, squeezed in between his index finger and his thumb. Something that you thought you recognised. 

He studied it closely. “Very handy this …,” he said as he stretched out his hand, holding it up in front of you so you could see it clearly in the low light—a small, flat, golden metal piece, with cogwheels and a screw, and a handle for turning. 

It was one of your mother’s tuners.

Mom …

You hissed thinly, eyes locked on the tuner in front of you.

He tilted his head as he shifted his focus to you. “… And you know what it is. Is it yours?” he asked, but he never gave you time to answer; he could already see the answer burning in your eyes. “Oh, yes it is. And apparently it’s very precious to you … Don’t worry, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. I’ll let you have it back—when you’re being a good girl for me.”

Your stomach lurched. 

That’s why you’d had that strange feeling these past weeks—that’s why you’d felt like something was wrong. Because he had been there. This entire time. He’d been lurking in the woods, spying on you, patiently waiting, and finding one of the last pieces of your mother’s guitar—having stalked Neteyam. 

… Neteyam!

You didn’t know for how long you’d been gone—for how long Kìrey had had you in his grasp. But it mattered little. Only one thing mattered right now.

I have to get back to Neteyam!

You desperately bared your fangs at your captor, screaming as loud as you could while struggling to get free from the ropes that bound you tightly to the rock behind you.

But his eyes turned wild at your reaction, becoming feral, and his retaliation was immediate: In one swift movement, he threw the tuner on the floor, pulled you down by your legs, got in between them, and grabbed your wrists with one hand, keeping them over your head as you lay on the ground below him.

His eyes were opened wide, fangs bared at you. 

But still—that pleased smile lingered on his lips.

You tried to get your hands out of his grip, to kick him off you—baring your fangs and snarling at him. But it was no use. Keeping you in place was too easy for him. He wasn’t even struggling. He was just monumentally stronger than you. And when he realised that he had you pinned, the sudden ferociousness that had flared up in his eyes faded as he gathered himself up and chuckled lightly, looking into your petrified eyes.

And now, finally, you saw it clearly: that something that had been hiding behind his eyes—long-settled and certain—shone through bright now, having taken him over, mind and body. 

Lust. Pure desire. 

“I’m sorry, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. I don’t want to scare you … but that fire …” He leaned down and smelled your temple, burrowing his nose in your hair. “You’re just so … tempting … when you’re like this. When you’re ablaze,” he said, voice shaking from his titillation.

“Get off me!” you screamed.

But your words fell on deaf ears. Gently, he pressed his lips against your temple while his free hand found the back of your thigh and followed it from your knee down towards your backside, softly stroking your skin. Then his lips made their way downwards, brushing along your golden strands on their way to your neck, where he planted a sweet kiss. 

You turned your head back, leaning away from him and whimpering as he touched you. Still struggling hard against the grip he had on your wrists and kicking your legs to try to get away.

“Let me go—”

“Mawey, stxelì oeyä [Be calm, my gift]. Mawey …,” he hushed as he made his way up the side of your neck. “You’ll feel so much better if you relax …”

“Please … don’t,” you pleaded, as hopelessness washed over you.

But he kept going, letting his hand rest on your hip while tracing his lips along your jaw, over your cheek, and towards your mouth.

And then he kissed you—softly, cradling your upper lip with his. 

It was a gentle kiss—meant to calm you down, to ease you in, and get you used to his touch before he dipped his tongue into your mouth. But you didn’t answer it. Instead, you found his lower lip and bit down hard, as hard as you could, until you could taste his blood. And he grunted. Low. Almost like a moan—almost like he liked it.

He let go of your wrists and grabbed your jaw tightly, forcing you to open your mouth and release his lip. And, at first, he leaned back with an amused chuckle, giving you that smug smile again while you stared daggers at him. But then he suddenly lunged, chomping right back at you, stopping right above your lips, making you flinch.

He tsk-tsked, shaking his head: “So much fight in you still …,” he said slowly, distracting you while he let his other hand trace the contour of your body and in underneath your back, pulling something out. “I’ll get that out of you soon.”

He sat up on his knees, taking a deep satisfied breath as a pleased smile spread on his lips. And you saw what he’d gotten his hands on. 

Your kuru. 

You panicked. 

The bond—the one thing you were supposed to share with only one man in your life: The man you loved. The man you’d given your heart to. 

Your heart wasn’t his.

It was Neteyam’s.

“No! No, not that! Stop!” you hissed desperately at him again. 

But he only smiled, confidently, egged on by your wrath as you struggled against your bindings. And when he spoke, he spoke with an odd dissonance in his voice—with a voice that was trying to calm you down, while also shaking with anger. “I’m sorry, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. I didn’t wanna do it this way really, but you’re forcing my hand …,” he said as he let your kuru softly slide through his hand, until he reached the tip and dipped it, freeing the tendrils. 

He studied them. Touched them gently with the tip of his finger. And it sent a shiver through your whole body. 

“You know … I almost got you that time, years ago, by the lab. That would have been plenty of time to get you pliable enough to agree to be my mate when the time came. But instead you made me wait … for eight years,” he said through his teeth, making his soothing voice quiver.

He pulled out his own kuru from behind his back. And on the tip, you saw nantang [viperwolf] fangs lining the hair tie, pointed down, caging in the tendrils as he let his hair fall to the side—like the maw of a monster, ready to feast on your mind.

“And now, unfortunately, I can’t wait for you to warm up to me: Varang wants us to begin as soon as possible … So if you won’t be mine willingly, then I’ve got to do it the hard way.” 

“No … Please!” you pleaded.

Then he connected. 

And you arched your back, screaming as a sudden rush of pain surged through your skull when he started to prod at your mind, pulling you down under the surface of reality as he dug around and showed you another version of yourself: A Mangkwan, pillaging and killing as much as you needed to satiate that anger in you—giving it exactly what it needed. 

You were ferocious and violent and bloodthirsty. Finally satisfied and happy. 

And you were his.

Then he pulled you down even deeper into the depths of your mind. And you struggled to keep afloat, to stay above the surface as he took you over and held you down in an iron grip.

When he knew he had you in his grasp, he quickly grabbed your legs, pulled your loincloth to the side and entered, leaning down, touching you, kissing you, and fucking you hard against the floor of the cave, getting you close to your release, and you felt so hot, so very hot, and then …

Then he let go. And you were back in the presence, gasping for air, heart racing as you tried to blink away what he’d just shown you in your mind. 

You looked up at him, and he was still standing there above you, on his knees, between your legs. “See? That’s how good you’ll have it with me. That’s what you’ve been missing out on this entire time.”

You tried to answer—to scream at him, to hit him, to get him off you. But his grip on your mind was too firm, too focused. And every time you tried to move, he pushed you down again. 

You could do nothing but lay where you were while he put his hand between your legs, cupping your sex and feeling for your wetness through your loincloth. “I think you’re ready,” he said with a pleased smile.

Then you sank again, as he dug deeper into your mind to keep you steady underneath him. He lay down on top of you and let one hand slink down towards his loincloth. Readying himself. Getting into position. 

And as he leaned in close, he put a hand on your cheek and whispered in your ear: “Now … It’s time for you to be mine.” 

“Get off her!”

Kìrey stopped.

Frozen by the sudden interruption, you felt him let go of your mind, and you surfaced, quickly snapping your head up to look past Kìrey’s shoulder towards the voice.

The silhouette of a man had skidded to a halt on the rain-soaked ground just inside the entrance—breathless, bow drawn, and with the storm raging on behind him. 

Kìrey turned his head to look at the intruder. He smiled and laughed darkly. “Oh, who’s this?” he said, failing to recognise the hunter he’d been stalking in the woods. 

But you could recognize those constellations from a mile away.

“Neteyam!”

Kìrey looked down at you. “You know each other?” 

“Don’t touch her! Let her go! Now!” Neteyam snarled and drew his bow even tighter.

But Kìrey paid him no heed. Instead, he dug into your mind again, pulling you down deep, making you scream—and Neteyam roar—as he searched your memories frantically for the answer to his question. 

And what he found displeased him. “… I see how it is.”

“I said get off her!”

“Fine, fine,” Kìrey said, releasing your cheek, adjusting his loincloth, and sitting up, hands above his head.

Then everything happened in a flash: you heard the swish of the arrow, and then the thunk when it hit the cave wall above you, all while you were grabbed and forcefully pulled up and back, pressed against Kìrey’s body, in between his legs, as he hid behind you. 

And you could finally see him clearly now: Neteyam—your mate, your love—standing at the entrance of the cave with a wild expression on his face as he strung another arrow to his bow and pulled, ready to shoot the moment Kìrey misstepped. He was panting heavily—feet and calves full of mud, and the rest of him soaking wet—having run through the storm to find you. 

Behind him, thunder rumbled as lightning struck. It sent a flash of light across his face, reflecting in those golden eyes that were staring right at you. And for the first time in hours, you felt relief flow through your body when you met Neteyam’s sharp gaze, as he kept you in that firm but gentle grip that he’d done so many times before—that same look that meant that you were loved, and that you were safe.

But then you felt the knife to your throat.

And you saw Neteyam’s expression change: livid—but also fearful.

“Lower the bow,” Kìrey said calmly.

“Let her go!”

“Lower the bow.”

Neteyam growled, baring his fangs with his eyes locked on Kìrey, trying to figure out if he was bluffing or not. He shifted his legs to steady his stance, keeping his balance on the soaking-wet moss. 

Then he took a slow step forward. 

But as you gasped, he stopped short. And his gaze shifted to the knife that Kìrey had pressed even harder against your throat, drawing out a small droplet of blood that slowly trickled down your neck towards your collarbone.

“I said lower it!”

Neteyam swallowed thickly.

Then he slowly lowered his bow. 

“Drop it!”

Neteyam growled again, and another droplet trickled down your neck, its path followed closely by Neteyam’s gaze. Reluctantly, he did as told—the two men staring daggers at each other as Neteyam bent down and put his bow on the ground, keeping his hands steady in the air above it. 

But then he reached his hand up, going slowly for the comms on his neck to activate it—trying out any trick he could get past Kìrey, any chance of calling for backup. 

“Stop!” Kìrey said sharply. And Neteyam did, hand hovering above the buttons on his collar. “How stupid do you think I am?” Kìrey scoffed. “I know how those work … And I’m not gonna let you call for help. Take it off and throw it on the ground—and that thing in your ear too.” Neteyam hissed. Then he grabbed his earpiece and his necklace and threw them on the ground in front of him before he put up his hands in surrender.

“Good,” Kìrey said, having missed Neteyam’s hidden manoeuvre.

But you’d noticed: Neteyam had been quick. The comms were still blinking—still transmitting the conversation to the others, letting them know he’d found you, letting them know where to go, and letting them know they needed to hurry. 

With the immediate threat gone, you felt Kìrey relax behind you, easing up the grip on your mind and the pressure of the knife as he chuckled at Neteyam. “The hunter I see … Found me again have you …? You’re annoyingly good at this. I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance—when I first saw you by those little pools, digging in the mud.”

“Yes. You should have …,” Neteyam said in an even tone. Eyes locked on Kìrey. Unblinking. “… You’re very easy to find.”

Kìrey snapped, anger shaking his voice: “But how the fuck did you find me!? I covered our tracks—there was barely anything left to follow!”

“It was sloppy work,” Neteyam goaded. 

Kìrey huffed. “I was in a hurry.”

“Then you should have left the forest when you still had the chance!” Neteyam snarled. 

Kìrey hissed. But then he suddenly paused. And you felt him take a deep breath behind you, calming down as he shifted all his focus on holding you steady between his legs, mercilessly clawing at your mind, making you unable to move. 

Then, slowly, Kìrey put his hand along your jaw and smiled at Neteyam. “And miss out on this beauty …? I tried to restrain myself. I really did. But I couldn’t resist my new mate any longer … Couldn’t wait to get a taste,” he said while grabbing your hair to turn your head towards him. 

And then he kissed you again—softly.

“Stop! Let her go, you bastard!” Neteyam snarled through gritted teeth, pulling out his knife from his belt, keeping it ready in front of him as anger shook him to his core. 

Kìrey laughed into your kiss. 

But you felt an icy chill down your spine. Because you’d heard it: the slight crack in Neteyam’s voice—the hesitation. And you knew what it meant.

It meant that he was at a severe disadvantage, with no opening in sight. And he knew it well. However, it also meant that he was considering his options. And that among all the hopelessness, he had found a way out, a way to save his loved ones. 

But that way always involved a high risk …

Neteyam! Why are you always gambling your own life?!

You couldn’t let him throw away his life for you. You had to help him somehow. Had to get out of Kìrey’s grip on you. 

You tried to surface, to fight your way up through the currents of thoughts and memories as Kìrey clawed and pulled at your mind. But it was no use: his grip was too firm, keeping you deep down in the depths, where you struggled not to drown. 

Then you winced as Kìrey pried open your mouth and dipped his tongue in before finally releasing you and looking over at Neteyam with a smile—pleased by your mate’s desperate growling. “Oh, this bothers you, doesn’t it? And I know why …,” Kìrey said, laughing as he grabbed his kuru, letting it gently fall through his hand until he reached the tendrils, still interlocked with yours. 

Neteyam’s eyes opened wide, having yet to notice that Kìrey had already formed the bond with you. He panted heavily. His desperation growing stronger for every second. 

“I can see into her mind,” Kìrey continued. “And I can see who you are, hunter. You’ve already gotten a taste of her. Tell me …,” he said as he put his hand between your legs and cupped your folds over your loincloth, making you whimper and shift in his grip, “... is it as sweet as I’ve imagined?”

“Don’t fucking touch her! Keep your hands off her!” Neteyam roared. And something dark snuck into his eyes, clouding his judgement as he readied himself to pounce.

But you’d changed tactics: If you couldn’t get out of the grip he had on your mind, maybe you could retaliate—dig into his own mind instead? 

You pushed back. But he was strong, years of practice making his mind like an impenetrable fortress. You grunted as you tried to get a sliver of control, clawing hard at the iron wall stopping your escape. And as you slowly chipped away at it, a piece of the wall opened up when you suddenly broke through. 

And you saw it: the reason why he was goading Neteyam, trying to get into his head—Kìrey’s real intentions. 

Distraction. 

Faintly in your mind, you saw a crooked smile spread on Kìrey’s lips as his focus shifted to his next move: the small knives, like spearheads, dangling on his belt next to his satchel. Four in total—seeped with poison. 

Not sedative. 

Real poison. 

“Neteyam, duck!” you screamed as Kìrey pulled out one of the throwing knives and let it fly.

But Neteyam was quick. He leapt forward, narrowly escaping the knife by rolling on the ground towards you, getting close enough to grab Kìrey’s hand and pull the knife off your throat. 

Before Kìrey could react, Neteyam had slammed down on your kurus, severing the bond and letting you roll off before pushing Kìrey hard into the rock behind him. Then he roared, screaming wildly in Kìrey’s face with his knife against his throat, preparing to cut. 

But Kìrey had been ready. As he was pushed into the rock, he pulled out his second throwing knife and thrusted. And Neteyam had to let go of Kìrey’s hand and duck to the side, making enough space for Kìrey to get away and hide behind one of the bigger rocks. 

As Kìrey ran, the second knife came flying—wide. And it would have hit you if Neteyam hadn’t deflected it in time, sending it crashing into the mossy floor of the cave.

Still crouched, one hand on the ground and the other grasping his knife, Neteyam backed up until he could feel you close behind him, reaching out a hand to touch your leg sticking out between his. 

“Ma yawne [Beloved],” Neteyam said gently, about to turn around to look at you—to make sure you were okay. 

But you knew he had to keep his focus.

“He has four! I saw them! And they’re … dipped in poison!” you warned him, grunting as you fought against the searing pain in your skull—headache still lingering after Kìrey had prodded at your mind.

Neteyam growled and held his knife closer to his face, ready to deflect again if Kìrey got desperate enough to send the knife your way. 

But Kìrey did not attack. Instead, from behind the rocks, you heard his sinister laugh again. ”Neteyam, was it? Tell me … Neteyam. Do you really think she’s yours?”

“I don’t think—I know! She’s my mate. She chose me.” 

“Yes. She might have done that … But she took her sweet time doing it, didn’t she?”

Neteyam hissed.

And Kìrey kept going, his voice sneaking closer from behind the rocks as he slowly made his way towards you. “I know who you think you are to her … that she loves you … But if she really did, why would she make you wait for so long?”

“Shut the fuck up!” 

Kìrey laughed at Neteyam’s reaction. “Trust me, Neteyam. I know how it feels … She made me wait just as long as you,” Kìrey said, with an almost genuine tone in his sympathy. “And doesn’t it hurt? Knowing that she shut you out? That she cared so little about you, making you wait for so long …? And you know why … right?”

Neteyam drew in a quick breath, looking down at the ground, gritting his teeth. 

Then Kìrey chuckled. A dark and sinister chuckle. “It’s because of that fire inside her. Because, really, she’s not supposed to be yours … She’s supposed to be mine.”

Neteyam hissed again.

But then he hesitated.

Your stomach sank. “Neteyam … I … Don’t listen to him! He’s lying! He—”

But Neteyam shushed you, his ears perking up, listening intently to the faint sound, barely noticeable in the smattering of raindrops on the trees outside.

Footsteps. Coming closer.

Quickly.

Through the entrance, Lo’ak came running, sliding on the wet moss, rifle ready in his hands. 

He skidded to a halt, stopping in between Kìrey and the smaller entrance, taking in the scene in front of him—his brother, crouched in the corner over his sister-in-law who was tied up to the rock behind them. 

“Neteyam!”

“Lo’ak!”

Then Lo’ak saw the stranger in front of him, and he pulled up his rifle, taking aim, ready to shoot.

But Neteyam stopped him: “Lo’ak, get down! He’s got knives—poison!”

As Kìrey let the third knife fly, Lo’ak ducked behind a rock instead, narrowly escaping the knife. 

Kìrey screamed in frustration: He was surrounded now, with not just one man to keep track of, but two. And he had almost run out of options—down to only one more throwing knife.

And then he ran out of time as well.

“Sempul [father],” you gasped under your breath, relieved at the sight of your father rushing through the entrance to the cave, with Jake close behind him. And the two men—both seasoned warriors, able to assess the situation quickly—didn’t hesitate. 

As your father set eyes on your kidnapper, he pulled up his rifle and took aim, switching from burst mode to semi-automatic while Jake moved to the side and Lo’ak got out from behind the rock. In a second, they had surrounded the kidnapper on all sides—cutting off his escape routes.

“… Kìrey,” your father said with a calm, steady voice. But you could still hear the rage seeping through it. 

“Dad, he’s got poison … Be careful,” Neteyam said to Jake, who hissed and nodded while adjusting his aim, not taking his eyes off Kìrey.

Kìrey chuckled darkly.

“My, my, my … If it isn’t Tao’tel … How’s life been treating you? Still upset about your mate? Still upset that we killed her?” he goaded, tilting his head at your father, trying to get any sort of reaction out of him.

But your father didn’t answer the question—his face stone-cold as he stared into Kìrey’s eyes. “Hands in the air, where I can see them.”

But Kìrey leaned forward instead, still with a big grin on his face. “That upset, are you …? You know … I still remember. I remember when we burned her on the pyre. I remember the smell … almost sweet, like a flowe—”

Your father’s shot echoed through the cave. But as it settled down, you could still hear Kìrey’s laughter.

“Oh, that was close …,” Kìrey said with an amused look at the indentation in the rock where his head had been a second ago.

“Don’t move a muscle,” your father said calmly, checking his rifle, making sure there was still a fresh bullet in the magazine.

Kìrey scoffed, obviously disappointed. “You know, for a murderer—for someone who’s committed patricide—I thought you’d be a little more fun. A bit more chatty.”

Your father ignored him, adjusting his aim, ready for the execution.

Kìrey tutted and shook his head. “Guess I’m gonna have to create all the fun around here.” 

Then he made his move, grabbing his last knife and letting it fly towards Lo’ak—while Jake screamed in desperation, having noticed the small shift in Kìrey’s gaze towards his youngest son.

“Lo’ak, get down!”

Lo’ak threw himself to the ground to escape the knife, skidding on the side of his stomach. And Kìrey seized his opportunity, jumping over Lo’ak and running out the smaller exit. Shots echoed through the cave as Jake and your father’s bullets smattered into the wall, following Kìrey’s path. When Kìrey disappeared behind the leaves of the exit, your father growled and set off after him, following him out into the forest, with Jake close behind. 

Still full of rage, Neteyam shifted, jumping up to his feet to rush after Kìrey.

But he’d barely taken a step before you stopped him, grabbing at his ankle to keep him with you.

You needed him.

“Ma Neteyam,” you said weakly. And at the sound of your voice, Neteyam stopped short and turned around, worry creeping in over his face as all the rage left him, finally able to shift his focus solely to you. 

He fell to his knees, cut your restraints, and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Ma yawne, oeyä yawne [beloved, my beloved] … you’re alright, you’re alright.”

You felt yourself melting into his embrace. The familiar smell of his skin sent a wave of relief through your body as you put a hand on the back of his head and buried your face in the nape of his neck. Then you let yourself break, letting the tears fall down your cheek as fear left your body. 

You were finally safe again.

In Neteyam’s arms, you were safe.

You felt his hand in your hair, gently holding you as close as he could, pushing you against his body while sucking in a shallow, shaky breath as he prepared himself for his dreaded question. 

He swallowed thickly. “Was I … Was I too late? Did he …?”

“No … He didn’t.”

Neteyam sighed with relief, finally letting himself relax, letting himself take a deep breath, letting his body shake from exhaustion, and—finally—letting the tears fall down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. 

“Thank you, Eywa … Thank you,” he whispered.

Lo’ak grunted as he got up, ready to follow after his dad into the night to hunt the stranger—the kidnapper of his brother’s mate. 

But as Jake ran past him, he called out his stern order: “Stay, Lo’ak. Keep guard. In case he comes back.”

Lo’ak nodded. And at first he held his rifle ready, sight at his eye, shifting between the entrances. But as time passed, he eased up and lowered his rifle, realising that the stranger was gone.  

He took a deep breath and sighed. He was still out of breath from the sprint and the confrontation, but now he could finally let himself relax.

They’d made it in time. They’d found her. 

It was over.

Behind him, he heard Neteyam and his sister-in-law’s quiet whispers and sobs. And when he looked over his shoulder at them to see if they were okay, he happened to see something silvery and shiny floating past his brother’s head, disappearing behind it. He squinted his eyes—trying to see if it had just been the glowing moss reflecting in the water behind them—and he took a step closer. 

“Ouch,” he yelped quietly while lifting his foot to see what he had stepped on.

It was a tuner—one of her mother’s tuners.

He bent down and picked it up, studying the glint of the shiny metal in the low light of the cave. 

How did this get here?

But just as he was about to ask, he got interrupted by Jake and Tao’tel, who came running back through the small entrance—both of them panting heavily, with a defeated look upon their faces.

“Did you get him?” Lo’ak asked.

“No … He’s gone,” Jake said, shaking his head. And Tao’tel sighed deeply. “He disappeared into the storm. I don’t think we can track him in this weather.”

“But who was that guy? Do you know him, Tao’?”

“I do. Kind of …,” Tao’ said, looking over at his daughter and her mate, still stuck in their embrace, unable to let go of each other. “But I can explain later. We need to get her back to Mo’at and Kiri, so they can look at the wound.”  

Jake nodded. “I’ll run ahead and get the ikran. Lo’ak, make sure you get his gear,” Jake said, readying his rifle before he left. And Lo’ak started going around the cave, gathering up Neteyam’s comms and bow. 

From the entrance, as Lo’ak strung his big brother’s bow across his torso, he saw Tao’ walk up to the couple by the rock. The former Mangkwan warrior put a gentle hand on his daughter’s head and crouched down, whispering something to her as he slowly stroked her hair.

Then he stood up again. “Come,” he said, putting a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, “let’s go back home.”

Neteyam picked up his mate, holding her legs with one arm and her back with the other. She kept her arms around him tight, face nuzzled deep into his neck, her body shaking from her quiet sobs. And as Neteyam turned around and started walking to the exit of the cave, Lo’ak couldn’t help but study the look upon his brother’s face. 

Neteyam looked angry and exhausted—but also relieved—his constellations pulsing with a low light in the dark night. And when his brother walked past him, Lo’ak noticed those aytanhì [freckles] again. The ones he knew so well, cascading down from under his brother’s eyes—like teardrops falling down his cheeks.

But … No. 

Those were real teardrops.

As Tao’tel led the way out of the cave, stopping right outside to hold the leaves apart for the brothers to follow, Lo’ak took one last glance around the cave, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. The cave was beautiful: soft moss and glowing plants littered all around, with vines of pink and blue flowers hanging down from the ceiling.

And he shuddered—thinking about what he’d heard through Neteyam’s comms.

Glad to leave this cursed place, he turned around and started walking behind his big brother towards the exit.

But as he looked up, he froze. Stopping mid-step.

There it was again.

The little silvery flash was back. And now, it was clear what it had been: an atokirina’ [woodsprite], floating over Neteyam’s shoulder as he walked out of the cave. It swam gently through the air, bobbing up and down, riding on the winddraft of Neteyam’s determined stride. 

Then it sank down slowly, lowering itself in order to lightly touch his big brother’s shoulder and his sister-in-law’s arm with its tendrils. 

And then it disappeard—blown away by the storm as Neteyam stepped through the exit. 

Lo’ak gasped under his breath. How long has that been there?

“Still outside the mess hall. Getting closer to the fuel tanks. Hold your position, Pathfinder. I can’t have more AMPs on me. Over.”

“Eagle Eye. Wordsworth. Are you close? Over.”

“This is Wordsworth. The AMPs are swarming this side. We need backup as well. Eagle Eye, how is your side?”

“This is Eagle Eye. We’re good. Not under heavy fire.”

“Can you split up, Eagle Eye?”

“… Y-yes, I think I can do that! Nete- I mean Pathfinder, what’s your position?”

“You know where I am, Eagle Eye.”

“Oh! Right! I do … What’s your position, Tao’? Sorry, Wothword! No, wordswords, worth-, wor- fuck!”

Neteyam’s father-in-law laughed into his comms: “We’re northwest of the canteen … And just say Tao’, Lo’ak. I know it’s hard to say. Took Neteyam a while to learn too …”

“Sorry! Splitting up now … And why’d you have to pick such a hard callsign anyway?”

“I have my reasons,” Tao’tel said, and Neteyam could hear his loving smile on the other end of the comms. 

Once Tao’tel and Neteyam’s now mate had first arrived at the Omatikayan base camp so many years ago, Jake had put the former Mangkwan warrior to work almost immediately, noticing the usefulness of his background. At first, Tao’tel had just gone along on the hunts and scouting missions, but he’d quickly shown his skills in combat, and Jake had decided to make him his second-in-command. As such, he’d needed a callsign. And Tao’ hadn’t hesitated.

Jake had of course understood why Tao’ had chosen the callsign that he did, and agreed that it was fitting. But he’d also been a bit perplexed at first, being such a hard name to pronounce for his men. But Tao’ had been steadfast in his decision. 

And Neteyam didn’t deny it: at first it had been hard for him to say as well. But once he’d become Jake’s third-in-command, he’d slowly learned how to pronounce it properly. And eventually, Tao’tel had also told him his reason for choosing such a complicated callsign: It was the surname of his late wife’s favourite poet, whose most famous poem featured a Terran flower that resembled that rare Pandoran flower that had brought them together in the first place. The one that had always been securely fastened in one of her braids.

And his heart did so often fill up with pleasure, as he danced with his daffodil in his memories. “And what reasons are those? To annoy your men? To be unpronounceabl—” Lo’ak said sarcastically.

“Stop your yapping, Lo’ak, and focus! Charlie Mike [continue mission]. Over,” Jake quickly corrected him.

“Yes, sir!”

Neteyam chuckled low at his little brother. But his dad was right … This was no time for jokes. Come on, Lo’ak. Get here quick.

Neteyam reloaded, waited for a gap in the sawtute’s [humans’] fire, leaned out of his cover, aimed, and shot. Two more down.

He repeated the procedure: three down.

Then five.

Six.

Nine.

But the soldiers kept on coming.

He looked to his side. Four of his men were wounded behind cover, with the rest of the squad protecting them with suppressing fire. Their wounds looked bad. Blood oozing out of their legs, shoulders, and arms; if they didn’t get out soon he’d probably lose them. 

He leaned out of his cover again, scanning the area, assessing the situation.

If the sawtute [humans] could be distracted for long enough, he could probably order a few of his warriors to get the wounded out. But that meant he’d be left with only three out of the eleven warriors that had been assigned to his mission. And he couldn’t possibly hold their position with only that—the soldiers would quickly notice how few they were left, and they’d be swarmed in no time. 

There was only one way forward at this point: all of his warriors needed to get out. With or without him.

Neteyam made a quick decision. 

He put his hand to his comms: “I need you now, Eagle Eye! Hurry!”

“Roger.”

He took a deep breath. Please be with me, Eywa.

Then he signalled the order and jumped out of cover, running to get closer to the sawtute [humans], distracting them and providing suppressive fire while his squad escaped. The bullets rained around him as he ran, following his path, smattering into the dirt behind him, and almost catching up before he could get to his next cover. 

But he made it just in time. 

He pushed his back against the cold metal of the small crate he was crouched behind, closing his eyes and feeling the shivers run up his spine. He looked up, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw his men round the corner, bullets smattering into the heavy metal wall just as the last tail disappeared behind it. 

Before he kept going, he forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to steady his pounding heart and stop his shaking hands. And then he started to look around for an exit. 

He studied the area carefully: To his left, there was a short platform, full of crates just like the one he was sitting behind. Maybe he could sneak up behind the rest of the boxes and up the platform to get a better view. It would probably be easy to get up there while still staying out of the sawtute’s [humans’] fire—and maybe he could even climb down the other side and escape that way …

But then his eyes opened wide again, ears perked up, listening to that dreadful sound coming towards him from behind his cover: Heavy footsteps sinking deep into the earth. The metallic creaking of large robotic legs. Legs that stomped over anything and everything, carving out a steady path of destruction—of certain death.

An AMP suit. 

He quickly checked his ammunition. Three bullets … That would never do it.

Fuck. 

He threw the rifle to the side, and took out his bow. Then he put his hand to his comms: “Devil Dog, this is Pathfinder. Mission status? Over.”

“Almost ready to set the explosives. Keep your position for now. Over.”

“Negative, sir. Too many wounded. I had to get my men out. It’s just me now. AMP getting closer. Eagle Eye, I need that backup, stat!” 

“Nete—” For a moment, Jake’s voice trailed away. Then Neteyam heard his dad’s desperate scream in his ear: “Neteyam! You get out of there! NOW!”

“Roger.”

Neteyam turned towards his planned escape route. But he stopped short, quickly realising his very costly mistake: The AMP’s reach was much broader than a normal tawtute [human], putting him straight into its line of fire whichever way he went. And the AMP was getting closer.

Closer.

And Closer.

He swallowed thickly, holding his breath as he grabbed the last grenade from the belt strapped to his thigh. 

He would have one chance to get out. Only one.

He changed frequency, calling out in the spotters’ channel: “Phoenix …” No answer. “Ma yawne [beloved] …?” Still nothing. “Tuk?”

Behind him, the heavy steps were quickly getting closer. 

Now or never.

“I’m sorry, ma yawne [beloved] … I love you.”

He put the safety pin in his mouth, pulled it out with his teeth, and chucked the grenade at the sawtute [humans]. As they screamed to get to cover, he quickly jumped out, drew his bow taut as he flew through the air, and aimed at the driver of the AMP suit. The heavy machine gun was already pointed straight at him, following his path.

One push of the trigger would do it.

But before the soldier could fire, the AMP was pushed to the side as a rain of bullets hit him and the other sawtute [humans] hard.

Quickly adapting to the distraction, Neteyam landed, rolled, and spun around, baring his teeth as he let his arrow fly straight into the cockpit of the AMP suit. It immediately went limp and fell over.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Bro! Come on!”

“Lo’ak!”

Lo’ak took his big brother’s hand, pulling him away from the sawtute’s [human’s] next volley and back behind cover as the Omatikayan warriors returned the fire. 

“What the fuck are you doing, bro?! Why are you here alone?”

Neteyam panted heavily. Then he smiled at his little brother and winked. “Hazard of the trade … you know,” Neteyam chuckled.

But Lo’ak didn’t seem amused. “Why didn’t you go with your men? You could have gotten out too!”

“They needed cover to get out,” Neteyam answered matter-of-factly.

“But you could have kept a few with you. Why didn—”

“And risk their lives too? No … As a leader, sometimes you’ve got to make the hard decisions,” Neteyam said.  

Lo’ak furrowed his brow, and Neteyam smiled at him, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’ll learn, soon enough … Thank you, bro. For having my back.”  

“Sure … Anytime,” Lo’ak answered with a smile—a smile that quickly turned snarky as he shook his head at his big brother, “… mighty warrior.”

Neteyam chuckled, looking fondly at his brother.

Then Jake called out his order: “Explosives ready. Setting them now. All units, move out!”

The brothers quickly got up, helping their men take out the remaining soldiers around the armory. And then they signalled the retreat. 

As Neteyam ran down the small hill with Lo’ak and the warriors, he looked up towards the sky, searching for his mate, hoping that she’d probably been too busy keeping an eye out to listen in on the main channel. 

She won’t be happy about this—me risking my life like that. If Lo’ak squeals … no, scratch that … when Lo’ak squeals, I will never hear the end of it.

But as he searched the treeline, hoping to get a glimpse of her, he started slowing down his steps as he realised what it was he saw.

An empty sky.

“Spotters. This is Devil Dog. Make sure you’re out of range,” Jake called. 

Silence.

“Phoenix. Do you read?”

More silence.

“Phoenix? Tuk?”

Lo’ak slowed down his steps as well, turning around to meet his brother’s concerned gaze. In Lo’ak’s eyes, Neteyam could see the same question he was asking himself: Why weren’t they answering?

A shiver went up his spine as he felt it. Yet again. That feeling that he’d felt yesterday, after seeing the tracks. Back then it had been faint, easily discarded as something imaginary and overcome by his father’s assurance of safety—of it being nothing to worry about. But now it pressed down hard on his shoulders, threatening to push him straight through the ground. 

Something was wrong.

Then he heard his dad call out in the comms: “Explosives set. Everybody get out NOW!”

The brothers took off again, heading into the forest below to take cover. When they cleared the treeline, they stopped and looked back, panting and feeling their racing heartbeats all the way up in their throats.

One heartbeat.

Five heartbeats.

Eight.

Boom

Success.

The Omatikayan warriors cheered as the RDA outpost went up in flames, with what remained of the soldiers scattering on the wind—already dead as they headed into the perilous forests of Pandora, where the warriors were waiting for them, behind the bushes and up in the trees.

Next to Neteyam, Lo’ak panted heavily, and then he started laughing, relieved and proud that his first time leading a squad in a raid had gone well. And Neteyam would have been proud as well, if that sinking feeling hadn’t threatened to fully push him right through the ground at this point.

He called out in his comms again: “Phoenix? Ma yawne [beloved] …? Tuk? Tuktirey?!”

They still weren’t answering.

Neteyam put a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder: “Did you see them? Above you, when you split up. Did you see them then?”

“N-no! Or … I don’t know.” 

Neteyam scowled at Lo’ak. And Lo’ak pushed him away.

“What? I barely looked up. I was too busy trying to get to your skxawng [idiot/moron] ass … And you’re lucky I did by the way. You would have been dead otherwise.”

Neteyam sighed. “No, sorry … I’m not trying to blame you. I’m just … Why aren’t they answering? Where are they?”

Neteyam started calling out into the comms again. But he was quickly interrupted by a voice behind him.

“Meitan oeyä [my sons]!” 

“Mom!” Neteyam and Lo’ak said as Neytiri ran up to them and pulled them both into a tight hug. 

“You’re alright! Thank you, Eywa! Thank you!”

“Mom, have you seen the girls? They’re not answering the call,” Neteyam asked.

“I heard, maitan [son] … Your father has given the all clear. He’s that way,” Neytiri said, gesturing with her head. “I’m going up on Sa’ata to look for them.”

Then she put her hand over Neteyam’s heart and looked up at him, deep into his eyes, reminding him of the strength he’d inherited from her. “I’ll find them … Go to your father.”

“Okay,” he answered. “Hurry mom. The eclipse is starting any minute now.” 

Neytiri nodded. Then she ran out of the forest, calling to her ikran. And the brothers took off towards their dad.

As they ran, Jake and Tao’tel’s desperate calls for their daughters rang in Neteyam’s ear, making his heart beat louder and louder in his chest, as two questions echoed endlessly through his head: Why aren’t they answering? What’s happened? 

“Ma Neytiri, anything yet?” 

“Nothing yet, circling back south.”

Next to Neteyam, his brother was running, trying to keep a steady pace, looking over at him every now and then. “Don’t worry, bro. We’ll find them … I’m sure they’re fine,” Lo’ak panted next to his brother.

“Yeah …,” Neteyam said.

But for every second, every minute, that their mother’s search came up short, Neteyam’s worried stare turned more and more focused, as he steeled his heart, waiting for Neytiri’s next report. 

He tried hard to not expect the worst.

“Neytiri, anyth—”

“There! A hole in the canopy. Broken branches south of the outpost. I’m going down.”

“Be careful, baby. I’m coming.”

Neteyam quickly spun around and started sprinting back south. Lo’ak skidded on the ground and went after him, trying to keep up with his brother’s long strides.

While they ran through the forest, the wind picked up behind them. It had slowly been increasing in strength ever since yesterday. And now, as the rainclouds closed in on the mountains, it was clear that it wasn’t the normal weather of the rainy season that the wind heralded: it was an approaching storm. 

Still able to keep his focus, Neteyam carefully searched the skies behind the swaying canopy for any glimpse of his mom. And as the sun finally disappeared behind one of Pandora’s many sister moons, he caught the shine of Sa’ata’s yellow streaks racing above the treeline. 

He ran even faster, increasing his steps, jumping over branches and through bushes, as he followed the direction of the yellow streak through the dark, glowing forest, quickly catching up to his mom.

In his chest, his heart pounded harder and harder, and his hands started to shake as that same feeling kept threatening to push him straight through the ground. But he didn’t dare to stop, didn’t dare to imagine what might have happened—or else he might just sink right through the moon itself. 

However, a frightening thought crept up on him all the same: Something is wrong. 

When they finally arrived at the small glade, Neytiri was already on the ground with her ear against Tuk’s chest, listening intently for a heartbeat. Next to her, Tiram was stirring, huffing and snorting weakly while trying to lift her wings. And Sa’ata was nuzzling her neck, doing her best to help her up. 

But where was his mate …?

At first, Neteyam stopped short, looking around the glade. But as Lo’ak caught up, he quickly grabbed Neteyam’s arm and pulled him over to their mom and little sister and sat down next to them.

“Is she—” Lo’ak started to ask, stopping himself before he could fully articulate what they all had feared.

“She’s alive,” Neytiri said, ear still plastered against Tuk’s chest, picking up her steady heartbeat. But when their mom moved her head, Neteyam and Lo’ak gasped.

Neytiri’s face was full of the blood that was soaking Tuk’s chest and stomach. The cut from a knife stretched diagonally from the left side of her lower abdomen up towards her chest. At a first glance, it looked deep.

Neytiri took Tuk’s head in her hands and tried to rustle her awake, while Neteyam inspected the wound. It was deep. But not beyond saving. And when he looked closer he could see a faint, blue tint in the blood that had splattered along her chest and neck. 

Then he heard his dad’s screams from behind them: “Neytiri! Tuk! What happened?” 

Jake ran up to them, put a hand on Neteyam, and pushed him to the side so he could inspect his daughter’s wound. 

“She’s okay, dad—she’s alive. But she’s been cut,” Neteyam answered, putting a hand on his dad’s shoulder.

Jake nodded. “We need to dress the wound. Quickly Lo’ak, get something to wrap it with.” Lo’ak nodded and rushed to the bushes. “Neteyam, your ammunition belts. Are they empty?” Jake continued, having first inspected his own half-full belt and decided against it.

“Y-yeah. Here,” Neteyam answered, taking off the belts on his thigh and across his shoulder.

Lo’ak came back, having gathered a few leaves to wrap around Tuk’s stomach, and Jake started dressing the wound, with Netytiri assisting in holding the leaves down while he fastened the belts around her tightly. As they worked, Lo’ak sat below, keeping one of his hands on his sister’s calf, grabbing onto it hard. And Neteyam moved, putting the back of his little sister’s head in his lap, one hand under her chin to keep her airways open, and the other on the back of her head, stroking her braids gently to try to wake her up.

While holding his unconscious sister as steady as he could, he saw movement in his periphery—Tao’tel arriving at the spot. 

At first, he stopped, taking in the scene in front of him: Tuk badly wounded, but safe in the hands of her family, and Tiram fighting to get up, helped by Sa’ata to the best of her abilities. 

But that was it.

Confused, he looked around, trying and failing to locate his daughter, before meeting his son-in-law’s equally panicked gaze.

Neteyam shook his head, having come to the same horrifying realisation. 

She’s not here.

“Is she still breathing, Neteyam?” Jake said while tightening the make-shift bandages around Tuk’s body. “Hold her steady.”

Neteyam shifted his grip on Tuk’s head, feeling for the shallow breath over her half-open mouth.

“Y-yeah … It’s faint but she’s breathing,” he stammered. “Tuk … Tuk, wake up … please.” He swallowed thickly, looking into his sister’s blank expression—eyes closed, ears down. “Please …”

Then her eyes twitched.

“Tuk!” 

She grunted. Whimpering and furrowing her brows as she slowly regained consciousness. 

And her family smiled with relief.

Neytiri put her hands on her daughter’s cheeks. “Tuk! Tuk, you’re fine. You’re gonna be okay. We’re here.”

Tuk coughed. And instantly she screamed, flinging her hand up to her head, writhing in pain in Neteyam’s lap. And he had to put his hand on her shoulder to keep her steady.

“M-my … h-head! My head!”

“You’re okay, Tuk. Stay calm,” Jake hushed his daughter through her screams.

“What’s happening, dad?” Lo’ak asked.

Neteyam answered before Jake could, pointing at the blue tint in the blood on his sister’s neck: “There must have been something on the knife.” 

Jake bent down, inspecting the blood carefully. “Could be poison. A sedative maybe …,” Jake said. “We need to get her back to Mo’at and Kiri. Quickly Neytiri, get her out of here.”

Neytiri got ready to lift Tuk up, but she stopped short. As her mom moved her, Tuk dug her fingers deep into Neteyam’s arm to stay put in his lap, shaking her head to make it clear that she needed to tell him something urgently. Then she groaned loudly, still pushing her hand into her temple and stammered through her groans: “N-Neteyam … I-I …”

Slowly, she opened her eyes. And the look she gave Neteyam was full of regret: “I’m sorry, Neteyam … I’m so sorry.”

“Why? What happened, Tuk?”

“S-someone … attacked …,” Tuk answered through gritted teeth, fighting valiantly against the intense headache that the sedative had given her. Then tears formed in her eyes, falling down the side of her face: “He took her …”

Neteyam’s heart stopped. “What …? Who, Tuk?”

“The man …,” Tuk tried to answer through her grunts. But she gave up quickly as another wave of pain surged through her head, making her scream out loud again. 

Then, slowly, she lifted her hand and pointed to something past Jake.

With bated breath, Neteyam followed Tuk’s hand, looking at what Tao’tel had just found on the ground. Between Tuk and Tiram, barely visible in the low light of the forest, lay a small pool of dark liquid.

Blood.

A large wave of dread fell over Neteyam, making his skin crawl and his stomach twist. 

He put his forehead against Tuk’s, caressing her one last time before he gently laid her head on the ground, letting his mom carry her away to safety. Then he rushed towards the pool of blood. 

He sat down next to it, dipped his finger in the still-wet blood and inspected it—in it was mingled the same blue tint as in Tuk’s blood. 

And from behind his shaking finger, he saw a red spotty trail leading from the puddle and into the forest.

Barely audible above him, Neteyam heard Tao’ whisper under his breath: “He’s got her …”

“… He? Who are you talking about?”

Tao’tel’s voice shook as he spoke, but he was steadfast in his insistence, putting a hand on Neteyam’s arm and pulling him up to his feet, urging him to follow: “We need to go now! We have to find her. We have no time to lose!”

“But what’s happening?” Neteyam said. He was almost hyperventilating. 

Then he heard it. They all did. A faint crackle on the comms system—someone calling out from far away, almost out of range.

“H-help … help, I-I’m—”

She’s still alive.

Neteyam bolted.

Breathing. 

You were breathing. It was heavy and slow. The strain of the movement burning in your chest with every shallow breath you took.

But you were breathing—at least. 

Then your ear twitched, picking up the sound of rustling leaves. 

But not from the wind. A rustling caused by something else. By something—or someone—touching your thighs, rocking them erratically, winding something around them tight. 

Then you were released, and your legs slumped down again when gravity took hold of them.

Your ear twitched again. Forward this time, as it picked up the sound of footsteps leading away, and the steady murmur of flowing water. You heard loud splashing, over and over, until it finally stopped, and you heard a muffled thump. 

As consciousness slowly returned to you, you instinctively tried to move your body. 

But you failed. 

You tried again.

Failed.

Stubbornly, you kept on trying. And this time you succeeded in wiggling your toes and fingers. 

Then you moved on, trying to move your legs, to shift your body. But exhaustion had already claimed you; it was a sort of drowsiness that took over your whole body and weighed you down, pressing you into the earth itself. 

You gave up and tried to move your fingers again. And you managed to make your hand twitch. Then your feet, your shoulders, and your hips. Then you flicked your tail.

Gradually, and slowly, your body was waking up. But the drowsiness wouldn’t let go of you, still making you sink heavily into the ground.

Why am I so out of it? you thought as you tried to lift your head.

Then every sensation you’d felt so far took a back seat as your head split in two. Each of your heartbeats surged violently through your head, hammering against your skull, cracking it wide open. Like lightning cracking open a tree. 

You winced and groaned loudly at the intense pain. 

And then you heard it: a low, pleasant voice reaching your ear. Speaking softly to you, with a sort of familiarity: “Good morning, stxelì oeyä [my gift].”

You tried to open your eyes, to search for the source of the voice. But you quickly closed them again as your thundering heartbeat pounded even harder against your skull when your eyes were invaded with the dim light of the glowing forest. 

You folded in on yourself and whimpered. Helpless against the unforgiving pain. 

The voice made its way to you again—worried this time: “Mawey, stxelì oeyä [Be calm, my gift]. That headache won’t go away for a while, and we still have a long way to go … Don’t exert yourself.”

You opened your eyes again, fighting through the splitting of your skull to try to get a glimpse of whoever was addressing you. You grunted as you lifted your head, squinting in the darkness of the eclipse. 

And you saw him: your captor sitting on a rock by a little stream against the backdrop of the luminescent forest. A sinewy, broad-shouldered Na’vi male was cleaning his knife while he stared at you with soft, yellow eyes that glowed against his blue skin. 

At first you figured he was of another forest clan. Kekunan maybe? But his loincloth and armbands weren’t colourful, like their clothes usually were. So where was he from?

You lay your head down on the ground again, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath while you waited for your headache to clear enough to be able to take him in fully.

Then you opened your eyes again.

And there could be no doubt about it: he was Mangkwan. 

It was made crystal clear by the markings that littered his body. Long-settled, short scars that lined his chest and arms. And six fangs, nantang [viperwolf], three on each side, shoved into his skin in between the ribbones underneath his chest.

But he was missing the warpaint so customary to his clan. Instead, his blue skin shone untouched by ash and paint. And yet his aytanhì [bioluminescent freckles] were missing, carefully covered with mud, his figure casting a dark shadow in the luminescent light of the forest, helping him blend in with the undergrowth. If he so desired, he could be perfectly hidden in the darkness of the budding eclipse.

And as you took him in, he studied you as well. And a small smile spread on his lips: “Getting a bit better are we?”

Next to him, on the rock, you saw a pile of flower heads. And having noticed the small shift in your gaze, he picked one up and let it rest in his hand. Then he leaned forward and held it out for you to see: dusty pink petals that curved steeply into the middle, where blue stamens protruded. “Beautiful, these. And very useful … But the side effects are a real bitch, I must admit,” he explained, still with that soft, pleasant voice. 

But those eyes kept staring at you, holding you in their grip. And there was something familiar about them. Something that you couldn’t put a finger on.

Something that sent a shiver up your spine. 

You panicked.

Desperately, you tried to move again. And this time you could feel even more of your body as you shifted and thrashed back and forth to try to get your sense of touch back. 

“Mawey [Be calm],” he hushed. “Mawey [Be calm] … There’s nowhere you can go anyway. Might as well relax.”

You ignored his demand. But when you tried to get up, fighting through your headache to sit upright and run away, you realised that he was right: you were tied up. Tightly wound ropes were forcing your ankles and knees together, and your arms were tied in front of you, folded up and placed close to your chest, wrists pressed together. 

On your right thigh you saw a bandage of leaves covering the wound left by the arrow.

Sitting snugly on the rock above you, your captor was still studying your every movement, every little glance of your eye: “Yeah, sorry about the thigh. I did aim for your shoulder, so you could at least walk when you woke up … Would have made this a lot easier. But that little bitch just had to interfere.”

Tuk! 

Suddenly you remembered. She’d been cut. He had cut her!

You tried to talk, to scream at him for hurting her. But your voice caught in your dry throat, and you swallowed hard, sending another lightning bolt through your skull.

He laughed softly. Like he was amused by your rage. “Oh? She meant a lot to you didn’t she …? Don’t worry. She didn’t get much more of the nectar than you did,” he said, slowly squeezing the flower in his hand. “However, can’t say much about the wound … Who knows? If we’re lucky, she might have already bled to death by now.”

You let out a low breathless growl that quickly turned into a soft cry as yet another lightning bolt split your skull in half.

But despite all the pain, you still knew what you needed to do: I need to get back to Tuk. I promised Neytiri I’d make sure she’d be okay … And what if he’s right? What if she’s … if she’s …

As you lay there, whimpering softly, you searched your aching mind furiously for anything you could do to get away—to make sure that Tuk would be okay.

What can I do …? What can I do?

Then, finally, a wave of adrenaline surged through your body, helping you find the solution: your comms. 

You pulled your hand up towards your throat and put a finger on the button.

And you flinched immediately, as crackling and a loud, high-pitched, electric buzz invaded your mind and unleashed your voice: your small whimpers becoming a loud pained scream. 

“What did I just tell you? Mawey, stxelì oeyä [Be calm, my gift]!”

But the adrenaline kept you sane enough to fight the cutting pain, and you gasped into your comms: “H-help … help, I-I’m—”

The shadow moved. One second he was on the rock and the next he was crouched down above you, knife ready as he grabbed your hand and removed it from your neck, with a wild expression on his face.

You quieted. And he quickly calmed down, lowered the knife, and gathered himself again. When he leaned in close to examine the earpiece and the necklace, you were finally able to see his face clearly. 

A handsome, almost pleasant face was staring down at you, with soft lips parted slightly as he studied your comms. Ruffled bangs were falling into his round, staring eyes—strands finding their way in front of them and darkening the gentle, golden glow that shone through from behind. Black, soft hair fell in layers down to his shoulders, curling in on his neck. And two black nantang [viperwolf] fangs were tied to his hair, falling down from behind his ears. 

As you stared into his golden eyes, you heard Neteyam’s fragmented voice from the comms: “Pho-x, c-me -n! Pho-nix …? M- y-wn- [b-lov-], a-sw- m-!”

Your captor reached out his hands, cut off the necklace with his knife, and gently grabbed the earpiece. He put it in his ear, listening intently to your mate’s desperate call. Then he pressed the button on the necklace, and he immediately flinched at the loud penetrating buzz of your broken comms. 

But his intelligent eyes were working furiously, and he seemed to understand. 

“Oh, is that what it’s for?” He let go of the button. “I was wondering what that curious necklace was.” He sighed, then he took out the earpiece, crushed it in his hand and threw it and the necklace in the stream. “But we can’t have you revealing our location now, can we?”

He reached out a hand, slowly stroking your cheek: “I guess it’s time to go then … Before you pull any more tricks,” he said, and his grip on your cheek tightened slightly.

Then he tilted his head.

And you almost remembered. 

Had you seen him before? “W-who are you? What do you want?”

He furrowed his brow, letting go of your cheek. “Oh …?” he said, sounding genuinely confused—and almost worried. “You don’t know?”

You shook your head, splitting it in two again. And you screamed.

He chuckled. “Wow, you really are out of it if you don’t remember … I guess I overdid it a bit with the sedative. I’m sorry about that.” 

He studied his knife, picked up the smooshed flower next to him, and let his blade cut through it, soaking it in the blue nectar. Then he slowly and methodically let his thumb slide down the side of the knife—measuring carefully and shaking his head. “Unfortunately, this next one’s gonna have to be a doozy as well. We’re going even further this time,” he said as he shook the excess nectar off his thumb.

“But … but who—”

He smiled sweetly at you as he cut you off: “Don’t worry, stxelì oeyä [my gift]. Your memory will catch up to you soon.”

And in one fell swoop he bent down and made a shallow cut along your collarbone.

Just like before, you instantly started to grow cold as consciousness left you again. 

“You rest for now, tsyeyem oeyä [my treasure]. We need to move: we’re still not in a safe place yet …” 

As your body and mind grew numb, he picked you up and flung you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry—like a hunter does his prey—and set off upstream.

Then everything went dark again.

Neteyam tried again: “Phoenix, come in! Phoenix …? Ma yawne [beloved], answer me!” 

Still quiet. Eerily quiet. Just like the forest he was running through. Normally it was so full of movement, of sounds—of life. But now, it was still: no syaksyuk [prolemuris] swinging and chattering in the trees, no aynantang [viperwolves] out hunting during the eclipse, and no birds singing their songs in the trees.  It was like the whole forest was waiting together with him, with bated breath, to hear her voice again—for her to answer his call. 

He tried again: “Ma yawne [beloved]?!”

Nothing. The only sound that could be heard was the wind howling through the leaves behind him, pushing him forward, urging him to go faster and faster before the storm swept in on the land.

He knew he had to hurry: if the storm arrived before he caught up to them, the tracks of the kidnapper might disappear—washed away by the heavy raindrops—and with them, any chance of finding his mate. 

And from the looks of it, the storm was only hours away.

Suddenly there was a sign of life again: a crackling from the comms on the other end. And a low grunt. 

“Ma yawne [beloved]?” he said hopefully.

No answer.

“Please, ma yawne [beloved], answer me! Where are you? Are you okay?”

Then, finally: a voice. 

But not his mate’s: “Oh, is th- wh-t it’s fo—,” a male voice said. Then the transmission cut out.

Neteyam stopped short—his blood freezing to ice in his veins.

“Who are you?!” he screamed into the comms. “What have you done to her? Let her go!” 

But there was no answer. Nothing on the other side of the comms anymore. Not even a crackle.

Behind him, Tao’tel finally caught up. He put a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, urging him to keep going, to keep tracking: “We need to find them! Quick!” He looked around. “Which way, maitan [son]?”

Panting, Neteyam started searching the ground for the bloody trail again, cursing himself for letting whoever was on the other side of the comms distract him. 

“There,” he cried out. And they immediately set off again.

Behind them, Neteyam could hear more footsteps slowly catching up, and the voices of his brother and father calling out his name. But just like before, he didn’t dare to stop—didn’t know what might happen if he wasted time like that again. A few moments ago, she’d still been alive. But that was a fact that could change any minute.

There was no time to lose.

He tried to keep his mind focused, to keep his eyes on the tracks: the broken branches, the footsteps in the moss … and the blood of his mate, having slowly dripped out of her veins, giving him a clear path to follow. But it was getting harder and harder to keep the thoughts of what might happen—or what might be happening this very instant—out of his head.

With that sinking feeling still pressing down hard on his shoulders, he stumbled through the glowing forest, losing the tracks every now and then, whenever his focus slipped back into worry. But his father-in-law helped him search, and together they picked up the tracks, over and over again.

As the eclipse neared its end—the sun peeking out from behind the sister moon, shedding its light on the world again—they finally caught up to the tracks, stopping at the treeline where they ended.

In front of them lay a small glade—just an opening for a stray rock to sit snuggly in the moss and for a little stream to trickle by. From the treeline, the trail of dripping blood got denser as the man had slowed down and then finally stopped beside the stream. The trail ended in front of the rock, where another pool of blood lay smeared-out in the middle of an outline in the moss.

The outline of his mate.

Neteyam ran forward and dropped down on his knees next to the soft indentation his mate had left in the moss, studying the edge of it and the bloody smear inside. The trail of blood went into the outline. But not out. And above the smear, closer to where her shoulders had rested, lay a few more droplets. Untouched. Fresh.

He leaned forward and studied the droplets carefully. In them was the same blue tint as before. 

He’d cut her again—sedated her again. 

Neteyam looked up, searching for tracks beyond the outline of his mate. And he quickly noticed a few footprints leading away and into the little stream, where they had quickly been washed away by the small current. He got up and stepped into the stream, looking for any trace of the kidnapper, trying to discern which direction he had gone. 

Behind him, his father-in-law stood breathless, hand clasped over his mouth as tears formed in his eyes. 

While Neteyam searched, his father and brother arrived at the glade, having finally caught up to his desperate sprint.

“What’s happening?” Lo’ak asked. “Why have we stopped?”

“He was here …,” Tao’tel answered.

“But he sedated her again … And ran into the stream,” Neteyam filled in. Then he pointed to the outline of his mate, the end of the trail of blood. “And he patched her up …,” he added, almost relieved—at least she wouldn’t be bleeding to death now. 

But if the kidnapper wasn’t looking to kill his mate—having gone through the trouble of stopping to put on a bandage—then what was he up to?

“What is he doing? This he you’re talking about, Tao’ … Who is he? What does he want with her?” Neteyam asked, turning to his father-in-law to get some answers.

Tao’ hesitated. “I can explain later. Right now, we have no time to lose. We have to find her!”

But Neteyam stepped up to him, straightening out his back, challenging his father-in-law. “No! You know something; I saw the way you squirmed yesterday. You tell me what’s going on, right now!”

“Neteyam! Calm down, maitan [son],” Jake said. 

But Tao’ relented, seeing the desperation and confusion in Neteyam’s eyes. And, finally, he confessed: “It’s the Mangkwan …”

At first, the three Sully men stood stunned.

Then Jake gasped, having remembered what Tao’ had told him so long ago, when he and his daughter had first arrived at the Omatikayan village: “They’re still hunting you?”

“Yes. All this time. I don’t think they’ve ever stopped … I’m sorry. I should have said something earlier. I should have warned you all … I—”

“But why? Why did he take her? What do they want with her?” Neteyam asked, urgently searching for an answer.

“They want her to … He’s going to …,” Tao’tel froze, too scared to voice the full extent of what might happen to his daughter. 

But the look upon his face as he stared into Neteyam’s eyes said it all.

“No …” 

And now, Neteyam finally sunk—that pressing feeling letting go of his shoulders and grabbing his heart tight instead, pulling him down straight through to the other side of the moon. 

He took a step back. And then another, stumbling into the water of the little stream and grabbing his head with one hand, all the while staring into his father-in-law’s terrified eyes. “No, no, no …”

And then: rage. 

“NO!”

Furiously, he started pacing around the glade, searching for the tracks of his mate’s kidnapper. Finally understanding what the kidnapper might do to her, his desperation grew for every heartbeat, every shallow breath he took. And as an overwhelming panic set in, he quickly lost focus, blindly stumbling around the glade, unable to find the tracks again, nor hear the trembling, soothing calls of his brother and father. 

Jake ran forward, grabbed Neteyam, and put a hand over his son’s heart, trying to calm him down. “Take it easy, son. Breathe,” he said. 

And Neteyam obeyed, taking slow deep breaths together with his father to try to get back his focus—realising that he needed his hunting instincts to be sharp, now more than ever. 

Then Jake looked sternly into his son’s eyes. And with a deep conviction in his voice, Jake roused the courage that he’d carefully instilled in his son all throughout his twenty-for-year-old life: “We will find her, maitan [son] … We split up, take one direction of the stream each. Tao’, you’re with me. Lo’ak, with your brother.” 

“Yes, sir,” Lo’ak said.

Neteyam nodded. Then he immediately took off upstream. 

“Neteyam, wait up!” Lo’ak called out behind him, running as fast as he could to catch up to his big brother while Jake and Tao’tel followed the stream in the opposite direction.

As he ran through the little stream, Neteyam kept his gaze down, scanning the ground for any sign of the kidnapper—any sign that he was on the right track.

Behind him, Lo’ak was trying to keep up as best he could. But with the rifle on his back and his belts still heavy with ammunition, he quickly started panting, stumbling on the wet rocks as he sprinted behind Neteyam.

“Neteyam, wait up! You’re going too fast!”

But Neteyam ignored him, still sprinting as fast as he could up the stream, splashing through the ankle-high water. 

Even though his father had tried to calm him down, and his brother was trying to talk some sense into him, he was still in a panicked state. And he wasn’t thinking: not about the speed at which he went, not about how his sight blurred as his heart raced and his head spun, and not about the tracks that he could have missed along the way.

The whole time, his head was empty of thoughts—except for the vivid pictures of his mate that flashed through his mind: He saw her lovely smile and her warm laugh as she talked with his little sisters outside their marui. He saw that cute way in which her brows furrowed whenever she tried to remember something. He saw her shine brighter than the sun when she played—fingers moving effortlessly along the strings of her guitar. 

And he saw her beautiful, golden eyes. Eyes that he couldn’t bear not seeing again.

“Neteyam, slow down!” Lo’ak yelled. Then he tripped, yelping as he fell head first into the stream, scraping up his hands on the rocks. 

“Lo’ak!” 

Woken up from his entranced state, Neteyam skidded to a halt and turned around to go back for his brother. He grabbed Lo’ak’s upper arm and pulled him to his feet. Then he carefully checked if his brother was fine, holding up his scraped-up hand to inspect it.

“I’m good bro,” Lo’ak snapped and pulled back his hand. 

“You sure?”

“Of course! You’re the one who’s not fine, Neteyam … You gotta slow down. Try to stay calm.”

But Neteyam berated him immediately: “I am calm! You gotta keep up, bro! The rain is almost here, and then we’ll lose the tracks for good … I can’t wait for you to—”

But Lo’ak cut him off: “Neteyam, you gotta listen! You’re going way too fast; we’re gonna miss the tracks!” 

Neteyam stood silent for a moment, trying to calm down his racing heart while taking in his brother’s words. And then he realised his mistake: he’d let the panic take him over completely. “You’re right … We should slow down.”

“Yeah … No kidding,” Lo’ak said, still finding a way to be sarcastic in a moment like this. But then he calmed down and put a hand on his big brother’s shoulder. “Look, once we find the tracks we can go as fast as you like. But first we’ve got to find them … Come on!”

And the brothers set off again, with Lo’ak in front this time, keeping a steady and slow pace as they made their way upstream together—a pace that was indeed too calm for Neteyam at this point. But he forced himself to stay behind his brother, and to focus on searching for the tracks.

As they ran, the sun crawled further and further along the sky where thick clouds were now gathering, occasionally shadowing the warm sunlight and reminding the brothers of the soft glow of the forest around them.

And then, he saw it.

“Look!” Neteyam said as he stopped short in front of a little rock sticking out of the gentle stream and pointed out what he’d found to Lo’ak.

Another footprint: a thin line of mud pressed into the rock when the kidnapper had left the stream and taken off into the forest in front of them. Neteyam leapt out of the stream, inspecting the ground and the bushes in front of the footprint: small impressions in the moss with mud still lingering in them, and broken twigs and leaves from where the man had broken through the vegetation. 

They were on the right path.

Neteyam called into the comms: “Devildog, Wordsworth. Do you copy? Over.”

His dad’s answer was faint, having gone almost out of range: “Yes. We copy. Over.” 

“We’ve found tracks. He’s taken off into the forest again. Going in pursuit. But we’ll mark the spot for you. Over,” Neteyam said, signalling for Lo’ak to find something to mark their path with.

“We’re coming. Be careful, oeyä meitan [my sons]. Over.”

“Roger,” Neteyam said while Lo’ak shoved a stick into the moss next to the stream. “Over and out.”

Then the brothers bolted into the forest, following the path that the kidnapper had left for them.

They followed them for a long while, running through the thick vegetation of the undergrowth. Occasionally, they lost the tracks—when the man had changed direction or jumped up on a branch—and they had to stop and carefully locate them again, losing what precious time they had before the rain caught up to them.

And soon, the tracks split into two. 

Neteyam stopped, looking at the dividing paths in front of him. He got down on all four, inspecting the ground to try to discern which were the kidnapper’s tracks and which were made by someone—or something—else. But he quickly realised that they were almost identical.

“Which way, bro?” Lo’ak asked.

“I don’t know. They look the same to me …” 

Lo’ak bent down, trying to inspect the tracks, but coming up even shorter than Neteyam.

“We need to split up again …,” Neteyam said, holding his breath as he realised that he’d have to do without the support of his brother from now on.

“Yeah.”

“You go that way, I go here,” Neteyam said as he took out the bow that lay strapped over his back: if he was going to follow the kidnapper alone, he needed to be prepared. “Keep your rifle ready, Lo’ak … Whatever you do, don’t put it away.”

Lo’ak nodded, pulled out his rifle from behind his back, and removed the safety.

Before he left, Neteyam put a gentle hand on his little brother’s shoulder while sternly looking him in the eyes. “And be careful.”

“You too.”

Then they split up. 

Neteyam had been tracking him for a long time now. But there was still no sign of the kidnapper.

The sun had already finished its path along the sky, closing in on dusk. And for every minute that slowly ticked on by, Neteyam felt a heavy weight on his heart: hands tugging on it, trying to pull him down into the ground again.  

But this time, he wouldn’t let it break him, having gathered enough strength by letting the soothing words of his father echo through his head: We will find her.

Behind him, the wind had finally fulfilled its promise of becoming a fully fledged storm, pushing him along his path and pulling in more and more of the thick and heavy clouds that gathered above him, obscuring the setting sun. 

And then the sky finally turned completely dark. 

Neteyam looked up just as the first raindrop hit his cheek: a small one, all alone—nothing to worry about in itself.

But then he felt another raindrop hitting his forehead.

“No,” he said softly.

And another.

“No! No, not yet …! Please, Eywa, make it stop!”

But the sky was already full of the rainclouds that had finally blown in over the land. And soon the rain started pouring down around him, smudging the footprints in front of him and rustling the leaves and bushes—meticulously hiding any previously-left tracks.

“Please, stop!”

He tried to keep his gaze steady on the trail he was following, picking up speed, afraid to lose it. But it quickly faded, right before his eyes. 

He let out a loud cry of frustration as he stopped short in his tracks. 

Finding his mate would be almost impossible now.

“Shit! What can I do?” he said to himself. If he couldn’t locate the tracks, he’d never find her in time … He’d never get to her before the kidnapper … Before he …

He had to think of something else. Quickly. And he started pacing back and forth, desperate to come up with another plan. 

Where could he have taken her? Where is he going?

But as he came up short of an answer, he let out another cry and crouched down, putting both of his hands on the back of his head. The tears were close now—if he let one more scream past his lips, he’d probably break down fully. 

So he steeled himself again, forcing himself to breathe slowly and steadily while he stared at a flower in front of him: a flower with dusty pink petals that curved steeply into the middle, where blue stamens protruded.

And, suddenly, he remembered. He’d seen that flower before.

Could it be that simple?

The cave. Hidden from view, if not immediately stumbled upon—a neat little hidey-hole. 

And with the footprint outside, burrowed deep into the dry ground … He’d been checking it out. Digging his heels in. For a long time. 

A beautiful place to stay for the night. 

“Bastard!”

Neteyam put his hand to his comms.

You gasped, shaking violently in his arms. His hands held your lower back gently while his tongue worked in controlled and precise strokes—hitting just the right spot. 

“Two.”

Still unsatiated, he pushed in a finger, making short work of the buildup and then the release. You opened your mouth wide, but not a single sound escaped you.

“Three.”

You melted in his arms, hands grasping for the grass underneath you, unable to think of anything, feel anything, but the heat surging inside you.

“Four.”

He let his tongue fall down to your entrance and slide upwards on the inside of your folds, greedily lapping up your slick. Then he pushed in another finger.

“Five.”

He dug deeper, furiously rubbing, sucking, and licking between your legs, while letting his other hand trace along your stomach and your breast.

“Six.”

He crawled on top of you and pushed in, letting his hips work you up into a euphoric frenzy underneath him. 

“Come on, let me have a seventh.” 

He slammed into you, rocking you back and forth beneath him, and you grasped for his arms, his neck, his braids—anything you could get a hold of. 

Then you both moaned in ecstasy as the rising heat claimed you. 

You’d only been mated for about a week, and he’d already made it into a sport to see how many times he could get you to come for him before neither of you could take it anymore.

Elated and exhausted, he rolled off and lay on his back next to you, panting heavily in the glade by the small outcropping where you had almost had your first kiss—long ago during your first night with the Omatikaya. 

But really, you weren’t supposed to be here right now. Neteyam should be on his way out soon with the hunting party, before helping Jake prepare for the opsync [operations synchronisation] at sunset, and you had the practice session with Tuk and the other musicians to get to. But it was hard to keep away from each other. Just like it had been for the whole week.

Before that fateful day—the day of your reunion—your future had always felt unpredictable. With your inability to settle down with anyone, and the war still raging all around you, your future had been obscured, lying in wait behind the fog wall of the unknown. But after the toruk attack—and the cave—the mist had finally parted. And what lay waiting in your future had suddenly become clear as day: it was Neteyam. 

It had always been Neteyam. 

And the more time you spent with him, the more certain you became of his love for you, and of your own love for him. 

Throughout your first week as his mate, three truths had cemented themselves in you. The first one had settled in your very bones: that Neteyam really was the missing piece that made you whole. Even though there could be no doubt that the hole in your chest was still there, forever reminding you of the loss of your mother, Neteyam filled that hole to the brim with his love. Every day, effortlessly, he patched you up and made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t done since before your mother lost her life. 

Since before they killed her. 

And even though the second truth scared you every time you thought about it, every time you felt it, it had manifested itself all the same: that you would probably never be rid of the anger smoldering inside the hole in your chest. You could still feel it, threatening to emerge again, to alight the fire inside you and boil your blood with its furious flame. Just like it had done ever since your mother’s death. 

At first, the anger had been directionless, erupting at the most inopportune times—whenever that hole in your chest opened wide. Then, it had been directed towards Neteyam, blaming him for the loss of the only piece of your mother that you had left. And once the anger towards Neteyam had settled, growing into indifference, you’d ultimately found a dangerous outlet: being on the battlefield—killing easily, and without remorse. 

And it still scared you.

But whenever you looked at Neteyam, the safety that radiated from him quickly calmed down the raging inferno inside you, until it was no more than cinders glowing with their low steady light. 

And then, finally, the third truth had solidified deep inside your heart, unyielding like the mountains themselves, and stronger than any of the other two: 

That you loved him, more than life itself.

And once that truth had become clear to you both, you had wasted no time; it had only been two days after your reconciliation before you’d made your way down to the spirit tree together, to take each other as mates before Eywa. 

When you’d formed the tsaheylu with him, you’d finally been able to see all that he was for yourself—who you’d always known he was. That serious, confident man that you saw at every council of war, every briefing, and every hunt, was still a part of him. But instead of the coldness he’d exhibited throughout the years you were apart, the kindness he’d shown you when you were younger had emerged again—him still being that caring and considerate man that you loved. 

As was custom, you and Neteyam had stayed connected the whole night through, solidifying the bond between you as you looked into each other’s minds and hearts. At first, you’d just talked, laughed, and shared memories together. But soon, the urge to connect not only spiritually, but bodily, had made itself known. 

And for a long while, he’d just stayed inside of you. 

At the start, he’d entered you, and then he’d refused to disconnect from you in any way. Of course, he’d let you have your release a few times: whenever he noticed that you needed it. And whenever you had come, he’d whimpered almost painfully from the pleasure of your tremblings. But he’d still refused to move. 

When you’d asked why, he’d laughed and admitted that he was just as surprised as you were by his own actions. But that being connected to you, body and mind, was the greatest feeling he’d ever known. And he didn’t want it to end. At least not too quickly. 

And so, except for a few thrusts every once in a while—reminding you of exactly where he was—he’d stayed still, anchored to you throughout most of the night, before he’d finally moved and almost instantly gotten his release.

After that divine night, you’d spent the rest of the week in a daze, full of Neteyam and the plans you’d made together. And just the thought of him being such a steadfast part of your future still warmed your heart.

You looked over at him as he lay there next to you in the dry, soft grass, panting from his exertion, with a big smile on his lips. But he was also focused, eyes narrowing and mouth moving slowly. Like he was contemplating something—counting something.

“How many times have I made you come today, ma yawne [beloved]?” he asked. 

You laughed. “I don’t know … I lost count.”

He swiftly switched position, laying on his side with his elbow on the ground to keep his head up. Slowly, he traced his fingers from your thigh, over your hip and towards your chest. “Would you humor me then? Count them.”

What is he up to now …?

You sighed. Then you tried to recall: “What was that—like the fifth time today?”

And the afternoon eclipse hadn’t even started yet.

“Yes,” he confirmed, taking your hand in his and counting on your five fingers. “First behind the lab, then in your marui, then in the forest—twice—and now here.” 

He looked at you intently, waiting for you to keep going. 

“Okay. So, maybe … four times first? Then two, since sempul [father] was coming back soon. Then one, since we got interrupted by those syaksyuk [prolemuris]. Then five. And now seven. So … what’s that, like, nineteen?”

He snapped his fingers. “Bingo,” he said smugly. 

You furrowed your brows. “Bingo? What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s just something dad says … But it means you’re spot on.” 

You giggled, and he leaned in, giving you a sweet kiss that you didn’t bat an eye at. But then he suddenly stuck his tongue in, quickly letting the kiss grow wild and out of hand. And when he finally let go of your lips, you gasped for air. 

Then he smiled brightly at you, his tail wagging excitedly behind him: “Wanna shoot for an even twenty?”

You laughed at him.

And then he evened it out.

Back at high camp, Neteyam landed close behind his mate as she got off her ikran and started unstrapping her guitar from the saddle. Since he was going out on the hunt soon, he told his own ikran to wait by the opening while he strode off to help her settle in Tiram. 

Well … he helped a bit at least. But most of the time he was just standing behind her, touching her lightly and smelling her hair as low satisfied sighs escaped him. 

And he could already feel how he grew stiff—always unsatiated when it came to her.

Throughout the week, each time he’d entered her, the pleasure he’d felt had sent a shiver down his spine all the way out to the tip of his tail. And even now, after having had her so many times throughout the day, it was still hard to control the pressure against his loincloth. 

Because feeling her, entering her, and filling her up, felt cathartic in a way he didn’t think he could ever describe. Like he was finally himself again when he was inside her. Finally accessing the piece of his heart that he’d given to her so long ago. The piece that was hers to hold for forever.

And he couldn’t be happier.

“Neteyam,” she whined as she leaned closer to him, contradicting her next statements with her whole body. “Tuk’s gonna meet me here soon. Maybe you should keep your hands to yourself for a second.”

“What’s she gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna throw up is what,” Tuk said behind him, making a few gagging noises while sticking her finger in her mouth. 

She’s learned well from Lo’ak …

While his mate finished untying her guitar and strapped it to her back, her mother’s tuners shone brightly in the sunlight of the early afternoon. They had needed some readjustments, seeing as they were a bit too small for her guitar. But after Norm and Max had helped to resize them, they’d fit perfectly.

Then she turned around and greeted Tuk, about to walk up to her. But before she could take a step, Neteyam grabbed his mate and pulled her in to kiss her goodbye: an innocent kiss, just something to tie him over before she left with his sister.

Tuk tutted and whined: “Come on, Neteyam, you’ve been glued to her the whole week. I need my teacher back at some point.”

He scoffed. “You’ve had her for years. It’s my turn now,” he said and gave his mate a loving kiss on her temple.

Tuk pretended to hurl again. 

Oh no … She really is turning into Lo’ak, isn’t she?

But his mate quickly changed the subject, being too perplexed by Tuk’s new nickname for her: “Teacher? You play better than me now, Tuk. You don’t need a teacher.”

Tuk lit up at her kind words. But Neteyam got a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Uh-uh, nobody plays better than you, ma yawne [beloved] … Besides, I think she’s got the upper hand on this one, Tuk,” he said and grabbed hold of one of his mate’s pinkies while winking at his sister. 

His mate rolled her eyes at his stupid joke, and Tuk stuck out her tongue. “Like you could play any better. You’re in the same boat as I am.”

Neteyam laughed. “I’m just teasing, Tuk. You know I could never pick between my two favourite girls,” he cooed. Then he lunged at Tuk and pinched her cheek. 

She yelped and swatted away his hand. “I’m not ten anymore, Neteyam. Come on.” 

He put his hands on his hips. “Maybe not … But you’ll always be my baby sister.” 

And this time he tried to go for both of her cheeks. 

She yelped again and took cover behind his mate, who laughed at Neteyam’s antics. “Leave her be, Neteyam.”

“But her cheeks are so pinchable.”

“She’s not a baby anymore.”

“Oh, so you’re on her side now?”

“In these matters, I’ll always be …,” she said frankly. But then she also got a mischievous look in her eyes, mirroring his expression. “Besides, you have the same pinchable cheeks,” she said and leapt towards him. 

He tried to duck, but she was too quick, catching his cheek just in time and pinching it lovingly.

He swatted away her hand and rubbed his cheek. “Hey, that hurt!”

“Ha! Now you know how it feels,” Tuk said, sticking out her tongue again.

Then he laughed. As the eldest brother to three younger siblings, he was used to getting ganged up on. And he’d learned to take it with a pinch of salt. 

While he’d been teasing Tuk, the hunters that were going out with Neteyam had started gathering in the aviary to get their ikran ready. 

“I guess it’s time to leave,” Neteyam said, counting the hunters.

They had almost all arrived—except for his little brother. “Tuk, did Lo’ak come with you?”

Tuk gave his mate a meaningful look, and his mate nodded back at her.

“No. He left early. I thought he was already here?” Tuk said innocently. And his mate tried to hold in a snicker. 

Neteyam narrowed his eyes. “Well, he’s not …” 

“Are you sure about that?” his mate said mischievously.

“What do you mean …?” He started to look around, unawares of the little menace that was sneaking up on him. “Where’s that skxawng [idiot/moron]?”

“I’m right here!” Lo’ak said and jumped Neteyam, putting his big brother in a headlock from behind. 

“Hey, quit it!” Neteyam said while dancing around with Lo’ak, trying to get out of his grip.

“I finally got you! Who’s the mighty warrior now, huh?”

“Unfair! They distracted me,” Neteyam whined, pointing at his mate and Tuk while breaking out of the grip Lo’ak had on him.

“Don’t try to blame it on us. You’re supposed to be one of our best hunters; you should have been more on your guard,” his mate said, standing there with her arms crossed, laughing at the brothers.

Neteyam hissed sourly at his mate. Then he touched his sore neck. “First my cheek and now my neck … Eywa, I’m getting bullied over here,” Neteyam said in a pretend-hurt voice. “Why are you always conspiring against me?”

“Becasue you’re such an easy target, bro,” Lo’ak said, and the girls concurred.

Neteyam scoffed. “Only because I’m too busy keeping your skxawng [idiot/moron] ass in line. I swear, why do I always have to keep an eye on you, bro?” he whined. But he was also smiling—that same big smile that always put an end to the sibling’s bickering.

Lo’ak smiled back: “You know you need me, bro. Your life would be too boring without me,” he said, while hitting Neteyam lightly on the arm and bouncing off to get his ikran: “Come on now. It’s time to leave. I’m getting antsy.”

Neteyam shook his head. But deep inside, he knew how right his little brother was.

Before running after Lo’ak, Neteyam said goodbye to his sister and his mate as they turned around to leave. But while Tuk started making her way towards the exit, Neteyam quickly took his mate’s hand and pulled her close again.

“Have fun now, yawne [beloved],” he said. 

“You too, Neteyam. Be careful out there.”

“I will,” he promised. Then he leaned in slowly, making her tail flick nervously behind her, and whispered in her ear: “And don’t let Tuk tire you out too much. I still want to have you again after the hunt.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

He winked at her. And she giggled.

Then Lo’ak made a gagging noise behind him, and Tuk laughed from the entrance.

Shit, if I don’t try to stop it, she really is gonna turn into another Lo’ak …

But that was a problem for later. It was time to leave.

There was always that short moment. The moment when the forest quieted, laying in wait for the upcoming eclipse. A moment when the glowing plants of Pandora started shining their low light as the shadows grew longer, allowing hunter and prey to dance around each other in the age-old rhythm of the world. 

The eclipse was a dangerous time of day. A time when newly-awakened nightly hunters scurried along, trying to satiate their hunger before the warm light of the sun returned yet again. It was a time of day when the apex predator of Pandora, the palulukan [thanator], roamed the forest, quickly looking for something to sink their teeth in: an easy challenge for such a skilled hunter. With its giant, soft paws dampening every sound, and its dark, smooth skin cutting soundlessly through the undergrowth, it quickly snuck up on its prey and sunk its teeth in its warm flesh, making quick work of the snuffing out of life.

And for a similarly skilled predator, the eclipse was indeed the perfect time to start his hunt.

Neteyam had quickly found the tracks of a yerik [hexapede]: deep cuts in the vegetation, the faint outline of hooves on the dry ground, and the familiar smell growing stronger as he crept along the path of his prey. 

He treaded carefully and calmly through the glowing forest, doing what he was always meant to do: tracking, stalking—hunting. 

And slowly, but surely, he was closing in on it. 

But then he stopped. There was a break in the yerik’s [hexapede’s] tracks: a sudden interruption in the way the leaves bent—as if it had crossed paths with something. Something that wasn’t hunting it.

That’s curious. 

Distracted, he stopped his pursuit and looked down the corridor of crooked leaves and broken twigs leading away from his prey. And, faintly, he thought he recognised the tracks. 

He followed them slowly, studying them carefully as he went, step by step, keeping his eyes on the ground. A barely noticeable line cut through the dry mud on the path in front of him as it opened up into a small clearing. He sped across it, keeping up with the line, seeing how it shifted, stopped, and turned.

And then he noticed it: the distinct pattern of a Na’vi’s gait.

It was indeed the same type of tracks he’d seen a week ago, the day that they got stuck in the cave. But this time they led him away from the river, further into the forest—deeper than the hunt usually allowed them to get.

And that small line that cut through the dry mud … As if a leaf had been dragged over the ground. 

Someone was trying to hide their tracks.

Neteyam called out to his brother: “Eagle Eye. This is Pathfinder. Do you copy? Over.”

“This is Eagle Eye. I copy. Over.”

“There are yerik [hexapede] tracks by the riverside. But I’ve found some other tracks, leading further into the forest. Going in pursuit. Make sure to get the yerik [hexapede] and take the rest of the hunters back in time. Copy? Over.”

“Sure, bro … But shouldn’t you—”

“You’ll do fine Lo’ak. I trust you.”

There was silence for a while.

“Okay. I copy. But don’t go too far, Neteyam.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be careful … over and out.”

Then he started tracking, carefully stepping through the forest in the same way that his mate always did when she hunted: a way of putting your toes down before your heel, letting your foot gently, bit by bit, grace the grass and moss, dampening every impact and making you move soundlessly through the woods. 

He followed the tracks for a long while, climbing branches, jumping across trees, and then down again, running through the thick vegetation of the Pandoran rainforest. Sometimes the tracks broke off, and he had to search a large area before he found them again. 

But sure enough, he did always find them.  

Throughout his hunt, he glanced up at the sky, counting down the minutes—then hours—that he had been in pursuit of the lone Na’vi. The eclipse had ended a long time ago, and the sun was slowly but surely making its way across the sky again. 

If he wasn’t careful, he’d miss not only the preparations for it, but the opsync itself as well. And his dad wouldn’t be happy about that.

He had to turn back.

But as suddenly as he had first noticed the tracks, he’d arrived at the end of them, standing in front of an opening to a cave, staring down at what he’d found.

A footprint. Definitely male—given the size of the foot. And all by its lonesome. 

When he bent down to study it, he could clearly see the outline of the heel. But it was hard to make out anything else from it: whoever had left it had been careful to remove it. And on top of that, it had been an unusually dry week—whatever could actually leave such a deep footprint must either be a larger animal, like the yerik [hexapede], or have been standing there for a while. Watching. Listening. 

Or contemplating, maybe? Digging their heels in.

He readied his bow, crouched down, and started creeping towards the cave. Big leaves were hanging limp at the entrance, obscuring it well, making it a neat little hidey-hole. He carefully folded down a leaf with his bow while he drew the string taut, ready for whatever he’d find inside. 

But it was empty. And surprisingly beautiful.

Behind the wall of leaves was a small, enclosed hollow underneath the larger rockface above, angled down from the floor of the undergrowth, going further down the deeper it went. And it was bright: bioluminescent plants were littered all around, lighting up the walls and the ground, where rocks of many sizes were strewn about, moss slowly climbing up them. He looked up at the smooth ceiling and saw how the plants had made their way up there as well. Vines hanging down, flowers in full bloom.

This cave would be beautiful to stay in for the night … Maybe he could find his way back here with his mate sometime.

Then the trees shook behind him, and he spun around, bow ready, aiming up at the canopies.

But he quickly lowered it. It had just been the wind. 

Throughout the afternoon, it had started to pick up again, heralding the incoming rain clouds. He saw them in the distance above the massive trees: thick and heavy—and numerous. Stretching out as far as the eye could see.

It would probably rain for weeks.

“We were not like that!”

“Oh, you were!” 

“No, we definitely knew how to keep our hands to ourselves. Not like you and Neteyam. How are you always on top of each other whenever I see you?”

“You hypocrite. You and Spider did not hide as well as you think,” you insisted. 

After the practice with Tuk, you’d gone to the aviary to wait for Neteyam. But when the hunting party had gotten back, only Lo’ak had returned, saying that his brother was still out hunting, not knowing when he would be back. 

Seeing your disappointment, Tuk had invited you over to the Sully’s marui while you waited for Neteyam. And once there, Kiri had quickly joined you, killing some time before she had to help her grandmother prepare for the aftermath of the upcoming raid. So now you found yourself sitting in the marui, gossiping, joking, and laughing together with Kiri and Tuk. 

In the corner, Neytiri was leaving her daughters to their business while she carefully cleaned her father’s old bow. A meticulous task that you’d seen her practice every time before a big raid.

“You two were always sneaking away somewhere. We never knew where you were … Frankly, we were pretty worried,” you said.

“For me? What for?”

“No, not you, for him,” Tuk answered before you could. “Just face it, you’re much bigger than him … We were both just wondering how it was gonna work, you know?”

Kiri looked shocked, trying to get a word out, but failing.

“But I guess you sorted it out just fine, huh?” you added. Then you and Tuk snickered.

Kiri shifted her expression into annoyance. “Well, I’m not gonna tell you how it works, that’s for sure. If I did, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Right. Like we haven’t already found out …,” you said. “Like I said: you guys were not as good at hiding as you thought you were.”

Kiri blushed.

Then you all got distracted by Neytiri. She had finished her task, and having put away her father’s bow, she was now bent down, picking out her next project from her pile of sewings. And as she rummaged, you could hear her humming a familiar song. A song that had been stuck in her head ever since you played it at Jake’s behest on that first night at the bonfire.

And Tuk loved to egg her on.

As Neytiri finally found the piece that she’d been looking for, she started humming the chorus of Sweet Home Alabama, and Tuk chimed in on her guitar. 

Neytiri wagged her tail happily to the music. 

But then she noticed what she was doing, almost dropping her sewing project as rage took over. “Tuk! Again? Stop playing that horrible song! You know I hate it!”

Tuk laughed. “You started it, mom! You always start it.”

Neytiri tutted and put down her sewings. And then she turned to you. “Eight years of this torture! You should have never indulged him.”

“Well, he asked! And I was new …,” you said sheepishly, cowering a bit in front of your mother-in-law. But still, after having gone on so many raids together, you knew how to match her temper: “How did I know he was gonna beg me to play it for him at every feast after that?” 

After he’d first asked you to play it, you’d caught on quickly to Jake’s intentions, figuring out that he hadn’t asked because he liked the song. He’d only asked to annoy his family, and then specifically to annoy his wife. But you’d obliged him all the same. 

“But did you have to teach Tuk as well?” Neytiri whined.

“Yes,” you said, laughing as the memory of your mother’s words surfaced. And this time, the blame really was on you. “Unfortunately, when you pick up the guitar, ‘learning Sweet Home Alabama is inevitable’ … That’s what mom always said.”

Tuk and Kiri laughed. And Neytiri scowled at Tuk.

“Sorry, mom … But dad started it,” Tuk said. 

Neytiri quickly shifted her blame.

“Where’s Jake? When I get my hands on him, Eywa knows I won’t be merciful anymore,” she said while storming out of the marui, searching for her husband. And Kiri and Tuk laughed even harder. 

But as you watched Neytiri leave, you noticed how low the sun was getting on the sky. It was almost time for the opsync … “He still isn’t back yet, is he?” you said, tapping your finger gently on the body of the guitar seated in your lap.

Kiri leaned over and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder: “He’ll come back soon. He wouldn’t miss the meeting.”

“He better not. It’s a big one …,” Tuk said anxiously. 

She’d only recently been let into the meetings together with the other warriors, as a sort of preparation for when she was ready to take part in the raids. At seventeen, she was around the same age as when you and Neteyam had joined your first raid, so it was about time. But she was, in a way, the opposite of how you had been at her age. Unlike performing, which had been no issue for her but taken you a lot of courage, being a warrior made her nervous, which had come naturally to you. 

And you knew how much Neteyam meant to her. How much of a comfort he was to his little sister. But, in time, you had learned that so were you. 

You hid your own troubles and smiled at her: “Don’t worry, Tuk. He’ll make it, I’m sure. But you can always stand next to me if he’s late, okay?”

She lit up again—going so easily from one extreme emotion to the next. “Thank you.”

Then you got up. “But I think I’d better go. I have to put away the guitar and find sempul [father] before the meeting. If Neteyam isn’t back by then, I can meet you outside the lab and we’ll go in together.”

“Okay.”

You said goodbye to your old friends—now sister-in-laws—stepped out, and started making your way back to your marui.

But you’d barely made it half-way before you saw your father already headed for the lab. He called out to you and waved for you to join him. You took a few quick steps over to him, greeting him warmly, bringing forth that loving smile that he always had when he looked at you—his one and only daughter.

“Hello, maite [daughter],” he said as he put an arm around you and squeezed you into a tight but gentle hug, careful not to ruin your guitar. “How was practice?”

“It went well. Tuk is really getting good …,” you answered. Then you giggled. “If I didn’t have ‘an upper hand’ on her, as Neteyam put it,” you said, showing off your pinkie, ”I think she’d have overtaken me a long time ago.” 

He chuckled gently at your anecdote. “It’s just because she has such a great teacher, maite [daughter]. You should be proud.” 

Your father was never one to exaggerate his praise. But you still suspected he did it sometimes—at least when it came to you.

“I am. She’s doing very well.” You smiled, beaming with pride over Tuk. Then you changed the subject: “Are you on your way to the meeting already, ma sempul [father]? Are you nervous about the raid tomorrow?”

“Yes, I suppose I am … I wanted to get there early to look over the maps again. Do you want to come, get a head start too?”

“No, I can’t. I have to bring the guitar back to the marui first … By the way, have you seen Neteyam? Is he back yet?

“No, I’m sorry, maite [daughter]. I haven’t.” 

Now you were really starting to worry: “What is taking him so long …? Maybe we should go look for hi—”

But your conversation was cut short. Neteyam’s troubled voice carried over the rocks as he and Jake got closer, arguing with each other on their way towards the labs. Neteyam was still in his flying gear, bow strapped tight across his torso as he trailed after his father’s annoyed stomps—with Neytiri close behind, listening intently to the argument.

“… I’ve seen it twice now, dad. I’m not making it up. Someone’s in the forest. A Na’vi … We should check it out. Let me take a few warriors and we’ll track them down.”

“I just said that we don’t have time, Neteyam. We need to prepare for the raid … I really don’t like how close that outpost is.”

During Jake’s scouting mission, they’d found yet another outpost of the RDA, newly built, and hauntingly close. If left unattended, they might even be able to finally locate your base. And that simply couldn’t be. 

Jake had been preparing the raid all week, and tomorrow it was finally time to attack.

“But what if it really is an RDA scout? What if they brought more avatars?”

“There are no more avatars in the RDA. They shut that program down a long time ago … Besides, how many toes did it have?”

“Well, it wasn’t a clear footprint. I only saw the heel …”

“Then we can’t know for sure if it was RDA or not, Neteyam,” Jake said, exasperated with his insistent son. “And we can’t worry about some footprint that anyone could have left … Ask around in camp. I’m sure someone was out there hunting.”

“I did. No one’s been that far out. And why would they anyway …? I’m telling you dad, it’s only me who goes out there.” 

“Then maybe someone from the other clans wen—”

“No. I’ve never seen another clan go there to hunt. Not even the Ni’awve or the Tipani. It’s just me …”

After he’d given them back to you, while he’d been helping you make new strings for your guitar, Neteyam had told you about how he’d found your mother’s tuners. And about the tracks that had led him there.

You hadn’t given it much thought at the time, being too happy and too preoccupied trying to catch up on all the lost time with Neteyam. But as you listened to his insistent arguments against his dad, that pressing feeling that you’d felt intermittently for two weeks now crept up on you again: the feeling of something being wrong.

You looked up at your father, trying to find some reassurance. But he’d gotten an odd look in his eyes: staring at Neteyam with a veiled expression, trying to hold something back.

However, you knew your father well, having learned a long time ago how to see behind his mask. With his ears perked up and his eyes staring blindly in front of him as he hung on every one of Neteyam’s words, it did indeed seem like he took Neteyam’s worries more seriously than Jake.

But why did your father also look so terrified?

“Then one of your own hunters must have left them while you were out,” Jake rebutted.

“And tried to cover their tracks? I don’t think so, dad …”

For a moment, Jake hesitated. 

Your father stood rigid next to you. Holding his breath. Waiting for Jake’s decision.

But Jake stayed firm: “There’s no time, Neteyam. I’ll need you for the preparations for tomorrow.”

“But, da—”

“I said no, Neteyam,” Jake said sternly, and far too loud. 

Neteyam flinched.

When Jake had made his decision, he was usually unyielding. You knew it, and Neteyam knew it. But you could still see the frustration in Neteyam’s eyes as he slumped down, leaning in on himself in the same way that he always did when trying to show his father respect—not taking advantage of his superior height and trying to stay on the same level as Jake. 

Then he shifted his gaze and ears to the ground. Defeated.

Neytiri gave Jake a disappointed look, and he softened up: “Look, we can check it out after the raid, okay son …? Now, be at the labs in twenty. We’re going through the plan with the others.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jake left, Neytiri arguing with him as he went. But Neteyam stayed, watching his father’s back and sighing deeply to himself.

Your father put a hand on your shoulder. He was staring hauntingly into the distance. Then he leaned down to whisper: “Be careful, maite [daughter].”

You met his eyes. He was serious. Very serious.

“Why? What’s wrong, ma sempul [father]?”

“Just … Be careful. Promise me.”

He gave you a stern look. And you fell silent. You knew what he meant.

They had been pursuing your father and mother for your whole life. Hunting your mother down to feed her to the flames. And then hunting your father for dissertation. But with the Omatikaya, you’ve been hidden, and safe, for a long time. And during that time, you’d both been far too busy helping Jake with the war against the RDA to pay any heed to your father’s old clan. You hadn’t even given it a thought in years. Not since you were sixteen.

Had they found you again? The Mangkwan?

“Yes, ma sempul [father] … I promise.”

Your father nodded solemnly at you. And you were both too deep in thought to see that Neteyam had noticed you. At the sight of you, his frustration vanished, replaced by a smile, a wagging tail, and a spring in his steps, as he made his way over to you.

But your father squeezed your shoulder again when he saw Neteyam approach, putting on a mask of reassurance and giving you a smile. “It’s probably nothing. Best not to worry them.”

“Hi! Sorry I’m late … How was practice?” Neteyam said, smiling brightly at you and giving his father-in-law the same polite greeting he always did: a short bow, while touching his finger between his brows.

“It was good,” you answered curtly. And when you only faintly returned his smile, he dropped it fully. 

“Is something wrong?” he said, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing. 

Ever since you first met him and got to know him during those long training days in the forest together, you’d known that you’d been able to trust Neteyam in a way you’d only ever done with your father and your mother. So with Neteyam, your immediate reaction had always been to tell him the truth, no matter what: “Well, about those tra—”

“We’ve just been talking about the raid,” your father cut in. “It’s a big one this time. And I think we’re all a little on edge.”

“Yeah. For sure …,” Neteyam answered. Still with his eyes narrowed. But when your father smiled at him, he seemed to ease up a bit. “You coming to the meeting too, sempul [father]? Dad’s all wound up about the plan. I think he wants to make some changes. Get some input, you know?”

“Yes, of course, ‘itan [son]. I’ll get a head start. See you both at the lab,” your father said, cutting the conversation short.

Your father squeezed your shoulder again, a bit harder than he usually did. Then he gave Neteyam a familiar pat on his upper back and left.

As your father walked towards the lab, Neteyam seemed to study his gait, and when he turned back to you, confusion had crept back onto his face. “What was that all about?”

For a split second, you hesitated. Would you really lie to Neteyam? Your mate. The man you loved more than anything in the world. No. You really shouldn’t … And you didn’t want to.

But the respect you had for your father ran as deep as Neteyam’s did for Jake. And if your father said to not worry the others, he was probably right … 

Right?

You fibbed: “Sempul’s [father’s] worried about the raid is all. Wants me to keep my head on a swivel … But I think he’s just nervous that I won’t be able to focus properly. That you’re taking up too much space in here,” you said while pointing at your head.

Neteyam smiled, suddenly rowdy again. “Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t know about that … But I’ve sure been taking up a lot of space in here,” he said while biting his lower lip and tugging on the belt for your loincloth. 

You giggled and gave him a small push. “Come on, Neteyam. We need to get to the meeting soon. And I still have to put away the guitar.”

He gave up his tugging, shifting his suggestive gaze into a sweet smile instead. “Yeah, you’re right …,” he sighed. But then he perked up, excited about his new plan: “I can come with you. To leave my stuff in your marui. Then I’ll have an excuse to see you after the meeting …” 

Boy is he hard to satiate … 

You smiled and shook your head at him as you started making your way towards you and your father’s marui together. 

“By the way, what was all that about with Jake?”

Neteyam sighed deeply. “I saw the tracks again … You know the ones I told you about?” 

You nodded. 

And he continued slowly, pausing on every sentence, deep in thought. “They were in about the same spot. Maybe more inside your grounds this time … And there was a footprint. But it wasn’t completely clear. It can be hard to make it out on dry ground, you know? But it was definitely male … and definitely Na’vi. Not human.”

“And you think it’s the RDA? That they brought more avatars?”

“I don’t know what to think, really …,” he said, shaking his head. “It could be. But I don’t know why they’d not wear boots. Or why they’d be alone … But it can’t be any of our own, or any of the other clans around here. Why would they try to hide their tracks …? It just doesn’t make sense.”

He paused, deep in thought. Then he asked: “Do you know who it might be …? Your father seemed pretty shaken about something.” 

“No … I’m not sure either,” you kept on fibbing, obeying your father.

But you felt it. Yet again. That feeling, pressing down hard on your shoulders. 

Maybe something really was wrong …

“Maybe we could go check it out? I’m sure Jake would let at least us two go,” you suggested.

“I would. But we can’t miss the meeting, ma yawne [beloved]. And dad wouldn’t listen anyway … I swear, sometimes it’s like talking to thin air. I don’t know why he’d want me as the next Olo’eyktan if he refuses to listen to me,” he added, frustration slowly creeping back into his voice. 

But Neteyam trusted Jake above anyone else. He quickly gathered himself again: putting his hands behind his head, closing his eyes, and breathing deeply. Then he let his hands down again while shrugging his shoulders. “Well, if he says it’s nothing, then it’s nothing … Let’s not worry about it,” he finished, smiling at you, reassuring you. 

But as you continued on quietly together, you stole a glance at him. And you could still see the worry in his eyes.

When you got back to your marui, he seemed to finally have gotten over the argument with his dad, being back to his usual self—confident and calm.

Behind you, he removed his gear and put it and his bow right inside the entrance. Then he leaned against the supports to your marui, watching you intently as you bent down to put away your guitar. 

He bit his lower lip again: “Too bad I didn’t make it back in time before the meeting, though … I don’t think we have enough time for another round now.”

When you glanced over your shoulder at him, he gave you a suggestive look.

You turned back to finish what you were doing. “Well … how long is it until the meeting?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes by now.” 

“And how many times did you come today, ma Neteyam?”

“… Nine.”

You took his hands in yours, and pulled him deeper into the marui, away from all prying eyes. He leaned in to kiss you, his hands already grasping for your loincloth. But you put a finger to his lips and shook your head, stopping him short.

Then you got down on your knees. 

Slowly, you let your hands trace down from his chest, over his abs, and to his loincloth, pulling it to the side, springing his throbbing cock free.

He was already ready for you. 

As you took him in your mouth, he couldn’t help but let out a loud moan. He put his hand in your hair, stroking it gently. But when you started making your way down his cock, he clasped your strands—hard.

You pushed him in deep, pressing his length as far back as you could without completely choking, drawing out small needy whimpers from him. Then you let your tongue slide over the underside of his length, lapping up his precum and sucking on his tip before you allowed him to bounce back up again. 

He let out a shaky breath as you looked up at him.

“Then let me even it out for you.”

When you and Neteyam arrived at the labs, Tuk had been waiting outside, pacing back and forth nervously. But she’d immediately relaxed again at the sight of her big brother. He’d given her a big hug, and apologised for being late. But Tuk had assured him that she wasn’t upset. 

Together you’d entered the lab to join the other warriors in the opsync. 

Now you stood ready around the table, with Tuk on one side and Lo’ak on the other, as Jake went over the plan again with the high-ranking warriors—Neteyam by his side. 

But your mate seemed disinterested in Jake’s recap. Instead, he was studying the maps intently, letting his fingers trace over the screens and holograms in front of him. And you wondered if he was even listening to his father. 

“… Me and Neytiri take the gruntwork, leading the charge over here. When we’ve got their attention, you sweep in from the side, Tao’. And Neteyam, from here … Spotters,” Jake said, looking at you and Lo’ak, “you make sure we don’t get any surprises.” 

You both nodded. 

Jake continued: “We’ll plant the explosives over here. Then we evacuate before w—”

“Here …” 

The room went silent as Neteyam cut his dad off.

“… What about here? Their armory is right here in this building. Are we sure we have control of that?”

Jake didn’t answer. 

Neteyam must be really annoyed with Jake, you thought. He didn’t usually cut his dad off like that. In the middle of the recap.

“If we don’t secure this point, they can easily pull out more of the AMP suits and overwhelm us. We need to make sure it’s inaccessible to them. I can take a few men and sneak up on them, make sure we’ve got that area under control when you charge … Sir.”

You held your breath. Neteyam’s interjection seemed sound: a stealth mission meant to ease Jake and Neytiri’s advance, and hopefully minimise your losses. But he’d be putting his squad—and himself—at risk: If they were found out, they’d have no immediate backup. And you knew he’d do anything to keep his men safe, even throwing himself in harm’s way—like he’d done when the toruk had attacked.

Neteyam … why are you always gambling your own life?

Jake stood quiet for a moment, weighing Neteyam’s plan. “That could work. But who’ll lead the left flank?”

“Let Lo’ak do it. He’ll handle it.” 

Lo’ak seemed to light up at Neteyam’s trust. But Jake was unsure.

“So, just one spotter?”

“Yeah. Why not? You didn’t suggest that callsign for nothing, dad … She’s the Phoenix.” Neteyam smiled gently at you, his fate in you unbridled, knowing how many times your hawk eyes had saved them before. “She’ll pull through. No matter what.”

You smiled back at your mate. 

When you had first joined the raids, at only seventeen, you’d got to pick your own callsign. And for a long time, you’d racked your brain, trying to come up with one that you liked—but without any luck. Eventually, Jake had piped up, suggesting the name of a strange animal from his home planet: a fiery bird that could rise again from its ashes. Beautiful and resilient. Persisting in the face of adversity. “Just like you,” Jake had said.

It had felt fitting.

Jake nodded. Then he stood quiet for a second, before suggesting his addendum to Neteyam’s plan.

“It’s a good plan … But we can’t just have one spotter. The area is too large. We need all the eyes we can get.” He looked at his daughter. “Tuk should help.”

Neytiri protested immediately: “Ma Jake. You want to throw her into battle the first thing we do? She’s too young.”

“Neteyam was a spotter at her age … She can handle it.”

“But Jak—”

“Look, it’s either that or we go back to the original plan. We can’t spare anyone else …” Jake looked his daughter in her eyes. She kept his gaze steady, jaw clenched. “Are you ready, Tuk?”

In your heart, you knew your own answer to the question. 

Tuk’s iknimaya had gone smoothly. And her hunts were usually quick and seamless. She still had a lot to learn, but she kept a steady pace with the skills you and Neteyam had displayed when you were her age. 

She was ready for this.

And she seemed to feel it too.

She nodded: “Yes … Sir.”

Neytiri swallowed hard. And then she looked at you. 

She knew exactly what Tuk meant to you, being basically a little sister to you at this point. And you knew what Neytiri was silently asking you to do. 

You nodded: I’ll make sure she’s safe.

Through your comms you listened in on the orders given by Jake, your father, and Neteyam during the raid. When Neteyam had moved in with his squad to take control of the area around the armory, your heart had pounded in your chest, cold sweat creeping down your back.

But your fear had been unfounded: he’d performed the stealth attack perfectly. 

After that, the plan proceeded well: Jake, Neytiri, and the warriors had charged in, fighting to take control of the RDA outpost, with Lo’ak and your father on the flanks.

As the battle raged on below you, you were flying up high with Tuk, keeping radio contact and guiding her through the assignment when needed. Since it was her first time taking part in a raid, she took her task very seriously, keeping mostly quiet on the other side of your comms as she scoured the area on the opposite side of the RDA outpost. 

She seemed completely focused.

And so were you.

You kept your eye on the horizon and your head on a swivel, looking for gunships approaching in the distance. Occasionally you glanced down at the forest below, seeing if any ground troops approached.

“How’s your side looking? Over.”

“It’s clear so far. How is your side …?”

You looked out over the horizon. “It’s clear.”

You had your comms microphone set to the spotter’s frequency, as of now, but you were still listening in on the main channel where Neteyam, Lo’ak, Jake, and your father coordinated their attacks. Throughout the battle, you listened intently for Neteyam’s reply every time he was called. Holding your breath and tensing up more and more for every second that his answer was absent—until you heard his voice, and you could finally breathe again. 

Even though it had only been a week since you mated, the thought of losing him got to you, making it hard to focus on your task whenever he was in harm’s way. But having him on the other side of your comms—where you could hear that he was safe—brought at least a bit of comfort to you.

You shifted your gaze down towards the forest below you.

A flash.

In the distance, something shone from in between the trees—the way only metal shines. RDA metal. Not of this world. 

Then it disappeared. 

“I’ve got eyes. Going to check it out. Over,” you called out to Tuk.

“Okay … Be careful.”

As you flew closer, you saw it again. The same glare from underneath the canopy. It was acting strangely, moving back and forth, as if it was targeting something. And if you didn’t know better you would have almost thought it was aiming at you. 

Then it flashed again.

The glare cut through your eyes, almost blinding you as you flew. You blinked, trying to free your eyes of sunspots, and looked down. 

You gasped.

It was moving towards the outpost—fast.

You pressed the button on your comms to switch output, calling out to the command unit: “This is Phoenix. Spotted on your six. Checking it out now.”

“Roger,” Jake answered.

Then you swooped down, getting closer to the glint of metal running through the forest below, squinting your eyes to try to get a better look at it. You kept your finger ready on your comms. Was it a vehicle? A soldier running through the forest? Maybe a whole squad …?

Then the glare hit your eyes again. And you heard a swoosh on the wind.

A projectile.

You swerved. 

But through the tsaheylu you felt the arrow hit Tiram in her shoulder—just a few inches away from hitting your arm.

You screamed out together with Tiram, feeling in your mind how the pain of the impact shot through her body. Desperately, you clenched your jaw, pushing through the pain to try to steer Tiram away from the attacker.

But as you flew, you also noticed another feeling in her: a sort of drowsiness, making you dizzy. Below you, Tiram’s body grew heavier and heavier, until she started weaving uncontrollably.

She fought valiantly to stay in the air.

“Phoenix?” Tuk called.

Then she lost control of her wing.

“Phoenix? What’s happening?”

And you plummeted. 

“Phoenix!”

You hit the canopy hard, cutting through the branches with Tiram, landing miraculously on the giant leaves of the undergrowth, slowing down your fall enough to not take any serious damage when your ikran finally touched the ground, stomach first, wings splayed out helplessly on her sides.

Tiram’s drowsiness was dangerously close to getting a hold of you too, and you forced yourself to break the tsaheylu, immediately surfacing in your own mind. 

You crawled off her. “Tiram? Tiram?!”

She could barely keep her eyes open—snorting and grunting loudly as she fought to stay awake.

What was happening? That arrow couldn’t have done that much damage to Tiram. There must be something else affecting her.

… No.

You rushed to her wing, studying the wound. In her blood, you could see a blue, viscous liquid seeping through. 

Poison.

“No, no, no!” You crawled forward to your ikran’s head, putting your hands on her neck to rustle her awake. “Stay with me, Tiram! Please stay with me … I need you, Tiram! Tiram!”

Your ikran took one last look at you, and then she slumped down. 

You screamed.

Above you, another ikran came swooping down at a dangerously fast pace. Tuk landed next to you and got off, rushing to your side, skidding down on her knees and grabbing you in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Eywa! You’re okay …”

“Tuk …” You hugged her back, tears streaming down your face, too distraught at the loss of Tiram to think straight.

Then your ears reacted before you did, perking up, catching the swish of a second arrow that narrowly missed your shoulder.

It woke you up immediately. 

“Someone’s attacking. You have to get out of here, Tuk! Go! Now!” You pushed Tuk away, trying to turn around to get your bow.

But she held onto your arm and pulled you up to your feet, trying to get you to her ikran. “I’m not leaving without you!”

Thwack

You looked down. The third arrow had hit your right thigh, burrowing deep into your flesh. In the wound you saw a blue, viscous liquid seeping from the tip of the arrow, mingling with your blood. 

And you grew drowsy. 

You fell to your knees, dizziness taking over as you tried to stay conscious, focusing on your senses.

But the poison was acting fast—faster in you than in Tiram. Around you, the world was slowly, but steadily, disappearing. Your hands turned numb. Your vision grew foggy. And your ears rung with a steady note. 

Then everything started spinning. 

Tuk was shouting above you, but you didn’t hear a word of what she was saying. You tried to push her away. To make her run. 

“Go, Tuk!” you croaked helplessly. 

But she stayed put, shaking your shoulders violently.

In your peripheral view, you saw movement, and you slowly turned your head. From above, a shadow jumped down from the branches. He landed nimbly on his feet and rushed towards you—knife out.

Tuk let go of you, screaming and scrambling to draw her bow. 

She let her arrow fly—and the shadow ducked. 

She missed.

As the knife cut across her torso, Tuk howled and fell over. Faintly, you saw the same blue liquid that was taking over your body mingling with her blood.  

You tried to scream, but your throat refused to cooperate. And soon, the rest of your body shut down, limb by limb. 

You got down on all four. Then you fell to your side. Arms splayed out in front of you. An intense throbbing pain took over your mind as black spots crept into your peripheral view. The last thing you saw was the silhouette of a man coming into view, towering above you.

A triumphant smile spread across his face.

Tag explanations

Rape/non-con: I currently have no plans to write any more explicit sexual act, like p in v or similar. There will be the threat of it. There will also be assault connected to it. There will be touching, talking, threats, kissing, (and maybe fingers at most). I am tagging it as rape/non-con because it is still rape/non-con. I’m a bit unsure of exactly what I want to do at the ending still, but if I go with my original plan, there are four instances in the story. My intention in this fic is not to glorify rape. What I want to use it for is a sort of knight in shining armour and damsel in distress situation with Neteyam and reader. So it is going to be horrible, and reader and Neteyam will have an awful time. But Neteyam will always save reader. Kidnapping: Both reader and Neteyam will be kidnapped. Neteyam will also be imprisoned and maybe tortured (I'll add the tag, but i still haven't decided or written these scenes). There will be different kinds of restraints used on both reader and Neteyam, but mostly just rope. Self-harm: only connected to freckles version of the fic, where I’ve currently planned for reader to cut out some of her aythanì. In blond version, reader will instead cut off her hair (not going bald). Blood and violence: pretty self-explanatory I think. If you want/need more info please send an ask or similar. Forced tsaheylu: Both reader and Neteyam will undergo forced tsaheylu by villain/s. Part of torture and trauma. Loss of limbs: Will only affect Neteyam. I left a hint in chapter 4.  Canon divergence: I will follow the events of the movies, but add scenes and change stuff if needed. The biggest change is that Neteyam will be alive after the events of atwow. I haven't read the comics or played the games yet, so I'm sorry if there are inaccuracies compared to those. I have no plans for Neteyam or any other of the non-OC to die.

OCs

Bit of a disclaimer: I do see the OCs as more of a tool to further the plot and the relationship between reader and Neteyam. So currently I have no real intentions of dipping into the OCs' backstories more than needed for the story progression.

That being said, it is not an impossibility that I'd write something for them in the future, if I get the inspiration for it. For example, the love story between reader's father and mother.

Kìrey: Main villain. Major character. Male. Might even get a few more POVs (again I don't have every scene or plot point figured out yet). Mangkwan. Varang’s nephew (I’ve changed her backstory a bit). Will be suggested as a sort of rival to Neteyam. Will not be specifically used as a love interest for reader. But he will be in love with/obsessed over reader. Currently I have no plans for him to die. Inspiration for how he looks. (And yes I know this is basically Grace's Na'vi spelling. But I didn't know when I chose this place-holder name for him, and then it stuck with me ... So it's staying.) Kive: Secondary villain. Minor character. Male. Metkayina. Will be used in the sexual assault/assault. Will be used for story progression. Will die in one way or another (I hate him already, fuck this guy). Tao’tel: reader’s Mangkwan father. Part of the backstory of reader. Loving father. Currently I have no plans for him to die. Gabby (Gabriella): reader’s avatar mom. Used to be friends with Jake's brother. Also to Jake. Deceased. Tiram: reader’s ikran. Female. No plans for this baby to die ever.