You were nineteen now. The soft roundness of the fourteen-year-old that your mother will always remember has long yielded to the sharpened lean of a huntress. The same dream had plagued you for years and you knew your entire day would be shrouded with grayness. You stood and grabbed your spear, its blade carved from crystal coral.

You didn't look at your older sister who was still sleeping peacefully next to your hammock. You didn't want Tsireya’s comfort, because it always came with a plea for forgiveness and understanding for the Sullys. The morning mist was thick as you made your way to the docks and saw that you were not the only one up. Near the edge of the water, a figure was preparing his mount.

Even from a distance, you recognized the way the man carried himself with a different strength and grace you don’t see among the men of your clan. “You're late for the patrol check,” you said, your voice cutting through the mist.

He turned, now a man fully grown, his braids longer and his stature a mimic of his legendary father. He simply tightened his grip on his ride’s harness. “The sun hasn't broken the horizon,” he pointed out.

You lifted your chin up, looking down at him who is already submerged in the water while you’re still on the woven pathway. “The sky people don't wait for the sun. I bet you know that,” you snapped. You tried to look past the way the morning light caught the patterns on his skin. The patterns you once thought Eywa had spent extra of her precious time on... You still think that, and it’s annoying.

“I understand. It won’t happen again,“ he said softly. His voice had deepened over the years, becoming a calm anchor that usually soothed others. To you, it only sounded like he was avoiding an argument by placating you with words.

“See that it doesn't,” you said, turning your back on him and walking to the other side of the village to dive into the water.

The cold water of the reef was the only thing that felt honest anymore. As you dove, the pressure against your skin comforted your from your nightmare. You spent the morning in the deeper currents, hunting for a silver-finned fish. It was solitary work, the kind that allowed you to sharpen your focus until the world was reduced to the tip of your spear and the shadow of your prey. But the solitude didn't last.

Breaking the surface for air, you saw them. A patrol of Metkayina warriors moving in a synchronized glide, and right at the center was Neteyam. Even among your own people, he stood out, riding his skimwing with a disciplined, military precision that is so distinct compared to the fluid nature of your people.

You saw his head turned, his eyes locking onto yours immediately despite the distance. You don’t know why he's always had his eyes on you but you felt the familiar heat of irritation rise in your chest all the same. You know that your siblings constantly worry for you, your father even more so, and this heavy, watchful gaze from someone you know had always been the guardian felt like an insult.

He guards you on behalf of your siblings, you have long concluded. So, with a sharp roll of your eyes, you tugged your mount's reins and dove back into the water, leaving nothing but a mocking splash in your wake. Much later, you had returned to the village with a successful haul, but the grayness of your morning had turned into a desperate, hollow boredom and so you found Kxat by the mangroves. He was your second “interest“ just this moon, a boytoy, if you will.

You don’t even like him. He was simply a man with strong arms and a head full of empty flattery. He was merely a distraction, and more importantly, he was a way to watch your father’s forehead crease in silent disappointment and your brother’s jaw tighten with displeasure. You are not your perfect sister, alright. You are just you, the one they left behind when they took on mature duties following your mother's death.

As you led Kxat into the thick shadows of the woods behind the village, you felt the thrill of the hunt. Not for any prey, but for a reaction. You pushed him against a moss-covered trunk, the air thick with the scent of damp soil so different from the smell of the salt air from the sea. He leaned in to kiss you and you kissed him back, his hands wandering with a clumsy boldness toward your chest.

But before he could fully touch you, the sound of a dry branch snapping under a heavy foot alerted both of you to a presence. You can’t help but smirk as you moved your lips away from Kxat. Like clockwork. You pulled away slowly, smoothing your hair with a practiced nonchalance as you turned to find the intruder.

Neteyam stood ten paces away. His face was a mask of stone, his scarred and broad chest on display. He looked like the perfect image of a warrior carved from stone, unmoved by the intimacy he had just interrupted.

“Your brother is looking for you,” he said, his voice dropping into a cold clip. He didn't even spare Kxat a look, as if the other man didn't exist. He turned his back, ready to walk away.

“Can’t that wait?” you called out, your voice dripping with honeyed venom. You leaned back against the tree. “You see, I’m having fun here.”

He stopped, turning back slowly, his eyes narrowing until they were slivers of molten gold. “No, it can’t,” he said, his gaze finally flicking to you. “And I doubt that. You looked nauseous.”

The insult hit like a physical slap, but before you could snap back, Neteyam shifted his focus to Kxat. He simply looked at him, standing there with the quiet, terrifying authority of a commander, a look that always reminded everyone that while the Metkayina were his hosts, he is still the firstborn son of fearsome war leaders.

Kxat, who had been acting so bold with you only a minute ago, withered. He lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping as he wrangled his hands. “I... I should go,” Kxat stammered, not even looking at you before he scrambled away.

You watched him go with a sneer of pure disgust. Weak. Another one. You turned your fury back on Neteyam, who was already starting to walk away again. “You have no right!” you hissed, stepping after him. “You don’t get to scare off the men I’m with just because you’ve decided to play babysitter!”

Neteyam didn't stop. He didn't even look back to see how angry you are. “I don’t care who he is to you,” he said over his shoulder, his voice firm on. “If he were half the man you pretend he is, he wouldn’t have run. You’re wasting your time on cowards who probably wouldn’t be able to stand in front of your father and ask for your hand. Your brother expects you, princess.”

He left you standing there, your chest heaving with a rage that felt dangerously like something else. He was infuriating. He was so arrogant. And the worst part, the part that made you want to scream, was that he was right. All of those men were weak. No matter how many men you brought to the woods, they all crumbled the moment Neteyam te Suli appeared to remind you who you are to this clan.

You stomped through the village, the woven walkways yielding against the soles of your feet. You didn't care who saw your temper. The gray cloud from your nightmare had turned into a storm cloud over your head. You found Ao’nung near the training sands, sharpening a set of practice spears. He didn't even have to look up to know it was you, the crass way you approached him gave you away.

“Tell your watchman to leave me alone!” you hissed, slamming your hand against the wooden rack beside him.

Ao’nung blinked, looking up with a confused frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Neteyam!“ you snapped, pacing the small space. “He’s a parasite! Every time I turn around, there he is, looming and acting like he owns the woods. Did you order him to watch me? Did you send him? Did you tell him to go find me and ruin my afternoon?”

Ao’nung set the spear down, a slow sigh escaping him. “I didn’t send him to do anything specific. We were discussing patrol routes. He just... offered to go get you. It’s not intentional.”

“Offered to go get me?” you growled.

His eyes narrowed then, his protective brotherly instincts finally catching up to the context of your anger. “Wait. You were with someone? Again? While the sun is still up?” He stood to his full height, his face hardening into an expression that looked like your father’s. “You’re fooling around again?”

“Oh, for the Great Mother's sake,” you groaned, flicking a hand dismissively. “Is it such an issue? I’m nineteen, Ao’nung. Mother was already mated and pregnant with you at this age. I’m just living.”

“That is exactly the point!“ Ao’nung stepped closer, his voice an angry rasp. “Mother was mated! She chose a warrior of honor. You have no interest in actually taking a mate. You’re just fooling around to make a point. You are a daughter of the Olo’eyktan! These worthless, spineless men do not deserve to even stand in your shadow, yet you let them touch you just to spite us!”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, moving past him to sit lazily on a pile of woven mats, looking bored. “Are you done? Or do you have more rehearsed speeches about my virtue? Tell me what you called me for so I can go back to having fun.“

Ao’nung went quiet. He looked at you, then looked toward the path where Neteyam had likely returned from. A strange shadow of realization crossed his face. “I... I actually didn't have anything urgent to say to you,” he admitted slowly.

Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing. “Then why am I here?”

Ao’nung tried to remember what had happened. Neteyam came to talk to him about the western reef patrols. He couldn’t even remember how the conversation veered to you, but he remembered Neteyam telling him he needed to speak with you for some reason and when he said he’d talk to you when he sees you you next, the man had looked him right in the eye and said, ’You can talk to her now. I saw where she is.’

Ao’nung tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you with a sudden, sharp enlightenment. He remembered how many times Neteyam had happened to be the one to find you, he’d practically lost count of it over the years. He remembered how Neteyam’s jaw would set whenever your name was mentioned in relation to the village boys. You had always been very restless, hot-tempered like Ronal, that Tonowari himself had long given up in his attempts to straighten you up.

They all have, to be honest. You were of age, after all. It was only Neteyam that seemed to still guard you, which is funny, because he doesn’t even guard his own sister. A slow, knowing smirk began to tug at the corner of Ao’nung’s mouth, a look that made you feel suddenly very anxious.

“What?“ you demanded, feeling a prickle of unease. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” he said, his tone suddenly much lighter, almost playful. He picked back up his spear, his anger seemingly vanished. He just found the perfect solution so that your ‘boytoys’ will no longer be a worry for them. It seems you’ve already met someone who has the guts to challenge you. You just haven't realized it yet.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you barked, standing up.

“Nothing. Just...” he looked at you again and stifled a smirk. “Go on with your day.”

He turned on his heels and walked away. If you want to keep fooling around, you might want to find a place where a certain Omatikaya warrior isn't constantly watching your every move. But he doubts such a place exists.

You were with Neteyam and several hunters in the next morning patrol near the reef. You were on a long range scout in the southwest, having parted ways with the team so you could patrol each corner of the reefs, when you heard the familiar groan of engines, a sound that always made you tremble in anger.

You gritted your teeth at the sight of a small gray vessel. A familiar large weapon on its deck, followed by a larger black vessel. They were too close to the tulkun calving grounds.

“Stay low!” Neteyam’s voice commanded over the waves. He was leading the wing, his skimwing cutting through the water toward you. “We observe and report. Do not engage unless they cross the reef line.”

Observe and report. The words grated in your ears and it made you tilt you head. You looked at the metal ships and sniffed, knowing that inside those metals were the same demons who killed your mother. Your vision blurred red.

“Observe this,” you hissed under your breath.

You tapped your skimwing into formation before it drove into the deep water. You have never been a rule follower, but you try. However, you can’t possibly let a situation like this slide... your blood demanded a debt be paid. As the scout vessel turned to track the unusual movements underwater, you broke the surface, locking a spear into your thrower and throwing it with all the force your arm can give.

You saw it punch through the glass of the scout’s cockpit, impaling the pilot and making the boat swerve violently. You saw four men with guns looking for where it came from. One of them saw you, but you didn’t wait for him to aim his rifle, launching another spear, catching the man in the chest.

“Y/N, back off!” You heard Neteyam scream, his mount cutting through the waters with lethal efficiency.

You ignored him to throw another spear for the man on the deck who was trying to deploy a sonar buoy. The kind that deafened the tulkun. The spear hit him square in the neck and you felt a grim satisfaction upon seeing him fall into the water, the water blooming into the same crimson shade as your nightmares.

Your trembling hands reached for another spear but a heavy weight slammed into your side. Neteyam had driven his mount right into yours! Before you could even look at him, his large hand had already gripped the reins of your skimwing to force it into a deep dive. You squirmed in protest but the sight of bullets piercing through the waters like lethal hailstones made you drive you skimwing deeper.

The muffled sound of bullets passing through the water above you made you look back to Neteyam, seeing him drive his skimwing faster to follow you. You both didn’t stop until you were far enough, breaking the surface for air. But Neteyam continued moving until you both reached the shore near the village.

You were shaking, and you know that it didn’t have anything to do with the fear, but from the sheer electricity of the kill. This isn’t the first time, because you had killed a few before, in the battle years ago... But this, it provides the thrill of revenge.

Neteyam vaulted off his mount and waded toward you, his face no longer a mask of stone. It was a mask of fury. You saw his arm bleeding and your eyes widened. “Neteyam—”

“You are careless!” he roared, his hands frantic on your arms, checking for any wound as if he wasn’t wounded himself. He was literally heaving, closing his eyes to calm himself down after he’s checked your arms, chest, and shoulders for anything. “You could have been killed! They had a turret tracking you!”

You were breathing as heavily as he does, shoving his hands off you. “I killed three of them! They were going to the calves!”

“I know,“ he said, his voice calmer now. “But you cannot risk yourself like that. You are the daughter of the Olo’eyktan—”

“I am the daughter of the woman they murdered!” you screamed, your voice cracking with the weight of grief. You stepped closer until his breath fans your forehead. “You can hide behind your discipline, because I know that you're scared, Neteyam. You've been scared since the day you ran from the forest from whence you came. But I will not hide from the demons who filled the sea with my mother’s blood!”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Neteyam’s jaw tightened so hard you heard his teeth gritting. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, his nostrils flaring.

“You think I'm scared?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that made the hair on your arms stand up. “You think I don't want to kill every one of those demons until they are all gone?”

He stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming you that you unconsciously stepped back, a move that brought heat to your cheeks. Shame!

“I am trying to keep you alive, you stubborn, arrogant girl. Because unlike those boys you lure into the woods, I actually know what it's like to lose a world. And I will not let you be the next thing the ocean takes.”

Your nose flared. “Stay out of my way,” you hissed, though your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs for an entirely different reason.

“I can’t do that,“ he said, his voice soft but terrifyingly firm. “And I won’t. I will not obey you.”

He turned away to walk, and you watched him glance at his arm, and probably only saw then the wound on his arm. You heard him hiss and your hands trembled. He is annoying. Infuriating and meddlesome and a parasite. But as you watched him walk with his arm bleeding, you felt a pinch in your heart and some anger for yourself for having caused that.

Neteyam made his way back to the village, going straight to the healer’s tent, walking with a bravado that didn’t belong on a wounded man. He heard Lo’ak’s voice mingling with Tsireya’s, hissing under his breath that the two had to be here at this hour. He was aiming for a random healer to tend to him, so he won’t be asked any questions.

He moved the beaded curtains and walked inside, making Lo’ak snap his head to his direction.

“What happened, brother?” Lo’ak asked, his eyes wide with panic as he saw the state of Neteyam’s arm.

Neteyam didn't answer immediately. He was standing like a pillar, his face still that infuriating, stoic mask even as blood trailed down his bicep. But the moment you stormed in, he whirled around, his golden eyes widening, flickering with surprise.

“Give me your arm,” you commanded, your voice hard enough to crack stone.

“Did you shoot him?” Lo’ak blurted out in horror, his gaze darting between you and his brother.

Your head snapped toward him, a snarl curling your lip, but Neteyam’s voice boomed before you could lash out. “No!”

"Then what happened?" Lo’ak pressed.

Tsireya moved closer, her hands reaching for a bowl of clean water. “It is a bullet wound. Thankfully, only a graze. Let me see it, Neteyam.”

“No. I got him,“ you said, stepping toward him and he met you halfway, his gaze never leaving yours. You reached out and Neteyam offered his arm with a heavy submission that made your heart stutter.

“Does she even know how to treat that?” Lo’ak muttered, his worry making him bold. “She doesn’t have formal healer training.”

“She is a Tsahik’s daughter, Lo’ak. Of course, she had training.” Tsireya whispered, before her eyes met yours with a soft, knowing look. “You got it, sister?”

You nodded firmly and you gave Lo’ak a final, lethal glare until he withered.

“Well, then... I guess we’ll leave you for now,” Tsireya said, her voice laced with a strange, quiet satisfaction as she grabbed Lo’ak by the elbow and dragged him toward the exit.

“What if she purposely causes an infection or something—”

“She won’t do that!” Tsireya hissed, her voice fading as they disappeared behind the beaded curtain.

Then, there was only the two of you.

Neteyam didn't need to be told, he lowered himself onto the mat, and you followed, your knees hitting the floor. Up close, the graze looked worse. There was an angry jagged wound in his skin where the metal had hissed past, leaving the flesh raw. You bit your lip so hard until you tasted a metallic tang. You deserve that.

You worked in silence, cleaning the wound with meticulous care, your fingers, usually so steady on a spear, trembling just enough that you hoped he wouldn't notice. You applied the poultice, the cool herbs to make him feel better. You were so careful, so precise, treating his skin as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.

Meanwhile, Neteyam was so still you wondered if he were even breathing. He watched your face, savoring the fact that he was this close to you. You can’t believe you were a little too conscious about it though, because you could feel his gaze like it was a physical touch. On your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

Finally, you bound it with a gauze softer than it required.

“Thank you,” he said softly, as you were cleaning the supplies. You supposed you were guilty... But in truth, you cannot shake off the anger you have for yourself right now that he was wounded because of your recklessness. You could barely breathe with how tight your chest feels.

“I’m sorry...” You expected the words to feel like stones in your throat, but you didn't feel the weight you expected. Instead, you felt a burn on your cheeks so embarrassingly hot that you couldn't stay a second longer. You didn't wait for his reaction. You stood up abruptly and bolted out of the tent, the beaded curtains clattering violently in your wake.

Inside the tent, Neteyam remained on the mat, his lips parted in a breath of pure disbelief. It was as if a tornado had just swept through and left him in the eye of the storm. He let out a huff of a laugh, his chest deflating as he leaned back. The anger he had felt on the reef, the exhaustion of the patrol... It was all gone. Just two words. You had given him two words, and he felt as though he were melting into the floorboards.

He closed his eyes, his heart hammering a slow, rhythmic drum against his ribs. He had spent years receiving the sharp end of your anger, guarding you, and watching you from the shadows. And now, as the warmth of your apology enveloped him, you got him deeper on his knees on the sand, ready to crawl for whatever you can give.

Remember that seed that sprouted in Ao’nung’s head weeks ago? It didn’t simply just sit there, it took root, and grew vines. Vines that now reached Tonowari, because Ao’nung had not been anything but a constant buzz in his father’s ear, pitching the idea of a union like a trader auctioning a rare pearl.

At first, Tonowari had been hesitant, thinking of your volatile temper and the respect he has for the Sullys. He wanted a good match for you, yes, but the Sullys, no matter how long they had been here, living the ways of his people, are still his prime guests. Neteyam is the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. And you... You had not matured yet, not at all. You loved fooling around and the Sullys are a witness to your behavior.

But then, he started looking.

And he couldn’t believed just how much he missed out on you. And on those who have watched you from afar. One quiet evening, Tonowari had been walking the outer docks, seeking tranquil of the tides when he spotted a figure sitting on the sand far enough that he almost couldn’t recognize who it was. But he knew.

It was you, sitting there with your knees pulled to your chest, staring out at the horizon where the sky met the sea, the spot where your mother had never returned from. You looked small and for the first time in years, you looked like the fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her world. He felt a pinch in his heart.

He had been so blinded with your snappy wit, your laughter, and the temper you’d gotten from your mother, that he didn’t see how lonely you were while he, Ao’nung, and Tsireya all faced a bigger duty than they did before. He thought he’d done his part by making sure you were not burdened with duty and expectations... But you were certainly burdened with something else entirely and none of them had seen that.

Tonowari moved to step forward, fully intending to go to you, and give you comfort. But he stopped when he realized he wasn't the only one watching.

Neteyam was standing in the shadows of a nearby tree. His stance told him he wasn’t going to approach you and he remembered how years ago, when Ronal died, Neteyam tried to hold you and you snapped at him... Blaming him and his family for what happened. Tonowari thinks that Neteyam seemed to know better now, but he was still there, leaning against the tree, his eyes fixed on your back with a look of such profound, aching tenderness that it made Tonowari’s breath catch.

From where he stood, he could see that Neteyam sees past the troublesome or wanton daughter that the village gossiped about. He watched the way you wiped your cheek, and Tonowari saw Neteyam’s hand twitch, his fingers curling into a fist as if he were physically fighting the urge to go to you and pull you into his arms.

The came the day at the training sands. Ao’nung wouldn’t stop whispering in his ears. He had seen it, alright, Neteyam at least. But he wasn’t sure if Neteyam were simply empathizing with you, or if it stemmed from somewhere deeper in him.

He watched you stand at the edge of the training sands, ostensibly there to sharpen the blade of your spear. Both your father and brother watched from the shade of the pavilion as Neteyam led a group of young hunters through spear drills, his blue skin glistening with sweat, the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders rippling with every strike.

They saw the way you stood perfectly still, your eyes traveling shamelessly on the muscles on his broad back, and the strength in his arms. You were ogling him, plain as day, biting your lower lip just slightly when he lunged. But the moment Neteyam sensed your gaze and turned around, wiping sweat from his brow and offering a small, questioning tilt of his head, your face contorted into a mask of pure annoyance.

“What are you looking at, forest boy?” you had barked, loud enough for half the beach to hear. “Correct your grip! You’re swinging that spear like a clumsy child!”

Neteyam had only blinked, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he looked back to his students. Meanwhile, you have sassily turned your back on him, looking over your shoulder probably to check if he looks at you again, and he did. He looked over his shoulder the same time you did. You snarled and Neteyam quickly turned his back like a child caught not sleeping during siesta.

Ao’nung giggled. “You see, Father?” Ao’nung had whispered then.

Oh, Tonowari had seen, alright, and he definitely shouldn’t have, for Eywa’s sake. He wish he had Ronal with him in this moment. He wondered what his wife would have done after seeing her youngest daughter practically ogle a man, and act like she doesn't know whether to kiss him or spear him. And the man? He is the only one who doesn't flinch when she screams.

Several days later, the village was gathered for the communal dinner. The smell of roasted fish filled the air and the fire roared at the center of the circle. You were in the middle of your rowdy group instead of sitting at the dais among your family, being louder than necessary and aughing with your head thrown back.

Ao’nung sat close to Tonowari, leaning in as the firelight danced in his eyes. “Watch,” he prompted.

And so Tonowari watched, feeling a little ashamed with how invested he is with this. Neteyam was sitting with the warriors, his posture straight, and his face impassive. It was in moments like this that showed how beyond his years he seemed to me, a man who had grown up too fast in the shadow of war. He was listening to the warriors talk around him, but his eyes were fixed across the fire, just... watching. Something Tonowari and Ao’nung are both so aware now.

They both felt stupid having not noticed something so obvious before, especially when Neteyam looks as though he is guarding a treasure he hasn't even claimed yet. He doesn't even look at any of the other girls this way. Not even the ones who actually try to get his attention.

Across the fire, you were in the middle of a story, gesturing wildly, but every few seconds, your gaze would break away from your friends, snapping to where Neteyam is, and for a heartbeat, your rowdiness seemed to vanish. Your laughter dying down unconsciously, your hand dropping to your lap. You realized you were staring and quickly rolled your eyes, tossing your hair back and snapping a rude comment to the boy sitting next to you. 

But the effect was clear: Neteyam’s attention had literally made you behave. Neteyam looked down at his food, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I don’t know about you, Father,” Ao’nung said, his voice a low rumble of conviction. “But I see a match. And remember what Mother thought of him? Even when she was wary of the Sullys, she favored him.”

Tonowari leaned back, his massive chest expanding as he took a deep breath. He watched you. His youngest, his wild skimwing, and then he looked at the stoic, unbreakable young man who seemed to be the only one capable of clipping your wings without hurting you.

“Neteyam is a man of honor,“ Tonowari agreed, his voice thoughtful. 

Ao’nung grinned. “Betroth them. It settles her, it secures an alliance with Toruk Makto’s bloodline, and most importantly... it gives her someone she can't scare away.”

Tonowari nodded slowly, his decision solidifying. You, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of what schemes were cooking in your midst. The morning after the communal dinner, you found yourself in the family pod with your sister. Tsireya was the image of Metkayina grace, her hands moving gracefully as she sorted through dried medicinal herbs. She was the good daughter, and sometimes, looking at her felt like staring at a mirror that only showed you what you lacked.

“You were loud last night,” Tsireya said softly, not looking up from her work. “Even for you, little sister.”

“Better than filling it with the silence of the absent.”

Tsireya paused, her eyes lifting to yours, shimmering with a pity that made you want to snarl. “It has been five years, sister... Mother would not want you to live your life like this... She would want you to find peace. Perhaps even... a partner to share it with."

“I have plenty of partners,“ you snapped, standing up and grabbing your crossbow. “Ask Ao'nung. He seems to have a list of them to lecture me about.”

“Those boys are not partners,” Tsireya countered, her voice gaining a rare edge. “They are distractions. You choose men who are easy to break because you are afraid of someone who might actually hold you together.”

“I don't need holding together!” you snapped, your voice echoing as you stormed out before she could respond, feeling both irritated and guilty for feeling it.

Tsireya didn’t deserve your anger. You had both lost your mother and she had to take on a role no fifteen-year-old was ever ready for. You stopped on the walkway, looking over your shoulder and debating whether to go back and say sorry... But you were still angry, and you think it wouldn’t be so sincere to force yourself to do it now.

So you headed for the tide pools, needing the cool water to relieve the heat in your blood. But fate had other plans. Neteyam was there, knee-deep in the shallow water, repairing a broken Ilu pen. He was alone, his long braids slightly pulled back, his brow furrowed in concentration. As soon as you saw him, the irritation from your talk with Tsireya found a new target.

“We have the people for this,” you called out, stalking toward the water's edge. “Or are you so desperate to be useful that you’ve taken up the work of laborers?”

Neteyam didn't flinch or look up. He simply pulled the fibers taut and knotted it. “The pen was broken. I have hands. It seemed a simple equation, princess”

You stepped into the water, the cool waves splashing against your calves, and marched right up to him. You were shorter than him, but your chin tilted high.

“You’re doing it wrong,” you lied, reaching out to swat at the rope he was holding. “The knot needs to be beneath the crossbar, otherwise the tide will fray it. But I suppose a forest dweller wouldn't understand how the sea eats away at things.”

Finally, Neteyam looked at you, still not angry or intimated. He looked at you with that same calm, steady intensity that always made you feel so exposed... As though you were naked.

“Then show me,” he said, his voice low. He held out the rope toward you.

You blinked, caught off guard by his lack of resistance. “What?”

“Show me,” he repeated with challenge in his eyes. “If I’m not doing it right, then teach me the right way. I am a fast learner.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes and he met you with the usual intensity, making you roll your eyes, grabbing the rope from his hand, your fingers brushing against his skin. The contact sent a jolt through you that you chose to interpret simply as annoyance. You began to tie the knot with aggressive, jerky movements, your breathing heavy.

“You think you're so patient,“ you hissed, not looking at him. “You think if you just stand there and take it, I'll eventually stop biting. You’re wrong.”

He watched you, his head tilted. He knows this. You are the daughter that took so much from Ronal. He knows you will not soften easily. He expects you to sharpen even more.

“I know whose daughter you are,” Neteyam said. He had moved closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

You didn’t know why it made your insides shiver. You gaslighted yourself it couldn’t possibly be excitement. But... He wasn't backing down, at all. And you know he will did and he never will. Most men in the village would have retreated by now, but Neteyam stood his ground like a mountain resisting a gale.

“I don't want you to soften,” he whispered, his voice for your ears only. “The sea isn't soft. It’s hard and dangerous. But it also gives life.”

You froze, the knot half-finished. You looked up at him, a sharp retort dying on your tongue. His face was inches from yours, his golden eyes searching yours with a terrifying honesty. “You are a nuisance,” you managed to whisper, though it lacked its usual sharpness.

Neteyam let out a short, quiet breath that sounded like a laugh. He reached out, his hand hovering near your waist before he seemingly caught himself and pulled back. “And you,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again, "are not as difficult as you believe you are.”

You let go of your half-knotted ropes and stepped away, the water splashing around you. “You begged me to teach you, but you're doing everything but listen. Finish that. I’ll check it when I get back.”

You turned and whistled for your skimwing, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You didn't look back, but you didn't have to because you could feel his eyes on your back, steady and unyielding, watching his treasure as it tried to run away.

The ride out into the open sea was supposed to clear your head, but all you could feel was the phantom heat of his skin against yours. How dare he move closer to you?! You groaned and dove deep, pushing your skimwing until your lungs burned, trying to drown out the sound of his voice calling you that stupid word you don’t even know the meaning of. Princess. What was that word?

He’d call you that for years and you had no one to ask. Your pride won’t allow you to just go and ask Lo’ak or Kiri about it... Especially because they’d almost certainly know who had been calling you that.

For the next two days, you went out of your way to avoid him, which was nearly impossible in a village built on connected walkways. And now, you found yourself back in the woods at the back of the village, your path lit by the bioluminescence of the plants and the moon filtering through the thick canopy. You held O’nun’s— or was it Ralu?— hand, pulling him closer to you. His hand wounded in your curly hair, leaning down so he could kiss you. Your lips curled before you welcomed his kiss, your ears tuning in for any unusual sound around you.

Ralu’s hands moved lower to your waist, and you pulled away from the kiss, craning your neck, and just then, you saw a shadow detached itself from the darkness. Your eyes widened a fraction and you felt an urge to push Ralu away as his ragged breathing fanned your neck. You watched Neteyam stand there, a tower of solid muscle and silent menace, with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't even look at the man you were with. He looked only at you, his eyes glowing like two orbs of sun in the dark.

Ralu felt the weight of that gaze before he even saw him and his hands froze on your waist. He looked over, saw the silhouette you were seeing, and his face went pale even in the bioluminescence. He looked at you and you rolled your eyes when you saw how he’s almost ready to bolt, and without a single word of apology to you, without even a backward glance, Ralu scrambled away. He practically tripped over a root in his haste to disappear back into the village.

Weak, you thought. You turned your fury on the dark figure still standing in the clearing. You walked to him, “Tell me, warrior, do you take pleasure in this? Or is it just a hobby now?“

You remembered then what the hunters had been whispering. During combat drills, in which Neteyam is the head of, any man who he had recently seen in your company found themselves at the business end of Neteyam’s fist, hitting them harder and more frequently than anyone else. Now, he didn't need excuses to scare them away anymore; he has weeded them out quite successfully. No man in Awa’atlu wanted to be the next one whose ‘defense’ Neteyam pierces through with an elbow to the ribs.

You walked toward him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. You stopped inches from him, your breath hot against his neck, and pressed your palm flat against his broad chest. You felt the protruding, hard muscle of his chest jump beneath your touch. 

“Do you want me only for yourself, warrior?” you taunted, your fingers curling slightly into his skin, caressing the heat of him. “You stop me from having fun... you bar me from every experience. Do you intend to provide my fun instead?” You rose onto your tiptoes, your lips nearly brushing his jaw, challenging him to break.

But Neteyam was a mountain. He didn't move until you tilted your head to kiss him, and then his hand shot out like a vine, settling on your waist, his grip firm and grounding.

“Do not kiss me with the same lips you just kissed another man with,” he said. His voice was deep, and vibrating with a possessive rage that made your insides shiver.

You flared instantly, your pride screaming at the slight. You shoved at his chest, trying to wrench yourself away. “Alright! I’ll go find someone else then! I’ll kiss every man in this village if I please! I am an unbounded woman!”

His other hand caught your opposite arm, pulling you flush against him so quickly the air left your lungs when you landed against the hard wall of his body. “Is that so?” he asked. There was no humor in his voice, only a dark, palpable anger that felt like a storm breaking. 

He knows he should feel ashamed with how possessive he’s feeling about you. But it was what he was feeling... And for the first time in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He’s watched you for years, guarded you from your own recklessness... He’s not going to let some spineless boy have what you’ve been promising him with every look you throw his way.

He leaned down until your noses were a hair breadth away from each other, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying honesty. “Go on then,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “See if any of them would dare.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but your voice failed you. You were trapped between the tree and the man who had effectively cleared your world of everyone but himself.

At the same time back in the village, the atmosphere between Tonowari and Jake Sully was much more formal. Tonowari sought Jake out, and now, a look of grim amusement adorned the face of the legendary war leader as he listened to your father’s proposal.

“You're serious?” Jake asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “My son and your daughter? Tonowari, your daughter... She does not take well to my son. You’re sure you’re not thinking of Tsireya and Lo’ak instead?”

Tonowari shook his head, stifling a chuckle. “I have seen it, Jake Sully. Believe me. My daughter... She has a strong personality. But Neteyam sees her, do you know this?”

Jake’s gaze looked thoughtful. He knows that. He knows his son. “Yes, he does. But your daughter... Wouldn’t she be forced into this?”

“No. She sees him, too, Jake Sully. Trust me,” Tonowari replied.

Jake looked out past the village, into the woods behind the mangroves, where he could just barely see silhouettes of two people, one definitely was his first born. You were stomping back to the village, looking back to Neteyam and seemingly snarling at him, but he saw the sheer amusement in his son’s eyes. He was enjoying this.

He sighed, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alright,” Jake said, holding out his hand to seal the pact. “Let’s see if they survive the announcement.”

You had only just stepped onto the woven floor, your breath slightly hitching when you saw your father and Jake Sully standing together in a way that felt far too intentional. 

“Great. You're both here,” Tonowari said, his voice booming with a finality that made the hair on your arms stand up.

“What is it?” you asked, shifting your weight. You gave Jake a polite nod but your eyes immediately darted to Neteyam, who had followed you in like a shadow.

As Tonowari laid out the arrangement, all the words hit you like a physical blow. “I I have spoken with Jake Sully,” Tonowari said, locking eyes with you. “To secure the future of our leadership and to ensure the blood of our protectors remains strong, you will be joined. Neteyam is the firstborn of Toruk Makto, a warrior of proven honor. Your union will hold our people together against the coming storms.”

“Joined?” you repeated. “Father, what are you saying?”

“I am saying that you are betrothed, daughter,” Tonowari said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The ceremonies will begin with the next high tide.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt as though the floorboards had turned into thin ice, sending shivers up your body, not of anything resembling anger or betrayal, but of surprise. You looked at Jake, who was watching you with a weary, knowing sort of sympathy, and then finally, you let your gaze snap to Neteyam.

“What?” The word escaped your mouth. Again, not from the feeling of betrayal from your father.

You just simply couldn’t believe it. You hadn’t even thought of this as a possibility. Neteyam... Your mate. That is crazy. Jake watched your face. He’s not stupid to not know your dislike of his family, of the chaos they have brought. Compared to your siblings who have taken to his children well, you were distant and sharp-tongued toward his sons. But right now, he sees no actual protest in your eyes. In fact, your eyes were twinkling, and you were stammering, your lips parting to say something that just wouldn’t come out.

“It is a match of great benefit. It is settled.” Tonowari said, testing your waters.

Neteyam cleared his throat, the sound rough and low. He didn't look surprised at all, he looked like a man who had just been given the coordinates to the only destination he ever wanted.

“Can I say no?“ you asked, though the usual sharpness in your voice was wavering, replaced by a breathless tone.

“No,” Tonowari answered firmly.

You looked at Neteyam, and he met your gaze with a challenge that made you roll your eyes.

“Do you agree to this, Neteyam?” Tonowari asked.

“Yes,” Neteyam couldn’t have answered faster. “If it is the will of the Olo’eyktan... and if it is okay with her.”

You let out a dramatic, frustrated huff, throwing your head back. “As if I have a choice,” you said sharply, trying to hold your reputation tightly. “Fine! Do as you wish!” It was delivered so half-heartedly that you had to turn on your heel to march out before they could see the heat rising to your cheeks.

As you disappeared into the night, Tonowari looked at Jake and let out a short, huffed laugh. “You see? If she truly hated the idea, my ears would still be ringing from her screams. She is going to the docks to poute, and to wait for him to follow.”

Jake smiled, watching his son, who was already shifting his weight, eager to give chase. “Go on, son,” Jake murmured. 

Outside, your mind was a chaotic storm. Your were wrangling your fingers, and a ticklish, electrifying heat was blooming in your chest. You wanted to scream, but not in rage—you wanted to scream because the one thing you had been fighting for five years had just been handed to you by decree. When will the mating be? the thought popped into your head, unbidden and traitorous. Also, why are you excited?!

A hand caught your elbow, firm and warm. You were maneuvered around to face him.

“You okay?” Neteyam asked, his eyes searching yours.

You quickly wore your mask. “It is my duty,” you said sharply. “To the clan. To my father. I do not have the luxury of whim.”

You were acting as if you were forced into it, when the fact was clear as day. It took you like a few seconds to agree. His eyes went dark, a predatory heat settling in them. He didn't care about the politics Tonowari was talking about, he only cared that the barrier he’d been punching through for years will finally be gone. You are his.

The communal dinner the next night was a blur. When Tonowari announced the union, the village erupted. Tsireya squeezed your hand, her eyes misty, while Ao’nung leaned over with a smug grin. “This is a long time coming, sister.”

As you and Neteyam stood on the dais, you do not feel any weight on you. In fact, this is the lightest you've ever felt... You could practically float, but you won’t admit that, not even to yourself. Neteyam stood like the dutiful warrior he is, stone-faced but you knew him well by now. There was no denying the smug light in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his breath hot against your ear.

“You are bounded,” he whispered, the words a low, possessive rumble.

“Not yet mated,” you hissed back, keeping a fake, sharp smile plastered on your face for the crowd.

In one smooth motion, he wrapped a heavy arm around your waist, hauling you flush against the heat of his side. The contact making your knees weak. “Do not let me catch you,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, morbid promise, “or this clan will mourn a brother.”

Your eyes widened, snapping to his face. You expected a joke, but his expression was deadly serious. You never imagined him to be this morbid... He was always the upright and no-fun Sully brother to you. Now, you could feel the back of your nape warming from how blown his pupils were.

Before you could retort, a chorus of hoots and whistles broke out from Lo’ak and the other young hunters, demanding a kiss to seal the betrothal and since you were already looking up at him in shock, Neteyam didn't hesitate. He tilted his head and leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a chaste, firm kiss. It was brief, but it electrified your entire body more than every empty kiss you’d ever shared in the mangroves combined. 

You reached down and pinched his side as hard as you could, but he didn't even wince, he just tightened his grip on your waist and gave the crowd a huge smile that showed his pearly whites. 

The fortnight leading up to your mating were a blur of sensory overload. Everyone was on you. Tsireya and Kiri were busy collecting whatever bright seaweed and shells and pearls they could find, and Tuk was begging for the honor to braid your hair because apparently, she has a particular vision for it, said she’ll braid only the front and put an iridescent seashell she had found in the center. She swore it will make you look like a princess.

“What is that word?” you asked her, thinking this was the perfect opportunity. Tuk is only ten, she wouldn’t piece two and two together. “Princess, I mean.”

She giggled. “It means a beautiful girl in beautiful dresses. The daughter of a King, my Dad told me,” she said.

“What is a King?” you asked.

“A leader, I think. Like my Dad, back in the forest. And like your Dad here, I think,” she said, and she did look thoughtful. “My Dad said my Mom is also a princess, you know? My grandfather was Olo’eyktan. Dad used to tell us a story about a warrior who met a princess and fell deeply in love with her.”

You smiled softly, putting a hand over her small head before your nimble fingers continued weaving luminous sea-grass and pearls into your ceremonial shawl. She’s adorable and very talkative besides. “Alright... I’ll trust your vision. Make me a beautiful princess on the day of my mating,” you said.

She squealed and jumped on the balls of her feet, hugging your neck. “Oh, I will not let you down, sister! My fingers are made especially for braiding. I braid my family's hair! All of them!”

“Even Neteyam’s?“ you blurted out. You can’t imagine his large sitting down in front of his little sister, patiently waiting for her to finish braiding all the strands of his hair.

She grinned. “Yes! He's the most behaved, actually. He doesn’t complain at all,“ she said, smiling to her beads.

You pushed your lips forward. Now, that you could imagine. You can’t imagine him losing his cool. You remembered getting irritated with Lo’ak several times when you were young... You’ve seen how Neteyam looks out for him, how Neteyam takes the blame for his transgressions, and how in turn, he would rebuke Neteyam and call him the perfect and dutiful son, as though they were insults meant to slight. And you saw how they did hurt Neteyam, for some reason.

Of course, Lo’ak had grown past that now.

But as you think of this now, you cannot help but think of your own behavior. How your older siblings had done nothing but look out for you, and how in turn, you showed them the lengths of your ungratefulness. You thought you were useless for not having the same duty they had to carry after your mother died, but you didn’t see how hard they worked to not tip the scale on your side, to not burden you with anything.

You are ungrateful. You wallowed in your pain, in your hatred, and in your grief, but you were not the only one who lost a mother. Your head snapped to the beaded curtains when it clanked, seeing Tsireya with a woven basket of whatever she’s collected. She was humming softly, and she smiled at the sight of you. Hot tears pricked at your eyes and you put your materials down to hold her hand.

She was surprised, obviously, but she quickly put the basket down to let you pull her into a hug. You broke into a sob, hugging her tightly, saying I’m sorry repeatedly, like a little kid. Tuk watched you two with pursed lips, not knowing what to do, but she thought she needed to go and join the hug, so she did, her small head cradled on your head.

“Sorry, what for, sister? You have nothing to say sorry for,” Tsireya said softly.

“There are a lot, sister, believe me. I was so ungrateful to you and Ao’nung... To Father. I thought the world should look at my grief, at how angry I was... That I have forgotten to see the three of you...” you said.

She looked at you with soulful eyes, smiling softly. “We all grieve differently... And I am thankful to whatever measure you took to ensure you would still be here. Mother would be happy to know you are in my arms right now, crying as you would always do when we were kids...”

You sobbed even harder, not even noticing that the curtain had once again clanked to signal a new arrival. It was only when Ao’nung’s voice boomed that you two looked up.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his hand immediately on your shoulder to pull you back and check your face. His face crumpled at the your tear-stained face, and then his head reared back. “Does this match bother you so much, sister? Do you not want it? I will talk to Father, we can always stop this— Ow.“

He stopped talking when you jumped in his arms, throwing your arms around his shoulders to sob. “No,“ you sobbed. “It does not bother me and I do want it!” you said.

He hugged you back, his arms tight around you to pull you as close as possible. “Then why are you crying?“ he asked pointedly.

“I am just very sorry... For everything,“ you said. “I am ungrateful. I am so mean to you and Tsireya and Father... I think only of myself...“ you sobbed.

“Err... And I am handsome and hot..?“ he uttered, his voice laced with humor.

“Ao’nung!” Tsireya’s voice boomed with an unusual fire.

“What? I thought we’re listing facts here!” he said, laughing and wiping your tears as you giggled at what he said. “Come on... I mean. You are mean, but only a fool wouldn’t understand. We lost Mother, and you were practically her tail. Losing her, to you, meant losing half of you. And we understand, you know? Besides, it’s not like nothing's new. You’ve always had that mean girl in you.“

You laughed at what he said again, but your tears were still falling. Tsireya smiled softly, riding hug the two of you, pulling Tuk into the hug because the kid was determined to belong. You sobbed and renewed your hold to include Tuk. Eventually, you all calmed down and Ao’nung had to leave for the training grounds.

The skies were beginning to be a battleground between purple and orange by the time Neteyam returned from his long-range patrol. You were now huddled with a sleeping Tuk, while Tsireya continued your work on your shawl, both of you laughing as you reminisced moments when you were children. But as the beaded curtains clattered, your laughter quiet down.

Neteyam stood there, his eyes immediately finding yours, and you saw the exact moment he registered your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from the afternoon’s emotional purging.

He didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened, offering a polite nod to Tsireya while a small, tired smile formed on his face at the sight of Tuk huddled next to you, but his gaze were heavy on you.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked softly. 

You glanced at Tsireya and she teasingly smiled at you, making you roll your eyes. Neteyam had subtly been courting you in the past days, and to be honest, the only thing stopping him from going all out was your preference. He wanted to savour the courtship days, and he thinks it was moving too fast, but he also wouldn’t complain, especially because it’s leading to your mating.

You stood up, followed him out onto the beach. For a while, there was only the sound of the crashing waves.

“Your eyes,” he finally spoke, his voice barely louder than the waves. He stopped walking and turned to face you. “You have been crying. A lot.”

“I have,” you admitted, lifting your chin. “It was... a family matter. We were speaking of Mother.”

Neteyam’s expression softened, but still, a look of genuine, gut-wrenching worry crossed his features. “Is that all it was?” he stepped closer. “Y/N, be honest with me. If this is because of the mating... if you feel the weight of my father and yours pressing you into a life you do not want... tell me now.” He looked down at his hands for a second, then back to you. “I can speak to your father. I will take the blame. I do not want you to look at me and see only a cage.”

The thought of him calling off the mating, the thought of losing the very thing that had secretly kept your heart beating for five years, hit you like a physical strike. You didn't even think before your nose flared.

“No!” You hissed, your fangs almost baring as you stepped into his space. 

Neteyam blinked. “I am trying to give you a choice—”

“Are you?” you barked. “Or are you just saying that because you actually do not want to go through with this? You’ve been forced into this duty, and now you’re looking for an exit!“ You narrowed your eyes. “Is it because of some little forest girl you’ve left behind back home? Some quiet, dutiful Omatikaya girl who doesn't hiss when you look at her?”

Neteyam stood there, his mouth slightly agape, looking utterly dumbfounded. He could barely keep up with how fast you’ve turned the conversation a whole 360 degrees, and you’ve thrown in a silly assumption there, too. He tried to speak twice before the words actually came out. “What? A girl back home?” He let out a breathless, confused sound that was almost a laugh. “No, of course not. Where would you even get such a thing? I have spent my life training to be a warrior, I did not have time for that. I didn't leave anyone behind because there was never anyone else.”

He took a step forward, closing the distance until you had to look up at him. “I want to go through with this. I want to be your mate.”

Your face softened, but then you forced a scowl. “Then don’t ask me that question again!" you hissed, though your voice didn’t hold its usual bite.

He stared at you, his heart hammering so hard he was sure you could hear it. He wanted to reach out, to pull you against him and quiet the frantic energy in your body, but he stayed still. He was trying to piece together your outburst. The little forest girl? A part of him wanted to laugh. Could it be possible that you were jealous?

He didn't dare say it out loud. He knew you well enough to know that if he teased you now, you might actually beat him up to a pulp.

“I won't ask again,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “If you are sure, then I am sure. Three days, princess.”

And three days later, you found yourself at the Cove, wading deep into the water to reach the Spirit Tree, mesmerized by its particular glow tonight. The village elders and your families swim in the surface, watching you two dip further into the waters.

Neteyam reached out and you looked at him with a glowing smile, giving him your hand, his fingers lacing through yours with a grip that promised he would never let you drift away. You faced each other by the time you reached the tree, but its glow rivaled the one in Neteyam’s eyes. You smiled at him, reaching for your kuru, your movements a little shaky, but Neteyam held his halfway, waiting with an agonizing, respectful patience. It was you who closed the distance, guiding your queue to meet his.

The moment the bond snapped into place, your back arched as a physical surge of electricity jolted through your spine. Your pupils dilated until the teal of your eyes was nearly swallowed by black and for a moment, your eyes were marred by streaks of white as you felt a large ball of warmth spread through you.

It was an explosion of color and feeling.

You felt him. There was a devotion so deep it felt like the ocean itself, and an attraction that provided you warmth in the chill of the water. Some visions began to flow. In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself through his perspective. You saw a version of yourself from years ago, riding your ilu through the crest of a wave, laughing with a carefree joy you’ve never known since. You were beautiful, radiant, and in that memory, you felt the exact moment Neteyam’s heart had been captured.

But as the bond deepened, you felt as though the waters had flowed into uncharted territories and the golden glow yielded to grayness. You felt his crushing grief for you when your mother died. You felt the weight of his guilt for being who he is, for being part of the reason your world had shattered. Your eyes snapped open underwater, seeing his features crumpling in pain as he absorbed the sheer magnitude of your own feelings.

His heart was beautiful. And you know that yours was ugly.

His end of the bond was flooded with what you had carried. Anger, resentment, and the bitter hatred. It was heavy, toxic, and you felt him taking it all, letting your poison flow into him without a single flinch of rejection.

You let out a breath, forgetting that you were underwater until the air bubbled in your face. Unable to bear the sight of his suffering, you dislodged your kuru. The connection snapped, and you saw a flicker of pure, exhausted relief cross Neteyam’s face before he masked it with his usual warrior stoicism.

He could barely look at you but he never let go of your hand, and shame embraced you like thorn vines. As you two swam back to the surface, the people’s voices boomed in celebration before they began to whistle for their mounts. You didn't call for your skimwing. Instead, as Neteyam climbed onto his, you slipped into the seat behind him.

He turned his head, his eyes wide with a silent question. You didn't give him the fire he expected. You looked at him like a child who was caught breaking something precious. “I’m riding with you,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his thick, muscular waist and pressing your cheek against his broad back.

Neteyam’s posture softened instantly. “Oh,” he breathed, his lips pulling into a small, private smile.

As he led the procession back, his large, warm hand reached back to cover yours where they were clasped over his abdomen. You stared at the back of his head, your heart aching with a new kind of pain. Shame. He had seen the darkest corners of your soul and his first instinct was still to never let go of your hand. Perhaps he was used to ungratefulness; he had faced it from Lo'ak for years anyway. But you realized then that you didn't want to be another burden. You wanted to be his peace.

Later at the village, the celebration of your mating was a riot of colors and music. The drums were louder now and the dancing more frantic. You and Neteyam were seated on the high dais, the center of every gaze. As tradition dictated, you dipped your fingers into a bowl of rich, spiced fish sauce to feed him.

Some drops of it dripped on your fingers and before you could pull away, Neteyam’s hand caught your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the sauce from your skin. He never broke eye contact, his eyes dark and molten, reflecting a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

It felt like someone had accidentally made a spark in a forest filled of dry leaves. You felt your breath hitch, your earlier shame melting into a fierce, desperate need. You leaned in, your movements no longer a performance for your audience. You reached up, twirling a finger into one of his braids, anchoring him to you so he couldn't retreat just in case he decides to tease you.

You leaned close, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth as you licked a stray bit of sauce away. “I want you...” you whispered, the words trembling against his skin. “Do you want me?”

He let out a huffed sound, a mix of a laugh and a growl. “I’ve always wanted you,” he rasped, his hand moving to your arm to pull you closer. “Since the day I saw you on the docks. I have wanted nothing else.”

You know that now... You know. You pressed a hard, demanding kiss to his lips, tasting the salt and the spice and the promise of the night to come. “Show me,” you challenged, your voice dropping to a seductive tone as you smirked.

You stood up, your beautiful shawl flowing behind you as flawlessly as your curled hair, all of which are extremely captivating for Neteyam. You pulled his hand up, looking back at him with sultry eyes before dragging him away. You don’t even care about the hooting young men and the laughing crowd knowing just what you two will do next.

You dragged him to the eastern side of the village where your new pod is, smelling of fresh weave. The air between you and Neteyam was thick with a tension that made the drums at the festival sound nothing compared to the thrum of your heartbeat behind your ears. You stood in the center of the room, the embers of the fire in the hanging firepots casting a soft, ethereal glow over his dark blue skin.

You watched him as he began to shed his warrior gear. His hands, usually so steady and precise, moved with a slight tremble as he unbuckled the Omatikaya cummerbund he had recently commissioned. He had refused to replace it with a Metkayina chest guard and honestly, you respected his unwavering loyaty.

You reached for the ties of your own top, practically breathless as you watched his muscles ripple with every movement. You let the ceremonial pearls clatter softly as it fell to the floor. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his eyes focused on you with a hunger that made your skin prickle. You are so excited you’re literally a live wire. You walked toward him, and he met you halfway, his large hands reaching out to claim you.

He leaned down, and when his lips met yours, you felt like both of you melted into each other.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, his hand firm at your nape, tilting your head to gain better access. He was clumsy at first, and you could tell he doesn’t usually do this... or didn’t do it at all, but you didn't mind. He was so cute, because he was just going by instinct, so you guided him, your tongue dancing with his, showing him what you had learned from years of being the rebellious daughter. When he realized how skillfully you were kissing him, a low, guttural groan vibrated through his chest, a sound of both frustration and desperation.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the soft furs on the floor. His kisses descended, tracing the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, and lower to your chest. You let out a loud moan when his mouth enveloped your pebbled tip, while his hand fondled the other, rolling and pinching your nipple. You shivered at how good it felt, squeezing his large upper arm as you melt into the furs.

While he was busy literally feasting on you, you managed to bring your trembling hands behind him, your fingers wrapping around his tail and caressing it. “Ow!” your back arched when, in shock, his teeth clamped down around the flesh of your breast.

“Fuck, sorry...” he mumbled, his tongue popping out to lick around the flesh and you mewled, your hand gripping his tail.

Your fingers persevered to untie his loincloth despite the fact that you’re literally bordering on delirious with what he’s doing to you. He helped you shed his loincloth, and the weight of his arousal against your thigh made your own breath hitch. Your hand snaked down, your fingers brushing against the heat of him, and his hips buckled.

In the heat of the moment, you reached for your kuru, the shimmering white fibers seeking his. Neteyam stopped at the sight of it, his eyes looking at yout queue as if it were a predator. He let out a ragged breath and you saw the exact moment he was reminded of what your kuru had brought him. He didn't want the shared pain of your past right now; he didn't want the ghosts of your mother or his guilt to intrude. He wanted you and the reality of this moment.

You understood. You let your kuru fall back, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of surrender. He ran his fingers through the strands of your soft hair, his hands caging your head as he kisses you, hard and punishing, for what seemed like eternity. You loved kissing him, and it might just be your new addiction.

He kissed his way down your body again, and when he moved between your legs, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you arched your back, your fingers tangling in his braids. The first time his tongue flicked against you, a loud, unbridled moan tore from your throat, echoing off the woven walls of the pod. You didn't even care who heard you.

His fingers joined his mouth, determined to watch you come undone with every kiss and suck. You grabbed a handful of his braids, not knowing whether to push him away to relieve you from the bizarre stimulation he’s making you feel, or harder on you to indulge yourself with the feeling.

“Neteyam!” You shouted, pushing his head away, but he won’t budge, his large hands pushing your legs further away.

It was too much, but you find that you wanted it, too. You fisted on the soft furs, moaning louder than you did earlier, your back arching as you felt a knot inside you break and explode. Your foot tried to push him away again when you felt a warm liquid gush out of you, but his mouth only sucked and licked, making sure no drop was wasted.

Your limbs fell on your sides weakly, your eyes a little unfocused until you saw him rise, his large frame covering your view of the hanging firepot. He hovered over you, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and nerves. He kissed your jaw.

“Was that good?”

You gave a lazy grin, but also, you remembered that he was good. How did that happen? Your features turned a little sharp with awareness, your eyes narrowing. “Who?”

His face previously hazy with lust and desire snapped to attention, “What?”

“You are good. It was good,” you said. “Who’s the woman?”

His forehead creased and a weakened breath of laughter escaped him. “No one,” he said, his lips grazing your cheek. “No one. I do not touch women who are not mine. And I do not let them touch me,” he said, emphasizing the last words.

You pushed your lips forward, catching that stray. “Well...” you pushed your lips forward. “For what it’s worth, I’m a virgin, too, you know? But I know how to kiss. See, it helped us earlier. Your teeth were bumping against mine—”

His forehead fell against yours as he shook with laughter. You groaned.

“I’m telling the truth! No one has touched me where you’d touched me! You don’t believe me?” you said, your voice rising in slight.

He was pressing a kiss against your neck but his head quickly lifted up. “No, no. I do believe you,” he said, his eyes widening a little in his conviction. “I believe you.” he repeated, his eyes softening, lowering down to your parted lips. “And it doesn’t matter, I think. I just need to know names, if so.“

“Names?“ you echoed.

“Names of the men,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

You squeezed his shoulder. “No one,“ you replied. “I mean, beyond the kisses...”

He pressed his lips to yours, his tongue sliding in when you parted your lips, exploring with a tentative curiosity that made your toes curl into the soft mats. As his hands wandered down your body, grazing the curves of your hips before he lifted his head up again, his eyes caressing your features, admiring the intricate tattoos on your face.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He can barely breathe watching you from afar, and now, you were under him. His mate. His wife now. He has all the time in the world. With you.

“Then stop looking and start doing something,” you teased, your voice so womanly it made him shiver.

He chuckled, positioning himself properly between your thighs. His cock felt heavy against your pussy. You’ve felt him earlier, felt the weight of him. He was thick and long, and despite your fear, you were more excited for when he finally enters you.

“Tell me if it hurts,” his deep voice grated.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, spreading your legs. “Now.”

He bit his lip, fisting his cock and pointing it at your pussy and your fingers balled in anticipation. Its wide head nudged you with a slow, agonizing precision, his wide eyes watching your face. You gasped, your back arching as the initial stretch of his girth filled you. Your breathing was jagged, your hand clamped on his shoulder as you clenched around him unconsciously.

He patted your thigh, wincing. “Baby, you’re squeezing me...”

You groaned and tried to relax as he pushes more length into you. Just when you thought it’d be over soon, you made the mistake of looking down and seeing that he’s only halfway in. “This can’t be serious.” Your head fell back on the soft furs.

“Why?” His hand caressed your hip, and when he moved, seemingly to dislodge himself from you, you tightened your legs around him and pushed your hips up.

In that single move, the remaining length of him disappeared in you, making you quiver as if you’d reached the same high he's given you with his mouth earlier. You are incredibly sensitive.

“Oh, Great Mother,“ you moaned loud, the sound ripping from your throat. “You are so big...”

He kissed your jaw softly. “I’m sorry...” He then began to move in shallow thrusts, his lips peppering your face with kisses. Each slide of his shaft sent jolts of pleasure through your core, and as the friction built, loud sounds begun to escape your throat. Moaning and wailing in pleasure. You weren't shy. You had never been shy.

“Yes! Ah, right there! Oh, Neteyam, so good!” you screamed, your voice carrying to whoever knows where.

Neteyam’s face slightly crumpled, a little embarrassed, but a grin tugged at his lips as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming steadier, deeper. You didn't hold back. Every time he thrusts hard, you let out a loud, unabashed shriek of pleasure.

“Neteyam—” you gasped, your voice breaking as he drove into you. “Great Mother. Neteyam... please.” You pressed a palm on his lower abdomen as he continuously hammered into you.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, your pleasured screams only fueled the predatory fire in his eyes. He leaned down, his large hands caging your head in place. His mouth muffled your sobs as be kissed you, and your eyes rolled back to your head, feeling delirious about everything.

“What does my princess want?” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and dark.

“I don’t know...” you sobbed. “So good...”

He kissed you again before he rose to a kneeling position between your parted thighs, grabbing one of your legs and hiking it up his shoulder, before slamming into you with a series of forceful thrusts that made your screams sound jagged. Scandalous wet sounds filled the air as he hammered into you. You were a mess of sweat and saliva, your breasts bouncing with every thrust.

You were so loud, and so lost in your pleasure, that you didn’t even notice the pause in the rhythmic pulsing of festival drums in the distance. It was only when Neteyam slowed down that you noticed, you looked at him through a hazy vision and saw his head tilting to the direction of the village’s communal area. His eyes snapped at you and you chuckled, still panting.

“I think they heard you,“ he said, lowering his body to kiss you.

“It will serve the clan to know that the newly mated woman is being mounted... hard,” your teeth tugged at his lower lip. “Happy wife, happy life, you know?”

He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before it opened again to meet yours. The joy in them made you feel like someone offered you a blanket during a storm. “I will make you happy... Always.”

You smiled. “I will make you happy, too, Neteyam... I promise.”

A smile broke through his facade and it made tears prick in your eyes for some reason. “You being mine is enough. I need only to remember that to be happy,” he said.

“I am yours,“ you replied quickly. “In all the ways you could think of.”

He kissed you, losing himself in the heat of you. He pushed deeper, the sound of your bodies meeting creating a wet, squelching noise. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he hit a spot that made your vision blur. With a deep push, he shuddered, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled his seed. You followed him seconds later, your internal muscles clamping tight around him in a series of violent spasms.

He hugged you, as though you’d slip away if he didn’t. Your hand moved up to caress his braids, kissing his jaw. “I am here with you, Neteyam...“

The next day, you woke up to the sight of morning sun filtering through the woven walls and beaded curtains of your marui, casting a warm light over everything. You didn’t need the weight of the heavy arm draped over your waist to remind you where you are. Neteyam had been awake for an hour. He had spent the time simply watching the way your chest rose and fell, noticing how the bioluminescent freckles on your skin seemed to dim in the daylight, and memorizing the intricate tattoos on your face. He’d admired the blooming purples and reds of the marks he’d left behind on your neck and chest, and wondered if you’d complain about it later.

When your teal eyes finally fluttered open, the instant flash of joy in them made his own heart skip. Without a word, you rolled over witha lazy grin spreading across your face as you draped an arm over his chest to pull him to you for a lingering morning kiss. It felt so natural, if only his heart won’t stop kicking violently against his chest. It was as if you had been waking up in his arms for years instead of just one night.

“Hungry?“ he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

“Yes,” you yawned and stretched your body a little, your face snuggling in the crook of his neck. Your throat felt raw and your voice came out hoarse, evidence of your screaming last night.

You bit your lip, closing your eyes at how comfortable it felt. He chuckled, his eyes sparkling even if you were not looking. You are a mated woman now... The memory of the night rushed back in your mind in a heated wace. The way he had looked at you like a predator let out of its cage. The way he had held you so devoid of the politeness he’d shown in the past years... The way he mounted you.

Oh, Great Mother. You felt so giddy, you couldn’t help but shiver in his arms.

“Why?” he asked.

“I was just remembering last night,” you said shamelessly.

He softly kissed your foreahead. “Why shiver? Are you getting shy?“ he asked softly.

Your eyes widened. “No,” you lifted yourself up, the soft fabric of the blanket falling off your shoulder and revealing your naked form to him. “What should I be shy about?”

He looked at you with hazy eyes, as if you’d used some booze on him and his eyes were just pupils blown wide now as they caressed your form. “For one, you were so loud last night...”

You raised a brow. “Eh. I’m not abashed... It’s normal to be loud when you’re feeling good,“ you smirked.

Besides, does he know just how many girls and women in this clan wished they’d give them attention? Your eyes narrowed, thinking of all those village women who used to sigh when he walks past. You hoped they’d heard just how good you were getting it from him last night.

“Are you bothered?”

“No,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep, possessive register.

You smirked, grabbing your top to wear it again. He sat up, his muscles flexing from all his movements. His large hands hovered over your shoulder, surprisingly gentle as he helped you tie the fastenings and adjust the pearls over your chest. As the blanket slipped away from his lap, your eyes caught the sight of him. Already hard and erected.

Without thinking, your hand darted down to touch it, but he was faster, catching your wrist. “No. Breakfast first.”

Your nose crunched in a pout. “I just want to touch it. It looks... lonely.”

“Maybe later...” he said, his voice strained as he reached for your loincloth to help you dress.

“But it's hard now,” you pouted, looking at him through your lashes.

Neteyam let out a long, shaky breath, looking away. “It will pass. It’s always like that,” he said.

“Always like that?“ you asked.

“When you’re around,” he admitted, his jaw tight.

Your eyes widened, a triumphant smile tugging at your lips. “Really? Even when I was being mean to you?”

“Yes. Sometimes, even when you weren't around... I’d think of you,” he confessed, his ears twitching in a rare show of vulnerability.

“What? But wouldn't that be painful?” you asked, glancing at his crotch, which he has now hidden beneath the fabric.

“I relieve myself,” he said bluntly, watching you tilt your head in confusion. He then made a quick up-and-down motion with his hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “And I think of you while I do it.”

You felt a surge of heat so intense you thought you might actually turn purple. The idea of the perfect and dutiful firstborn son of Toruk Makto, alone where no one could see him, losing his mind over thoughts of you, was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever heard. “What do you think of? Tell me. I think we can... make it happen now.”

Neteyam leaned in, his shadow towering over you as he whispered in your ear, his voice a dark, detailed rasp. He described a vision of you arched over a forest branch, the way he wanted to feel your hair against his skin while he took you from behind, and the way he imagined your face would look when you’re feeling good. He’s seen it last night, and it beat all the fantasies he had.

By the time he finished, you were breathless and burning.

“We are definitely doing that tonight,” you whispered, leaning toward him to kiss the side of his lips.

Days later after you were more properly settled in your pod, Jake and Neytiri hosted a dinner, inviting your father and your siblings. Now, you knew you were never shy... But also, these are Neteyam’s parents. And they’ve been witnesses to how volatile and difficult to deal with you could be compared to your siblings.

You were never welcoming. You were aloof. And now, you are mated to their most prized son. Because of this, the thought of sitting in the same table as Neytiri filled your blood with cold dread. You sat with your spine perfectly straight at the dinner table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, a sharp contrast to the wild, snarling huntress they usually saw on the docks.

Next to you, Neteyam looked like the picture of the perfect warrior, but there was a glint in his eye that made you uneasy. He knew exactly why you were acting so stiff.

“You look beautiful tonight, daughter,” Neytiri said, her golden eyes scanning you with a terrifyingly intensity.

“Thank you, Neytiri,” you replied, your voice soft. “It is an honor to be at your table.”

Neteyam let out a short, soft huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He leaned closer to you, ostensibly to reach for a bowl of fruit, but his shoulder lingered against yours.

“She is very practiced at the proper daughter look,” Neteyam murmured for only you to hear. He turned his head to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips as you glared at him.

Tonowari finally cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between you and Neteyam, his expression a mix of fatherly concern and the stiff formality of an Olo’eyktan. “Ah... so,” your father started, his voice a bit forced. “How have you two been?”

You nodded. “We’re having so much fun,” you blurted out without thinking.

Oh, that they know about. It’s not like the marks on your neck or the red nail marks on Neteyam’s shoulders weren’t announcement enough. Neteyam who was sipping water nearly choked. A violent cough erupted from him as he tried to regain his composure, his ears blooming indigo, twitching.

“Do you have everything you need for the household? Nets? Storage?” Jake Sully intervened.

“We have everything we need, Dad,” Neteyam managed to rasp out, finally finding his voice.

You leaned closer to whisper. “Right. My husband is a very... efficient provider. He doesn't leave anything unfinished, does he?” You snickered.

He raised a brow. “Whispering now, huh? It’s hard to believe this is the same woman who was screaming my name so loud in the woods just hours ago,” he whispered back.

Neytiri watched the two of you from across the table, her golden eyes shining. “It is great to see the two of you approaching your marriage life so smoothly,” Neytiri said, her voice smooth. She looked at Jake. “Reminds me of our first nights together. Do you remember, Jake?”

Jake chuckled. He knew exactly what Neytiri meant. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Tonowari who looked like he wanted to dive into the ocean to avoid this conversation.

“Can we talk about literally anything else?” Lo’ak groaned, picking up a piece of fruit and tossing it at Neteyam. “I don't need to hear about my parents’ first nights together or why Y/N’s throat sounds like she’s wounded her throat from screaming.”

“Lo’ak!” Tsireya hissed, though she was shaking with silent laughter.

“What?” Tuk asked, her large eyes moving between everyone. “Why was she screaming? Was there a moonwraith in the new pod? I can go kill it for you, sister!”

The table erupted. Ao’nung, who had been trying to remain stoic and dignified, finally doubled over with a booming laugh. Your father let out a heavy, defeated sigh, rubbing his temples, while Jake just shook his head, a grin finally breaking through his facade.

“No moonwraiths, Tuk,” Neteyam whispered to his little sister while you laughed beside him.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

In the weeks following your mating, the village began to feel less like a place of grief you moved through with a routine, and more like a playground for the two of you. You found yourself exploring the woods behind the village with much curiosity than you did before, keeping in mind that this was the kind of place your husband grew up in.

You’ve always wondered the way he moved with such a predatory yet quiet grace, able to sneak up on people without making any sound, unless he meant for them to hear him, but as you walk through the forest, you realized that it was because the trees seemed to have eyes everywhere. You couldn’t even walk here without your foot stepping on a dry leaf that makes a crunchy crack, announcing your presence.

Neteyam had told you that it was one of their trainings back in the forest. To walk in the woods silent as a viperwolf, and you’ve seen in it in the way he moves through the brush. “Your people believes in the tranquility of the ocean,“ he mumbled, standing behind you as he helped you adjust your grip on his longbow. “But the forest, it is a living thing. It listens and it watches. There is no current to fight, you only move with it.”

He pressed his chest against your back, his large hands covering yours on the bowstring. He taught you how to breathe into the shot, his heartbeat a steady thrum against your shoulder blades. When you finally released, the arrow thudding perfectly into a distant fruit, your eyes widened and you smiled triumphantly.

You had obsessed over archery for weeks. It is different from your people’s crossbow, which you were really good at. Different compared to a spear, more so. You thought you were simply a bad shot at this thing, but now, you hit the target and you couldn’t believe it! You turned in his arms with a laugh, rewarded by the pride shining in his golden eyes. He leaned forward to kiss you hard, and you melted in his arms.

“That one was good,” he grinned.

You pursed your lips. “Now, I understand why Lo’ak always calls you the perfect son...” you pressed a hand against his chest. “You excel in everything. This was easy for you, a crossbow is easy. A spear is easy. Riding your ikran is easy. Riding a skimwing is easy...” you tiptoed to kiss his lips. “Riding me... so hard, though.” You snickered.

He laughed, a rich and deep sound that warmed your chest as his arm suddenly pulled you to him. “You said you were sore...”

You bit your lip, widening your eyes at him. “I am.”

“Then why are you tempting me?” he asked, raising a brow.

You laughed. “Maybe I want more of that thing where I’m lying on my stomach, and you’re so close on my back,” you moaned in his ears. “That was so good.”

He groaned, deep and long, pulling you to him. “Strip. Let’s do it now, if you want it—”

“Neteyam and Y/N! Yuhoo!” A familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the trees.

You jumped away from him, nearly toppling over. Neteyam’s strong arm wrapped around you like a vine, helping you find your footing as Tuk came crashing through the brush, her large eyes bright with excitement.

“Oh, great! There you two are,“ she heaved, skidding to a halt. She paused, looking at the two of you, you with your hair a mess and Neteyam looking like he was ready to wrestle a palulukan. “Why are you purple again, sister? The forest isn’t hot. In fact, it’s so cold here.” She twirled around.

You chuckled. “Oh, well... I was purple from laughing,“ you chirped, smoothing down your hair.

Neteyam cleared his throat, his ears still twitching violently. “Yes, she was laughing so hard.”

Tuk narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of you. “You guys are weird,” she concluded.

“Wait, why are you here, Tuk?” Neteyam asked.

She pouted. “Lo’ak sent me. He has a question for you, he needs you to go see him,” she said. “Hurry up, you two!” You watched her disappear, then turned to Neteyam who was already shaking his head.

“I'm going to kill Lo'ak,“ Neteyam muttered, though he was already smiling as he followed you. “I'm definitely going to kill him.”

But the peace was never a stagnant thing.

It started with the scouts. Warriors returning, speaking of a metal village rising from the waves near the territory of the neighboring clan. They’ve luckily intercepted a group of hunters from that clan who were sent to deliver a message to Toruk Makto about the sky people’s activities. Jake personally went there with Tonowari, Neteyam, Ao’nung, and Lo’ak to see it for themselves.

When he came back, he told the council about the massive, artificial island of steel that is turning the crystal-clear waters into a murky, toxic sludge. The news grew grimmer by the hour: the neighboring clans had tried to resist, but the demons had met them with violence, leaving the waters beyond the reef littered with the bodies of those who dared to protect their home.

Inside the council marui, the air was suffocating. Tonowari sat with his head bowed, his hands fisted so hard his knuckles were white. Beside him, Jake Sully paced, his jaw set in a grim line that you recognized from Neteyam’s own face during charged encounters.

“They are expanding,” Jake rasped. “If they finish that platform, they’ll have a permanent base for their tulkun hunts. The neighbors are already dying.”

Your arm around Neteyam’s waist tightened and he gripped your arm. “Neteyam...” you murmured, an uncharacteristic fear coiling in your gut.

He pulled you close, his cheek nuzzled in your temple. “It’ll be alright.”

The tension snapped two days later.

A hunting party returned... Not with a haul of fish, but the broken bodies of two warriors. The wails of their mothers reminded you of your own grief but you stayed and prayed over them with Tsireya and the elder healers, carrying their grief for them. Days later, patrolling hunters came back with news that made you rush to the sea, riding your skimwing in a rush, with Neteyam hurriedly following behind you.

You fell over at the sight of your mother’s spirit sister, Ro’a, drifting aimlessly in the waters, her flank torn open by a massive harpoon. She didn't survive the night. You swam to her, hugging her body tightly as you hugged your mother years before. Tsireya cried silently beside you, her face anguished, a contrast to your angered features.

Ro’a was the last piece you have of you mother... And to see her brutally murdered seemed to have brought a shift, even to your father. His face contorted in a grief so sharp it looked like a physical wound and you couldn’t help embrace his unmoving body.

“Send word to our neighbors! We will not wait for the metal to reach our shores.”

As the village fell into a frenzy of preparation for days, you dove into the waters before the sun even rose to get a potent herb. It was poison, you would no longer mince your words. You want no one alive. When you broke the surface bringing a handful of it, you saw Neteyam standing on the shore and you felt a jolt of surprise.

You made sure to not take too long. You have not been gone for more than ten minutes!

“Where were you?” he asked, his hands immediately touching your upper arms to pull you into a hug, uncaring that you're wet and cold.

“I wasn’t gone long,“ you said.

“I woke up with you gone, you don’t know how much that is a stuff for nightmares for me,” he replied, hugging you tighter. “I saw your weapons though. I knew you wouldn’t go anywhere crazy without them. But now, after seeing that you were indeed in the waters, I didn’t like the idea of it. They could be anywhere, baby...”

You sighed. “I just... foraged something.” You lifted the herbs and saw the confusion in his eyes. “It’s poison.” you whispered darkly.

His eyes widened a little.

You tilted your head. “It’s to ensure maximum damage... If the blades don’t kill them, this will do the job.”

His eyes darkened with every word your spoke. He didn’t even flinch and recoil, nor lecture you on the code of a warrior or the sanctity of a clean kill. Instead, he reached out, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“Make it strong,” he whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark resonance that made the fine hairs on your neck stand up. He took the herbs from your hand, his fingers lingering against yours, grounding you even as the storm raged in your chest. “Come. The hunters are gathering at the weapon racks. Your father is calling for the final blessing.”

You followed Neteyam to the central deck, where Tonowari stood like a pillar, his spear held high among the warriors whose own spears they had sharpened for days.

“You are not going,“ Tonowari quietly said when he was done talking to his warriors, his eyes landing on the lethal kit you were preparing.

“Father, I cannot not go. I need to be there. They killed my mother, they killed her sister. My home is being choked by their filth. You tell me to stay, Father, and you might as well tell the tide to stop rising.”

Tsireya stepped up beside you, her jaw set in a way that mimicked your own. You had a hunch he’d told her the same thing. Your father looked at the two of you, both fierce images of the woman who was and is his strength.

Your father let out a long, shuddering breath, the weight of the world bowing his shoulders for a fleeting second before he hardened again. “Fine, but be... careful. I cannot lose any of you.”

You choked a sob and hugged him. You are scared, but you also cannot imagine yourself not fighting out there while eveyone risks their lives.

Inside your marui, the weight of the impending battle had shrunk to just the two of you. The morning sun flickering against the woven walls as you sat between Neteyam’s legs, your fingers dipped in the thick pigment of his war paint.

He was silent, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that grounded your frantic heart. You traced the line of his nose dowm to his chin with the paint, your touch lingering longer than necessary.

“You're shaking,“ he murmured, his large hand coming up to steady your wrist. He leaned into your touch, his golden eyes searching yours.

“I am not,” you lied, your voice a mere breath. You dipped your fingers back into the bowl, drawing a sharp, jagged line across his cheekbone. “I am just... impatient.”

Neteyam caught your hand, pressing a firm kiss to your palm, his gaze intense. “Look at me. I will be in the sky with my mother. I will see everything. If you are in trouble, I will find you. Do you hear me? I will always find you.”

You stared at him and nodded. “Neteyam... When we did the tsaheylu... I know you’ve seen my ugly heart—”

“Do not speak of it that way!” he cut you off.

“Alright, my ugly emotions. Dark and bloody, full of hatred,” you said.

He tilted his head. “I also saw me. You liked me when I first got here,” he said, smiling. “You find me so handsome.”

You groaned. “I’ve always thought so...” you pushed your lips forward. “I was just in-denial for such a long time.”

“It’s all that matters to me that night, you know? To know that I have at least stirred your heart. I was thinking, I can definitely build on that. I will make you love me as I love you. I will make you so happy as you make extremely happy,“ he said, angling his head to kiss you.

Your face crunched as you felt a pinch in your heart. “You need higher standards,“ you said in a trembling voice. “I was so rude. All the time. I was mean and I didn’t think of your feelings—”

He hushed you, wrapping an arm around you, some of his face paint transferring on your face. “I understand. I understand all of it,” he said in a quiet, devoted voice.

You know that. You’ve seen it in his heart, but still, you couldn't help but weep. “But I can’t understand, ‘Teyam, why I had treated you so badly when you didn’t deserve any of my anger. I don’t want you to forgive me. I don’t even deserve this love you have for me. I cannot understand it,” your tears fell.

Everything seemed to have came up on you and it all culminated to this. “You do not need to understand it. I love you. I love you very much,“ he said, his large hands cupping your jaw so he could look in your eyes. “And my forgiveness is mine to give, only that there is nothing to forgive. Do you understand? I love you, and I love you in any form you show me. You cannot dictate my heart.”

He smiled at you and you cried even harder. You don’t know why you couldn’t stop crying. There is a golden ball of warmth threatening to burst inside your heart and you couldn’t hold it back. You pressed your forehead against his, uncaring that his paint will transfer to you.

“I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much...” you mumbled, kissing him even though you wanted to see more of the surprise on his face. You squeezed his bicep, your heart aching with the force of your love for him.

When you two stopped kissing to breathe, you saw his eyes sparkling with tears, his strong arms maneuvered you so that he’d cradle your upper body like a baby and you laughed.

“I can’t believe how freeing that feels. I love you, Neteyam. I love you, I love you, I love you,“ you said, obsessed with how good it feels to say that.

He lowered his head and kissed you. “I love you so much. More. I love you more, I love you more, I love you more,“ he said, pressing a kiss to your lips nearly with every word.

“We’ll talk again tonight,” you mumbed, caressing his jaw. “And then we’ll do more. I’ll let you do anything you want with me, so make sure you’ll be careful up there—”

“Hey, love birds—”

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam growled so deeply you felt his body vibrated with it, making you throw your head back with laughter.

Later, with all the warriors assembled, the war cries of your people echoed across the wave as the shadow of Toruk’s wings covered almost the entire village as he flew past, leading the vanguard. You saw Neteyam’s ikran along with Neytiri’s follow the beast like predatory birds. With a sharp whistle, you urged your mount into a high-speed plane, riding among the warriors of your clan, holding your spear tightly as war crimes erupted in your throat as your fleet reached the destination.

You saw a scout vessel banking hard, its mounted gunner spraying the water with bullets to aim at your fleet. Your father signalled to disperse and you dove into the water the same time everyone did, swimming on the other side, where you know you can find a weakness. As the vessel’s hull loomed, you broke the water and made your skimwing leap in the air, shooting with your crossbow with a strained scream.

It punched through the reinforced glass of the cockpit and you saw the pilot slumped instantly, before you landed back on the water. The vessel veered wildly, crashing into a large rock and erupting into an orange flame. You smiled, diving deep into the cool pressure of the water. Beneath the surface, your eyes fixed on the mechanical silhouettes of the submersibles moving in the depths, hunting your brothers and sisters.

You propelled your mount toward a sub’s rear rotor and with a practiced strike, you jammed your spear into it, rendering it to a stop, before you strike to puncture the glass. You left it after ensuring that the pressure of the deep would do the rest for the pilot. You did that to more submersibles, and was pursued by some, too, using what you’ve learned from all the times you played underwater.

Breaking the surface for air, the sight that welcomed you was filled of fire and ash. Your gaze instinctively snapped upward, and your heart jumped at your throat when you saw a missile pursuing Neteyam, who dove his ikran into a vertical corkscrew, the missile desperately following him. At the last second, he banked hard, luring the missile directly into the path of a pursuing fighter jet. The jet erupted in a beautiful display of orange and skittered to another jet, bringing it down as well.

A huge smile broke on your face as Neteyam leveled out, hearing his war cry echoing to reach you. The artificial island seemed to have tilted to the side, its steel skeleton groaning as if people were working to dismantle it from below, as it burned from above. It was reduced to a vision of dancing fire.

By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the metal village was nothing but a graveyard of sinking iron. The ocean, though scarred, had claimed its prize. The journey back was silent as you rode beside your father, whose face was a mask of grim satisfaction. As the familiar woven walkways of the village came into view, the village erupted in cheers for the returning warriors, you looked to the sky.

You saw Neteyam’s ikran flying toward the forest, making you vault off your ikran to go there and meet him. The bioluminescence of the forest was just beginning to wake but you paid it no attention, focused only on Neteyam’s majestic form as he descended his beast. You ate up the steps between you and threw yourself at him, your arms locking around his neck with a force that nearly sent both of you back into the brush.

He caught you, his large hands anchoring you against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of salt from the ocean before peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, his grip tightening until you were molded against him.

“You okay? Wounded anywhere?” he asked breathlessly, his large hand touching you everywhere.

“I saw you,“ you rasped, ignoring his questions. “In the air. You are so hot,” you pressed a kissed to his lips. “You? Are you wounded anywhere?”

You checked his arms as his face melted into your neck, he shook his head but you still made sure by checking thoroughly. “I wished I saw you in the waters, baby...” he whispered. “But I know you were a nightmare for them.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, grinning through the smearing war paint. “I know we haven’t weeded out all of them yet... But I’m glad they are gone for now,” you sighed, looking back at the village when you heard the drums. “They are starting the celebrations.”

You were about to turn around and go back, but Neteyam’s grip on your waist tightened, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip with a deliberate, slow pressure that made your breath hitch. “You seemed to have forgotten something...” he mumured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always made your heart skip.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

His golden eyes burned on you with a focused intensity that made the surrounding forest feel like it was fading away. “Your promise.”

You blinked. What promise— Oh! “Oh... Right,” you cleared your throat. “We’ll talk, yes...”

His head tilted, raising a brow. “That all?”

You bit your lip and laughed. “Alright, I give up. I remember! I’ll... We’ll... do it,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning as if this was the first time when you’d literally fucked each other every day in the past moons.

“And?” he probed.

You huffed. “And you can do what you want with me.”

He smiled, squeezing your waist. “Right.” he nodded once, leaning forward to kiss you.

“Let’s not attend the celebration... There’s somewhere I want to go,” you said, holding his hand and dragging him back to the village. “Call for your mount.”

Tonight, you’re planning to renew your mating. The night of your mating never left your mind. The tension, the ugliness of you unresolved anger, and the way he had taken the weight of your hate during the tsaheylu. You wanted to give him back the love he deserved, pure and unmarred.

He called for his skimwing and you both rode it to the cove. He looked at you when you held his hand, slipping off the skimwing and into the water. “Come,” you told him softly. He slipped off the skimwing and wrapped his arms aroujd you. You smiled and kissed him. “I want to do it again, my love. I want you to see me now. Just me.”

His gaze caressed your face lovingly and you felt your heart burst with warming emotions. “I love you so much,” he mumbled. “I love you.”

You smiled, your eyes twinkling. “I love you more, Neteyam.”

You kissed the side of his mouth before you dove into the water, with him following you until you both reached the spirit tree. You reached for your kuru behind you, bringing it between you. You’re now the one waiting with quiet yet desperate patience, but he didn't make you wait long, he brought his kuru to yours in an instant. As your neural braids connected, the world shifted.

This time, there was no wall of resentment for him to climb. Instead, Neteyam was flooded with the sheer, overwhelming force of your love. He felt the way your heart skipped when he walked into a room, the heat of your attraction, and the deep loyalty you held for him. On your end, you felt how his love grew even fiercer, a golden sun that warmed every corner of your being. But then, the connection pulsed with something else... His anticipation for later.

You think he didn't mean to, but his desires began to leak through the bond, messing with your senses. Without him even moving a finger, you felt the ghost of his hands on your waist, the phantom pressure of his length moving inside you in hard, forceful movements, and the feel of his kisses on your body. You shivered in the water, your eyes blowing wide.

He smirked, watching you with a predatory, adoring look. Your eyes narrowed, signing to him, gesturing to the spirit tree. “I want us to meet my mother first. I want to show her my mate.” you signed.

He looked at you, nodding and gently breaking the connection so you could both connect to the spirit tree. You held his hand and closed your eyes, immediately finding yourself back in the village, seeing your mother’s form standing on the dock. She looked as she always did. Fierce, eternal, and serene. She held no memory of your teenage rage or the years you spent mourning her. To her, you were simply the lovely daughter who got so much from her.

She turned as if she sensed you, her smile brightening, but it faltered into genuine shock when she saw the man standing beside you. “Neteyam?” she asked, her eyes moving to your entwined hands.

“Mother,” you greeted softly.

Neteyam touched his forehead. “Oel ngati kameie, Tsahik.”

“Daughter...” she tilted her head in question, a soft smile touching her lips.

“He is my mate, Mother...” you said, squeezing her hand.

Ronal chuckled, looking between the two of you. “And you agreed, young man?”

Neteyam glanced at you, smiling. “It is a gift to have her in my life, Tsahik. I have loved her since I was young.”

You turned to Neteyam, smiling, when you heard the crack in his voice. Ronal sighed dreamily, a knowing look crossing her face. “Oh, that I know. I’ve seen it.”

“Seen what, mother?” you asked, surprised.

Ronal stared at you, at how unknowing you are. Even then, she knew it would be a problem between you two. She’s always observed how Neteyam always had his eyes on you, how he seemed so aware of you and your presence. She initially thought it was simply a boy being curious, but she didn’t know how she’d known.

You two stayed with your mother for what seemed like hours. But in reality, it lasted only or even less than five minutes. You disconnected from the tree, squeezing Neteyam’s hand and blowing hair out of your nose. He wrapped an arm around you, and swam back to the surface. The water broke with a sudden, violent splash as you both surfaced, gasping. Neteyam gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he swam to a nearby flattened ground. He hauled you up on it, heightening the frantic beat of your heart.

He hauled himself up, and you moved back, giving him space but he grabbed your ankle, stopping you. The cold air gave you chills but it was immediately replaced by the heat of his body fitting itself between your legs, and pressing against you. You pressed a palm against his chest when he lowered his head to kiss you, you parted your lips to welcome it, feeling his tongue expertly plunge into your mouth.

His hand found your breast and squeezed, deepening his kiss and wrapping a muscled arm around you. By the time he left your lips, you were gasping for air. His gaze caressed your features, “Did you feel it through the bond?” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of desire.

“I felt everything,” you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the back of his neck. “I felt how much you want me.”

He let out a low, predatory growl, his golden eyes darkening. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot. “You made a promise, baby. You told me I could do whatever I want with you.”

“I did,” you whimpered, arching your back as the hand squeezing your breast slide down to the junction of your thighs.

“I intend to hold you to every word.”

He didn't waste another second. His fingers tore at the simple wraps of your top and loincloths, quickly ridding you of them. He stripped himself with a frantic urgency, his heavy, cock springing free, already glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum just from kissing you and feeling you up. He looked massive, a vein pulsing along the length of his shaft, the head swollen and dark.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled, kissing you hard.

He gripped one of your thighs, hoisting it high and draping it over his broad shoulders while he fold the other to spread you wider. He didn't ease in like he usually does, instead, he aligned the broad head of his cock and lunged forward in one powerful, unrestrained thrust.

You let out a sharp, strangled scream that echoed through the cove, your head falling back against the mossy ground. He filled you completely, stretching your walls to their absolute limit. The sensation was an explosion of pressure and heat, a blunt force that seemed to reach your very core.

“Baby, you're so tight,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through your chest. “So wet for me.”

Your hand hold onto his biceps, squeezing as you clenched around his girth. “Neteyam...”

He kissed you hard, murmuring praises. “You feel so good, baby... So warm and tight. Is it good?”

You nodded, kissing him. He began to move, and the pace was immediately punishing. There was no tenderness here, only the raw, starving need of a man who spent the entire day fried by adrenaline on the battlefield, holding onto the promise you’ve given him. Every thrust produced a loud, wet sound, your juices being churned into a frothy lather. The sound was so scandalous and yet it seemed to arouse him even more.

“Oh, babe,” you choked out, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, leaving red marks in his skin. “Neteyam, please, more...”

He licked the side of your neck, slamming his hips forward again. The force of the impact sent a jolt of electricity through your spine. He began to hammer into you, his cock sliding in and out with a violent friction, every glide of his pelvis against you making your clit scream with pleasure, a delicious ache that made your toes curl. Your pussy gripped him with desperate spasms, milking him as he drove himself deeper and deeper.

His head lowered to kiss your breast, his warm mouth catching a pebbled tip and sucking hard. Your back arched as you moaned in pleasure, not knowing what to focus on. His mouth sucking on your breast, or his cock forcefully sliding in and out of you. You’ve been mated for moons, and Neteyam still doesn’t know what to with everything you’re offering, and yet he always seems to be so extremely thorough.

He’s wanted this for years... And to think that you are his now is driving him mad.

He shifted his weight, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you higher, changing the angle so he could bury himself even further, that you could see him bulging in your lower abdomen. You felt your orgasm building, making you tremble in his arms.

“I’m close,” you wailed, your voice breaking. “Neteyam, I'm—”

“Not yet,” he grunted, abruptly stopping.

You whined, weakly kicking your foot but he had lowered your hips down on the ground, pulling out of you. “Neteyam...” you whined, your face reflecting yoir agitation despite the pleasure in it.

You missed him inside you, but the absence didn’t last long, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over with a sudden, authoritative motion. You landed on your stomach, your face pressed into the soft moss. Your upper body rose by instinct, by Neteyam dropped his weight onto your back, caging you in his massive arms. He pinned your wrists beside your head, his chest crushing your shoulder blades. He positioned himself behind you, the tip of his cock probing at your wet entrance, teasing the opening before he surged forward.

He entered you from behind with a guttural roar, the angle allowing him to penetrate deeper than before. You moaned, your mouth perpetually gaped to make sounds of pleasure as he fold one of your legs, his large hand seeking your clit from under the two of you. You gasped and jolted, moving away from his hand but his hand chased you, caressing your sensitive nub as he teasingly moved inside you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Pinned under me. Just where you belong.”

He licked your jaw, angling his head so he could kiss you as his thrusts began to gain pace, a relentless, driving rhythm. Each thrust was a heavy blow, pushing your breasts into the moss. The wet sound was louder now, a messy noise of friction and fluid. You could feel the heat of him, the way his cock stretched and molded into you, claiming every inch of you.

“You're mine,” he gasped, his grip on your wrists tightening.

You nodded. “Yes, yes, yes. I am. I’m yours, Neteyam...”

The admission seemed to break the last of his restraint. Neteyam's movements became frenzied, his hips hammering into you. The friction was intense, the heat bordering on pain, but it was the only thing that mattered. You felt the walls of your pussy clenching around him, triggering his own release.

He let out a long, shaking moan, his body stiffening. He drove himself in one last time, burying his cock as deep as it could possibly go, and stayed there. You felt the hot, thick jet of his seed erupting inside you, pulse after pulse of scorching liquid filling you.

At the same moment, your own climax ripped through you, a violent shudder that left you sobbing. You felt the warmth of his cum leaking out around the sides of his shaft, mixing with your own fluids to create a slippery mess between your thighs. Neteyam collapsed on top of you, his heavy breathing making you shiver as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his skin slick with sweat.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his jagged breaths. He’s practically seeing stars but he was already maneuvering your body to face him, slowly pulling out of you so he could roll you on your back.

You mewled at his absence, spreading your legs again once you're lying on your back. He licked his lips wet as he watched you spread your legs, knowing what you want. His cock pressed against the slick and swollen lips of your pussy, and then he eased himself in, feeling every involuntary clenches your pussy is making around his girth. He lowered his head down to kiss you.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice returning to that soft, adoring tone as he caressed your slick inner thigh. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his hand moving up to softly caressed your breast, his thumb rubbing its tender tip.

You shook your head, smiling lazily, your eyes still hazy from your mind-blowing climax. “No,” you said firmly. “I loved everything you did to me. I love you, Neteyam...” you cupped his jaw, kissing him hard.

“Sure?“ he asked, his hips unconsciously moving between your legs and burying himself deeper in you.

“I’m very sure,” you grinned. “But how was it? Did you feel good?“ your palm caressed his sweaty chest.

“Good? Baby, I was seeing stars,” he chuckled, his gaze caressing yoir features for a long time, before he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you so much it hurts."

You are painfully aware of that but you don’t know where to start. You have friends, yes, but they are not friends you hang out with outside of the weaving looms. You are almost always alone, and while other girls had found their places among the hunters, practicing their war cries or vying for the attention of the said men, you found yourself hidden in the looms to enjoy the repetitive routine of weaving.

It’s not like you were the best weaver, too. You are not the best, not the worst either, just a girl whose hands were often stained with berry dyes and whose eyes were usually cast downward. It was safer that way. When you didn't look up, you didn't have to see the way the world seemed to orbit around people who weren't you.

A few feet away, leaning against a sturdy root, Neteyam sat silently. An elder weaver was currently binding a new leather guard to his forearm, and while he appeared to be focused on it, his ears were swiveled toward the elders' conversation.

He watched you.

Neteyam knew everyone in the clan. It was his duty as the future Olo'eyktan, but as he looked at you now, he realized he has never even heard you speak. He knew your name, he knew your family, but he couldn't recall the sound of your voice until that very moment. Your shy, quiet laughter brought a warm feeling to his chest for some reason, making him take a deep breath.

His mind drifted to Ka’ani. She was the finest huntress among their peers, just like him. And he’s always thought of a partnership much like the one his parents have. His father is a great warrior and so is his mother. To be a great leader is to stand beside a fearsome woman as well... And he thinks it’s Ka’ani.

But right now, she was becoming a challenge. She’s making him look like a fool, flitting from warrior to warrior to test his patience. She wanted him to chase her until he was exhausted, and Neteyam, the proud, capable, and unaccustomed to losing firstborn of the clan’s pillars, was reaching his breaking point. He was never fond of playing, but some games need strategy, too.

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. You were still working, your movements steady and humble, completely unaware of the weight of his stare. A slow, calculated thought began to take root in his mind.

“Finished, Neteyam,” the weaver said, patting his arm.

“Thank you,” Neteyam murmured. He stood up, taller and broader than most men.

Instead of heading back to where the warriors were gathering, he turned his steps toward the shadows. He walked with deliberate strides stopping right in front of your loom until his shadow blocked your light. “You’re doing that wrong.”

The voice startled you so badly that the bone needle slipped. “I—what?” you stammered, finally looking up.

Neteyam was standing over you. In the flickering firelight, his bioluminescent freckles were glowing like stars. “The weave,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the basket in your lap. “It’s too tight. It will snap when it dries.”

“The ones I did last moon were fine,” you murmured. You tried to look back down, to disappear into your work as you always did. “Is there something you need?”

Instead of answering, he sat. The movement was fluid, but there was a heaviness to it, sitting so close to you that his knee brushed against yours.

“I have a proposition for you, Y/N,” he said. His voice was low, dropping into a register that felt dangerously intimate. He knows your name?

You blinked, your insecurity rising up like a shield. “A proposition? Do you need help with the weaving?”

“No, no, I don’t,” he answered. “The elders speak the truth, you know,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone. “It would be a shame for you to be hidden in the dark.”

You finally looked up, your eyes wide. Neteyam wasn't looking at the fire, he was looking directly at you, and for the first time in your life, the Golden Son was smiling as if you were the only person in the clearing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He leaned in just an inch closer, his amber eyes sparking with a hidden intent. “Hear my proposition... It might just solve both our problems with the coming season.”

You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You were a weaver of threads, but sitting before you was practically the weaver of destinies in this clan. You know he could alter your life and he was looking at you with a terrifying amount of focus.

“Our... problems?“ you whispered, your fingers curling tightly around the bone needle. “I don’t have problems. And I don’t think someone like you have problems, Neteyam.”

He let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if his eyes weren't so sharp. “Everyone has a role to play. Sometimes, that role becomes... suffocating. My mother is already looking at the daughters of the council. She expects a match that strengthens the line. I’m thinking of Ka’ani. She’s the finest huntress my age.”

At the mention of her name, his jaw tightened. You remembered the last time you saw the girl. She was draped over the arm of a young warrior, her laughter loud and pointed, as if it was a performance, designed to reach the ears of a certain warrior. You remembered Neteyam standing in the training grounds then and everything clicked in your head.

“She wants a chase,” Neteyam continued, silencing your thoughts. “But I do not have the time for nonsensical games. And you... The elders say you are a shadow. That you will be left behind.”

“I am fine being a shadow,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s not complicated. I will have what comes and accept what doesn’t.”

“Shadows are lonely,” he said softly. “Be my partner. Not just for the ceremonies, but the communal meals as well. I will be with you. Let the clan see us, let them see you.”

Your heart gave a violent thud. You weren't a fool. You knew what this was. You were the girl no one would suspect he will actually notice, which made you the perfect weapon to make Ka’ani lose her mind with jealousy.

“You want me to be a decoy,” you said. “You want her to see you with me so she’ll get jealous. You want her to stop playing around.”

Neteyam didn't flinch at your bluntness. Instead, he reached out, his large hand covering yours where it rested on the loom. His skin was warm, his touch steady. “Correct. And in return, you will no longer be the girl the elders pity. You will be the woman everyone sees. When the season ends and the act is over, every hunter in this clan will finally know your name. You won't be a spinster, Y/N. I’ll make sure of that. You’ll have your pick of any man here.”

It was a cold, calculated trade. He will get the girl and you get a reputation and a way out of the shadows. He looked so sincere. You knew you should say no, you wouldn’t know how to act around him. But the thought of being someone for once, of walking through the village and not having people look through you, was a siren song you couldn't resist.

“What if I'm not a good actress?” you asked, your voice a mere breath.

Neteyam’s smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a strategist who had just moved his final piece into place.

“Just sit by my side. I’ll do the rest.” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles.

You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I'll do it.”

Neteyam squeezed your hand once, a seal of the contract, before standing up. He offered his hand to help you up, and when you took it, the world felt like it shifted on its axis. You were stepping out of the dark, and into a fire that you knew, eventually, would burn you to ash.

Neteyam is a meticulous director and it was very hard for you as an easily embarrassed person. Being seen isn’t even enough for him, the act had to be over the top! He wanted it to be undeniable.

“Chin up,” he whispered one afternoon. You were walking to the central clearing for the communal meal, his hand hovering over your waist. “You look like you’re walking to a funeral. Look at me. Smile.”

“It’s hard to smile when I feel like a piece of bait,” you murmured, keeping your eyes down, feeling at least a hundred eyes on you.

Neteyam let out a sharp breath. He stopped walking, maneuvering you to turn and face him. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked like a tender, private moment between lovers. Up close, his eyes were scanning the crowd, pinpointing exactly where Ka’ani was sitting with her friends.

“You agreed to this,” he reminded you, his voice low and firm. He reached out, his fingers tilting your chin upward. His touch was warm, but it lacked the softness you’d imagined his touch would have. It was the grip of a hunter holding a prized bow. “If you don't look happy, she’ll know it’s a ruse. Do you want the elders to go back to pitying you by tomorrow sun-up?”

The reminder of your own invisibility stung. You forced your lips to curve, a small, shaky smile that felt brittle. “Is this better?”

He studied your face for a beat too long, his thumb grazing your jawline. For a split second, his focus shifted from the crowd to the way your eyes searched his, but he shook it off quickly. “Better. Keep it there, hm?“

He led you toward the long tables. This was the stage. He made a show of picking out the best cuts of roasted meat for you, leaning in so close that his braids brushed against your shoulder. He was performative, ensuring the warriors nearby heard him.

“And since you’re starting a new tapestry,” he said, loud enough for Ka'ani to hear from across your table. He draped an arm over the back of your seating mat, effectively fencing you in. “I’d fly to the borders to get you fibers for it.”

You pursed your lips, lowering your head down to chuckle. “Your voice is too loud, Neteyam...“ you mumbled. “I’ll end up with busted ear drums by the time this is over.“

His own head lowered and angled toward you to catch what you’re saying, but it threw back as he let out a bark of genuine and deep laughter. You startled, your hand flying to his chest unconsciously, your head swiveling to the crowd of people who are now looking at you. You caught a glimpse of Ka’ani’s sharp eyes narrowing to slits.

The mission is working. You know it is working, you’ve seen Ka’ani’s candid reactions in the past days and it was almost comical. You don’t understand how she can let other men touch her when it was Neteyam she truly wants. It’s confusing, especially because you can see how she jealous she looks.

“You can relax, Neteyam,” you whispered, leaning toward him. “She’s gone. She stomped away five minutes ago.”

Neteyam’s posture didn't soften. He didn't pull his arm back. He took a slow sip of water, his expression unreadable. “The act doesn't stop just because the primary audience leaves, Y/N. There are other eyes. Word must travel. That is how a reputation is built.” He looked at you then, and for a moment, the strategic coldness was all there was. “Eat your food. We have a walk through the groves. People need to see us.”

The following days, and weeks, was a blur of choreographed intimacy. Neteyam was serious with his acts, he was everywhere you were. If you were gathering fibers, he was there, scouting the perimeter but always staying within your line of sight. During communal meals, he always ate with you, listening to you ramble and chuckling at everything you say.

Now that he has brought you out to light, more and more men were trying to talk to you, asking you random stuff they wouldn't even bother asking before. For them, you were almost unreachable in the past. You are too shy, too aloof, to be in the selection of girls they dare to play with.

But as the days pressed on, the meticulous director started losing his grip on the script.

The script had been clear: Neteyam would bring you into the light, and the hunters of the clan would finally notice you. It was exactly what he had promised. But as he stood on a ridge overlooking the path back to Hometree, watching you walk beside a hunter who was carrying your bundle of fibers under his arm, the air in his lungs seemed to turn to ice.

The hunter was Ki’ong, a young man known for his easy smiles and a way of speaking that reminded him of the way you speak. If he saw this moons ago, the match would have made so much sense. The gentle hunter matches your gentleness. But today, he felt only bitterness. You were laughing, the sound he wanted to bottle and bring with him on patrol to help him calm down.

Now, Ki’ong is easily basking in it, his tail twitching with a rhythmic interest that Neteyam recognized all too well for he was a man, too. His hand tightened around the grip of the bow until the wood groaned. His jaw locked. This was the trade, wasn't it? He had told you that by the time the season ended, you would have your pick of any man in the clan. So why did he feel like he wanted to shoot an arrow through the dirt at Ki’ong’s feet as a warning?

His feet moved, and by the time you reached the shadow of the massive fern near the entrance, Neteyam was already there, blocking the path, calling your name in a sharp and dangerous tone that made Ki’ong stop in his tracks.

“Neteyam!“ you said, surprised. “I thought you weren’t back from the scout yet.”

Neteyam ignored you, his amber eyes fixed entirely on the other hunter. He stepped forward, entering your personal space with a possessiveness that felt far too real to be an act. You looked around. There was no crowd and no Ka’ani at all, and this confuses you. What more, Neteyam wasn’t even looking around for the audience. He was looking only at Ki’ong’s hand, which was hovering just a bit too close to your elbow.

Ki'ong blinked, his easy smile faltering under the sheer weight of Neteyam's stare. “I saw her in the forest, Neteyam, uh... What she was carrying was heavy—”

“Thank you for that, but I’ll take it from here,” Neteyam cut him off, his voice dropping into a warning growl. He reached out, not gently, and pulled your fiber basket from the hunter.

“I'll... see you later then... Y/N,” Ki’ong said before walking away.

Neteyam’s head snapped back to Ki’ong’s retreating form, his entire body coiled like a viperwolf ready to strike at the mere mention of a later. You watched him, your confusion slowly melting into a mischievous realization. You looked around one more time, and there’s still nothing but a stray woodsprite. No Ka’ani. No prying hunters. Just a very, very grumpy warrior holding a basket of fibers as if it were a thermal detonator.

A bubble of laughter escaped you, and you poked his rigid bicep.

“Wow,” you giggled, leaning in close to peer up at his stormy face. “Neteyam, that was... incredible. The growl? The death stare? You’re getting really good at this. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were actually trying to pick a fight over my honor.”

Neteyam didn't relax. His jaw remained a hard line. “He was overstepping. He was touching you.”

“He was just helping me,” you countered, your eyes dancing with amusement. You started walking, motioning for him to follow with your basket. “But honestly, I’m impressed. You’re such a perfectionist. Even with no audience, you’re still acting the territorial suitor.”

He fell into step behind you, his tail still lashing even though he’s not speaking.

“Oh, come on,” you teased, walking backward for a few steps so you could admire his scowl. “Let’s just hope Ki’ong tells everyone about your reaction. If word gets back to Ka’ani that the great Neteyam almost bared his teeth at a hunter just for carrying my basket... well, our mission is as good as won. It’s going to make it sound so real!” You turned back around, a satisfied hum leaving your throat. “But I don’t think Ki’ong is the type to talk about stuff like that. He seemed too nice to gossip.”

“How would you know? You don’t know him,” Neteyam cut you off, his voice sharp.

You laughed again, the sound light and airy. “Maybe I just know. I can sense if people have good hearts,” you said, reaching back to give his chest a playful, comforting pat. “Come on,” you smiled, oblivious to the way his hand tightened on the basket handle until his knuckles turned pale. “Let’s bring that to the looms. You can put all that 'warrior energy' into helping me sort the threads.”

You turned on your heels and skipped ahead, feeling lighter than you had in days. Behind you, Neteyam stood for a beat longer, his eyes locked on the sway of your braids.

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You two were swimming in the river, not alone anyway, because it’s just one of your many stages. His fellow hunters and warriors were swimming in the river several paces away from the two of you, but he has since swam to a secluded bend away from their prying eyes. You don’t always swim in the river. Mostly because you don’t want to swim alone, so now, you’re enjoying everything, even the reflection of the shimmering canopy above. You kept diving for as long as you could, the act momentarily paused because he had stirred you two away from the audience. You shrieked when you felt something tiny dart on your ankle. You dove your head, swimming after the tiny fish, your hand shotting forward to catch it and you bubbled a laugh underwater when you actually caught it.

You swam to the surface, holding up the fish as you laughed, the sound of your mirth echoing off the rock walls like bells. Neteyam stared at you from where he is, leaning against a mossy boulder, his chest heaving slightly, though he had been idle the entire time. You waded toward him, bringing him the fish, but he looked so serious that your lips pushed forward instead. Neteyam gritted his teeth at the sight of your smile fading.

“You looked like the sky had fallen on you. What is it?” you asked, putting the fish back in the water and watching it dart away from you with a small smile.

“Our scout yesterday everning” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You nodded. He was late to the dinner last night... You figured there was something wrong, but you heard no news about it.

“There was a near skirmish with a violent clan. They were one of those clans whose lands were spoiled by the sky people's actions. Apparently, they’ve been looking for a place to settle in, but they are also harming non-combatant clans.”

You stopped splashing, the water settling around you. You hadn't heard about this. The elders usually kept such news quiet to avoid panic, but to know this now, and to see how burdened Neteyam was by it, you couldn't help but be bothered.

“The council expects me to be like him,” he said, staring at his reflection in the water. He didn't specify who him was and he didn’t have to. You know who he was talking about. As the firstborn of Toruk Makto, Neteyam has always lived in the shadow of a legend. “Every battle, every hunt, every word I speak... it's measured against a standard I will never reach.”

You stopped creating ripples in the waters, looking up at him. “You don’t need to be your father, Neteyam,” you said softly. “Have they considered a dialogue between the people of that clan? Perhaps... The chieftains of our neighboring clans could convene in a large council and speak with their representatives. I don’t think it needs to lead to people getting hurt when speaking would reach a much better conclusion.”

Neteyam went still, his gaze snapping from the water’s surface to your face. He watched you with an intensity he had directed to no one, but you wouldn’t know that. For a moment, the weight in his shoulders seemed to flicker, unsettled by the peaceful logic of your words.

“A dialogue,” he repeated. He had been so focused on formations, weapon readiness, and the cold calculations of a warrior that the idea of a diplomatic council felt like a sudden breath of fresh air. “Why do you think I am a warrior?” he asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I am taught to protect. To fight.”

“You are taught to lead,” you corrected gently, lightly splashing a bit of water toward his chest. “And a leader’s first duty isn’t to fight, but to ensure peace. Your warriors will think of war, you will think of how to protect the people and the forest. The people of that clan is desperate, for sure... They lost their home, they are living like beggars. There is a reason they steal and harm the people who stop them. Have the clans thought of helping them?”

He blinked, his amber eyes searching yours as if he could find all the answers there now.

You smiled lopsidedly, “You can think of all that later though,” you said softly, reaching into the crevice of the rock wall and plucking a small, ripe fruit that hung low. His eyes watched you peel it with nimble fingers. “But right now? The water is cool, the fish are annoying, and you can rest your mind. Try being here for five minutes.”

You gave him the fruit and when he took it, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering in a way that wasn't for show. He ate it slowly, watching you as if you were a piece of the puzzle he found after a long search. The silence was warm, humming with a new, dangerous kind of energy.

“You think it could be that simple?” he asked, his voice a low vibration.

“I think you make it too hard,” you laughed, feeling a sudden surge of playfulness. You stepped back, the water splashing around your chest. “I’ll bet a week’s worth of weaving that I can reach the falls before you!”

Before he could answer, you dove, your body disappearing into the water.

Neteyam stood there for a heartbeat, stunned. He didn't check the treeline. He didn't look back toward the other hunters. He didn't think about his father's expectations or the violent clan at the border. He simply dove in after you.

He caught up to you just as you reached the white water of the falls. You surfaced, gasping for air and laughing, only to find him right there, his eyes bright with a genuine, carefree light you had never seen before. You panicked at the sight of him, though, shrieking and kicking the hand that held your ankle. He barked a laugh, deep and resonant, that even he knows he hasn't laughed that way before. He reached out again, his hand finding yours under the water, squeezing it before pulling you to him. For the first time, he wasn't holding you so people would notice. He was holding you so you wouldn't drift away.

That night, as you both walked back to the village, Neteyam’s hand stayed on your waist even after you had passed the last group of onlookers. When you saw Ka’ani appeared near the communal fire, looking particularly striking in her new top and loincloth that seemed to match the feathers in her hair, Neteyam didn't even turn his head even after you pointed it out. He was too busy listening to you describe the specific shade of teal the river turns into when the moons are at a particular shade. There's lightness in his chest that made him feel like he was flying.

Several nights later, Neteyam moved through the crowd with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there days prior. The communal dinner was buzzing with different conversations, but for him, it was merely a background, his eyes locked on your form, looking like a man who had finally found the trail home.

Earlier that afternoon, the Council had been tense. Jake and the elders focused on battle plans, on dispatching warriors to fight when necessary. Neteyam saw how the council, including him, lack the sight you have to see things differently. He didn't know where it was coming from, but his chest was puffing with full confidence on the idea you had given him, that when he spoke of dialogue, of the displaced clan’s desperation, and of communal aid rather than battles that would only end in loss, his voice was laced with certainty.

Jake had looked at his son with a mixture of surprise and pride. “That is a path well thought of, Neteyam,” he said.

“You think like a true leader of the people now, son,” Neytiri had added, her hand resting on his shoulder. “You have grown.”

Neteyam had offered them a small, humble smile. “I cannot take the credit, Mother. It was a good friend who gave me the perspective I needed,” he said.

Neytiri tilted her head. “Oh? Who is this friend?” she asked.

Neteyam had looked at his mother. It was the easiest question he’d been asked, but it strike him quite deeply that he didn’t know what to say. “Someone I... trust deeply.”

Now, standing in the glow of the fire, Neteyam didn't even pause to greet the other hunters who called out to him. He made a beeline for the corner where you sat, tucked away with your latest weaving. When you looked up, your eyes widened at the sight of the massive, genuine grin splitting his face.

“They accepted it,“ he said, dropping down beside you, his presence instantly making your corner feel warmer. “The envoys will be sent at first light. My father and the elders... actually listened. We’re calling a council of all the neighboring clans to help the displaced.”

You felt a swell of pride in your chest, your grin matching his. “See? Sometimes, you need to rest your mind and your soul, clear it until it is still water,“ you gestured in the air and be watched you with a lazy smile. “Only then can you see the path clearly.“

Neteyam’s gaze was soft, lingering on your face in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was no longer the calculated look of someone directing a performance, it was the look of someone truly seeing you. You tear your gaze away, picking at the nuts on your leaf plate.

“I have something for you,” he murmured, reaching into the small pouch at his waist. He held out his hand, palm up, revealing a mountain of perfectly ripe berries, the kind that only grow on the highest, most dangerous ledges.

You gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out for one. “Neteyam, these are rare. How did you—”

“I was scouting the upper ridges,” he lied effortlessly, though his eyes twinkled with the truth of the effort he’d put into finding them just for you. “They’re all yours. Take them.”

You popped one into your mouth, the burst of sweetness making you hum. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you enjoy the small gift. He didn't even notice the silence that had fallen over the nearby tables as they all watched him dote on the girl whose voice they rarely heard.

From across the fire, Ka’ani felt the roasted meat in her mouth turn to ash. She couldn't even swallow. She had been so sure of what Neteyam wanted, sure that it was her in her strength and vitality. She was merely trying to break at his carefully cold facade, but he never did give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

But as she watched him now, she saw the way he leaned toward you, his body instinctively closing off the rest of the world to keep you in his private circle. She saw the way he laughed, unguarded, soft, and intimate. She had never seen that light in his eyes directed at her. She had never seen him look at anyone with such... peace.

Her fingers dug into the bark of her seating mat. This wasn't a game anymore. The challenge she thought she was winning had been forfeited by the man she wanted most, and the realization made her blood boil with a jealousy that was no longer a performance. As fot Neteyam, he has long forgotten to look if Ka’ani even had her eyes on them, and tonight, he had forgotten she was even there.

Days later, you were at the washing stream, submerging your fibers in the cool water. You were thinking too much of Neteyam and the ride you had on his ikran last night when he brought you to the Hallelujah Mountains, but your peace was disrupted with the presence of another. You stopped and turned around, your breath hitching when you saw Ka’ani step out from behind a massive fern.

“Ka’ani,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. You adjusted the empty leaf plate in your hands, refusing to cower.

“How does it feel?” she sneered, pacing a slow circle around you, her tail lashing behind her. “To be the little pet? To be the girl Neteyam uses to get a reaction from me? You think those smiles of his mean anything? You think that look in his eyes is real?” She let out a mocking laugh. “He’s a warrior. The future Olo’eyktan. Do you think think I don’t know what he’s doing? He wants me, and he’s using a quiet mouse like you to punish me for playing hard to get.”

You pursed your lips to stop yourself from chuckling. This is comedy to you, but you also feel guilty that she seems to be really upset. If only she weren’t being mean, you’d have advised her to go to Neteyam and talk to him properly, so that they can fix things between them.

“If you are so certain of that, Ka’ani,” you said, your voice dropping to a calm, melodic register that seemed to grate on her nerves, “then why are you talking to me?”

Ka’ani froze, her lips pulling back in a snarl.

“If you're so sure he’s yours, go to him,” you continued, stepping closer into her space, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Whine to him. Demand his attention. Tell him to come back to you. Perhaps it will do you better.”

You didn't wait for her to respond, you walked past her, maintaining your composure until you were well out of her sight. You stopped when you’re well away from her, pursing your lips. “Wah... That was a good one from me. That’s literally method acting,” you chuckled to yourself.

At the same time, Neteyam was on patrol through the high canopies of the Omatikaya lands’ borders. Patrols are usually a time of hyper-vigilance for him, he was trained to scan for the unnatural glint of obsidian or the misplaced shadow of a predator. But today, his eyes kept snagging on a bright plant. He spotted a cluster of a familiar stalk, their ribbed skin a good shade of cerulean.

Moons ago, he would have seen them as a slippery obstacle on a landing branch. Now, he found himself hovering his ikran near the cliff edge, reaching out to pluck a single stem. He rubbed the surface, watching the pigment stain his thumb.

This, he thought, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, this is the blue she said looked like the deep water in the eastern seas. He found himself wondering about every plant he passed, not for its toxicity or its strength which he is wont to do as a vigilant hunter, but for how beautiful its hidden colors would be in the eyes of a weaver he keeps thinking about. He didn’t even have names for the shades he collected, but he knew you would find them beautiful.

When he finally returned to hometree, he didn’t head for the warriors' lodge to report in. He went straight to the weaving looms. His heart doing a strange, light hop when he saw your form hunched over a weaving loom. He silently crept up behind you and leaned down to tickle the curve of your ear with the cool tip of the blue plant.

You shrieked, your shoulders jumping as you nearly dropped your bone needle. You whirled around, your eyes wide but when you saw Neteyam, standing there with that lazy, genuine grin, you glared but still laughed.

“My work will be ruined because of you,” you breathed, clutching your chest.

“I thought a weaver's hands were supposed to be steady,” he teased, his voice low, handing you the blue stalk. “I saw this on the ridge. Is it the one that turns to ink when you boil it?”

You took the plant, your fingers brushing his. “It is. I.. I'm surprised you remembered.”

“I remember everything you say,” he said, and for a second, the air between you felt thick and heavy with a truth that had nothing to do with your deal. He tore his gaze away when his cheeks burned at the realization of what he said.

Before he could lose his footing, an elder weaver called out from the circle, asking you to venture into the lower groves to find specific climbing fibers for the council’s new tapestry.

“I'll accompany you,” Neteyam said before you could even reach for your basket.

As you walked into the dappled light of the forest, your fear of the ruse ending began to fade, replaced by the sheer comfort of his presence. You started to ramble, and Neteyam, as you have discovered in the past weeks, was a good listener. He didn't interrupt, or patronize. He simply watched you with a curious, steady gaze that made you feel... heard.

“You see that?” you said one afternoon, pointing to a cluster of deep crimson berries clinging to a damp log. “Most people think they’re just for eating, but if you crush them with a bit of limestone and the sap from a yellow stalk, you get a purple that looks like the sky before the sun sets. It’s the only color that stays after the fiber is boiled.”

Neteyam leaned in, peering at the berries as if they were a new species of prey.

“And those,” you continued, stumbling over your words in your haste to explain. “If you harvest them when they’re still young, they give a gold that practically glows in the dark. I used it for the elders' ceremonial sashes last year. Everyone thought I’d traded with the reef clans for it, but it was just right here, under our feet, being stepped on.”

You laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the trees, but when you realized you were rambling, you quickly shut your mouth, touching your lips.

“Sorry.  I’m talking too much,“ you gripped the basket hard.

Neteyam stopped walking. He turned to you with a genuine frown on his face. “You can talk my ears off. I’ve spent my whole life looking at the forest for threats or targets. I never realized how much I’m missing what was right in front of me.” He chuckled, a low vibration in his chest. “I found myself looking at different plants lately, wondering if it was the right kind of hue for your weaving.”

The admission was bold and he didn’t even feel shame even though he did feel his cheeks burn. He was thinking of you when you weren't together. The deal was working, but the lines were blurring so fast he doesn’t even care about the reason it began.

Weeks later, the success of the sturmbeest hunt was the reason for the thrumming of drums and chanting of the Omatikaya warriors dancing in the hometree’s communal clearing. High on the central dais, the Olo’eyktan’s voice carried over the throng as he announced the success of the council’s efforts to begin a dialogue with the displaced clan that has been disrupting the way of lives not only of the people, but that of the neighboring clans as well.

The chieftains of the other forest clans had apparently agreed to convene in a Great Council with the envoys returning with messages of unity. Neteyam stood beside you in the crowd, his shoulder brushing your arm. The rigid, perfect posture of a mighty warrior was gone, replaced by a relaxed stance he only seemed to find when he was within your orbit.

“You did it,” you whispered, grinning up at him.

Neteyam looked down at you, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “We did it,” he corrected softly. “I was ready to lead a war party until you handed me that fruit and told me to breathe. I would have missed the obvious path if you hadn't been standing there to point it out.”

You shrugged, picking a berry out of the leaf bowl he gave you. “So, what happens now?” you asked. “Now that the chieftains have agreed?”

“The next step may be the hardest,” Neteyam said, his expression turning thoughtful. “We have to send someone to the displaced clan. Not to fight, but to invite their Olo’eyktan. Someone has to show them we aren't their enemies and that we’ll help them settle and get back to their own feet.”

You looked at him, admiring the way the light caught the beads you’d given him which he had immediately put in his braids. “You should go, Neteyam.”

He blinked, looking surprised. “Me? My father will likely send an experienced diplomat, or perhaps a senior warrior.”

“No,” you insisted, stepping closer. “You’re the one who suggested it to the council. It’s a great opportunity for you to hone your diplomatic skills. You’re going to lead this people one day, and this might not be the last time a clan is desperate or angry. If you go, you’ll learn a lot.”

Neteyam went quiet, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He listened to you as if every word you spoke was important. “You really think I can do it?”

“I know you can,” you said firmly. “You have the heart for it.” You looked at your berries again, eating more of it.

The wind shifted then, kicking up a swirl of fine wood-dust from the dancefloor. You winced, your hand flying to your eye as you felt a sharp things.

“Ow—wait, something’s in my eye.”

“Don’t rub it,” Neteyam said immediately. His hands were suddenly on your face, his touch firm but incredibly gentle as he cupped your jaw. “Look at me. Keep it open.”

You looked up at him, your vision watering and blurred. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, and blew a soft, steady breath across your eye to clear the dust.

“Is that better?” he whispered, blowing another.

You chuckled as you blinked several times, your heart doing a frantic dance in your chest. “It’s just a bit of dust, Neteyam, you look so serious,” you said, smiling.

He stared at you, still not pulling away and when you didn’t move your head, he tilted his and pressed his lips to yours. It was deep, soft, and carried the weight of his yearning in the past moons. He didn’t know how long he had wanted to do that, but the softness of your lips is making him melt like candle wax.

In your belly, it felt like a hundred forest ikrans had suddenly taken flight. You felt giddy, almost lightheaded, but the thought of the deal flickered in your mind. When he pulled back just a fraction to let you breathe, your eyes pierced through him and spotted Ka’ani across the fire, her face fuming as she watched Neteyam’s back, specifically how he was bent at the waist just so he could kiss you.

“She’s looking...” you murmured against his lips, your voice a shaky mess.

Neteyam’s mind was hazy, drugged by the taste of your lips. His brows furrowed. “Who?” he asked, his voice a gravelly rumble as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands tightening on your jaw.

You closed your eyes, feeling the spark of his skin against yours. “Ka’ani...”

“And?” he responded, his nose nuzzling yours before he angled his head to kiss you more firmly. “Open up...”

“Uhm, about what? I mean, she talked to—”

Neteyam let out a low, vibrant chuckle that vibrated through your lips. “Your mouth, space cadet.”

Before you could even process what he meant, he darted his tongue out and licked at the seam of your lips. Your head reared back in genuine shock though, your eyes popping wide open.

“That was...” you sputtered, your face turning a deep, embarrassed crimson. “Why did you lick me? Neteyam!”

He barked a deep, resonant laugh, a real, belly-deep sound that made his whole frame shake. The sight of your shocked expression was too much for him. You tried to maintain your dignity, but his joy was too infectious.

“It’s a sweet gesture!” he laughed, reaching out to pull you back toward him.

“What? Like a fwampop?” you asked, but you were already giggling, the two of you leaning against each other and laughing so hard you forgot the rest of the clan was even there.

The festival fire continued to crackle, but for the rest of the night, Neteyam didn't leave your side. He followed you to the communal food pits when you offered to help the cooks, not letting you carry the heavy food trays so you just rambled about anything you could think of. Every time your hand brushed his, or you leaned in to tell him a secret about one of the dancers, he looked at you with a gaze so heavy and warm.

The next morning, the festival fog had settled over the village, but Neteyam was already awake and waiting by the weaving looms. He was standing there with a slightly large, intricately carved wooden bobbin. Something he spent days working on, but he won’t tell you that.

“Bobbin?” you asked with a huge smile when he gently handed it to you.

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if coming here early in the morning before his patrol to bring you something he had worked on for days meant nothing. “I saw you struggling with the one that kept snagging your thread,” he said. His fingers lingered on yours as you accepted it, his thumb tracing the back of your hand in a slow caress.

“Wow... This is perfect, Neteyam,” you said, beaming up at him as marveled at the craftsmanship.

He stared at you, fighting the urge to punch the air or beat up his chest as if he won a huge prize.

“You really didn't have to. Do you not have patrol?” you asked.

“I have,” he said. But he wanted to see you. Talk to you about last night, to clarify that the kiss had nothing to do with your deal.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you at lunch,” you said, your attention already focused on your new bobbin. He stood there for a few more seconds, just watching you, his ears twitching at the sound of your voice.

Later that afternoon, though, the rain began to pour while you were in the forest, the raindrops caching you near the lower groves. You tried to shield your basket of dyed fibers with your own body but just as heavy drops soaked your braids, you saw a familiar figure coming, holding a massive, broad leaf.

“Neteyam?” you uttered in surprise.

He had a boyish grin on as he held the leaf over your head. He was getting soaked, the rain slicking down his blue skin and making his muscles gleam, but he didn't seem to care. He stepped so close that his chest was almost touching your shoulder, the heat from his body acting as a shield against the chill.

“How did you even know I was here?” you asked, chuckling and pulling him close so he won’t get wet.

“I think I already know your routines,” he said, smirking playfully, though his voice was thick with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He reached out and tucked a wet strand of braid behind your ear, his touch far more lingering than it needed to be. His eyes dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to yours, as though searching for something.

You tear you gaze away. “I swear, you’re going to catch a cold! And you’re all muddy. What if Ka’ani sees you? You always have to be in character, you know?” you exclaimed, trying to push the leaf more toward his side.

Neteyam’s smile faltered for a second, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he masked it with a soft chuckle. “Right. The act.”

He guided you back toward the shelter of the Hometree, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back. As you walked, he intentionally slowed his pace, pulling you closer to avoid a puddle. When you reached the dry roots of the tree, he didn't immediately let go. He leaned down, his face close to yours.

“Do you really think I'm doing all this for the audience?” he asked, his golden eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like a plea.

Your brows furrowed, panic rising in you before laughing nervously, patting his arm and moving away into the shelter of the hometree’s canopy. “Well, you're a very dedicated actor, ‘Teyam. I have to hand it to you. Everybody believes us,” you said with a huge smile.

Neteyam went still. He stared at you, his hand still in the air, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he let out a long, slow sigh, his shoulders dropping just an inch. “I suppose I am dedicated,” he said quietly, a sad, lopsided smile touching his lips.

“I’m just glad I can help you with this. I’ve never had an actual friend, you know?” you said brightly, grabbing your basket from him. “See you at dinner? I heard they’re serving the smoked fish you like.”

Neteyam watched you walk away, your silhouette disappearing into the winding ramp. He looked down at the hand that had held the leaf, his fingers still tingling from the brief contact with your skin. “Damn it...” he whispered to the empty air. This isn’t an act anymore and he doesn’t know how to cross the threshold between the stage and the reality.

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“No way! You can't move there, that's against the rules!” Lo’ak barked, leaning over the board.

“You’re not one to talk about rules!” Spider countered, reaching for your game piece to help you. “Go on, girl, take his territory. Do it!”

You laughed, your face flushed with the kind of rowdy joy you usually only heard from a distance before. You slammed your piece down, successfully “capturing” Lo’ak’s base. You turned to Spider and Lo’ak, throwing up a hand for a high-four. “Did you see that?“

Spider barked a laughter. “Tell him, ‘suck it!’”

“Suck it?” you repeated with a confused smile.

The word had barely left your lips when the air in the room seemed to shift. Neteyam, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar watching you with a soft, protective smile as he sharpen his bows suddenly went rigid. He looked at Lo’ak and Spider, who were both chuckling, explaining to you what it meant.

“Hey, don't look at us,” Lo’ak muttered, though his tail was twitching with mischief. “She’s just part of the crew now, brother. One of the guys.”

Neteyam pushed off the pillar, stepping into the circle. He ignored the snickering from Lo’ak and Kiri’s knowing smirk. “She is not one of the guys,” Neteyam hissed under his breath.

You turned to him, still grinning from your victory. “Neteyam,” you called and his ears twitched at your soft voice. “Are you angry?”

He blinked, shaking his head right away. “No, no, of course not,” he told you, his eyes softening but a flitter of reprimanding gaze to Lo’ak and Spider promised later. He had just introduced you to them more than a week ago, for Eywa’s sake, and now, they are already teaching you the wrong things!

“You're teaching her the wrong things,” Neteyam told the two later that night when you left the small kelku they created for their games.

“Brother, I think she’s enjoying just fine. I’ve seen her before, she’s usually alone. I’m sure Lo’ak and Spider are just who she needs,” Kiri said,

“Right! She’s really fun. Just yesterday, we played with squid fruit by the river and she threw a mashed handful on my face. Look, I still have stains all over!“ Spider said, pointing at his pink-stained face.

“What?” Neteyam replied, horrified, remembering the stain on your temple that he saw last night. “Just what are you two—”

Lo’ak snicked. “Bro,“ he put a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Don’t be too grumpy. You said you want her to have more friends and we are her friends now,“ he grinned.

Neteyam let out a huff, rolling his eyes. He understands this. You’d told him you have never had an actual friend and he thought he could remedy that. He’d give you everything, if he could.

A few days later, he insisted on coming with you to the forest and you agreeed, knowing you will have to pass by the training grounds where Ka’ani could be and she was indeed around, her eyes following Neteyam as if she’s waiting for him to spare her a glance but he was focused on the path ahead, oblivious or uncaring to her longing stares.

“Ka’ani was looking at you,“ you grinned up at him, nudging his side with your elbow.

You saw his brows furrowed for a moment and then his face hardened. You pushed your lips forward. You assumed it was because Ka’ani still didn’t go and talk to him. The woman is fierce warrior, she was probably too proud to see that as an option. She wants Neteyam to come to her. To her credit, you had not seen her in the company of man in the past weeks... You wondered if Neteyam has realized that.

“You know... I noticed Ka’ani has not been hanging out with guys lately? Have you noticed that?“ you asked, angling your head to look up at him as you rambled, “What if she’s just waiting for you to go and talk to her? I think that’s what she wants. She talked to me, you know? She was mad, so I think she was jealous, isn’t that great—”

“She talked to you? And she was mad?” he turned to you, his face etched with both anger and worry.

You grinned. “Yes. I can tell she was jealous—”

“Did she hurt you?”

“No, she didn’t...” you said. “She was just angry, because the act is working—”

You saw the bone in his jaw tick as if he was clenching his teeth. “Let’s not talk about her.”

Your lips pushed forward and you shrugged, listening instead to the soft crunch of dried leaves breaking beneath your feet. Neteyam fell quiet then, his tail twitching with a restlessness that told you something was weighing on him. You walked faster to match his face, pressing a palm on his chest which made him stop walking... and breathing, too.

“What’s bothering you?” you asked, standing in front of him and feeling his chest slowly deflate.

This is crazy. He has never noticed girls’ voices before, but now, they could probably use yours to cool him off. Your voice caresses him and your laugh sounds like bells in his ear. He wouldn’t have said a word if a different person had asked him, but you always have a way to make him open his mouth and just talk.

“The council... they are advising against it,” he said, his voice heavy. “They think sending me to the displaced clan as an envoy is too much risk, because they see me as a target, not a diplomat.”

Your eyes searched his face and he felt warm inside. “And what does your father say?”

He let out a frustrated sigh and your hand caressed his chest. His hand rose to catch your hand, pressing it against his lips. “He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He just listens and only then he’ll decide. I’m worried he’ll take their advice,“ he looked at you.

You huffed a breath, patting his chest, and giving him a supportive smile. “Then remind them, Neteyam, that you are no longer a child to be shielded. At your age, your father was already Olo’eyktan. You have to learn diplomacy just as much as any other leader. It wouldn't do you any good to be a leader who is ill-equipped in the discussions of peace.”

Neteyam’s gaze softened, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he looked at you. You removed your hand but he caught it again. “Thank you... for always sharing my burden. I don't think I could have faced them today without hearing that.”

You chuckled, swinging your joined hands lightly. “Bro, it’s nothing! That’s what friends are for, as Spider says,” you beamed at him before turning back to the path ahead, missing the way his face completely dropped.

His smile faltered, and then it deadpanned. It was a total double-kill. Bro and friends in a single breath. You might as well have just shot him in the head and he would have taken it lighter. He huffed, his tail lashing once in irritation as he followed after you.

“I’m not your 'bro,'” he said, suddenly reaching forward to grab your basket from your arm.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you laughed at his sudden grumpiness. “Silly! We’re all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Great Mother,” you said, lightheartedly twirling as you walked, enjoying the dappled sunlight. You didn't even notice how his eyes narrowed as he watched you move through the forest with no care in the world, seemingly oblivious to how much Lo’ak and Spider were ruining his life with their vocabulary lessons.

He had reached his limit.

Before you could twirl again, Neteyam stepped toward you. He reached out, gently but firmly grabbing your arm. Your eyes widened in surprise as he guided you backward, gently pushing you against the trunk of a nearby tree. You looked up at him, your breath catching. His face was inches away from yours, his golden eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

“Neteyam?” you whispered, your eyes dropping to his lips before you stupidly, unconsciously licked yours.

He leaned down, and when you didn't pull away, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was deeper and more demanding than the one at the festival. He licked your lips again and you chuckled against his mouth but when his tongue darted inside yours, you made a sound that sounded so womanly it surprised even you. His tongue tangled with yours as his lips devoured yours.

Everything made you feel hot, and weirdly, tingly between your legs that you had to close your thighs together.

When he finally pulled back, his hands moved to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said, his voice low and trembling.

You blinked. “Now?”

“There are things that needs to be dealt with first,“ he said, caressing your jaw. You nodded.

The thing that needed dealing was Ka’ani. He didn’t know the extent of the conversation you had with the huntress, but he knew how Ka’ani talks, and the fact tha you said she was mad solidified what he knew. You two walked back to Hometree, with him carrying your basket for you. The elders giggled at the sight of him following you around like a loyal pet, and when he left with a lingering brush of his thumb against your cheek, they nosed around and asked if the warrior was truly courting you like they kept hearing from the youth.

“No, he’s not... He’s a friend,” you said, noticing the arm band on your basket. You took it and thought perhaps Neteyam had left it there.

You followed after him, thinking he hasn’t gone far yet, but when as stood in the Hometree’s shadowed entrance, you saw him approach Ka’ani near the training grounds, your breath hitching. Ka’ani tilted her head and smirked at him, turning on her heels into the privacy of the deeper woods. You saw Neteyam follow and you tucked yourself behind a massive fern, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

In the dimmed bioluminescence of the forest, Neteyam stood in front of the huntress, seeing that Ka’ani was already smiling, a triumphant, sharp look. “No need to say sorry, Neteyam, if that’s how you’ll start your piece. Because I know,” she said. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing. You’ve used that weaver girl to make me jealous, to straighten me up. I get it, so you can drop the act now. I’ve learned my lesson. I know it’s me you want—”

“I do not want you, Ka’ani,” Neteyam’s voice cut through her arrogance like a blade. “I never even thought I wanted you. Yes, you are a strong and fierce warrior, and I once thought that was what I needed by my side for when I lead one day... but I didn’t realize just how much I needed to see and be seen.“

“And have I not seen you?” Ka’ani snarled, her tail lashing. “We trained together, Neteyam! We fought, we hunted! I was always here! You just spared that girl a glance literally like yesterday and you think she’s perfect for you—”

“You don’t know me in the ways that matter, Ka’ani,” he countered. “I’ve had more connection with a rock, and I don't know why I ever entertained the thought that I needed someone strong by my side when strength is not the only thing this clan needs.”

Ka’ani’s face contorted, her pride wounded in front of the man she wanted so much and thought wanted her, too. “We can get to know each other! I regret it, alright? I regret playing around. I’ll focus—”

“Don’t regret what you did,” Neteyam said. “I’m glad you did it, because not only did it prevent me from making a huge mistake, it also brought me to her. And now, I have the rest of my life in front of me, bright and clear as day.” He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a warning growl. “Have a good life, Ka’ani. And do not ever approach my woman to tell her nonsense again.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Ka’ani watching him in deep contempt. All those last words he said not to do? She will do it. Back at Hometree, you sat by your loom, your fingers trembling as you picked up a strand of gold thread. You forced a smile onto your face, practicing the words of congratulations you would give him, even as you felt like the sky was turning a purple far deeper and darker than any storm. That was probably what he was going to talk about with you...

Outside, Neteyam walked back to Hometree with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He headed straight for the weaving looms. Tonight, you will be his. He’d tell you the act ends here and you two will start something real. No act from here on end. No games. Just the two of you.

But he never made it to the looms.

A hunter intercepted him midway, out of breath and frantic. “Neteyam! The night patrol was ambushed by the violent clan. Two are wounded. Your father is calling for the council.”

The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous. The soft, yearning man disappeared, replaced by the disciplined warrior. He hurried to the council, standing before Jake with a firm resolve. “I’ll go,” Neteyam insisted. “Fighting would be the last thing I’ll do. I’ll talk to them, Dad. You call for the chieftains to convene and I’ll convince them to come.”

He left within the hour, riding on his ikran, but his heart was back at Hometree, in the weaving looms... He thought he’d be back by light, but he didn’t know he’d be gone for days.

You had been crying. You learned that Neteyam left for a mission regarding the displaced clan, so even though you were heartbroken, you went to the Tree of Souls to pray for his journey. Your vulnerability was too obvious as you walk back to Hometee, and in it, Ka’ani found her opening. You were so close to Hometree when she stepped out from the shadows, a satisfied smirk on her face.

“Hi,” she greeted. “I’m pretty sure you’d heard of Neteyam going to battle... Did he say good bye to you?”

You lowered your gaze and shook your head.

“Where do you think he was last night before he went to battle?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock pity. “He was with me... getting his strength from me.” She stepped closer to you to tilt your head up. “He apologized to me, weaver. For losing sight of what’s truly for him... which is me. He loves me, which I’m sure you know... And he did make me feel loved... see?”

She tilted her head back, exposing the dark hickeys on the side of her neck. To your untrained eyes, it simply looked like bruises, but you knew what you were talking about. Pain bloomed in your chest and you felt ashamed for feeling it. You’re not supposed to feel it. You knew where this is leading to, you knew it was all an act. This woman in front of you was the only reason he approached you.

Ka’ani giggled. “Neteyam was insatiable. He missed me, as you can see... and now, I’m still sore, honestly,” she sighed, looking at you with that mock pity again. “Do you get it? He’s back with me... After he strayed. I hope you can respect that?”

You blinked, your lungs feeling as though they had turned to stone. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until she turned and walked away, and you felt like you might collapse, but the sound of Spider’s familiar voice cut through the silence. He came running toward you, laughing, with Tuk trailing just behind him.

“Was that Ka’ani?” Spider asked, his smile faltering. “What did you two talk about?”

You forced yourself to blink, the world slowly coming back into focus. “Uh... nothing. What are you two doing?”

“Playing tag!” Tuk squealed, slamming into your waist and hugging you tight. You automatically reached down to ruffle her braids. “Tag! You’re it!” she shouted, tapping your belly with a giggle before darting away.

Your soul wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark corner and let the tears fall, but looking at Tuk’s bright face and Spider’s expectant grin, you couldn't bear to be the killjoy.

“Oh, you’re going to get it now!” you called out, forcing a smile as you chase after them.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Neteyam had done the impossible. He had returned not just with his warriors intact, but with the promise of a unified forest. The first pace of the Great Council’s efforts to help the displaced clan find a dwelling land, he had secured a future for the displaced and for that, he was their hero.

The clan had a small celebration for it, but as the smell of roasted meat filled the air, Neteyam’s eyes were only on the winding path toward your family’s hut. He hadn't seen you in the crowd. He hadn't seen you at the landing where he expected you would be. Waiting for him. Kiri did tell him you were sick, though, which had sent a cold spike of dread that halted his celebratory high.

He didn't wait for his father’s final toast before slipping away, feeling a worry he didn't even feel during his mission. He arrived at your family’s hut, breathless, practically vibrating with the need to pull you into his arms and tell you that he had thought of nothing but your face as he sat among the displaced.

When you emerged from the flap, he froze. You were pale and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the telltale signs of the days you spent in quiet agony. His brows furrowed, his feet moving before he could even think. He stopped when he saw you step back though.

“I... I’m sick,” you said when you saw the question in his eyes. You didn't look at him with the warmth he’d been dreaming of. You looked at him as if he were a threat.

He stepped toward the platform, his hand reaching out instinctively. “I know. Kiri told me. But what made you sick? Why are you crying?" His voice was thick with a worry so raw it made your chest ache. “I haven't even been gone for a week, and this is what I return to?”

You stepped back into the shadows of the hut, a sharp scowl flickering across your face. “I... I don't know why I got sick. But I do know I want to lay down and rest. So if there's nothing else, I’ll go do it.”

Before he could utter another word, you grabbed the woven flap and slammed it shut. Neteyam stood there in the silence, staring at the closed entrance. His brows furrowed, his head tilting in genuine, painful confusion. He had expected a hug, a laugh, perhaps even a repeat of that soul-searing kiss in the forest. Instead, he had been shut out like a stranger. The victory he had carried on his shoulders suddenly felt hollow. For this, he didn't return to the celebration at all. He walked back to the his family’s hut in a daze, laying awake for hours wondering what could have poisoned the air in his absence.

The next day was filled with council meetings. He sat through hours of strategy and relocation discussions, but his mind was in the looms which he would check every time there's a chance, ready to scold you for working while ill, but your spot was empty. It wasn't until the following morning that he found you. You were sitting at your spot, your movements stiff and mechanical. And it seemed like you were waiting, too, because you looked at him the moment he stepped into the looms.

“Let’s talk,” he said, his voice firm, trying to reclaim some shred of authority to hide how much his heart was racing.

You stood up, your face impassive. “We do need to talk.” you said, your voice cold and sharp.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at you for more than a minute. For the first time in his life, after facing predators, raids, and the weight of a legacy, Neteyam felt a genuine, cold prickle of fear. But as he looked at the fire in your eyes, a small, reckless part of him couldn't help but admire it. He feels crazy. You are so hot when you’re mad.

You walked into the forest, feeling even more slighted when you remembered him going in this same route with Ka’ani. You felt his hand on your elbow though, steering you toward a different path instead. You glared at him. “Where are we going?”

The sight of direhorses answered your question though. You saw some warriors riding their mounts and Neteyam whistled for his. You saw Ka’ani among the warriors nearby and saw how her eyes narrowed at the sight of you and Neteyam. Shame rose in you and you tried to wriggle away from Neteyam’s hold, especially when a warrior came jogging toward you.

“Brother, will you not watch the young tame their mounts?“ The warrior asked. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”

The warrior glanced at you and you took your elbow from Neteyam again, but you weren’t able to get away though, because his hand found your waist and pulled you to him.

“No. I got something more important to do,“ Neteyam said. “I’m sure they’ll do well.”

The warrior snickered, “Enjoy then,” he glanced at you meaningfully before nodding to Neteyam, and turning away.

Neteyam’s hand spanned your waist and lifted you up on his direhorse in under ten seconds, making you slightly shriek. He mounted the beast behind you, making tsaheylu with it before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. You tried to move away, but the direhorse had started moving, and in a second, it was running.

The wind roared  past your ears as the direhorse ate up the miles, forcing you to lean back against Neteyam’s chest just to stay balanced. You enjoyed the sight during the ride, fighting the urge to move your head away when you felt him pressung a kiss to the crown of your head. You felt sad when he pulled on the reins, already missing the exhilaration of riding and the good view.

Neteyam slid off the mount first before reaching up to lift you down, his movements fluid and sure. He didn't let go immediately, his hands lingered on your waist as he looked around the clearing. He felt a surge of triumph that you hadn't jumped off and bolted, though he felt a twinge of guilt, too, because he’d brought you this far specifically so you couldn't run away.

The glade was breathtaking and it immediately snagged your attention. Under any other circumstances, you would have danced through the high grass, but the weight in your chest kept your feet heavy.

Neteyam turned to you, the light dabbing across his face. “Alright," he whispered, his jaw tightening. “Tell me. What has changed since I left?”

You scowled, the image of Ka’ani’s smug face flashing in your mind. “Are you sure things didn’t change before you left? I’m pretty sure you made up with Ka’ani, and did more than just talking.”

The accusation hit him like a physical blow that his eyes widened, his head snapping back in shock. “I did not ‘make up’ with Ka’ani. Yes, I talked to her, but I simply told her to back off. I told her never to approach you again. Did she talk of nonsense to you again?” He was practically vibrating, his tail lashing behind him.

“Yes, she did! We talked,” you threw back at him. “She showed me the hickeys on her neck, Neteyam! She said she was so sore... because you were insatiable! Because you missed her so much that you had to get your 'strength' from her before you left!”

“What?” The word was a rasp of horror. A visceral disgust washed over his features, his body shivering at the image your words painted. “I did not lay with her. I never did and I never would. Oh, Great Mother... that woman is a huge liar!”

You searched his face. You looked for a flicker of guilt or lie, a shift in his eyes, but all you saw was a man who looked genuinely nauseated by the very idea. You believe him, despite yourself and without your consent, the suffocating clouds over your head began to lighten. He stepped toward you, his hands reaching for your arms, but you crossed them over your chest, refusing to let him in just yet.

“Believe me, please,” he pleaded, his words beginning to tumble over each other in a frantic rush. “That night after we were in the forest, all I did was find her and shut down her delusions. I was so mad that she dared to talk to you, dared to get mad at you, so I told her to back off and never approach you again. I was coming back to you, baby. I was going to tell you our ruse ends there and then. I was going to beg you for a chance to make it real.”

He palmed his face , sounding completely undone.

“But then the incident with our warriors happened and I had to go... Jesus. I was so stupid. I should have gone to you before I left, but I was thinking... I was thinking I probably wouldn't be able to leave at all if you told me you’d give me a chance.”

His heart was beating too fast and to hard against his chest, watching the fire in your eyes finally die out, replaced by a soft heat. You believed him. It wasn't in your nature to stay angry when the truth felt so solid, and you knew Neteyam well enough now to know he would never play around. The fact that Ka’ani had looked so bitter earlier suddenly made sense. She hadn't won anything, she had just tried to burn down your bridge.

You bit your lip, your shoulders finally dropping. “Alright...” you whispered.

Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped into your space, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest. “That’s it? ‘Alright’?” he asked, his voice soft and breathless, his face so close yours.

You pushed your lips forward in a small pout, though you didn't pull away. “I guess I believe you... I don’t think it’s in your character to lie like that.”

A wave of shame washed over you as you realized how quickly you had let Ka’ani’s poison work. You had given him so little confidence, believing a lie over the man you know to be so genuine and kind. But then, you had been protecting yourself; you were in an act, and the lines had been so blurred you didn't know where it all ended.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured “I just... I thought it was still an act. That we were still acting to get her back...”

Neteyam tightened his grip, lowering his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ve long forgotten about the deal. I think I stopped truly caring about it just a week after I started spending my days with you. I just didn't know what it was I was feeling until the thought of it ending and not being with you anymore felt more terrifying than any battle.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “This is why you’ve been crying...”

You pushed your lips forward. You wanted to forget that part! “Let’s just forget it...”

“No, we won’t. You don’t know how much it broke me to see you cry, to see you so gray, and not know why. She hurt you, she meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice hard and his jaw tightening. “And I played a part in it. I should have talked to you, clear everything for us so you would have confidence in me. So you won’t believe her.”

You looked up at him, your hand pressing against his chest to calm him down. “It’s over and done with, Neteyam... What’s important is that we’te okay now. Right?”

He looked down at you, his head tilting. Ka’ani was lucky that you are so kind, but she wasn’t that lucky because he’s not. He leaned down to kiss you, “Right. There will be no more acts and games... Just us.”

You looked up at him, the weight finally gone, and for the first time in days, the light returned to your golden eyes. “Just us.” you beamed at him.

He sucked in a breath, pulling you and tilting your head to kiss you hard. He was a man starved and you could tell with how he's holding and kissing you. He moaned when your tongue licked his lower lip, making him pull his head back to look at you.

“It’s you I missed so much...” he mumbled, kissing you softly. “It’s you I’d be insatiable for... And you I’ll make so sore—”

“Neteyam!” your hand lifted up to clamp around his mouth and he laughed. You shrieked when you felt his warm and wet tongue lick at your palm.

“I know... I’ll court you... Then you'll accept me as your mate... And then you’re in big trouble wth me—”

You groaned, your cheeks burning purple. He kissed your cheek before angling his head to kiss you for real.

The next afternoon, the Sully siblings were in on the plan—though only Kiri truly understood the gravity of it. They had dragged you down to the river, telling you they’ll teach you how to properly splash a person without getting soaked yourself.

“Focus! You have to cup your hand like this,” Spider shouted, sending a wall of water toward a ducking Lo’ak.

You laughed, the sound genuine and bright, completely unaware that Neteyam had quietly slipped away. He had seen Ka’ani heading toward the upper trails, and he wasn't about to let another sun set without finishing this. He intercepted her near the high roots, his silhouette blocking her path. Ka’ani stopped, her smirk faltering when she saw the look on his face. He didn’t look friendly at all, not that he had look friendly the last time they talked, but the hard storm masking his face right now was the look of a man who had seen a threatening the peace.

“Neteyam,” she started, trying to reclaim her cool composure. “I thought you'd be busy with your little weaver.“

“I am busy,” Neteyam said. “I am busy realizing how wrong I was about you. I thought you were a warrior of honor, Ka’ani. I thought that even if you were proud, you were noble. But to purposely hurt a woman who did you nothing wrong? To lie about the most disgusting things just to see her cry—”

Ka’ani’s eyes narrowed, her tail lashing. “I know what I’m doing, Neteyam! You were only using her to straighten me up! I just leveled the playing field. I was reclaiming what was mine—”

“I was never yours,” he cut her off, disgust for her delusions crumpling his face. “There was nothing to reclaim, you had nothing. The life you are living is the one you actively chose. Even if we had tried before, I know I would have quickly realized it would never work, what with our lack of connection. The only thing we shared was the training grounds.”

Ka’ani winced as if he’d struck her. “I... I was just blinded, Neteyam. I was jealous! I was envious. I’m sorry, alright? I was just trying to get you back.”

Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “I wasn’t yours to get back, we had nothing to do with each other. And you’re not really sorry. At least not yet, because you didn't think of taking your words back during the days I wasn't home. You knew she was crying. You knew she was hurting from your lies, and you sat back and enjoyed it. You are only sorry now because I am standing here confronting you.”

Ka’ani opened her mouth to argue, her hands trembling, but no words came out. The truth of his gaze was too heavy to deflect.

“I hope you grow,” Neteyam said, turning on his heel.

“Neteyam, wait!” she called out, sounding frantic as he turned to walk away. “I’m sorry! I’ll go to her right now. I’ll apologize to her! Please... can we still be friends? We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

Neteyam stopped, but he didn't turn around. He looked over his shoulder, his profile sharp against the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

“We were never friends, Ka’ani. You don't see me as a friend. You see me as a prize to be won.” He took a breath, thinking of your laugh echoing by the river. “Friends don’t hurt the people you love. And that is exactly what you did to the woman I love. After that, I don’t think your wish can be possible.”

He left her standing there, the weight of her own choices finally settling on her shoulders. When he returned to the river, he saw you. You were dripping wet, laughing as Tuk tried to climb onto your back.You looked up and caught his eye, beaming at him with a warmth that made his heart feel like it was soaring home.

He didn't say a word about Ka’ani. He just waded into the water, pulled you into a lopsided embrace, and whispered into your ear, “I think it’s time I started that courting I mentioned. Properly.”

And just like that, the moons had drifted by like dust in the wind, and Neteyam had kept his word. He courted you openly and even formally asked your parents for your hand, which they initially did not want to grant him. They think your life wouldn’t be as peaceful if you mated Neteyam instead of a simple man in the clan. Honestly, your parents didn’t know what to do with him. Neteyam was so intense in his courtship to you and your family that, most times, your parents were literally hiding from him. By then, he had already brought your family the finest meat and the rarest fruits, but surprise of your parents’ lives probably came when he brought Jake and Neytiri. He wasn’t really planning to bring them along, it was just... Neytiri is apparently getting impatient over the fact that Neteyam isn’t an official suitor yet, and Jake wanted to relieve your parents of their worries over you being Neteyam’s mate.

And today, the celebration for the new village of the displaced clan felt like the culmination of everything you and Neteyam had built. It seemed so long ago when you two discussed the matter when you were swimming in the river, and now, the clan found a home by the river. The Olo’eyktan of the displaced clan stood before the grand fire. You’d met him only today, but you could already tell the respect he has for Neteyam.

“For too long, we were ghosts in this forest,” the Olo’eyktan started. “We lived like beggars, raiding for sustenance, hurting our brothers and sisters among your clans, and also fearing their spears, but a path was cleared where we saw only hopelessness. Our homes are standing here today because of Neteyam te Suli, our brother of the Omatikaya. Because of him, we have peace. Our children will know only the beauty of the forest and never the tragedy that forced us out of our lands.”

You grinned as the crowd erupted, but Neteyam tried to sink into his seat, his ears pressing back in embarrassment as his arm pulled you to him. He hated the attention, but the chieftains wouldn't have it. They pushed him to the center, where he was forced to give a piece of his mind.

He cleared his throat, his golden eyes immediately finding yours in the crowd as if to ground himself. “The peace you see today was not born in my mind,” he began, his voice steadying as he looked at you. “I am a warrior, I was ready to lead with my bow. But it was my woman who showed me the wisdom in a hand offered instead of an arrow. She gave me the strength to listen when I wanted to fight. If this land is a home today, it is because her heart guided my way.”

Neytiri turned to you and smiled as the men in the crowd roared to tease the warrior they’ve been acquainted with in the past moons. As he strode back to you, pulling you into a deep kiss of victory, a warrior from a different clan hooted from the side. “Careful, Neteyam! Keep your wits about you and don’t let her hit her head, or she might wake up and realize she could leave your ass behind!”

Neteyam let out a deep, resonant laugh, pulling you flush against his side. “I have no intention of ever letting her get far enough to find out!”

As the party reached its high, Neteyam’s eyes found yours, looking at you meaningfully, in a way that made your skin tingle. You raised a brow and he jerked his head toward the dark woods. You pushed your lips forward in a playful pout but tugged his hand anyway, leading him away from the noise and into the glowing embrace of the forest.

You skipped hand in hand, admiring the bioluminescent flora lighting your path and when you reached the secluded bend of the river, the sounds of the festival was nothing but a hum. You turned to him with a grin and, without a word, untied the ties of your beaded top. His hungry eyes followed the movement, his breath hitching as if he has not seen them for a hundred times already. You untied your loincloth next, letting it pool on the floor.

He watched you with an intensity that excited you, and when his own loincloth fell, you bit your lip, seeing of the hard-on you had become quite well-acquainted with over the past moons. The glow of the river and the forest illuminated his handsome face so perfectly your heart hammered against your chest. He is so handsome.

“Hi,” he whispered, his large arms on your waist pulling you close.

Your smile grew to a grin. “You’re silly,” you chuckled, pressing a palm against his muscled chest to gently push him back. “I’m going to swim... why are you holding me?”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Oh, I think there are other things that need swimming, too,” he teased, his voice dropping as his hand caught yours, bringing it down so you could feel his hardened cock. “Your babies want to swim in you.”

“Neteyam!“ you called, almost swiveling your head around in case someone could hear him. You’ve learned, in the past moons, how lewd he can be with his words but your habit of looking around will probably stay for a few years more.

He angled his head to press a hard kiss against your lips. “What? Don’t you want our kids to have fun time?”

You laughed, the sound like bells in his ears. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “Am I in big trouble again?” you whispered against his ear.

He groaned. “You’re always going to be in big trouble with me if I had my way.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “I want to take care of you tonight...” you mumbled, your hand on his chest caressing his skin and pushing him back.

He raised a brow, always surprised still whenever you show him fire. You pulled him down to kiss him, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that made him vibrate in excitement. He let you push him back against the trunk of a towering tree, letting out a gravelly groan when his head thumped back against the bark.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you so flush against him that the ridge of his hard-on felt like it was imprinting itself on your belly. With practiced ease, he reached behind himself to bring his queue forward, while his other hand found yours behind you, making you break the kiss for just a second, watching through hooded eyes as the pink tendrils of your kurus began to reach and weave together.

The familiar psychic  jolt of his intense love, raw devotion and desire for you flooded your mind, feeling his heart hammering against your ears, echoing the rhythm of your own. His fingers cupped your jaw to kiss you again, ad you smiled against his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing your lips down. You licked and kiss his neck, your palms staying flat on his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart as you kissed your way down over the hard ridges of his stomach.

“My warrior...” you murmured, kissing his lower abdomen.

You peered up at him, seeing his head pressed against the tree, but his eyes were looking down at you. You kissed sharp V-line of his hips before your hand reached out, fisting his girth. Neteyam’s breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping his throat as your hand began to move. The bond between your queues flared, sending waves of his pleasure crashing through the both of you.

“You are celebrated tonight,” you whispered, looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes that contrasted the sinful movement of your hands on him. “I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”

“Baby...” he rasped, his hands fisting as he tried to ground himself.

You didn't give him a chance to respond. You lowered your head, taking him into your mouth with a heat that made his entire body shudder. Through the bond, you felt the exact moment he weakened. His hands flew to your long braids as your mouth started sucking around his girth, your tongue playing with its underside, getting another sharp intake of his breath. You drew back slightly, then plunged deeper, taking more of him down your throat. You worked your mouth, your lips sealing around him that made him tremble. His fingers tightened in your braids in a gentle tug, guiding your movements, urging you faster.

Your tongue swirled, licked, teased, tracing the veins along his length. You felt him grow even harder in your mouth. You pulled back, then swallowed him again, your breath hitching as you felt the wide head deep inside your throat. His hips began to thrust, his hand on your jaw, meeting your eager mouth until you tasted him, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. Your throat ached, but the pleasure in his groans kept you moving.

“Oh, baby,” he gasped, his body trembling.

His hips bucked, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. You felt the first warm gush of him erupt into your mouth, hot and thick, and you swallowed as his body convulsed, still pouring into you. He groaned deeply, a powerful sound that made you shiver, his fingers digging into your hair as he emptied himself.

He slumped, his breathing ragged. “Enough, my love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, trying to pull your head up.

But you weren’t finished. You wanted to clean him, to savor every last drop. You ignored his pleas, your tongue flicking out, licking away the remnants of his pleasure, tracing the underside of his shaft. You heard his sharp intake of breath, his abdominal muscles tensing again. He was literally fighting to hold onto his strength, and you felt his cock twitch, hardening slightly at your continued ministrations. You ran your tongue along the tip, then sucked gently, drawing out the last of his cum.

“Fuck. I regret teaching you, you know?” he said weakly, his knees buckling.

You glared at him before reluctantly releasing him, your lips glistening. He reached down, pulling you up with a sudden, fierce strength that lifted until your bodies collided. His mouth found yours in a hard, demanding kiss, his tongue plunged into your mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his shaft earlier, tangling with yours. You met him with equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer still, your hips instinctively grinding against his.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and your throat in a fiery path. He lifted you, cradling you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist before he lowered you gently against the soft moss. He knelt above you, his golden eyes devouring your body like a man starved. His hand traced the curve of your waist, then upward, toward your breasts. His fingers brushed against your nipple and you arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one of the pebbled tips, sucking hard. You gasped and shivered, your fingers tangling in his braids, pressing him closer. His tongue swirled around your breast, while his other hand kneaded the other, his thumb circling the aroused tip.

“What a great reward,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your flesh. He suckled hard that it made you arch your back both in ache and pleasure. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same intense attention until you cried out, your body writhing for more.

He pulled away, his eyes hot with a familiar predatory hunger in them. He shifted, kneeling between your legs, which had instinctively parted for him. He leaned down, his mouth moving lower. You moaned, knowing what was coming, your hips lifting in anticipation. His tongue flicked out, tracing the velvety folds of your pussy, already wet with anticipation,

He spread your lips, his tongue plunging directly into your clit, making you arch your back, your fingers scratching at his back. He licked, sucked, and torment, his mouth relentlessly sucking and his tongue playing more than it licks. He used his fingers, too, parting your lips to allowing his tongue full access on you. He tasted you, the salty-sweet essence, a taste that always drove him wild.

“So sweet,” he murmured against your folds his voice a low growl, his tongue flicking faster, harder.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs trembling, wrapping around his head, pressing him deeper into your pussy. You felt the suction of his mouth and the relentless assault of his tongue on your clit, and your orgasm coiled in your belly. You whimpered, unable to form words, only sounds of pure pleasure, your hips bucking as your body shivered with release, leaving you gasping. You felt the soft shudders of your pussy, contracting around his tongue.

He pulled away, moving above you, his hard cock pressing against your folds. You whimpered, still quivering from your orgasm that your pussy was still throbbing and incredibly sensitive. He still pushed though, the head of his cock sliding inside. You moaned and he pushed deeper, stretching you, and filling you completely.

You wrapped your arms around his body that hovered above yours, his eyes locked with yours. He began to move, a slow thrust, then another, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in deep and hard. The sounds of him sliding in and out of your wetness filled the air, mingling with your gasps and his grunts. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, urging him deeper and faster.

He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, lifting you slightly to control the angle, to thrust even deeper. “Harder,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your hips bucking to meet his.

He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming a furious assault. He pounded into you, deep and relentless, filling you with every thrust. You felt yourself tightening around him, your muscles clenching. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring. You cried out his name, again and again, as your body convulsed, leaving you gasping, clinging to him.

He groaned, his body trembling above you as he thrusted a few more times, deep, desperate strokes. His body tensed, his seed erupting inside you, hot and thick, filling your womb with your babies that needed swimming. He collapsed onto you, heaving, his breath ragged against your neck. You lay there, your entwined bodies both slick with sweat and release.

He let out a long, shaky exhale, his tail giving one final, exhausted twitch against your leg. With a groan that sounded sated and delirious, he pulled out of you, watching the gush of his heavy and thick cum dripping out of you. “You emptied me,” he mumbled, his voice thick.

You chuckled, breathless. “Complaining, are we? You’re the one who started talking about ‘swimmers’ in the middle of our conversation,” you smirked.

Neteyam let out a dry, boyish laugh, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked down at your stomach, then back at your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I believe in my warriors. They’re fast.”

You groaned, reaching up to swat his chest, but he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Neteyam, if my mother sees me walking back looking like this, I’m going to receive a scolding.”

“Tell her you are a mated woman,” he suggested shamelessly, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest.

“Neteyam... They don’t know that yet. We are following the traditions!” you whisper-shouted playfully. “Beside, what happened to being modest for my parents?” you narrowed your eyes at him.

He laughed, a genuine, chest-shaking sound that made you feel warm all over again. He rolled to his side, his hand grabbing your waist with a renewed look of heat in his eyes that made you groan. You sat up and his head angled to catch the pebbled tip of your breast into his mouth.

“‘Teyam...” your hand clutched at his shoulder.

“Just one more...” he said, his words muffled because he had your flesh in his mouth.

You bit you lip and laid back on the soft moss, spreading your thighs as your hand caressed the soft skin on his back. You watched his large, formidable form hover over you, his thick and long cock already pointing at your pussy as if it knows its target. You shivered at the sight of it, your excitement vibrating in your body. His hand clasped under your knee and pushed your leg back, stretching you before his cock nudged your entrance.

His other hand moved over your pussy, his thumb rubbing your sensitive nub as his length disappeared in you. You moaned a long one, arching your back, offering your rounded breasts to him and he lowered his head to take one into his mouth, his tongue immediately swirling on your nipple. In a sudden, hard movement, his hand on your hips pulled you to him, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

“Ah!” you moaned, your thighs quivering to close around him but he kept them open, restraining both of them tightly befote delivering a series of hard and intense pounding.

You held onto him, your eyes flying open and meeting his. You probably looked so aroused and fucked, because his pupils blew even wider, almost swallowing the gold. Your mouth remained perpetually gaped, releasing jagged breaths and moans as he continued pumping into you. Your hand pressed against his lower abdomen and his thrusts quickened and hardened even more.

He lowered his head to kiss you, his tongue immediately plunging into your open mouth. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his hard muscles contrasting his soft skin until all the sensations he’s giving you pushed you to the edge. He came first, shuddering above you despite his efforts to hold out longer. You hugged him tighter when you felt yourself erupt.

He kissed your neck softly, feeling your body shudder against him, you legs literally quivering as your walls clenched around him to milk him dry. He chuckled, pressing a hard kiss against your jaw. “I told you. Big trouble.”

You let your head fall on the mossy ground, feeling him lick the skin on your exposed neck. “I think I can handle the trouble,” you murmured. “As long as it’s yours.”

You met Neteyam when your steps were still wobbly and your words mostly giggles. He was barely steadier than you—his braids just beginning, his steps a little wider—but from the moment he found you crouched near the roots of the Home Tree, you became his shadow. He toddled up with a half-eaten yovo fruit and, without hesitation, tore it in two with clumsy fingers, offering you the larger half. It was sticky and sweet, and you always remembered it as the moment he chose you. And maybe… the moment you chose him too.

From then on, it was rare to see one of you without the other. You learned to walk together, your hands often tangled as you teetered around the village. When you fell, he’d help you up, and when he tripped, you’d sit beside him until he stood again. The other adults would chuckle at the sight—tiny footsteps weaving through the forest, your matching laughter echoing through the trees. You’d nap curled beside him in the Sully’s hammock during long afternoons, Neteyam’s hand always reaching for yours in sleep, even when he’d roll away. Jake would raise a brow and smirk knowingly. Neytiri would only smile, brushing your hair back and calling you syulang, her little flower. They saw it early—what you and Neteyam would someday become—even when you were still too young to understand it yourselves.

You both remembered when Neytiri was pregnant with Kiri—Neteyam was confused at first, always poking at his mother’s growing belly and asking when the baby would “stop hiding.” You didn’t understand it either, but you liked resting your head beside him on Neytiri’s belly, watching it move as little Kiri rolled inside. When she was finally born, Neteyam was speechless, wide-eyed and soft as he held her tiny hand. “She’s mine,” he whispered to you with the quiet pride only a big brother could wear. You just nodded, understanding without needing to speak.

Then came Lo’ak. You were both a bit older—Neteyam nearly six—and you still remember when Neytiri told you he’d be getting a brother. Neteyam practically vibrated with excitement, dragging you around the village talking about all the things he’d teach his brother: how to climb, how to throw a spear, how to chase glow bugs at night. “And I’ll teach him how to protect you,” he added casually, like it was obvious. You just smiled and said, “He’ll have the best big brother.” When Lo’ak was born, Neteyam wasn’t overwhelmed like with Kiri—he was ready this time. “I’m gonna be the best,” he told you, gently adjusting the baby’s blanket like he was holding the future. He even whispered to Lo’ak that he already had a best friend—and that it was you.

Those years were full of joy. Your days were endless stretches of running through the forest, racing along vines, whispering secrets while hidden in the high tree canopies. You shared everything—fruit, beads, bruises, laughter. When Tuk was born and made the family five, you both stood over her, older now, understanding just how sacred it was to grow up surrounded by love. Neteyam pressed a kiss to her forehead, then turned to you. “I hope she finds someone like you,” he whispered, and you pretended not to hear how warm your cheeks became.

Jake often joked that you’d been adopted by the Sullys long before any ceremony could make it true. Neytiri treated you like a daughter, braiding feathers into your hair with loving fingers, scolding you just as gently as she would Neteyam. And sometimes, when she caught the two of you dozing in a sunbeam, limbs tangled and breath in sync, she’d just exchange a look with Jake—a knowing one. The kind that said, it’s always been them.

By the time you were thirteen and Neteyam fourteen, you were no longer just playmates. You were partners in everything: training, learning, dreaming. But even then, the purest part of your bond was the way you looked at each other—like somehow, in all the chaos and beauty of the forest, you had each found home.

When Neteyam turned fourteen, the village buzzed with anticipation. It was also his time—his rite of passage, the long-awaited climb to the floating mountains to claim his ikran. You weren’t allowed to go with him, though Eywa knew you tried to convince the elders otherwise. “I’ll just hide behind the rocks,” you had argued, arms crossed and defiant. But Jake only ruffled your hair, and Neytiri kissed your cheek with a chuckle. “You’ll have your turn, little one. Let him fly.”

You waited at the edge of the village the entire day, pacing, chewing your bottom lip, weaving and unweaving a small bracelet you’d started just to keep your hands busy. Every time you looked up, your eyes searched the skies, your heart jumping at the faintest sound of wings. And then, finally, you saw him.

Neteyam came soaring over the trees with the wind in his braids and the sun blazing behind him, riding the back of a fierce, sharp-beaked blue ikran. His smile was wide, radiant, full of victory. His yips of joy echoed across the forest and lit something wild in your chest. You didn’t wait. You ran—bare feet pounding across the ground, eyes stinging with happy tears—and launched yourself into his arms the moment he landed. He caught you effortlessly, laughing as you wrapped your arms and legs around him like a clingy yip-yip. “I did it,” he whispered into your neck, and you just nodded, tears soaking his shoulder. “I know,” you breathed. “I never doubted you.”

The next night, the village danced in celebration. Neteyam completed his Dream Hunt, bringing back a successful kill and presenting it with reverence. The people welcomed him as one of them—with chants, with firelight, with the steady pounding of drums. You stood beside his family, your heart full of pride. Lo’ak teased you all night, nudging your shoulder and muttering, “You’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?” And you did. But you didn’t care, you were so proud of him.

A year later, when you turned fourteen, it was your turn. And just like you had waited for him, Neteyam waited for you. He rose before the suns and flew to the floating mountains ahead of you, perched among the cliffs like a silent shadow waiting for you to arrive. You knew he was there watching, waiting, smiling. When you approached the ikran rookery, heart pounding, palms sweaty, your eyes fierce with determination, you didn’t know that far above, Neteyam held his breath with pride as he followed you below the waterfall, “you got this. Remember what I taught you.”

You tamed your ikran with grace and fire, your spirit strong and your heart steady. And when you paused. Neteyam ran up to you holding the rope around your ikran’s mouth and guided her to face the edge of the cliff. “First flight seals the bond, think fly.”

“Fly?” And just like that you took off, quickly finding a way to steady yourself in the back of your now winged companion, the grin on your face nearly split you open. He stood there on the cliff, hands cupped around his mouth as he cheered for you. You returned home flying side by side with feathers tangled in your braids and windburn on your cheeks, your soul forever changed. When you landed, Neteyam was the first to greet you. His hands framed your face, his eyes bright. “You were beautiful up there,” he said softly. “Like you were born to fly.”

You became one of the people that night, dancing beside Neteyam around the flames, your foreheads pressed together as the village sang for you. Jake lifted you into a strong embrace, calling you daughter with pride. Neytiri wept and braided a special feather into your hair. Kiri held your hand the whole ceremony. Even Lo’ak, grinning ear to ear, handed you a carved piece of bone shaped like a little ikran.

And Neteyam? He stood behind you the entire night, his hand warm on your waist, his eyes only ever on you. You were no longer just his shadow. You were his equal now, his partner. And it was written in every look he gave you.

The glances you exchanged held a different weight. Now you were fifteen and he was sixteen your bodies had begun to shift, you’d noticed it first in his arms, how they’d grown thicker with muscle from climbing, hunting, training. His chest had broadened, his voice deeper now, richer. You caught yourself watching him from the corner of your eye as he helped build or skin a kill, your stomach flipping each time his back flexed under the stretch of his bowstring. And he noticed you, too. Your hips had begun to curve, your stride more fluid. The paint across your chest during ceremonies now made his mouth go dry. You would catch him staring sometimes, pupils wide, a subtle swallow in his throat as he looked away too late. Neteyam wasn’t good at hiding it, and his siblings were relentless.

Lo’ak smirked every time you came around. “You’re staring again, big bro,” he’d nudge with his elbow, loud enough for you to hear, making your ears burn. Tuk would giggle and whisper, “You’re always looking at her,” and Kiri would grin with that knowing look and mutter, “You’ve got it bad.” Even Jake noticed, pulling Neteyam aside once with a teasing tone and a raised brow. “Keep your eyes in your head, kid. You’re not subtle.”

The heat between you two thickened during sparring practice. He’d pin you, hand against your hip to brace you, and linger a second too long. You’d roll over him to escape, but not before he noticed the way your breath caught. Your touches began to last longer, skin to skin in the most innocent ways that didn’t feel innocent anymore. Then came a moment, that humid afternoon after a hunt, when he walked behind you, offering water. You took it, brushing his fingers, and when you turned, his gaze was already on your mouth. His ears twitched, his throat moved like he wanted to speak. He didn’t. But his eyes said it all.

It started slowly, the shift in how others looked at you both. At first, it was almost laughable, how the same boys who used to pull your braid now stammered when you smiled. Or how the girls, once shy around Neteyam, now found every excuse to ask for help, compliments bubbling on their tongues.

You had grown used to the lingering stares, but what you hadn’t expected was Neteyam’s silence when one of the older hunters, Rokean, offered to walk you back to your kelku after training. You caught the flicker in Neteyam’s jaw, the way he adjusted his stance, too stiff, too still. Later, while cleaning your bowstring by the fire, he dropped down beside you with a grunt.

“Didn’t know you needed someone to walk you home now,” he said casually, picking at a loose thread on his chest strap. You paused. “Didn’t know I needed your permission either.”

His eyes flicked to you, sharp and unreadable. “You didn’t say no.” You scoffed. “I didn’t say yes, either. I was being polite.”

He leaned back, resting on his elbows, exhaling slowly. “He looked like he was ready to offer you his entire kill pile just to get you to smile again.” You turned to face him. “What’s your problem, Neteyam?”

“My problem,” he said, voice low, “is that I’ve seen the way you smile at me — and then I have to watch you give that same smile to someone else like it means nothing.” Your breath caught, heart hammering, but before you could snap back, the loud sound of laughter echoed nearby.

“Ohh nooo,” Lo’ak sing-songed, appearing from behind a cluster of trees, arms slung around Kiri. “They’re arguing again. What’s this time? Another boy tried to breathe near her?”

“Or a girl complimented his braid?” Kiri added dryly. You rolled your eyes and Neteyam looked away, lips twitching. Then came the softest voice.

“You’re not supposed to fight,” Tuk mumbled as she padded up, holding a leaf plate of fruit. “You’re supposed to love each other. Like kisses and hugs and babies.”

Both of your faces snapped toward her in horror. “TUK!” you squeaked. Neteyam choked on nothing. “What?!”

Little Tuk blinked slowly. “That’s what mama said happens when people love each other too much.”

The rest of the Sully family burst out laughing. Even Jake couldn’t hold it in. Neytiri buried her face in her hands, half-mortified, half-delighted. “You’re grounded,” Neteyam muttered, ruffling Tuk’s hair. “No, you are,” she said proudly. “You’re grumpy.”

You were trying not to laugh, your annoyance slipping away with the warmth of everyone around you. Neteyam leaned closer, voice quiet. “Still mad?” You didn’t answer, just nudged his knee with yours. He smiled. “Didn’t think so.” And though you didn’t say a word, the way your hand slipped into his as you walked off together made everyone, including Tuk, smile behind your backs.

But the jealousy went both ways, you just went as leveled headed as Neteyam. One day, you sat on a mossy stone near the gathering circle, fletching your arrows and pretending not to watch the lesson. Neteyam was helping Airi, one of the older girls in the village with her bow grip. She wasn’t exactly subtle, letting her hand brush his, laughing too loud at everything he said.

Your jaw clenched as you scraped the feather too hard, splitting it. Great. Across the circle, Kiri noticed. She nudged Lo’ak. “Uh oh. She’s got that look again.” Lo’ak followed your glare and snorted. “Poor Airi. She’s about to get shredded.” You stood, trying to keep your face neutral, and walked over just as Neteyam leaned in to adjust Airi’s arm. “Hmm,” you said lightly, arms folded. “Didn’t know bow training required that much touching.” Neteyam blinked, surprised, and then grinned. “Just making sure her stance is right.”

Airi smiled too sweetly. “He’s very helpful.”

You gave her a polite but tight smile. “He’s also very taken. Or is that part unclear?”

Airi blinked, caught off guard, her hand still awkwardly on Neteyam’s arm. “Oh—I didn’t mean anything, I didn’t think—”

“I know you didn’t thinkt.” You didn’t raise your voice, but it was firm with the same smile. “Maybe that’s the problem.” A beat of silence passed, thick and awkward. Airi gave a small, forced laugh, murmured something about needing to help her mother, and quickly walked off.

The second she was out of earshot, Neteyam let out a low whistle and crossed his arms, eyeing you with open amusement. “Damn.”

You turned toward him slowly, still tense. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His grin widened. “Say how hot that was?”

You shot him a look. “You didn’t stop her.”

“I didn’t even see her coming,” he said, laughing. “I was halfway through talking to Lo’ak about hunting patterns. She ambushed me.”

You huffed, still annoyed. Neteyam tilted his head, stepping closer. “You know, it’s funny.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Your eyes narrowed and put your hand to rest on your hip very sassily. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeated, voice low and teasing. “No official titles. No agreements. Nothing carved in stone.”

Your chest twisted. You hated when he did this, danced the line between teasing and truth, between almost and not quiet.

Then he leaned closer, eyes locking on yours. “But if I did? You know it’d be you.” You froze, caught completely off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. From behind, a snort of laughter broke the tension, Lo’ak, of course. “You guys are exhausting.”

Kiri added dryly, “One of these days you’re both just going to explode from the tension and take the whole kelku with you.”

“I like her better than the other girl,” Tuk said seriously, tugging on Neteyam’s tail. “She’s prettier. And funnier. And nicer.” You buried your face in your hands.

Neteyam chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can’t argue with that.” You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Not when he was this close, warm and solid and entirely too pleased with himself. And even though you wanted to stay mad… part of you was glowing. Because for all his teasing, you knew he meant it.

A few years passed, just like that. What started as sleepovers and sharing fruit as toddlers had blossomed into something much deeper, something no longer so easy to ignore. By the time you were seventeen and Neteyam had just turned eighteen, the change between you had settled in quietly but unmistakably.

The flirting had evolved from playful to lingering. The touches — brushing hands as you passed, his palm against your back when you ducked beneath the trees — stayed just a little too long. And the jealousy… that hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown more obvious. You saw it in the way Neteyam went stiff whenever another boy tried to flirt with you during hunts or communal dinners. Just like how your stomach would twist when one of the village girls leaned too close to him, laughing too loud at something he hadn’t even said.

Everyone saw it — the whole family. Kiri gave you side-eyes, Tuk giggled whenever she caught the two of you looking at each other. Even Jake had exchanged a knowing look with Neytiri once when Neteyam instinctively reached for your hand as you crossed a riverbank. Still, nothing had been said. Until the night he finally did.

Neteyam had asked you to meet him just after eclipse, near the glade where you’d learned to climb as kids. You thought maybe it was another stargazing night, like the ones you often shared in silence. But when you arrived, your breath caught.

He had cleared a space in the grass and lined it with soft, glowing petals. A few hung from nearby branches — not too many, just enough to make the air feel alive with light. In the center, he stood waiting, hands behind his back, eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

“You remember this place?” he asked softly, watching your face. You nodded. “You dared me to climb that tree,” you smiled, pointing up. “You had to carry me down after I got stuck halfway.” He chuckled, stepping closer. “I’ve carried you through a lot since then.” Your stomach twisted in the best way.

He took your hands in his. “I didn’t know how to say it before. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But I can’t hold it anymore.”

Your heartbeat like thunder in your chest. “I love you,” he said. Simply. “I have for years. You’re my best friend, my peace, the only thing that feels right no matter what else changes.” You stared up at him, blinking fast, your chest tight.

He smiled, breathless now. “And if I’m lucky… maybe you feel the same.” You didn’t answer with words. You stepped forward and pulled him into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind from him.

“I see you,” you whispered against his skin, and he melted.

When you pulled back, your eyes were glassy. “I’ve loved you too. I just didn’t know how to say it either.”

His smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You didn’t have to. I think I’ve always known.”

And when he kissed you — slow, reverent, trembling just slightly — it felt like the end of a question you’d both been asking for years. Ever since that night under the stars, everything between you and Neteyam had shifted.

There was no more wondering, no more hesitation, no more hiding behind half-glances and lingering touches. Now you could hold his hand openly in the village, sit a little closer during meals, steal little kisses when no one was watching. But the problem was… people were watching.

It started innocently enough. A few days after you’d officially become a couple, Neytiri had walked into the family kelku earlier than expected and found the two of you curled up in Neteyam’s hammock. Fully clothed, mostly, but definitely tangled together, your hands beneath his chest wrap and his lips pressed against your neck like he had no plans to stop.

She didn’t say anything, not at first. Just blinked, paused… and then quietly backed out of the space with a small smirk that left you burying your face in Neteyam’s shoulder while he cursed softly under his breath.

“She’s going to tell everyone, “You groaned. “She probably already has,” he whispered, but he kissed you again anyway. After that, the teasing began.

Lo’ak was the first to weaponize it. He caught you and Neteyam just outside the edge of the forest, your back against a tree and your mate’s hands far too low on your hips for brotherly comfort. Lo’ak didn’t even pause — just whistled as he passed.

“Don’t mind me, just trying to avoid eye contact so I can keep my vision,” he said loudly, laughing all the way back to the village.

Then came Kiri, who found you both late one night when she came to retrieve a healing pouch from the supplies and opened the wrong curtain — only to find Neteyam halfway beneath your wrap and your legs around his waist.

“AHHHH!!” she squeaked, backing out so fast she knocked over a water basin. The two of you froze, staring wide-eyed at the closed flap.

Even Tuk caught you…Twice. Once during a morning swim, when Neteyam pulled you into his lap and whispered something you really shouldn’t have giggled at. Tuk popped out of the water like a fish, wide-eyed and innocent. “Why is your face all red?” she asked you curiously. “Did Neteyam say something naughty?”

“Go swim,” Neteyam said immediately, flustered. “Go!”

The last time you’d been caught, it had taken a full week for Lo’ak to stop whistling teasingly every time you and Neteyam so much as stood near each other. But today, the pull between you was too strong. Just a few stolen minutes behind the large cluster of flowering trees near the family kelku—it wasn’t far, but just out of sight.

Neteyam had you pinned gently to the forest floor, his broad, paint-streaked body curled over yours, propped on his elbows to avoid crushing you. One hand was tangled in your hair, the other… was not where it should’ve been, tugging your tweng slightly aside as his mouth met yours over and over. The air between you was breathless—sweet, gasping kisses exchanged like secrets.

You had your hands on his back, fingers pressing into the muscle at his sides as you whispered, “Neteyam—” Then came a very small gasp.

“Neteyam?” a tiny voice squeaked. Both of you jolted in unison. There, just a few feet away, stood Tuk, eyes huge, hands clutching her toy beads. She looked confused. Then her lower lip quivered.

“Mommy!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “NETEYAM IS HURTING HER!!” Your heart stopped.

“Tuk, no! Wait, I’m not—” You scrambled up, dragging your tweng back into place, face burning.

Neteyam looked like Eywa herself had struck him. “Tuk—it’s not what it looks like!” Too late.

Tuk had already darted off in a blur, hollering, “MOMMY! COME FAST!” Seconds passed in a panicked blur before Neytiri burst into the clearing, bow drawn—followed closely by Jake, Lo’ak, Kiri, and an already-snorting Tuk. The scene they arrived to? You, breathless and flushed, your hair mussed. Neteyam crouched beside you, shirtless as always, hands raised like he was surrendering to the Great Mother herself.

“She—she thought I was—” he started.

“I thought she was hurt!!” Tuk insisted, tears pooling in her wide golden eyes. “She was saying ‘Neteyam—wait—’”

“Oh Eywa,” you groaned, dropping your face into your hands. Jake turned away, trying not to laugh. Lo’ak didn’t bother trying. “Bro. Again?!”

Neytiri sighed deeply and gave her son a long look. “Great mother Neteyam.”

“Oh my Eywa,” Kiri echoed, arms crossed.

Meanwhile, Tuk sniffled into Neytiri’s side, still confused. “But why was her tweng pulled down again?” You shrieked in embarrassment, as Kiri and Lo’ak started and uproar

Neteyam wrapped an arm around your shoulders and leaned in, whispering with a smug smile, “Next time… high in the trees?” You elbowed him. “Next time? There won’t be a next time.”

It had been years in the making, the two of you growing up entangled in a love that had bloomed slowly and deeply, like roots stretching beneath the forest floor. Everyone had seen it coming—long before either of you were ready to admit it. The glances, the lingering touches, the way Neteyam’s eyes always searched for you in a crowd and the way your laughter always came easiest in his presence. But still, nothing prepared you for the day he asked you to be his mate.

You’d been walking together through the forest, side by side as you always had, your fingers brushing now and then as they often did. He was quiet that day, more thoughtful than usual. You didn’t know where he was leading you until you reached that ridge above the canopy—the one with the clearest view of the floating mountains. You’d sat there many times before, watching the banshees in the distance, the sky changing colors like a slow-burning fire. But this time, he turned to you with a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before—soft, certain, a little nervous.

“I’ve known this since we were children,” he said, his hands gently taking yours. “Even before I knew what it meant… I knew you were mine. I want to make that true in the eyes of Eywa. Will you choose me? Will you mate with me for life?”

Your heart stilled, then surged. You had loved him for as long as you could remember—through the awkward childhood years, the teasing, the jealous stares, the stolen kisses behind trees. It was never a question. “Yes,” you whispered. “Always, Neteyam.”

He exhaled, his forehead resting against yours, both of you whispering, “Oel ngati kameie.” His lips brushed yours then—slow, reverent, full of all the promises he hadn’t yet spoken aloud. There was no pressure, no rush. Just love. You would wait for the ceremony. You would wait for each other.

The engagement celebration arrived just a few days later, and the entire clan seemed to vibrate with joy. Music echoed through the trees, lightstones glowing in woven vines above the gathering space. Neytiri had helped braid your hair that morning, her hands gentle as she whispered about her own mating to Jake, about the sweetness and seriousness of the commitment you were about to take. Jake, on the other hand, gave Neteyam a mock stern look and muttered, “I’m so proud of you boy. You earned a good one. Just try to keep it in your tweng until after the ceremony, yeah?”

Kiri hugged you both, whispering, “Don’t think we haven’t noticed all the disappearing acts and stolen touches. Eywa has eyes, you know.” Even Lo’ak smirked and raised his drink in a toast. “To the two worst liars in the family.” Tuk, sweet and wide-eyed, had thrown flower petals at your feet and loudly declared, “Now you get to kiss forever!”

As tradition dictated, you and Neteyam exchanged woven bands of hand-dyed fibers, made from plants you had both gathered together during a quiet week of preparing. They were simple, but beautiful—your initials carved in tiny beads sewn into the weave. You danced beneath the moonlight, your bodies close, eyes locked, his hand warm on your waist. It felt like flying.

Later, when the songs faded and the laughter quieted, Neteyam took your hand once more and led you to your new shared kelku, tucked beneath the giant roots of a banyan tree not far from his family’s. You’d helped build it together, but tonight was the first time you saw it finished. Lightstones glowed warmly inside. Feathers and woven flowers draped along the doorway, and the bed of moss and pelts was soft and inviting.

“I wanted it perfect,” he murmured, pulling back the curtain of vines to let you step inside first. Your breath caught as you turned, meeting his gaze. “It is.”

Inside, he was gentle—so gentle. Every kiss felt like a prayer, every touch reverent. You had both waited for this night, saved yourselves for it. There was laughter and clumsy shifting, soft sighs and long-held gazes. He murmured your name again and again, like a vow. And when the moment finally came, when you gave yourselves fully to one another, it wasn’t rushed or fiery or awkward. It was sacred. Yours. Together.

He held you through it, whispering encouragement, kissing away your nervousness, moving slow and with care. You clung to him, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat when pleasure overtook pain, and you realized just how deeply he loved you.

After, you lay tangled together, your head on his chest, your hand curled over his heart. The air still held the scent of the flowers he’d hung earlier, and the sounds of the forest hummed softly around you like a lullaby. He kissed your hair and whispered, “You are my forever, yawne.” You smiled against his skin. “And you are mine.”

Outside, the stars blinked gently through the treetops, and the moon cast soft light across your new home. And inside, beneath warm furs and whispered breaths, you slept curled in each other’s arms, truly mated, body and soul.

Not long after you and Neteyam were officially mated, it happened — you became pregnant. The signs came slowly at first. Your body began to change in subtle ways: your energy dipped, your appetite shifted, and there was a soft heaviness blooming low in your belly. Neteyam noticed before anyone else, before even you. He started watching you more carefully, guiding your steps when walking through thick roots, brushing your hair away from your face when you were tired, lingering with his hand over your abdomen when you rested. He didn’t say anything for a few days — just watched, waited, and loved you all the more gently.

When you finally told him, you placed his hand over your growing belly. You didn’t have to say anything; his eyes widened, and his whole expression softened into something almost reverent. “A baby,” he breathed. “Our baby.” And then he kissed you — slow and deep and full of wonder — before pulling you tightly into his arms. “Eywa has truly blessed us,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I will take care of you both. Always.”

The Sully family’s reaction was just as emotional. Neytiri pressed her forehead to yours and wept, hands cradling your cheeks as she whispered a mother’s blessing over you. Jake grinned and clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, shaking his head in amazement. “That’s my boy,” he said, laughing quietly. “Starting his own clan already.” Kiri was immediately fussing over you — bringing herbs, creating teas to ease discomfort, and weaving protective beads into your hair. Lo’ak smirked and muttered, “Great, now there’s gonna be a mini you running around,” but even he couldn’t hide the pride in his voice. Tuk was simply overjoyed. She wrapped her arms around your stomach and spoke to the baby as if they could already understand her. “I’m going to teach you all my games,” she promised seriously. “And we’ll eat fruit and swim and make trouble.”

As the seasons passed and your belly grew round with new life, you were never alone. The entire Sully family wrapped you in love and care. Clan members stopped by with gifts — soft cloth for the baby wrap, carved toys, fruits and roots rich with nutrients. Neteyam, though, was your constant. He helped you bathe in the cool springs when your back ached, carried you when your legs tired, massaged your feet when you couldn’t sleep. His hands were always gentle, reverent. He spoke to your belly each night, whispering stories, dreams, and promises. “You are already so loved, little one,” he’d say. “Your mother is the strongest soul I know. You’re safe with us.”

Then, one evening, the pain began. It started as a low pressure in your back, then came the waves — tightening, pulsing, until your body was trembling with effort. Neteyam didn’t panic. He scooped you up and brought you to your kelku, calling softly for his mother. Neytiri arrived swiftly, calm and collected. “It is time,” she said, brushing your sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Breathe, ma’ite. I will help you bring this child into the world.”

Neteyam knelt at your side, holding your hand, grounding you with his touch. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple between contractions. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Neytiri worked with the grace and strength of a seasoned mother. She guided you through each wave, spoke calmly even when your cries rose with the intensity. You gripped Neteyam’s hand, locked eyes with him, and knew — you could do this. With his love. With his strength. With your own. And then — a cry. Not yours.

Your baby was born under the canopy of night, with Neytiri lifting him gently into the air, his small limbs flailing, his voice strong and full of life. “A son,” she said, her own eyes shining as she handed him to you. “You have a son.”

Tears streamed down your face as you cradled him to your chest. Neteyam leaned close, arms around both of you, trembling with joy. “He’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it, yawne. You gave us a son.”

The family came soon after, quiet and wide-eyed. “His name is Eylan.” Neteyam told everyone. Neytiri placed a kiss on your forehead. Jake kissed his grandson’s tiny hand. Kiri smiled with misty eyes. Lo’ak and Tuk peeked from behind the doorway until they were invited in, and Tuk gasped, clutching her mouth. “He’s so small,” she whispered. “Can I hold him?”

That night, your kelku glowed with woven lanterns, the scent of sweet herbs, and the sound of lullabies. Neteyam held you close, his son resting on your chest, and whispered, “This is our beginning. And I will love you both for the rest of my life.” Time had a strange way of moving when your days were filled with joy.

Eylan turned one beneath the thick canopy of Home Tree, surrounded by warmth, song, and laughter. His wide amber eyes sparkled with the curiosity of his father, and his tiny feet already tried to run before they could walk properly. He giggled with wild abandon, often tumbling into arms always waiting to catch him — yours, Neteyam’s, or someone from the Sully family, all of whom adored him beyond reason.

Neteyam carved him a tiny wooden ikran, polished smooth with love, and painted it with soft, natural dyes. “So you can fly even before you’re big enough to ride,” he whispered to his son, lifting him high into the air with a grin as Eylan squealed in delight. That moment was one of hundreds. Every day, Neteyam would swing Eylan onto his shoulders and run with him through the trees, climbing, laughing, teaching him the sounds of the forest and the names of the creatures they passed. “This is your home,” he would say gently, tapping Eylan’s chest with two fingers. “Here, and here with us.”

The Sully family was hopelessly smitten with him. Tuk was his favorite playmate, often letting him ride on her back like a direhorse, giggling as she neighed and galloped through the roots of Home Tree. Kiri braided tiny strings of flowers into his baby hair, whispering gentle stories of Eywa, and Lo’ak — despite pretending to be too cool — secretly carved Eylan little animals out of soft wood, sneaking them into his sleeping furs at night.

Even Jake, who was always so focused, would sit down with Eylan and bounce him on his knee, speaking to him in English and Na’vi, smiling despite himself when the baby would babble back nonsense. Neytiri taught you how to soothe him when he cried and helped you prepare his first bow — though it was mostly for show, since Eylan liked to chew on it more than anything.

And between it all — it was you and Neteyam. Your bond grew even deeper, grounded in shared parenthood, laughter, and exhaustion. Late nights swaying with Eylan between your bodies, mornings where you awoke to Neteyam cradling him on his chest, humming softly, eyes half-lidded with peace. He was the most patient, most loving father you could have dreamed of. He told you that he had never known a love like this before — not just for his child, but for you, the mother of his son.

“Eywa has blessed me more than I deserve,” he said once, eyes locked on you both while you nursed Eylan under the flowering branches of a quiet grove. “You’ve made me a father, a mate… a man.” But peace doesn’t last forever.

The Sky People returned like a storm — metal crashing from the skies, fire scorching the land. In that first wave, everyone fought. Even Neteyam, young but fierce, took to the air with his bow and his ikran to defend what mattered most. For a full year, the Sullys waged war at the edges of the forest — watching, protecting, ambushing.

You kept Eylan close, never letting him out of your sight. Neteyam came back to you every night, stained with ash or blood or both, always checking to see his son sleeping safely in your arms before allowing himself to breathe.

There were nights where he didn’t speak — only held you and buried his face in your neck. “I don’t want him to grow up like this,” he murmured once, voice breaking. “He deserves to know trees, not fire.” When Eylan turned two, Jake finally said the words that shattered your heart: We have to go.

Neteyam protested quietly but understood. “To protect Eylan,” he said, holding his son tighter that night, “we must let go of everything we’ve ever known.”

The night before you left, you and Neteyam stood hand in hand, watching your kelku — the home where Eylan took his first steps, where Neteyam carved lullabies into the walls — one last time. You whispered blessings to the trees, and Neteyam lifted your sleeping son to the stars. “Eywa, guide us,” he said. “Guide our family to where he can be free.” And with hearts both heavy and hopeful, you turned toward the sea.

The sea was not the forest — not in the way it whispered, not in the way it held you — but in time, it became a new kind of home.

Arriving at the Metkayina village had been overwhelming. The open skies and endless horizon felt like another world entirely compared to the thick canopy you had once called home. You remembered how Eylan had clung to Neteyam’s shoulders, wide-eyed and quiet, watching the turquoise waves roll beneath the woven walkways.

You had been welcomed with caution. The Metkayina were kind, but wary. Their ways were not yours. Your bodies were different. Your tongues spoke in a slightly different rhythm. But you learned — all of you.

Neytiri, though her heart still longed for the trees, adapted with quiet grace. Jake trained beside Tonowari, his voice always calm but commanding. Kiri thrived — as if she’d been born from the sea itself. Tuk learned fast, her tiny braids always dripping with salt water, and Lo’ak… well, Lo’ak found love.

Tsireya — beautiful, graceful, radiant. Her laughter was a melody that rang through the cove like birdsong, and Lo’ak fell fast and hard. It was the kind of love that snuck up on him, the way it had for you and Neteyam all those years ago. She became a sister to you, her presence a comfort and joy. Her family welcomed you all in time — friendships forged through hardship, trust, and time. Ronal eventually softened, especially when she saw the way you raised your children with the same fire and patience she held for her own.

You remembered when Neteyam first brought you to the deeper reefs. Your fingers laced, the sun cutting gold through the waves as he taught you how to dive with your whole body, how to let the sea carry you. “This is freedom too,” he’d whispered against your skin as you surfaced, breathless and laughing. “Just a different kind.” Four years passed like water slipping through your fingers, quietly, steadily.

Eylan grew into a wild-hearted six-year-old, just like his father. He was fearless in the water, nimble with his ilu, sharp-eyed and fast. He learned to dive before many of the Metkayina children his age, and Tonowari even joked once that “the forest boy must’ve been born in the waves.” Neteyam beamed with pride, always the first to cheer when his son surfaced from a dive or speared his first fish.

Your family expanded, love growing even deeper between you and Neteyam. One starlit night, under a blanket of bioluminescent light dancing across the sea, you told him you were expecting again. He cried softly, cradling your belly with reverence. “Eywa gives me everything I never knew I needed,” he murmured into your neck. “You, our sons… our life.”

From the moment Likan was born, the Sully kelku overflowed with even more laughter, love, and affection than ever before. Neytiri had been the first to hold him after Neteyam, her hands gentle and sure as she cradled her newest grandson, whispering quiet blessings in Na’vi. She marveled at how much he looked like his father—Neteyam’s strong jaw, his deep golden eyes—but with your nose and the soft curl of your lips. She pressed a kiss to Likan’s brow and then turned to you, tears in her eyes. “Ma ‘ite, you and my son… you make such beauty together.”

Jake, too, was wrapped around Likan’s tiny fingers. Even more laid-back as a grandfather than he ever was as a father, he spent mornings showing Likan carved wooden animals he made just for him, while Eylan proudly helped paint them in bright sea-colored hues. “Two boys,” he’d say with a wide grin, tousling Eylan’s hair while Likan cooed in his lap. “You and Neteyam are in for it now.” But the pride was clear in his voice, and so was the joy.

Kiri, as always, was a natural. She carried Likan around on her hip with flowers braided in his hair, telling him long stories of Eywa and forest spirits. Likan loved the sound of her voice and often fell asleep curled against her chest as she whispered the tales of Home Tree. Tuk—who had long since appointed herself big cousin of the year—took her role seriously. She made matching seashell necklaces for both Eylan and Likan, always watching over the youngest with gentle care. The first time Likan said “Tuk” in his tiny voice, she cried and wouldn’t let go of him all afternoon.

Even Lo’ak, ever the wild one, became surprisingly soft when it came to Likan. He would let the baby climb all over him, even yank on his braids, never once complaining. He carried Likan on his shoulders through the shallows, pretending to be a tulkun, while Eylan rode proudly on Neteyam’s back beside them. “You’re just lucky you look like your mama,” Lo’ak teased once, pinching Likan’s cheek. “That’s why I let you drool on me.”

And Neteyam—Eywa, Neteyam. The way he looked at his sons was enough to melt your heart every time. He was a father so deeply in love with his family that every look, every laugh, every moment spent cuddled between the boys and you in the hammock, told its own story of devotion. With Likan sleeping on his chest and Eylan curled at his side.

Now at two years old, Likan was a constant companion to Eylan — always trailing behind him, squealing as he tried to mimic everything his big brother did. Neteyam was utterly taken with them both. He carved toys from driftwood, told them stories under the stars, and swam with Likan cradled on his back while Eylan darted circles around them. You watched often from the shore, your heart full beyond words. And though the forest still called to you sometimes in dreams… the sea answered back with peace. This was your home now. Your family. Your love.

A few months later you were sitting in the sand with Neteyam, just past the tree line where the sea met the forest, your legs stretched in front of you, your back against his warm chest. His arms were wrapped securely around you, one hand gently tracing the growing curve of your belly — not yet obvious to others, but known, deeply felt.

“You’re sure?” he whispered softly into your ear, his breath warm, his voice reverent. You smiled, fingers threading through his. “I’m sure,” you murmured. “I wanted to wait to tell you until I was certain. You’re going to be a father again.”

Neteyam’s breath caught. He froze, just for a second, then exhaled a shaky laugh of disbelief, joy breaking across his features like sunlight. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, your shoulder — then rested his forehead against yours. “Three,” he whispered. “We’re going to have three.”

You both waited until that evening to tell the family. The Sully kelku was alive with laughter and light. Tuk was trying to balance Likan on her back like a pa’li, and Eylan was using a shell to make “soup” out of seawater and sand. Lo’ak and Kiri arguing about minuscule things making Tsireya laugh. Jake and Neytiri sat by the fire, smiling at the chaos around them. When you took Neteyam’s hand and stood, all eyes turned.

“We have something to share,” Neteyam said, his voice gentle but steady. You couldn’t stop smiling as he placed a proud hand over your belly. “We’re expecting again.”

Gasps echoed. Tuk squealed, running to throw her arms around your waist. Neytiri rose quickly, mist in her eyes as she cupped your cheeks, her joy immediate. “Eywa has blessed us,” she whispered. Jake let out a whoop and clapped Neteyam hard on the back. Lo’ak tackled him in congratulations, and Kiri and Tsireya wrapped you both in a long, warm hug.

Even Ronal and Tonowari sent over gifts the next day — strands of woven pearls for you, a carved bone teether for the baby, a set of tiny sea-colored wraps. The whole village celebrated. For a while, everything was peace and laughter and hope. Until the demon ship came.

It was fast — the sky people returning in brutal force. The hunting party never returned. Roa, Ronal’s spirit sister, was slaughtered along with her calf. The waves turned red. The village turned silent. Jake called for the warriors to move — and Neteyam turned to you, gripping your arms tightly.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice low but firm. “Stay here. Watch the boys. Don’t leave the kelku, no matter what. I’ll come back. I promise.” Your heart twisted, but you nodded. You kissed him once, then again, pressing your forehead to his. “Come back to me,” you whispered.

Hours later, too many hours in your opinion passed, the sky and see had matching shades of orange when Kiri came stumbling in, “come, come, he is hurt.” She stuttered out and you didn’t need another word picking yourself up and running to the healer's mauri. Kiri close behind with Likan in her hip and Eylan clutching her hand.

The healer’s mauri was already crowded by the time you ran through the reef village. She hadn’t said much after those word—just “Neteyam” and “shot”—and that alone had been enough to steal your breath, to send your thoughts into a panicked spiral. You didn’t even stop to ask if he was alive. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to hear anything but “yes.”

Your chest was tight, your throat aching with the pressure of a scream that hadn’t yet found air. Kiri’s footsteps splashed behind you through shallow tidepools, your two sons in her arms and at her heels. You didn’t dare turn around. You were focused on one thing.

When you reached the healer’s mauri, you pushed aside the flap without hesitation—and froze. He was there. Laid out on a woven mat, bloodied and still. The wail that tore out of you was immediate, raw and unrestrained. “Neteyam!”

Jake was already kneeling beside his son, hands stained red, whispering soft prayers to Eywa. Neytiri sat with her forehead pressed against Neteyam’s hand, tears streaking her face. Lo’ak stood rigid in the corner, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack his own teeth. Tuk, curled in Neytiri’s lap, was wide-eyed and quiet, too young to understand all of it but old enough to feel the fear. When you stumbled in, the room shifted instantly.

You fell to your knees beside Neteyam, grabbing his hand, sobbing so violently it was hard to breathe. “Please—Neteyam, wake up. Wake up! Please!”

Jake reached for your shoulder, trying to steady you, but you pulled away, your entire body curling over Neteyam’s as if your love alone could protect him from whatever force had done this. “Mama?” Eylan’s little voice broke behind you. You turned around sharply, wild-eyed, as Kiri entered, holding Likan on her hip and Eylan’s hand. The boys stopped short at the sight of their father.

“Mama, what’s wrong with sempu?” Eylan asked, clutching Kiri’s leg, voice quivering. “Why is he all red?” Your breath hitched. Likan looked around, confused and teary. “Is Daddy sleeping?” You pressed your hands to your mouth, eyes wide and brimming with tears. You tried to speak, but nothing came out—only broken sobs.

Kiri gently passed Likan to Neytiri, who cradled him and Tuk together, her arms trembling. Jake picked Eylan up and sat down beside you on the mat, placing the boy in your lap and anchoring your shaking hands around him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he said, firmly but gently. “I know. I know it’s hard. But he’s alive. He’s fighting. Look at him.”

You barely heard him. Your eyes were locked on Neteyam’s face, unmoving, pale save for the angry red of dried blood. Eylan looked up at you, his tiny hand pressing to your cheek. “Why are you crying?” he asked, sniffling. “Is Daddy gonna go to Eywa?”

“No!” you gasped out, shaking your head too fast. “No, no, baby—he—he’s not—he’s not—” You couldn’t even finish. You broke again, hugging Eylan to your chest, your other hand reaching toward Neteyam even as your entire body shook.

Neytiri passed Likan to Lo’ak, who gently bounced him as he stood, whispering, “It’s okay, little guy, Daddy’s gonna be okay.” But you could see his jaw trembling too, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Neytiri came to you, kneeling beside you and pulling you into her arms, guiding your head to her shoulder while you sobbed.

“You are not alone,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You don’t carry this alone.” Kiri had tears on her face too, but she wiped them away as she pressed a damp cloth to Neteyam’s brow. “We got to him in time,” she said quietly, mostly for your sake. “Tsireya stopped the bleeding. He just needs rest. Healing.”

Jake was silent for a long moment; his eyes locked on his eldest son. Then he reached over, brushing Eylan’s curls out of his eyes, and said, “Your dad’s the strongest person I know, kiddo. He’ll wake up. You’ll see.”

You just cried harder, holding your boy as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. And all the while, Neteyam lay still, his hand warm in yours. A breath of life—but only barely.

You clutched Eylan to your chest, holding him so tightly he whimpered, confused, but not resisting. His round eyes flicked between you and his father’s unmoving body. His little fingers fisted in your hair as your cries began—raw, broken, guttural. You were saying his name over and over, as if it alone could tether his soul back to you. “Neteyam… please… please…”

You barely noticed Lo’ak nearby, now crouched low, arms full of Likan who writhed and whimpered and cried against his uncle’s chest. The toddler was panicking, struggling to reach for you, reaching out with one hand while he clung to Lo’ak with the other. His small voice was cracked from crying, his face wet with tears, overwhelmed by the sight of both his parents falling apart in front of him. You didn’t notice Kiri until she was right beside you. She didn’t speak.

She simply knelt, calm and sure, and slid her arms under Eylan’s small body. He resisted only briefly, but the tears on your face, the shaking of your shoulders, it frightened him. He let go of your neck and went into Kiri’s hold, his lower lip trembling as she stood and turned away, taking him to the edge of the mauri.

Only when his weight left your arms did you suddenly feel how hollow they were. You turned back to Neteyam, grabbing at his hand, kissing it, whispering to him as tears continued to pour from your chin to his bare chest. Your trembling fingers brushed his braids back from his sweat-damp face, desperate for anything, any sign—any flicker.

Likan was screaming now—soft, broken screams of confusion and fear. Neytiri appeared behind Lo’ak, arms open, and Lo’ak handed his little nephew off gently. Likan’s tiny fists pounded at her shoulder, face pressed to her neck as she rocked him, whispering softly, shielding him from the sight of his father.

The mauri entrance stirred Ronal entered first, sharp-eyed and focused, followed closely by Tsireya and two other healers. Their arms were full of salves, herbs, warm cloth. The moment they entered, the air changed urgency replacing fear. “You must move,” Ronal said, not cruelly, but firm.

“No,” you gasped, clutching Neteyam’s arm, burying your face in his shoulder. “No, I can’t—he needs me—I need to stay—”

“He will not survive if we cannot reach him,” she said, already setting her things beside him. Tsireya crossed to the other side and knelt. Her voice was softer, coaxing. “Please. Let us help him. You’ve done all you can.”

You didn’t hear yourself sob. You didn’t feel your body convulsing with every breath. But the arms that pulled you back were familiar—Jake’s. You resisted at first, claws curling into the woven mat. “No—no, please—I can’t—please, no—”

Neytiri approached, still rocking Likan, who was hiccuping against her shoulder, his little voice warbling with the last of his strength. She kissed his head and crouched beside you. “Let them save him, ma’ite. You must let go for now.”

“No, no no no I can’t,” you whispered through choked sobs. Jake pulled you back slowly, and you crumbled into him, your face buried in his chest as your hands reached blindly for your mate.

Kiri was nearby, holding Eylan close, whispering softly. Lo’ak paced beside her, running his fingers through his hair, glancing back constantly at Neteyam. Tuk stood just behind her mother, silent, holding her own tears in a tight, trembling grip. And there, in that mauri, with your heart breaking open and your sons crying for comfort you couldn’t give, you watched as the only person who could soothe your storm lay still unmoving while the healers began their quiet, desperate work. The moment the flap of the healer’s mauri closed behind you; it felt like the world fell silent—then exploded into anguish.

You dropped to the sand as if your legs no longer knew how to hold you. Jake had carried you out, his hands firm but careful, his jaw clenched with grief. He tried to speak, but you had already broken into pieces in his arms, and there were no words that could hold your weight now. Gently, he set you down and immediately turned back for Tuk, who had come stumbling out moments after, her face a pale mask of confusion.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Her wide eyes just watched her family unravel. Jake bent down, scooped her into his arms, and held her like she was the last solid thing in his life. He kissed her forehead again and again as she clung to him, asking over and over, “Is going to Neteyam okay daddy?” Jake had no answers.

You knelt just beyond the entrance, in the pale sand outside the mauri, your body trembling uncontrollably. The sobs that escaped you were unhinged—raw, cracking your chest open in a way that made Lo’ak look away, jaw tight, his own eyes shining. You gasped like you couldn’t find the air. Like breathing itself betrayed you. You clutched your stomach—your growing belly—and cried out his name.

“Neteyam! Neteyam! Please—please! Wake up! I can’t—he can’t—” The words never finished. Your throat closed around them.

Lo’ak was the one who caught you this time, sliding to his knees and pulling you into him. You fought him at first—your hands pushing against his chest, trembling with the desire to get back inside, to feel Neteyam’s warmth, to stop this nightmare. But Lo’ak held you, arms locked tight around you like a brace, grounding you when the world kept spinning. You crumpled into him, shaking violently, your sobs muffled in his chest. “He’s cold, Lo’ak. He was so cold. He looked—he looked—gone.”

Lo’ak couldn’t speak for a moment. His throat was thick, lips trembling. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the crown of your head. His voice was hoarse when he finally said, “But he’s not. He’s not gone. He’s alive. Tsireya stopped the bleeding. Ronal’s working on him now. He’s gonna pull through. He has to.” Your arms clung to him like a lifeline. “I need him… I need him…”

“I know,” he whispered. “We all do.” Nearby, Kiri sat cross-legged in the sand, Eylan tucked into her lap. The little boy was crying silently now, exhausted, tears streaking his cheeks as he leaned into her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances even as her own face was stiff with fear. She kept glancing toward the mauri, her heart clearly still with her brother.

Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, wailing louder now—not because of Neteyam’s absence, but because he could feel the pain in his family, see the desperation in your cries. “Mama! Mamaaaa!” he hiccuped into his grandmother’s neck, reaching his arms toward you, but Neytiri gently rocked him and whispered, “Shh, little one. Let her breathe. She’s just scared. She loves you. She loves your sempu.”

Jake, holding Tuk close, had crouched in the sand a short distance away. His face was stone, but his eyes—red and glossy—betrayed the cracks inside. He held Tuk’s small head against his shoulder as she finally started crying, her confusion becoming real fear. “Why is she screaming?” she asked. “Why can’t we go help?”

“She’s scared,” Jake said softly. “And we’re just waiting now. Giving Neteyam time to be okay.”

Kiri gently leaned her head down, pressing her forehead to Eylan’s. “Your daddy’s strong, ma ‘itan,” she murmured. “He’s going to be okay. But you need to be brave too, alright? Your mama needs you to be brave.”

You didn’t hear any of it. You couldn’t. Everything was a blur. A tunnel of sound—your heart pounding, your sobs relentless, your baby squirming in your belly as if they, too, could feel your terror. Lo’ak held you as your cries lost their sound and became breathless heaves, his own hands trembling as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“You can’t fall apart,” he said, but the words weren’t harsh. They were trembling. “Not yet. Not when he’s still fighting in there. You know Neteyam. He’d never leave you. He wouldn’t.”

The world was muffled behind your tears. But your ears caught the soft, broken cries of your sons again, and your heart lurched. Your lungs burned as you forced yourself to look around.

Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, clinging tightly to her as fat tears rolled down his round cheeks. At two years old, he didn’t understand any of this—just that something was terribly wrong. He let out a pitiful whimper, burying his face in her shoulder, sniffling and murmuring, “Mama… mama, dada… where dada?”

Eylan sat quietly now in Kiri’s lap just a few steps away, tear tracks fresh on his cheeks, his little fingers curled in the fabric of her chest wrap as he looked between you and the mauri hut. His voice was quiet but clear. “Why won’t Daddy wake up?” You broke. Again. But this time it was different. This time you didn’t fall into your grief—you leaned into your sons.

Lo’ak gently released you as you dropped to your knees, arms open for Eylan. Kiri didn’t hesitate; she leaned down and let your boy shuffle into your arms. He clung to you instantly, curling against your chest, his little breaths shaky.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’m right here, my love.”

You felt movement behind you—Neytiri came forward and knelt beside you in the sand. Her arms eased Likan into yours, his soft, warm body curling against your other side. The moment your arms closed around him, he gave a wobbly cry and pushed his face into your neck, still trying to speak through his distress.

“Dada hurt? Dada owie?”

“No, baby,” you murmured, rocking them gently, tears still falling. “He’s going to be okay… He’s just sleeping. Just sleeping…” And then, finally, the world slowed.

The sky darkened above you as the sun dipped lower, the air thick with salt and grief. You sat there, tucked beside the mauri, your sons pressed tightly to your chest, tears still running silently down your face. The rest of the family formed around you.

Jake sat just behind Neytiri, arms wrapped protectively around Tuk, who trembled in his lap but didn’t make a sound. She stared at the entrance of the healer’s mauri like it might swallow her whole. Kiri curled next to you, brushing your hair back, her own eyes rimmed red but her touch soft, calming.

Lo’ak finally lowered himself to the sand beside you and sat in silence, head in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling with shallow breaths. One of his knees bumped against yours—close, supportive. He didn’t say anything more. No one did.

For a long time, the Sully family simply sat in a circle around you. Pressed together. Supporting each other in silence. Each face painted with pain and fear; each heart suspended between hope and horror. But together.

You clutched Eylan and Likan closer, your lips brushing their hair, whispering soft things that didn’t always make sense—just your voice, soothing, constant, loving. And in that quiet, broken moment, you remembered: you were still a family. Still together.

The night had long since fallen, the sky above painted with stars scattered like beads of light across deep ocean blue. The air was cool now, and the soft crash of waves against the reef was the only thing filling the silence outside the healer’s mauri. The Sully family hadn’t moved far — they couldn’t. Not with Neteyam still inside, still unconscious.

You were seated on the sand, legs folded, your arms wrapped tightly around both of your sons. Eylan was curled in your lap, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your chest wrap. He’d cried until his voice broke, then fallen asleep against you, lips still quivering in dreams. Likan, your littlest one, had cried himself hoarse in Lo’ak’s arms. When your sobs had calmed just enough to take him back, Lo’ak wordlessly passed him over, holding the back of your hand for a moment as he did, grounding you without needing to speak.

Now, Likan lay tucked across your legs like a baby ilu, one hand curled in your songcord, the other clutching his father’s discarded sash. His cheek was wet, pressed to your belly where his unborn sibling stirred gently in your womb — safe, for now. His small chest rose and fell with heavy, exhausted breaths.

Lo’ak sat directly beside you now. He hadn’t left your side since you’d been dragged from the mauri. His arm brushed yours, his shoulder nearly touching. Though he wasn’t saying much, the tension in his posture spoke volumes — hunched slightly forward, fingers fidgeting over a seashell bracelet, jaw clenched like he was fighting every wave of panic. His eyes, normally so full of mischief and light, were dim. He kept glancing toward the mauri flap like if he blinked, something would change.

Jake sat not far off, his strong arms wrapped around a sleeping Tuk. She was curled tightly in his lap, her small face still damp with tears. Neytiri had one hand on your back, rubbing slowly, her presence like a warm fire in the cold. Kiri was nearby too, legs pulled close to her chest, her gaze occasionally drifting to you and the boys, then back to the healer’s tent.

Tonowari stood quietly at a respectful distance, his wife having disappeared back inside some time ago. Aonung sat cross-legged just behind Lo’ak, giving space, but still clearly there — watching his friend, his second brother, with the protectiveness of someone who’d become family too. No one spoke.

The stillness was heavy, the kind of silence born from fear and hope and bone-deep exhaustion. But Neteyam was alive. You repeated that over and over in your mind like a prayer, like a chant to keep your heart from tearing again. Neteyam is alive. He is breathing.

You tightened your arms around your boys. Lo’ak’s hand reached over in the quiet and touched your shoulder, squeezing gently. You leaned into him for a moment — both of you needing it more than you’d ever say out loud.

The flap of the healer’s mauri finally shifted. Everyone’s head snapped up, every breath caught. You clutched your sons tighter, both still asleep against your chest and belly, and Lo’ak’s hand instinctively moved from your shoulder to your back, steadying you.

Ronal was the first to emerge. Her expression, always unreadable, was softer now — solemn, but without panic. Her hands were streaked with drying blood up to the forearms, her chest rising in quiet, measured breaths. Tsireya followed a heartbeat later, her eyes already shining with unshed tears, but her mouth curled in a small, hopeful smile.

“He lives,” Ronal said gently, looking at the circle of broken hearts around her. Your breath hitched, and Neytiri gasped softly beside you. Jake let out a quiet, choked sound and pressed his lips to Tuk’s hair, hugging her closer in his arms.

Lo’ak slumped forward, burying his face in his hands with a trembling exhale. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“He is stable,” Tsireya continued, stepping forward, her voice softer, for you. “The wound was deep… but it missed anything vital. We have stitched it well and given him salves for pain. He is sleeping now — deeply. He may not wake for some time… but his spirit is strong.”

You couldn’t stop the tears. Silent, steady drops falling down your cheeks, soaking into Eylan’s curls. “He’ll wake up?” you asked, barely a whisper.

Ronal nodded. “Yes. In time. But he must rest. His body must heal.” Your arms tightened around your children. You nodded through your tears, leaning your head down to kiss both your sons on their brows. Neteyam wasn’t lost. Not this time. Not this battle.

Kiri let out a shuddering breath and leaned into Neytiri’s side. Neytiri took her hand. Jake looked to the sky as if thanking Eywa herself.

Aonung stepped forward and crouched next to Lo’ak, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Brother will be alright,” he said simply. Lo’ak just nodded, still pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, silent tears slipping through.

Tonowari stepped forward at last, kneeling beside you. “You are welcome to stay here, all of you,” he said gently. “As long as you need. You are not alone.”

You looked up at him through your blurred vision and nodded gratefully. “Thank you… thank you…” Ronal placed a hand gently on your head — a rare, maternal gesture from her. “Soon, you may see him. Not yet. But soon.” You nodded again, your throat too tight for words, and pressed your cheek to Eylan’s little shoulder.

After that night, the one that tore the sky open above you — it was Neytiri who suggested moving Neteyam. She spoke quietly, like she might break if she raised her voice. “He should be home,” she said, eyes red-rimmed. “With you. With his sons. Where he belongs.”

And so, gently, the family helped you move him to your mauri — the small sea-shelled home you and Neteyam built with woven love and endless laughter, now filled with echoing silence. Jake carried his son’s weight like a ghost, Kiri and Lo’ak flanking either side. You stayed close, one hand on Neteyam’s chest, the other wrapped protectively around your swollen belly.

It wasn’t far from the Sully mauri. Close enough that no one ever knocked, and no one ever asked to enter. And so, your home became the heart of the family — the place everyone gathered, watched, waited. Grieved. Nights were the hardest. The soft sounds of the ocean couldn’t mask the ache.

Eylan slept between you and Neteyam, fingers always curled in his father’s braids. He would whisper, childlike and sure, “I think Daddy can still hear me. Right, Mama?” And though your heart would squeeze in pain, you nodded. “Yes, baby. He hears every word.”

Little Likan, barely two, still too young to understand, would crawl across Neteyam’s unmoving chest and giggle like nothing had changed. “Dada sleepin’,” he would murmur, laying his head down. “Shhh, baby sleeping.” Your heart cracked, over and over again.

One quiet afternoon, as you rubbed your aching belly and tried not to cry, Lo’ak sat beside you, legs crossed, elbows on knees. He watched Neteyam in silence for a while before saying, “You know, he always said he’d be the best dad. Like he wanted to prove something.”

You glanced at your sleeping mate. “He didn’t need to prove anything. He already was.”

Lo’ak smiled sadly. “I think… I think he was afraid. Of becoming like Dad. Of being too hard. Too… heavy.”

“He’s not,” you whispered. “He’s light. Always was.”

The Sully family never stayed away. Jake would come by early mornings to sit near Neteyam’s mat, just watching him with a hard jaw and teary eyes. Neytiri often brought steaming bowls of herbal broths and helped brush Likan’s hair from his eyes. Tuk curled against Neteyam’s arm every chance she got, small voice rambling about whatever creature she’d found that day.

“He’s still warm,” she said once, looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “So that means he’s still in there.”

“Yes,” you murmured, brushing her hair back. “He’s still with us.”

Kiri came often too, singing over Neteyam’s still body, lighting healing oils, and wrapping arms around you when your breath caught from the pressure of the growing baby inside you. Tsireya and Ao’nung came by almost every day.

Tsireya would gently take Likan into her arms and hum soft Metkayina lullabies while you rested. “You are being so strong for your boys,” she said once, when your hands trembled too much to feed yourself.

Ao’nung was quieter, surprisingly so. He didn’t speak much, but he would bring fish, or woven toys for the boys, or sit near the edge of the mauri, his gaze flickering to Neteyam’s form with guilt and worry that never quite left his face. Once, you caught him whispering, “Come back, forest boy.”

It was your little family that held the world together. Eylan curled beside Neteyam at night, whispering stories about jellyfish and fish chases with Uncle Lo’ak. “Daddy needs to hear what he missed,” he would say matter-of-factly. Likan would climb onto your lap and ask, “Baby come soon?” then lay his tiny hand on your belly and say, “Tell Dada wake up. We waitin’.”

And you would lean into Neteyam’s chest, brushing your fingers over his jaw, whispering into the hollow of his throat, “You have to come back, ma yawne. They need you. I need you.”

Even though your world had cracked, you weren’t alone in the pieces.

Three moons had passed since the day your world cracked in two. Neteyam lay motionless on the center mat of your shared mauri, surrounded by silence and warmth and the weight of his family’s endless love. His chest still rose. His heart still beat. But his eyes… they never opened.

The boys had adapted, in a way only children could. Eylan had stopped asking when his father would wake. Instead, he stayed close, laying his tiny reed mat beside Neteyam’s every night, whispering stories into his ear about fish he’d seen, shells he’d found, dreams he’d had. “So when he wakes up, he knows everything, Mama,” he’d explain.

Likan didn’t understand. Two years old and all big eyes and chubby fingers, he still climbed onto Neteyam’s chest every morning and curled up, waiting for his father’s arms to wrap around him. Sometimes he laughed, babbling in half-sentences. Sometimes he cried. You never stopped watching.

And your belly — it was so round now. Eight months. You could feel every kick, every shift of the baby inside. Every night, you whispered to your unborn child as you stroked your mate’s still face. “Your sempu is here. He just needs more time.”

Norm and Max had come again that morning, quiet as always. They carried their strange, blinking human tools and moved around Neteyam’s mat with practiced care. They checked the IV that fed his body fluids and nutrients, adjusted the monitor that tracked his vitals. “He’s still holding on,” Norm said gently, not looking you in the eye”

“I don’t need him to hold on,” you muttered. “I need him to wake up.”

Lo’ak stood near the entrance of the mauri, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched. He hadn’t left your side in weeks. He helped with the boys, helped you up when your back ached too much to rise, helped keep you breathing when everything inside you begged to scream.

That night, Eylan climbed into your lap beside Neteyam. “Mama,” he whispered, stroking your arm, “when is sempu gonna talk to me again?” You froze. Your hands tightened on his little back. “I miss daddy,” Eylan continued. “I think Likan does too. He cries sometimes for daddy.” You couldn’t hold it in. You turned your face away and let the sob break through. Eylan reached up, brushing away a tear. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby. Eywa, no.” You kissed his forehead, hugging him tight. “He loves you more than anything. He just… he’s sleeping very strong.”

“Like when the fish go deep for the cold moons?”

“Exactly,” you lied, smiling through the ache. “But he’ll come back.”

Later that night, after the boys had fallen asleep — Likan curled on Neteyam’s chest, Eylan tucked under his arm — you stepped outside. The stars shimmered over the ocean, and the sound of waves broke softly against the reef. You didn’t cry this time. You just breathed.

“I’m scared,” you whispered to the sky. “He’s missing everything. Every kick. Every day the boys grow. He hasn’t even heard this baby’s heartbeat.”

Lo’ak appeared behind you quietly. “I know.” You turned to him, voice trembling. “What if I have this baby alone? What if he never—”

“You won’t,” he said, stepping forward. “We won’t let you be alone. I know I’m not him, but I swear… we’ve got you. I’ve got you.” You sank into him, tears finally returning. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want him.”

“I know,” Lo’ak whispered, pressing your head to his shoulder. “I want him to wake up too.”

Ronal came the next day, her presence as quiet and firm as ever. She set a bowl of warm herbs beside Neteyam’s mat and applied a paste along his temples. You watched as she murmured prayers and touched his chest.

“He is tethered,” she said finally, glancing at you. “You are the cord that keeps him here. Keep speaking to him.” You nodded, though your heart was so tired.

Tsireya came later, bringing new salve for your aching legs and sweet-smelling herbs for the boys. “We haven’t given up,” she said gently. “You shouldn’t either.” Even Ao’nung came by more often now. He didn’t speak much, just brought fresh fish or sat with Lo’ak near the shore when he needed space.

And still, your stomach grew. Every movement of the baby inside you brought both awe and fear. You’d lie next to Neteyam at night, his arm draped lifeless across your middle, and whisper, “They’re almost here, ma tìyawn. Please… please don’t miss this.”

But the days kept passing, and one month later, the pain came like fire—deep, sharp, and wrong. It was still dark outside the mauri when it woke you, seizing your breath and curling your body forward instinctively. You gasped, a broken cry ripping from your throat as you clutched your swollen belly. You knew what it meant. “No—no no no,” you whispered, panic rising fast. “Not now. Please not now.”

Your pain woke the boys, who both began to cry in their half-sleep—frightened, confused by the sound of your agony. “Mama? Mamaaa?”

You couldn’t even answer. You barely registered the door flap flying open, Kiri and Neytiri rushing in. Kiri dropped to your side. “It’s the baby,” she breathed, feeling your stomach. “You’re in labor.”

“I won’t do it,” you gasped, trying to stand—only to collapse into Neytiri’s arms, trembling. “I won’t—I can’t! Not without him!”

“He would want you to be strong,” Neytiri said quickly, but her voice cracked. “You have to be strong—please, for the baby.”

Tsireya and Ronal arrived next, gathering supplies and laying out a woven mat across the floor beside Neteyam’s still form. You shrank away from them, clutching your belly like it might hold the pain back.

“You need to lie down,” Tsireya said softly.

“I said no!” you cried. “I’m not having this baby without him! He was supposed to be here! He was supposed to hold my hand—he promised!” Ronal looked to Kiri, silently asking her to calm you, but before she could move, a voice cut through the panic.

“Y/n I’m surprised at you I really am, this…. this is not how I thought you’d handle this.” Lo’ak stood in the doorway. Pale. Tense. Eyes rimmed red from weeks of holding back every emotion that now pulsed right beneath his skin. Kiri opened her mouth, clearly ready to tell him to leave. “Lo’ak, maybe give her some—”

But he walked straight past her. He knelt down in front of you, gently brushing your damp hair back, speaking quietly so only you could hear. “I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. But you don’t get to quit right now.” You shook your head, voice cracking. “You don’t understand—”

“No, I do,” he said, cutting you off gently. “He was supposed to be here. I know that. And this isn’t fair. None of this is fair. But you’re not alone.” Your eyes welled up again, and you looked away.

Lo’ak leaned closer. “You’re not doing this for just you. You’re doing it for the baby. For Neteyam. For your little boys who still need their mama cause they’re crying cause you're in pain. You don’t get to quit on them. You don’t get to quit on me.” Your lower lip trembled as a contraction surged again, and you folded into it, screaming. “I know there’s a lot of things going on here we can’t control, but this, we can do this.” He caught you as you slumped forward, gently guiding you down onto the mat Tsireya had prepared. The moment you hit the floor, the room shifted.

Kiri immediately began gathering towels and boiling water. Neytiri scooped the boys into her arms, quickly passing them to Jake who waited just outside to rock them even as tears streaked her own cheeks. Ronal positioned herself at your feet, checking how far along you were. Tsireya set her hands at your side, grounding you in soft whispers.

Lo’ak didn’t move from behind you, sitting cross-legged so your back could lean into him, just like Neteyam had done for your first two births. He took your hand in his. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into your ear. “Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another contraction came, and you screamed into his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. “I know it hurts,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “I know everything feels like it’s falling apart, but this baby is yours and his and they’re ready. You just have to help them get here.”

“I don’t want to do it alone,” you sobbed.

“You’re not alone,” he said, pressing your forehead to his. “Look at me.” You opened your eyes—barely.

“I’m here. Kiri’s here. Mom’s here. Tsireya and Ronal are here. You are surrounded by people who love you. We’re not letting go. You can do this.” You let out a shuddering breath, nodding once. “Okay.”

“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s all I need. When the next one comes—push. I’ve got you. I swear.”

The room shifted again—calm in the storm. Ronal nodded. “The baby is crowning. You must push.” You closed your eyes, tears falling fast, and squeezed Lo’ak’s hand as the next contraction came. You pushed. Screamed. Cried. And Lo’ak held you through every second of it.

Your chest heaved, sweat glistening on your skin as your trembling arms cradled the impossibly small bundle against your chest. She was still crying—tiny and sharp and alive. And Lo’ak… Lo’ak was still behind you, arms braced on either side of you, steadying you like a living pillar. His chest pressed to your back, chin briefly lowering to your shoulder as he whispered, “You did it.”

You couldn’t answer—not yet. Your voice was trapped in your throat, and your heart was thundering too hard, but you nodded weakly, tears falling freely down your cheeks.

Tsireya leaned close, her smile wet with emotion. “She is strong,” she whispered. “Just like her sa’nok.”

Ronal was quiet, checking your daughter’s tiny fingers, murmuring something under her breath maybe a prayer, maybe thanks to Eywa. “I’ll go tell them,” Neytiri said softly, already turning toward the mauri flap. Her hand trailed along your shoulder as she passed. “They are waiting.”

You could feel Lo’ak’s breath on the back of your neck. His voice was hoarse when he said, “She looks like Neteyam.” That broke something in your chest. You nodded, lips trembling. “I know…”

She was beautiful. She was warm and breathing and here. And yet… Neteyam still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t seen her. Not yet. You shifted slightly, and Lo’ak helped you ease backward, supporting you so that you were resting against his chest, your newborn daughter swaddled snugly in your arms. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding his hand until you felt his thumb gently stroke over your knuckles. Then the flap lifted again.

Jake entered first, quiet and slow, with a child in each arm. Tuk still clung to his side, sleepy and blinking, and beside her was your oldest—Eylan, eyes wide with worry, searching.

“Mama…?” he said softly.

Your breath caught. You sat up straighter. “Eylan,” you whispered. He ran forward before Jake could even say anything, reaching out toward you. You held out your free arm, and he climbed up next to you, careful but eager, immediately peeking down at the baby in your arms. “Is that the baby that was in your belly?”

You nodded, voice soft and cracking. “Your sister, yeah.” He gasped quietly. “She’s so small…”

“She’s perfect,” you said.

Lo’ak shifted behind you, his hands never leaving your shoulders, still there like an anchor. Jake stepped closer, kneeling with Likan in his arms. “He woke when he heard her cry,” he said gently. Likan rubbed at his eyes with a little fist, clearly still tired, but the moment he spotted you and his brother, he reached out. “Mama…”

You nodded, arms full, and Lo’ak moved for the first time, gently helping take Likan from Jake and nestling him beside you, right between you and Eylan. Both boys now tucked into your side, wide-eyed and curious. “Look,” you murmured. “Your little sister.” Likan blinked at her. “Mama Baby…” You nodded, kissing his forehead.

The flap to the mauri was still drawn open, and behind Jake came Neytiri and Kiri, the whole family drawn like a tide around you. They didn’t crowd. They didn’t speak loudly. But the space filled with warmth—blinking away the cold ache of the months of silence. Your daughter squirmed a little, letting out a tiny sneeze.

“Oh,” Eylan whispered with a giggle. “She sneezed!”

“She’s a strong girl,” Jake said with pride, voice a little rough as he tucked a few braids behind your ear. “Just like her mama. Just like her brothers.”

You looked to Lo’ak then. He caught your gaze, then leaned close enough to kiss the crown of your head. “You did so good,” he murmured. “Neteyam would be losing his mind right now.” The lump in your throat swelled again.

“I wish he could see her…”

“He will,” Kiri said gently, her voice from just beside the boys. “He’s still here. And when he wakes up, we’ll tell him everything.”

Lo’ak looked at you, his voice a low, sure thing. “We’ll tell him how brave you were. How beautiful she is. How she cried just like Likan and wriggled like Eylan when they were born.”

“And how much we missed him,” you whispered. Lo’ak nodded.

Tuk came forward then, kneeling beside the boys, and smiled at the baby in wonder. “She’s really here…” she whispered. “What’s her name?”

You paused, heart pounding. You hadn’t chosen it yet. Not without him. “I uh— I haven’t chosen one yet, Neteyam normally has finally say but this time we…I don’t know yet.” I tell the family and Lo’ak squeezed my arms softly his fingers running up and down them. “It’s okay, you’ll name her when you’re ready.” He whispered speaking for everyone.

The air in the mauri is thick with warmth, sweat, blood, and silence. Somewhere just outside, Neytiri hums to Likan, rocking him slowly. Kiri is tending to your newborn, her steps soft. Tsireya is quiet, watching the Eylan sleep, giving you space.

It’s just you and Lo’ak now. The curtain drawn. A bowl of warm water beside him, and you, aching and barely awake, lying half-curled under a blanket, eyes glazed with exhaustion. You don’t even flinch when you feel the cloth on your thigh. His touch is gentle, almost too gentle like he’s afraid of you breaking.

“…Lo’ak?” your voice cracks. He doesn’t look at you. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

The cloth moves carefully over your skin, down the inside of your thigh where the blood dried hours ago. Normally, this moment is sacred, Neteyam’s hands, not Lo’ak’s. Always Neteyam’s. After every birth, every hard night, every wound. It was Neteyam who bathed you, held you, kissed your shoulders in the firelight. Only him.

This feels too close. Too much. Your voice trembles. “You don’t… have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Is it weird?” You swallow. “You can ask someone else—”

“I know,” he cuts in, gently. Finally, his eyes meet yours. And the look in them — it undoes you. It’s not pity. It’s not lust. It’s something else. Raw, reverent. Careful. Fractured.

“It is weird,” he admits, voice low. “But not because I don’t want to help you.” He dips the cloth again, wrings it slowly. “It’s weird because this isn’t mine. This moment. This part of you. It’s his.” Your breath catches. He lowers his eyes, begins wiping you again — the inside of your knees, the curve of your hip. Nothing improper. But your skin burns under his touch.

“I used to wonder what it felt like,” he murmurs suddenly, “being needed like that. The way you always looked at him after the births. Like he was the only person who knew where you ended and started again.”

You say nothing. You can’t. His next words are barely audible. “Now I know. And I wish I didn’t.” The silence hangs so heavy it could break. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears slipping sideways into your hair.

“I’m not,” he says softly. Then after a beat, a shaky breath escapes him, and he tries to smile — the kind that barely holds. “…Though I gotta say,” he adds gently, “I never pictured the first time I’d see you naked would involve this much blood and crying.” You laugh — a strangled, wet sound. “Lo’ak—!”

He grins, but it’s quiet. Tired. Tender. “Hey. I made you laugh. That counts for something.” The cloth slips back into the bowl. He covers you gently, then sits there beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes. It should not feel this way. He should not have seen this much of you. Should not have touched your skin. Should not have looked at you like that. But he did. And you let him. And in the soft dark, with your mate still unconscious and your body raw from birth, you realize… You’re not sure where the line is anymore.

At first, it’s still about the kids. Lo’ak carrying Eylan when the boy is too sleepy to walk, playing with Likan in the dirt while you rest with the baby sleeping on your chest. He never complains. Never acts like it’s too much. But the way he watches you begins to change — it becomes quieter. He’s more careful. Always aware. He doesn’t hover. But he notices everything.

When your arms start to tremble from holding the baby too long, he’s already there before you ask. He doesn’t make a scene — he just crouches beside you and gently takes her from you, cradling her like she’s his own blood, offering that crooked half-smile you’ve seen a thousand times before. Except now it feels different.

When you try to eat, one hand balancing your daughter and the other too sore to lift much of anything, he kneels next to you. No teasing, no fuss. He just takes the food and feeds you with quiet patience, like it’s normal, like you’ve always done this dance. There’s a rhythm forming between you that neither of you meant to create.

“You either eat this,” he says once, “or I eat it and tell everyone you starve me.” You roll your eyes. But you open your mouth. The next time, you lean forward before he even lifts the bite. The first time it goes too far is at the river. You sit on the edge of the rocks, staring at the water, your body aching and raw, and no one else is free. You don’t even say anything. You don’t need to.

“I’ll help,” Lo’ak says, not looking at you. “Just the shallow edge. You don’t have to move much. I’ll look away.” And he does. Always.

But his hands are gentle when they brush your back. His silence is heavy. And when he hands you the cloth and cups the water for you, your hands touch — just for a moment — and your breath catches, and neither of you mention it.

He still returns to Tsireya’s arms every night. He kisses her when she brings herbs to help with your healing. He rests his head on her lap while she hums over his braids. He holds her hand when they walk together, when they sit by the fire, when she laughs too loud and he smiles just watching her. He is still her perfect partner.

But something in him has gone quiet. Especially when it’s just the two of you. He stays a little longer than he should. Touches your shoulder more than is necessary. His eyes linger when they shouldn’t. He steps into Neteyam’s absence like he was born into it, without ever being asked.

And Tsireya notices. Not everything. Not enough to accuse. But enough to pause. One evening, she watches from across the marui as Lo’ak gently lifts the baby from your lap, tucks the blanket higher on your legs, and smooths your hair away from your face. His fingers hesitate there, just for a moment, brushing your skin like it means something. Like it hurts to let go. She doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

You try not to rely on him. You hate how easy it’s become — how when you need something, when you so much as look tired, Lo’ak is already there. You try not to look for him, not to listen for his voice, but you do. And you catch yourself waiting for him, for the sound of his feet in the sand.

You hate the heat in your chest when he speaks your name gently. The soft way he says, “Eat. You need your strength.” You hate that sometimes — just sometimes — you wish it wasn’t just kindness. That it meant something more. Because it’s Lo’ak. Because you love Neteyam. Because you’re still his. Because you shouldn’t feel this.

But you lean your head against his shoulder one quiet afternoon while your boys laugh nearby. And he doesn’t move. He just lets you stay there, still and warm and silent. His fingers brush your wrist — the barest touch — like it anchors him. Or maybe anchors you. Neither of you speak. But something has shifted. Quietly. Unmistakably. And it’s getting harder to ignore.

The baby’s asleep again, her soft, steady breaths rising against Neteyam’s bare chest. You’ve bundled her there every night now — it’s the only place she seems to settle. Her little hand rests right over the bullet scar. Your fingers twitch every time you look at it.

You sit beside them; knees pulled to your chest. The lantern burns low, casting long shadows across the woven floor. The boys are asleep near the doorway, Likan curled against Eylan’s back like a fern folding in the night.

You don’t expect Lo’ak. Not this late. But the flap rustles, soft and careful, and he steps in — quiet, like he doesn’t want to wake anyone. His hair’s damp. He smells like the sea. He sees you and stops. “I thought you’d be asleep.” You give a tired shrug. “Can’t.” His eyes flick toward the baby on Neteyam’s chest. “She’s there again.”

“Every night.” You feel the breath leave your chest, sharp and bitter. Lo’ak crosses the marui, lowers himself to sit beside you. You don’t look at him. “Tsireya okay?” you ask, voice low.

“Yeah. She’s… she’s good.”

“Did she want you to stay?” A pause. “Yeah.”

“Then why are you here?” He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the fire.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that when you’re not.”

You glance at him. “And what if I’m not?” He meets your eyes, steady and too soft. “Then I stay.”

You don’t say anything. Not for a long moment. The only sounds are the baby’s tiny sighs, the breath of the wind outside, the creak of the marui walls. You shift, hugging your knees tighter.

“I miss him,” you whisper. “Even though he’s right there. I miss him like he’s already—” Lo’ak turns quickly, hand reaching for yours. He grips it tight, grounding you.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t say it.” You look down at your joined hands.

“I’m so tired, Lo’ak,” you breathe. “Of being strong. Of pretending I don’t need help.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You exhale a shaky laugh. “You’re not supposed to be the one holding me together.”

“Maybe I want to.” His voice is lower now. There’s something in it that curls under your skin — a crack you shouldn’t notice, but you do. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Really looking. The firelight flickers over his face, the high cheekbones, the small scar near his jaw, the dark, aching eyes.

Your voice comes out quiet. “This feels…” He doesn’t let you finish.

“I know.”

He shifts closer, slowly, like he’s not sure if he should. His fingers brush your cheek, just once. You don’t stop him. He leans in, just enough that his forehead grazes yours. Just enough to steal your breath.

“If I kiss you right now,” he murmurs, “will you hate me for it?”

Your heart stops. You don’t answer. And he doesn’t move. You sit like that — too close, too quiet — with your foreheads barely touching, your breaths syncing, your hands still joined.

“I still love him,” you whisper. It’s barely audible.

“I know,” he says again. “I wouldn’t ask you not to.”

Then the baby shifts. A small sound. A flutter of fingers against Neteyam’s chest. You both freeze. And just like that, the moment shatters. You pull back slowly, blinking fast, like coming up for air. Lo’ak leans away, breaking contact, hand sliding from yours. He looks wrecked. Like he’s been caught in something he didn’t mean to start.

“I should go,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moves. Your hands are still touching. Just your fingers. Barely. And the silence between you tightens, not like tension, but like grief. Like hunger. Like everything you’ve tried not to feel has risen to the surface and is begging to be touched.

He looks at you. You look back. He leans in. And this time, you don’t look away. Your breath catches, but your body doesn’t flinch. His hand brushes your cheek again, fingers trailing behind your ear, so soft it almost doesn’t register. Almost.

“Lo’ak,” you whisper. Just his name. Nothing more. But it cracks.

And he breaks. He kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Terrified. He’s not rushing. He’s not devouring. He’s aching. His lips press to yours like he’s asking for permission he already knows he shouldn’t need. Like he knows it’s wrong — but more than that, he knows it’s too late.

And still… you kiss him back. Only for a second. Maybe two. It’s not passionate. Not carnal. It’s not even romantic. It’s just grief. Muted and drowning. A moment where you aren’t the woman holding everything together. You’re not Neteyam’s mate. You’re not a mother. You’re just you.

And Lo’ak is the only one who sees that. When he pulls back, he stays close — forehead against yours, breath ragged. “Shit,” he whispers, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” You say nothing. Because you’re not. Not yet. Your chest is rising too fast. Your hand is still on his wrist. You can feel his pulse beneath your thumb.

“I didn’t mean—” he starts. “Yes, you did,” you say. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… honest. And it shatters him. He nods. “I know.”

Then a soft sound breaks the air — not from the baby, not from the boys. From Neteyam. A shift. A breath. You both turn. He hasn’t moved. Still and unchanged. But the guilt crashes into you anyway. Heavy. Sharp. You pull back completely, hands to your lap, your chest squeezing like it’s too full to breathe. Lo’ak stands up slowly. “I shouldn’t have—” You cut him off, eyes still on Neteyam. “It’s okay..” you whisper. “But I think you should go.”

He hesitates. Just a second. Then he leaves. And you sit alone in the half-light, your baby sleeping on her father’s chest, your heart pounding from another man’s lips. You don’t cry. You don’t panic. You just stare, swallowing the weight of it — knowing that something has changed. Knowing that if Neteyam wakes up tomorrow, if he looks at you the way he used to, you will never be able to tell him. But you’ll feel it.

The next morning, Neytiri was brushing your baby girl’s tiny curls back from her forehead, humming softly, when you approached. “Can you take them to Ronal for their checkups?” you asked quietly, trying not to wake your daughter. “She wants to see them today.”

Neytiri turned, giving you a look that read deeper than words. “Are you all right?” You hesitated. “I just… need a moment.”

She nodded, collecting the baby in one arm and calling softly to Eylan and Likan. Your boys rushed over, Likan clinging to your leg briefly, then letting go when Neytiri took his hand.

You kissed each of them, your heart squeezing tight as Likan babbled a sleepy, “Mama be back? “Soon,” you promised. “I love you.”

With Neytiri leading them off toward the reef healer’s marui, you turned away. But your heart stayed behind.

Lo’ak was exactly where you expected — perched alone where the reef cliffs met the sea, his feet dangling above the water, arms resting on his knees. The wind pushed through his hair, the waves whispering beneath. You approached quietly and sat beside him, not too close. He glanced sideways. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I had to.” He looked back out at the ocean. “I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.” You nodded. “Me neither.” A pause stretched out. You could feel the weight between you — not heavy with love, not sweet with longing. Just guilt. Raw and too recent.

“What we did…” he said slowly, “I keep trying to explain it to myself. I know it wasn’t about love. Wasn’t even about wanting each other like that.” You watched the horizon. “We were just too tired. Too empty. We found each other in that space.”

“I still hate that it happened.” You swallowed. “Me too.” A moment passed. Then, quietly: “But I don’t hate you for it.” He looked over. “I don’t hate you either.” The wind picked up, salt brushing your skin. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” you whispered. “But I don’t want it to happen again.” His eyes fell to the ground. “It won’t.”

“Good,” you breathed. “Because I can’t lose him. And I still feel like I’m losing myself.” Lo’ak’s hand reached out, fingers brushing yours gently.

Not holding. Just… acknowledging. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “Eventually.” Just then — a scream carried across the reef. “GET HER—GET HER NOW—HE’S AWAKE—!”

You both bolted upright. Kiri’s voice. Your heart slammed into your ribs. “Neteyam?!” you breathed. And then Lo’ak grabbed your hand without thinking, and the two of you ran. By the time you reached the mauri, the entire reef was there. Ronal. Tsireya. Ao’nung. Neytiri with the baby held protectively in her arms, boys pressed into her sides. Jake knelt by the mat.

Neteyam was sitting up. Blinking. Awake. Lo’ak skidded to a halt beside you, breath ragged. Your legs wouldn’t move — not at first. Kiri turned to you, eyes wild with tears. “He opened his eyes. He said something—he looked around, but—” You pushed through them all, falling to your knees at his side.

Neteyam looked at you, face pale, chest rising with effort. His gaze slid over you, confused but calm. You smiled through the tears. “Hi. Hey. I’m here.”

He blinked again. “Are you… the healer?” The words hit like ice water. Your breath caught. “What?” Jake turned sharply. Neytiri’s lips parted. Neteyam looked around slowly. “I… where am I? What happened?”

You didn’t feel your legs give out, but suddenly you were leaning forward, gripping the edge of the mat. “I’m—” your voice cracked. “I’m your mate. Your wife.”

He stared at you like you were speaking another language. Neytiri stepped forward, voice soft and shaking, “itan… Neteyam… this is your wife. Your children are here. You are safe.”

Neteyam’s brows furrowed. “Wife?” He looked at your baby in her arms. At Eylan and Likan — their golden eyes wide and scared. His eyes were blank. Tsireya stepped back, hand over her mouth. Lo’ak stood frozen beside you, his face twisted in disbelief, grief washing over him in a silent wave.

Neteyam’s gaze landed on him last. “Lo’ak,” he murmured. “I… I know you.” But even that seemed uncertain. Lo’ak stepped closer. “Yeah, bro. It’s me. I’m right here.” Neteyam squinted, nodding slightly. “You look… older.” And then he looked at you again. Eyes searching. Still not recognizing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know who you are.” You didn’t break down. Not yet. But your hand slipped from the mat. And Lo’ak was the one who caught it.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Neytiri stepped forward again, her voice low and tender. “Neteyam,” she said gently, kneeling beside you, “this is [Name].” You watched his eyes flick to her, then back to you. The name hung in the air. He blinked slowly, and something passed across his face. Not clarity — but a glimmer.

“[Name],” he repeated, tasting it. “I know that name.” Your heart jumped. You shifted, leaning in, desperate for more. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, you do.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place a memory behind fogged glass.

“You had long braids even at a five-year-old,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. “You followed me everywhere. You made me that ugly stone necklace and cried when I said it stank” A soft laugh caught in your throat, half-sob. He looked up again, blinking hard. “That was when we were… kids. That’s all I remember.”

Jake exhaled quietly through his nose. Kiri covered her mouth, face crumpling. You reached for his hand, but he shifted just slightly — not in rejection, but in confusion. He stared at your touch like it was unfamiliar. “I don’t understand,” he said again, voice cracking. “Why is everyone crying? Why do I feel like I’m… missing something? A lot of somethings?” He turned his gaze slowly toward Jake. “How long was I out?”

Jake hesitated. “Months,” Neytiri said softly, before her husband could answer. “You were shot. You almost—” She cut off. Her eyes burned. Neteyam looked down at his chest then, slowly lifting his fingers to touch the healed but angry scarring beneath the cloth. His breathing hitched.

His head snapped back up. “Months?” He looked around wildly now — at the baby, at the boys pressed into Neytiri’s side, at the reef around him he didn’t recognize. His fingers curled tightly into the bedding. “I—I don’t remember this place,” he stammered. “I don’t remember being here. Why are we not in the forest?”

“The…the sky people returned we came here because they were hunting us,” Jake said gently. “We all…live here now. Me, your mom, siblings and your wife and kids. This is our home now.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, more panicked now. “Why does everything feel wrong? Why do I know her name but not her voice? Not—” His voice cracked. “Not those kids?” Eylan whimpered softly. Likan shrunk against Neytiri’s side, clinging to her braid. The baby stirred in Neytiri’s arms and let out a soft, fussy noise — and Neteyam flinched at the sound. His eyes snapped to her. He stared.

“She’s… mine?” he asked. “Ours?” You nodded, your voice almost inaudible. “She was born while you were still… still asleep, just a couple weeks ago.” He dragged a hand down his face. “No. No, this doesn’t make sense.”

“Neteyam—” Kiri started, moving forward. “I don’t know her,” he said louder, looking at the baby. “I don’t know them. How can they be mine?”

Lo’ak tensed beside you. You could feel it in his grip. You turn to your boys who were shying away from their father saying he didn’t know them and your heart ached.

Neteyam’s breaths were picking up, eyes darting. “Why don’t I remember you?” he asked again, his voice climbing toward panic. “If you’re my mate, why don’t I feel it? Why does it feel like I’m seeing my own life from outside?”

You leaned in, your hand still lightly on his, even though he wasn’t returning the touch. “Because something happened,” you said quietly. “And we don’t know why yet. But I’m here. And we’ll figure it out.”

He stared at you for a long time. Then whispered, “I feel like I’m drowning.” You nodded, a tear falling as you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“So am I.” Neteyam didn’t pull away this time. He just looked at your hand on his, blinking back tears he didn’t quite understand.

And Lo’ak, still kneeling beside you, kept holding your other hand, jaw tight, not speaking a word. You sat frozen, still holding your breath, your hand gently resting on his.

Neteyam’s gaze was on you — no longer searching, just… overwhelmed. His eyes were wide. Distant. Then, slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand away. It was a soft motion. Not cruel. Not forceful. But deliberate. Your heart cracked again. He pressed his palms flat to the mat, his shoulders hunched slightly as if he were curling in on himself, trying to make sense of a world that was too loud, too big, and far too unfamiliar.

You swallowed hard and pulled your hand back, fingers trembling in your lap. Neytiri’s face shifted, like something inside her folded in half. Lo’ak’s arm brushed yours. Subtle. Silent. “I’m sorry,” Neteyam said again, still staring down. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just—” he shook his head, a quiet panic rising again in his voice. “It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.”

Jake stepped forward then, slow and calm, crouching near his son. “Neteyam, you’ve been unconscious for a long time. Your body survived, but something’s wrong with your memory. You don’t remember the reef. You don’t remember what happened. And that’s okay. We’re gonna help you through it.” Neteyam barely nodded. He still wasn’t looking at anyone. Only the floor. A small voice broke the stillness.

“Neteyam?” Everyone turned. Tuk. She had slipped through the gathered crowd, her steps careful and quiet. Her big golden eyes glistened with tears as she crept toward the mat, holding something in her arms — a small shell toy he’d carved years ago.

She knelt near him and offered it up with a little smile. “You made this for me when I was little. Do you remember?” Neteyam looked up and froze. His brows furrowed hard, confusion blooming deep. His eyes roamed over her face, her frame, her tiny shaking hands. “I…” he blinked. “I don’t know you.” The silence snapped sharp. Tuk’s smile faltered. Her lip quivered, and she clutched the shell tighter to her chest.

“I’m Tuk,” she whispered. “I’m your baby sister.” Neteyam’s face had gone pale again. “No, I—no. I have one sister. Kiri. That’s all. You weren’t… there.” You could feel Neytiri’s body tense, just a breath away from crumbling. Tuk’s chin wobbled. “But I was. You used to braid my hair. You used to carry me everywhere when I was small—”

“I don’t remember,” Neteyam said, voice cracking. “I don’t remember you. I’m sorry, I don’t—” Tuk’s face fell, and the shell slipped from her fingers. Kiri was already moving, sweeping her into her arms and pulling her away as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Tuk buried her face in Kiri’s neck and sobbed. Neteyam shut his eyes tight, pressing his palms to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I don’t understand why everything hurts.” Your own tears blurred your vision as you watched him — not just lost but shattered inside his own mind.

Neteyam’s breath hitched again. He stared at the place Tuk had stood, hands still braced on the mat, knuckles pale. He didn’t look at anyone now. He couldn’t. And then, like a dam breaking everything scattered. Jake stood swiftly. “I need to call Norm and Max,” he said to no one and everyone, already stepping toward the sat phone near the far wall. “If this is neurological, they’ll know what to look for.”

Ronal moved forward without a word, her face set in that unreadable Tsahìk calm. She knelt beside Neteyam and placed her hands lightly over his head and chest, lips murmuring prayers too soft to catch. Tsireya and Ao’nung stepped back to give her room, their hands linked tightly. Tsireya looked like she might cry. You didn’t move at first. You were still kneeling right where Neteyam had pulled away. Right where he’d looked at you and not known who you were.

It hit you then, all of it. The months of keeping it together. Of surviving. Of healing. Of pretending you could carry all this weight alone. It caved in without warning. Your breath snagged. Your hands trembled. And then you stood, barely feeling your legs move, and backed away. Slow. Silent. Like if you just got far enough away, maybe it wouldn’t crush you.

You didn’t stop until you reached the far side of the mauri, your back pressing against the woven wall. But your eyes never left him. You kept watching. As if sheer will could force his memories back. “Mama?” The small voice broke you. Eylan was at your side, his little hand wrapping around yours, eyes wide with confusion. Likan toddled behind him, thumb in his mouth, clinging to your leg. You sank down, arms wrapping around both of them. And then Neytiri was there too.

She knelt on the floor beside you without a word and pulled you into her arms like she used to when you were young. When you scraped your knees or cried after fights with Neteyam. She knew her son needed her in this moment, but her daughter needed her more. You clung to her tightly, your face buried in her shoulder, trying not to sob.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, voice splintered. “I don’t know how to help him. I can’t lose him again. I can’t.” She stroked your hair, arms strong around you. “You haven’t lost him, ma’ite. He’s here. His heart still beats. You brought him back.”

“But he doesn’t know me,” you said. “He doesn’t remember… us.” And just behind you, Lo’ak kneeled his hand brushed your shoulder, grounding you. “I’m here too,” he said quietly. “You are not alone.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving the figure across the room. Still staring at your mate. Your love. The father of your children. Still watching the way he looked around the mauri like he was on another planet.

The mat was still where it always was, yours and Neteyam’s. But it hadn’t felt like his since the day he woke up. Now, it was you and the boys. Eylan curled into your chest, Likan wrapped around your leg, the baby in the woven basinet beside you, close enough to touch. Neteyam watched you from across the room, the firelight casting your silhouette in soft gold. You were quiet, always tired, always holding one child while keeping an eye on the others. Always doing something. And he… just watched.

He slept on a new mat, set up on the other side of the mauri. The distance felt necessary. That first night when he’d pulled away from you—when he saw Tuk and didn’t recognize her—it was clear. He wasn’t the same. He remembered his mother’s voice, his father’s hands, Lo’ak’s laugh, Kiri’s connection to the forest. But he didn’t remember you as his wife. He didn’t remember the baby, the boys. And Tuk—she wasn’t even born in his memory either. The look in your eyes when he’d asked who you were, never left him.

Since then, the mauri had been a blur of movement. Jake had sent word to Norm and Max. Ronal checked on him every day. Tsireya and Aonung kept their distance, though Tsireya’s eyes lingered sometimes when she looked at you. Kiri stayed close. Neytiri moved between you and Neteyam like she was split in half. Everyone tried to act like things were normal. They weren’t.

You never asked Neteyam to come back to the mat. You let him choose. You never tried to force the baby into his arms. Never corrected the way he hesitated when Likan reached for him. But he noticed. He noticed everything. He saw how you carried it all—how you shifted the baby with one arm while holding Likan’s hand, how you smoothed Eylan’s hair and soothed him to sleep while the others cried. You never asked for help, but you didn’t need to. Lo’ak was always there.

Lo’ak, who should’ve been carefree. Who should’ve still been the younger brother. But Neteyam saw how he moved around you like he’d done this all before. Helped you wrap the sling for the baby. Tied the back knot without needing to look. Lifted the basket out of your way without being asked. Fed Likan. Braided Eylan’s hair. Caught you when your legs almost gave out. And it wasn’t just helpful—it was natural. Familiar. Too familiar.

One morning, Neteyam watched as Lo’ak pressed a hand to your back while you sat feeding the baby, whispering something that made you exhale a tired laugh. Your head dropped forward, and he gently lifted the hair from your face. The touch was soft. The kind of soft that made Neteyam’s stomach twist.

Later that day, you stumbled again as you were going to a fussy Likan, only for a second and Lo’ak was there, catching you before you hit the ground. His hands went to your waist. You gripped his arms to steady yourself, eyes meeting in silence.

Neteyam stood up. The room shifted, just slightly. Kiri paused. Neytiri looked up. “I’ll do it,” Neteyam said, voice sharp. You turned, confused. Lo’ak blinked.

Neteyam crossed the space and reached for Likan, who had been fussing on the floor. His hands were unsure, but the moment Likan saw him, the toddler’s arms lifted in recognition. Neteyam picked him up. Held him. He didn’t even know if he was doing it right. But Likan laid his head against his chest and didn’t move. It was the first time Neteyam held one of his children since waking up. Something cracked open.

That night, he watched you sleep again. Your body curled around the baby. Eylan sprawled out beside you. Likan using your leg as a pillow. You hadn’t even noticed how your hand remained outstretched, resting on the basinet like you needed the baby within reach. You looked like a home. His home. But it felt like you were a thousand miles away.

Lo’ak came in quietly and crouched beside you. He brushed your hair back. Whispered something. You nodded. Neteyam’s jaw clenched. His fists curled in the blankets.

The next few days, Lo’ak pulled back. Let Neteyam help first. Watched from a distance more often than he acted. He never said anything about it. But Neteyam noticed that, too.

He noticed the quiet glances from Kiri when he didn’t know how to soothe the baby. The way Neytiri held both you and Tuk in the mornings. The way Jake’s eyes lingered on him with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Everyone knew he was missing something. And they were waiting.

Neteyam was trying. Trying to remember. Trying to learn. But more than anything, he was trying to understand how he could forget you. How you could be his mate, and he couldn’t feel it. How Lo’ak could touch you like that, help you like that, and somehow it didn’t seem wrong to anyone, except him.

And still, the baby slept with her cheek to your chest. Likan wrapped his hand in your braids. Eylan reached for you when he woke crying.

Neteyam sat on the edge of the mat, stiff and quiet, watching his own hands like they weren’t his. Max crouched in front of him, scanning a pad while Norm gently rotated a small light near his temple. Every time Neteyam blinked, it felt like he was waking into a world he didn’t recognize.

You sat nearby, the baby still asleep in the shallow woven basket beside you. Eylan was curled into Lo’ak’s lap again, sucking on his thumb — not out of habit, but anxiety. Likan was sprawled across your thigh, little fingers tangled in the strings of your chest wrap.

“I’m going to ask you a few things, okay?” Norm said gently. “No pressure. Just answer what you can.” Neteyam nodded slowly.,“What’s your name?”

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.” Norm smiled, “that’s good,” encouraged. “And your parents?” Neteyam looked across the room at Jake and Neytiri. “Ma sa’nok. Ma sempu.”

“Do you remember where you grew up?”

“The forest. The Omatikaya clan” He glanced around the reef mauri. “This place is… new.” Max nodded. “You came here during the war after the sky people returned. That’s okay you don’t remember yet. What about your siblings?”

Neteyam hesitated. “Lo’ak… and Kiri. I remember them.” His brow furrowed. “But that little one—” he pointed at Tuk, who stood near Neytiri, peeking out from behind her legs. “I don’t know her.” Tuk shrank back slightly, confused. Neytiri placed a protective hand on her head. “That’s Tuk,” Jake said gently. “Your youngest sister.”

“I never met her,” Neteyam murmured, voice flat. You glanced down, heart sinking. Norm didn’t let the pause linger. “And this woman?” He nodded toward you. “Do you remember her?” Neteyam looked at you for a long time.

“I know her name,” he said quietly. “I remember her from before. When we were little. She always followed me around.” You almost laughed at that, even through the ache. “But after that… nothing,” he whispered.

“Neteyam,” Max spoke up, shifting tone. “You’ve lost all memory past a certain point in your life. It’s not unusual in cases like this — trauma, brain swelling, lack of oxygen, coma…”

“I’ve been asleep for months?” Neteyam cut in, sharp as if to confirm it again. Jake stepped forward. “Yes.”

“And you’re all just… what? Waiting for me to get up?”

“Of course we were,” Neytiri said softly. He rubbed at his chest like it ached. “But I don’t even remember learning how to fight. Or fly. Or the war. I don’t remember being a husband or a father—” He stopped. Looked at the children.

“You’re telling me they’re mine, but I don’t feel it.” Lo’ak’s jaw twitched. Tsireya stepped beside him. “It’s okay to feel lost.”

“Is it?” Neteyam shot back, and his tone was more edge than emotion. Silence crept through the mauri. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Neteyam turned to his brother, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’ve been helping. With… them.” His gaze flicked to you. “Why?” Lo’ak blinked. “Because she needed help.”

“You seemed very close,” Neteyam said, voice careful. Lo’ak frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stepped in finally, firm but calm. “It means he’s scared. And confused. And this is all too much for everyone involved, especially him.”

Neteyam looked at you, jaw tense. “I just don’t understand how I’m gone for a few months, and suddenly I wake up and my little brother knows more about my life than I do.”

“That’s not what happened Nete—”Lo’ak stood, slowly setting Eylan down beside him cutting you off. “Bro, none of us wanted this. I helped because I had to. Because I love you. You think this was easy for anyone?”

You stood too, placing a hand on Lo’ak’s arm before it escalated. “Stop. Don’t fight. Please.” Jake’s voice was heavy. “We all did what we had to.”

“I’m not even mad about it,” Neteyam muttered, running a hand over his face. “I probably should be but, I just feel like I woke up in someone else’s life. A stranger’s life.” Neytiri moved to kneel at his side. “It’s not someone else’s life, ma’itan. It’s yours. We will walk with you until you find it again.”

Tsireya leaned gently into Lo’ak, whispering something that calmed him. He exhaled hard, jaw clenching, but he nodded.

Max tapped something on his pad. “We’ll give you space. The best thing now might be small pieces. Familiar things. Let him be around his family. Let him feel things before he tries to remember them. Just live, hopefully memories will resurface during daily activities which normally happens in cases like these.”

You looked down at your children. Eylan was clinging to Lo’ak’s hand. Likan was staring at Neteyam like he didn’t understand why his papa didn’t scoop him up. And your daughter, curled in her basket, let out a tiny sigh in her sleep. A sound Neteyam once swore was the best thing he’d ever heard when you had the boys. But he didn’t even flinch this time. And you had no idea how to begin again.

The next few months were both careful and chaotic — a balance of heartbreak and fragile hope, as life moved forward with Neteyam awake but not truly returned. You tried not to mourn what you lost. He was alive. Breathing. Laughing sometimes. But he wasn’t yours, not in the way he used to be.

At first, it was small things. Kiri brought out the old woven toys they used to play with as kids. She laughed when Neteyam remembered the names they gave them — “that’s O’upey, the angry monkey-bird,” he muttered one day, blinking in surprise at the memory. Tuk was still shy, unsure how to be with a brother who didn’t know her. But eventually, she began sneaking beside him during mealtimes, nudging his arm with her shoulder until he smiled down at her and shared his fruit.

Lo’ak kept his distance for a few days after that first confrontation, letting space settle between you all. But he never strayed far from the kids. Eylan still ran to him when he scraped his knee. Likan still tugged on his braid when he was sleepy. Neteyam watched this from the edge of the room, always quiet.

Neteyam had moved into a separate space near the edge of the Sully mauri which was next to the one you both shared in the previous years. He couldn’t sleep beside you, not with the weight of your shared history heavy on a mind that couldn’t recall it. So, the boys stayed with you, and the baby girl in the woven basket slept at your side. Neytiri helped every night, whispering lullabies and staying close when your arms trembled from exhaustion.

Jake took it hardest in the quiet moments. His son was there, walking beside him, training again slowly, and yet the bond between them was stunted. Neteyam asked him once if he’d been a good warrior, and Jake nearly broke, but he told him how proud he was, how much of a good person, son, warrior, husband and father he’d always been.

“He was the best,” he told Max later, voice rough. “He died trying to save us. And now he doesn’t even remember what he was saving.”

You and Neteyam began spending time together carefully. Norm had suggested building new memories to replace the missing ones. So, you started showing him the forest again — not the one you’d grown up in, but the edge of it, where vines crept low and fruit hung from branches. You told him the story of how you first met.

“You were three, just turned three and I was two years old. I was sitting in the village, and you came up to me and sat down and shared your fruit with me.” you said one day, crouched in the sand beside the mangroves. “And you just sat there with me eating the little piece of fruit you kept for yourself and after that we just…stay together.” He smiled, barely. “Sounds sweet.”

“It was,” you whispered, “and so was the fruit, I knew cause as we got older you never ate fruit that wasn’t overly ripe. It was always the sweetest u could find.” Neteyam didn’t argue. But he kept his soft smile until it faded.

Tsireya was gentle with him, like she always had been. She reminded him of reef customs, reintroduced him to Aonung, and brought him on swims through familiar coral paths. There was never judgment in her voice — only patience. You saw her watching him when he wasn’t looking. Once, you caught her eyes drift to you, and in that silence between you, there was no rivalry. Just pain shared in quiet solidarity.

Lo’ak helped where he could, but he never overstepped again. Not in front of Neteyam. Not anymore. But you felt it sometimes — the way Neteyam watched him carry Likan, or braid Eylan’s hair while you nursed the baby. It wasn’t jealousy, not fully. It was a wound. A gap in time that didn’t make sense.

One night, after a long day helping with repairs near the reef line, Neteyam lingered outside your mauri. You were inside, humming softly as you tried to get the baby down. He didn’t enter. But his voice drifted through the curtain: “What’s her name?”

You froze. You stepped toward the flap, lifting it slowly. “We haven’t named her yet,” you said. “Not fully. We were waiting”

He blinked. “Why?” Your voice cracked. “Because I choose too many names because there are a lot of pretty ones, and you are the one that normally has the final say.” He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t leave either.

Kiri was the first one to make him laugh again. She dragged him to the beach with a basket full of sea slugs and made him chase Likan, who had stolen one and was screeching with joy. When Likan fell in the shallows, Neteyam picked him up instinctively — and for one heartbeat, it felt like the past.

But when Likan called him ‘sempu,’ Neteyam stiffened. “He thinks I’m someone I’m not,” he told you later “No,” you said quietly. “He thinks you’re you. His father. And he is not wrong.”

One afternoon, the sun had barely started to dip beneath the waves when Tsireya brought Neteyam down to the shallows again. Lo’ak followed without a word, as if he didn’t want to leave his brother alone, to keep him safe. It had become a quiet ritual, easing Neteyam into the life he’d forgotten. He was polite. Curious. Observant. And completely unaware of the landmines his presence was walking over.

The beach was half-crowded with young hunters cleaning their weapons and tending to their gear. Laughter floated above the gentle surf. “Neteyam?” Soft, like a breeze. He turned, and so did Tsireya and Lo’ak.

Lina stepped out from a cluster of others, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes were kind, the curve of her voice never sharp. She was tall and pretty, wet curls cascading down her back, bow slung across her back, fingers stained with oil from cleaning arrowheads. Neteyam tilted his head. “Have we met?”

“Yes,” she said gently, approaching but still giving him space. “We used to train together. Before… everything.” He squinted, curious. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You used to say you could outswim me. You never could.” He blinked, then laughed — and it was so easy. Like he didn’t have the weight of a family he couldn’t remember pressed into his chest. Like something about her didn’t require effort. “I doubt that,” he said, smiling full now. “You don’t look like you swim very fast.”

She blushed faintly and laughed. “You said I was faster than you once. But you also said I cheated.”

“Maybe I did,” he said, eyes twinkling a bit too long on her face. “Sounds like something I’d say.” Lo’ak’s brows lowered slightly. Tsireya shifted beside him, her hand sliding into his as if instinctually — as if to ground herself. Lina lowered her eyes a moment. “You helped me build my bow. Back when my brother broke mine. You carved a seashell on the handle for me.” Neteyam looked down at the bow on her back, then back at her. “I did that?”

“You said it reminded you of a sunrise.” There was a pause. His smile softened. “I’d like to see that sunrise again.” Lo’ak’s jaw slackened, his brother had always been smooth, but he’d only ever seen Neteyam really show interest in you. Tsireya sucked in a slow breath, eyes flicking toward her mate in quiet concern. They exchanged a look — full of too much they couldn’t say out loud. Not here. Not now.

“You… want to walk the shore?” Lina offered shyly, motioning toward the far end where the cliffs curved. And Neteyam nodded. “I think I do.” The two of them wandered off, feet kicking through the foam. Tsireya turned to Lo’ak. “We need to say something.” His face was carved from stone. “Not yet,” he said, voice quiet. “She’s been through too much already.”

“She’ll notice eventually.” He nodded, jaw tight. “Then we’ll tell her eventually.” But neither of them moved. They just stood there, watching their brother disappear further down the sand — toward someone he never remembered, but now seemed to see more clearly than the people who’d loved him all his life.

It was another sleepless night. It had been a couple of weeks now since Neteyam woke up and he was no where to be found. The baby had been fussing for hours, her soft cries escalating into breathless wails. Likan stirred again, kicking off his woven blanket, eyes puffy with confusion and frustration. Eylan was curled on his side but not asleep, thumb tucked against his lips the way he hadn’t done in years. He didn’t cry anymore, he just stared at the wall and sniffled, quiet in that way that made your heart twist.

You were pacing again. Rocking the baby against your chest, bouncing on tired feet, muttering soothing nonsense into her ear. You hadn’t eaten much. You hadn’t really sat down. You hadn’t even noticed the blood on your lower back where the wrap had pulled too tight across your healing skin. The strain of childbirth, the strain of grief, the loneliness of loving someone who didn’t know you anymore — it had started to show.

And no one had said it aloud, but the mat felt emptier now than when Neteyam had been unconscious. Because now he wasn’t there, and you were alone.

The family tried, they did, Neytiri and Kiri checked in. Jake held Likan when he screamed for his father. Tsireya helped brush Eylan’s hair when he refused to do it himself. But they were pulled thin. And Lo’ak had pulled away.

You had noticed it a few nights ago, when you turned in desperation to ask him for help reaching the water jug, and he pretended not to hear you. When the boys cried for him and he sent Tuk instead. You hadn’t said anything then. Maybe you thought it would pass or that you’d just figure it out.

But tonight, the pressure snapped. The baby wouldn’t settle. You were shaking. Likan started crying. Again. And your hands were trembling so bad the cup of water you tried to pour spilled across the floor. And that’s when Lo’ak walked in.

You didn’t even hear him at first — just saw his shadow, crouched beside Eylan, checking on him. The soft whisper of “Hey, buddy,” as he tucked the boy’s arm back under the blanket. Then he turned and saw you.

You were standing near the mat, the baby clutched to your chest, your whole body strung tight. Likan was crying in the corner, and you didn’t even know what to do anymore — hold him? Put her down? Lie on the ground and cry with them? You blinked at Lo’ak like he wasn’t real. And when he reached to take the baby from your arms, something snapped.

“No.” He paused, arms mid-stretch. “What?”

“You don’t get to come in when it’s convenient for you.” Your voice cracked. “I’ve been here. Alone. You were supposed to help me. You always did.”Lo’ak’s jaw locked. “I thought with Neteyam—”

“Well, Neteyam is gone!” you hissed, too loud, the baby jerking in your grip. You rocked her faster, whispering apologies, tears burning behind your eyes. “He’s not dead but he’s gone, and I am so tired, Lo’ak. I’m tired of holding this family together with spit and prayers.”

“I didn’t know you wanted my help anymore.”

“I didn’t want to need it anymore!” Silence stretched. You were shaking. Lo’ak took a slow step closer. “He’s my brother,” he said, quietly. “And I thought… if I stepped back, maybe it would be easier. For everyone.”

“It’s not.” You looked up at him, eyes glassy and dark. “I didn’t ask for this. And I didn’t expect you to fix it. But you were the one who was there. You were the one who held me when she was born. And I know, I know I’m asking a lot of you, and I know these kids aren’t your responsibility, but I need help sometimes.” Lo’ak flinched.

The baby finally drifted into exhausted sleep. You sank to your knees beside Likan, curling him against your chest as best you could. Lo’ak just stood there, like he didn’t know if he should stay or go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought Neteyam would come back and remember how to be everything you needed.” You didn’t look at him. Just whispered: “Me too.”

He knelt down beside you then, hands hovering before gently reaching for Likan, taking him from your arms. The toddler’s sobs stilled a little against Lo’ak’s shoulder.

“You should rest,” he murmured. “I’ll stay tonight.” You didn’t thank him. Not with words. But you leaned into him — just slightly — and he stayed there. Holding your child, watching you sleep with the baby curled in one of your arms. The other reaching for Eylan to try easing him to sleep. But no one said the thing hanging in the air between you. That he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there. That he shouldn’t have had to fill the space his brother left behind.

Neteyam stayed close. His mauri was just a few steps from yours — the one you used to share — and right next to his parents’. Close enough to hear the baby cry at night. Close enough to sometimes catch the scent of your cooking drift over in the mornings. Close enough that the boys could wander to his mat and sit nearby, even if he didn’t fully understand why it made his chest tighten when they did. But he never stepped inside.

Even as the weeks passed and his strength returned, Neteyam never once crossed that threshold. Not even when he watched you from the corner of his eye, swaying the baby back to sleep just outside. Not when Eylan called out “Sa’nok, sa’nok! Look!” while holding up a fish Lo’ak helped him catch. Not even when Likan would wander over, curious and bold, standing at the edge of Neteyam’s sleeping space before being gently redirected by Kiri or Neytiri.

He stayed in the in-between. And Lo’ak, for all his own complicated grief, never once gave up on him. He came by almost every day. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with little tools or handmade knives — “You used to like this,” he’d say casually. Other times, he just sat, throwing pebbles at the sand as Neteyam stared at the sky. “You talk less than you used to,” Lo’ak muttered one day, nudging him. “You used to talk a lot. Mostly telling me I was being dumb.”

Neteyam gave a faint, crooked smile. “That still sounds accurate.” It was moments like that flickers, glimpses, that made Lo’ak hopeful.

But then there was Lina. She’d been there from the beginning, one of the few Metkayina Neteyam didn’t look at with the uncomfortable weight of “I should know you.” Because he didn’t. Not really. Not in memory. So, it was easier.

Easier to walk with her on the shore after a long day. Easier to practice knife-throwing with her and not feel like a failure when he missed. She’d laugh gently, encourage him, sometimes place her hand over his to guide the movement. She smelled like sea salt and wind. Spoke softly. Never stared at his scars. Lo’ak noticed it all.

He didn’t mention it but, he didn’t stop it either. But he started watching more closely. Not out of jealousy — no, not that. It was something closer to protection. For you. For the boys. For a version of his brother that Lo’ak still believed was inside there somewhere. And the strange thing was, Neteyam wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He was just lost. And Lina, with her easy calm and open eyes, was the only place that didn’t make him feel like he was failing someone just by existing.

Meanwhile, the nights for you stretched long and raw. The baby cried more now. Maybe she felt it — her father just a few paces away, but never close. Eylan had grown quieter, his eyes constantly drifting toward his father’s silhouette. Likan had taken to curling into your side and not letting go, even in sleep.

The family helped where they could. Neytiri especially — splitting her time between you and Neteyam, her heart torn in half. But no matter how many hands helped, you were still up at night. Still aching. And Neteyam was still outside, just beyond the flap of the mauri. Awake. Watching the stars. Not knowing why they felt lonelier than before.

One day the boys were laughing as they chased one another along the shore, their feet kicking up puffs of white sand. You watched them with tired eyes from just outside the mauri, the baby restless in your arms.

She was crying again — not a loud, piercing wail, just that miserable, fussy sound that always came in waves when she couldn’t seem to settle. You’d walked her, rocked her, hummed and whispered to her until your throat ached. Nothing helped today. You bounced her gently, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek. “I know, sweet girl. I know.”

Behind you, there was a shift in the air. You turned your head just slightly — and found Neteyam standing there. He wasn’t close. Just at the edge of the clearing, half in shadow, watching with unreadable eyes. He hesitated. “I can take her,” he said finally, voice low and unsure. “If… if you want.”

Your heart gave a soft, startled flutter. You straightened slowly, blinking at him. “You don’t have to,” you murmured. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.” You looked down at the baby in your arms. She was still fussing, fists clenched, brow furrowed like the whole world was wrong. She didn’t know her father had never held her. Didn’t know he’d been sleeping when she was born. Didn’t know he didn’t remember her at all. But somehow… maybe she felt it.

You stood carefully and stepped toward him. Your arms trembled a bit — not from fear, just the weight of the moment. You cradled her close a second longer, then gently passed her over. He took her like she was made of glass. The way his hands moved — cautious, reverent. His whole body stilled as she settled into the crook of his arm. She squirmed at first, then let out a small, sighing cry… And stilled. He looked down at her. Then up at you. “She looks like me,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “She does.” “I never held her before now?” he asked. “No,” you whispered. “You haven’t really.” He looked away, shame flickering across his face. But the baby — your baby — made a soft, curious coo and blinked up at him with slow, sleepy eyes. His mouth parted, stunned. “I don’t remember her,” he said. “But I feel like I should.” You reached out gently, fingers brushing his arm. “You don’t have to force anything. You’re holding her. That’s enough.”

He looked at you — really looked — then back down at her. “What’s her name?” he asked. You exhaled slowly. “She doesn’t have one yet. I… I couldn’t pick. I tried. But I couldn’t.” He looked at you again, a strange mix of emotion tightening his brow. “You said I used to choose.” You nodded. “Always. I would give you too many names. I could never make up my mind, and you’d just… decide. Like you already knew.” His eyes fell back to her, the tiniest crease forming between his brows. “Do you have names now?” he asked. You swallowed. “Three.”

He waited. “Sahri. Eiweya. Kiriya.” He mouthed them silently. Then, softer than breath — “Kiriya.” You blinked. “That one,” he said. “She feels like that.” She shifted in his arms, letting out a tiny sigh before nestling her head beneath his chin. You stared at them, heart thudding, something breaking and stitching together all at once. “Kiriya,” you echoed. “Then that’s her name.” He didn’t say anything else. But he didn’t hand her back either.

The beach wind had quieted, the tide soft at your feet. Kiriya’s cries had faded into soft snuffles as she dozed in Neteyam’s arms. Her tiny hand rested against his chest; her brow furrowed even in sleep — just like his.

You were watching Eylan and Likan build crooked towers of shells in the sand when Neteyam glanced over at you. “I should bring her in,” he said. You turned to him slowly, heart tapping at your ribs. “Will you stay? For dinner?” He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked back to the baby. “Do you want me to?” You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Of course,” you said. “The boys would love that.” Neteyam gave a tiny nod, shifting the baby carefully. “Okay.”

At the mauri, the scent of roasted yovo drifted over fresh leaves and warm stones. Neytiri and Jake were already sitting, Tuk bouncing between them with a carved spoon in each hand. Ronal and Tsireya moved around the fire, while Kiri passed plates to everyone. Lo’ak was sitting cross-legged, peeling fruit with his knife and chatting with Ao’nung.

He looked up when he heard your voice first — then saw who was walking beside you. His eyes widened slightly. Neteyam holding the baby. Lo’ak stood up halfway, his fruit forgotten. A grin broke across his face before he could stop it. “Bro.” His voice cracked. Neteyam paused, shifting under the attention. “She was crying,” he said stiffly. “I was just… holding her.” Neytiri was already clearing a space near her side. “Come. Sit.” Lo’ak backed up, still smiling, as you and Neteyam stepped into the circle. You caught the warmth in his eyes — not surprise. Relief. Eylan barreled past you, nearly knocking over a bowl. “She’s still sleeping?”

“Still,” Neteyam said. Likan scrambled onto your lap, thumb in his mouth, then reached toward his baby sister. “Dada hold her,” he whispered, proud. “She sleep wike a bug,” he added, pressing his hand over his cheek to mimic her squish. Neteyam smiled — a real one. Quick and uncertain, but real. Lo’ak sank down beside him, nudging Eylan aside just enough to pass him a plate. “You gonna eat or just be the baby chair tonight?” Neteyam snorted. “Think she’s claimed me.”

“Good,” Lo’ak said. “She deserves it. So do you.” You looked over at him, and he gave you a small wink — not smug, just glad. Like something inside him had finally relaxed. Dinner passed in slow waves — small bites, soft laughter, cautious conversation. Kiri watched you like a mother pent up with hope. Tsireya offered seconds. And when Kiriya stirred, Neteyam didn’t pass her off right away. He held her close, tracing the fine wisps of hair over her temple. You didn’t say anything. But when he looked at you and said softly, “I like the name,” it almost broke you. “Me too.”

Afterward, when the children had eaten their fill and begun nodding off against each other, Lo’ak helped clean up. He passed behind you and murmured low near your ear: “He’s trying. I see it.” You looked back at him. “And I’m glad,” he added with a grin. “You look lighter tonight.” You pressed your fingers to your lips, almost in disbelief. So did he. Because for the first time in many weeks, you all sat under the stars together. And Neteyam stayed.

Over the next several days, Neteyam had been around sometimes, other times disappearing off to somewhere in the reef. You honestly didn’t think much about it, having your hands full with the children kept your mind occupied, and ever since the night he had dinner things have been better between you, or that’s what you thought anyways. You had no idea he was off bonding with another woman.

The first time, they were hunting along the reef ledge. Lina was leading him through narrow tunnels in the coral, glancing over her shoulder to smirk at him every few paces. “You’re too slow,” she calls over the bubbling tide. Neteyam grins, swimming harder to catch up. “I’m letting you win.”

“Oh?” she tilts her head, treading water as he nears. “You always this generous, or just with me?” He chuckles — can’t help it — and bumps her gently with his shoulder. She bumps him back.

The second time, they were drying gear near the rocks. Lina’s hair is loose, still dripping, skin shining with salt and sun. She reaches out to adjust the strap of his sling.

“Still too tight,” she mutters, tugging it just slightly. “You’ll bruise yourself.” His hand brushes hers. “What would I do without you?”

“Starve. Or bleed out,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes. Neteyam bites the inside of his cheek to hide a grin.

The third time, he finds her sitting on a flat stone, braiding thin strips of shell into a necklace. “That for me?” he asks, flopping down beside her, deliberately brushing her leg with his tail. She laughs, doesn’t move away. “You wish.” He leans on one arm. “What if I do?” She goes still — just for a second — then smiles again. “Then maybe I’ll make you one. If you catch a bigger fish than me tomorrow.”

“Easy.”

“You talk too much.”

“You like it.” She says nothing — but she doesn’t argue.

The fourth time, they were in the shallows, dusk falling in golden streaks across the ocean. She splashes him lightly, then darts away with a laugh. He chases, catches her wrist under the water, and spins her in a circle. Their laughter echoes against the reef wall. “You’re impossible,” he says, chest heaving. “You’re slow.”

“I let you go.”

“Liar.” He pulls her close again — just slightly — hand on her arm, holding her steady. She doesn’t pull away. “You gonna let go?” she whispers. He hesitates.

And that’s when they hear it. A sharp inhale. Both of them turn — and Tsireya is standing at the edge of the sandbank, staring. She wasn’t meant to find them here. Not this close. Not this comfortable. Her eyes flick between their bodies — wet, pressed too close, laughter still fading in the air. Lina steps back instantly and Neteyam’s hand drops. Tsireya’s voice is tight. “Lo’ak’s been looking for you.” He doesn’t answer so she turns and walks away.

That evening when the tide had rolled in, moonlight catching on the crests as the reef swayed in rhythm. Most of the village had gone quiet — the firelight around the Sully mauri low and flickering. Tsireya found Lo’ak by the far edge of the reef, feeding dried root to an ilu calf. His hair was damp, eyes tired. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, jaw tight.

Lo’ak glanced up. “Hey,” he offered, but her expression stopped him cold “What?”

“I saw them again.” He frowned. “Who?”

“Neteyam. And Lina.” Lo’ak’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah, I figured—”

“No,” she said sharply. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just awkward flirting anymore.”

She stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. “She touched his chest today and he was touching her arm. Laughed like it was nothing. Then leaned into him like—like she wanted him to notice. And he did.” Lo’ak looked away, jaw clenching.

“She doesn’t care,” Tsireya hissed. “She knows. She knows he’s married. She knows you all told him. She knows he has children. And she still looks at him like that.”

“Neteyam doesn’t remember—”

“That doesn’t excuse her.” Lo’ak shook his head. “I don’t think he sees it the way we do.” Tsireya didn’t back off. “He doesn’t have to know everything to feel what’s right. Something in him should know. That kind of bond doesn’t disappear just because you forgot a name.”

“He’s not the same,” Lo’ak muttered. “Not yet.”

“And she’s taking advantage of that,” Tsireya snapped. Silence hung between them, thick as sea fog. “I didn’t tell her,” She said quietly. “I didn’t say a word. But I swear, Lo’ak… if Lina puts her hands on him again like that, I will.” He exhaled slowly. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s already breaking,” he said, voice strained. “Every day she’s holding it together for those kids, for the family. You think watching him forget her wasn’t bad enough?” Tsireya’s eyes softened.

“She finally got him to hold the baby,” Lo’ak added. “Named her with him. The day they sat and ate with the family. First time in months. It was right before that.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then why is he out there with her?”

“I don’t know,” Lo’ak admitted, eyes glistening. “But I can’t be the one to break her.” Tsireya nodded once, quietly. “Then I’ll wait. But not forever.” Lo’ak stared at the stars, wondering how long he could keep pretending nothing was burning.

Neteyam sat on the warm stone, legs stretched, hands braced behind him as the waves lapped close. Lina was beside him, knees drawn up, the curve of her smile impossibly soft in the golden light. “Your shoulders tense again,” she murmured, scooting closer.

He didn’t stop her when her fingers brushed along his shoulder. “I think you like touching me,” he said, not quite teasing, not quite serious. Lina laughed under her breath. “Maybe. You’re not stopping me.” He turned to look at her — really look.

“You’re not like the others,” he said slowly. “Everyone stares at me like I’m supposed to be someone they remember. You just… let me be who I am now.”

“You don’t owe anyone a past you can’t remember,” she whispered.

“You don’t even ask questions.”

“I already know the answers that matter,” she smiled. “I like you.”

He blinked. “You don’t care that I’m—”

“Married?” she finished, almost playfully. “You don’t remember that. It’s not the same.” There was a pause. A long, heavy pause.

“I’m still—” he started, then faltered. “She’s kind. Patient. But it’s like I’m supposed to feel something I don’t.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Lina said, brushing her fingers along the side of his jaw. “You just… feel this. Now.” And then she kissed him. Not a short, confused kiss. Not unsure. This was deliberate. Gentle, but real. And Neteyam—he didn’t pull away, not right away. His hands twitched against the rock. When he did break it, it was breathless, conflicted. “Lina—” She smiled. “You can stop me next time. If you want.”

Behind a rock ledge just above them, Neytiri stood frozen. She had come looking. Something in her heart told her something was wrong. And what she heard broke her completely. Every word. “You just feel this. Now.” The kiss. She almost called him out. Almost walked forward and made her presence known. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when her son — her eldest — the one she buried her soul into, kissed another woman while his mate rocked their baby just a few steps away in the village. Neytiri backed away, breath trembling, hand pressed hard against her chest. She didn’t speak. But something inside her, something sacred, began to unravel. Not for herself, but for you.

The night air was still and thick with the hum of distant ocean wind. Only the crackle of low embers broke the silence inside the Sully mauri. Neytiri sat by the hearth, her body unmoving, eyes fixed on the firelight flickering across her knuckles.

Jake entered quietly, wiping his hands with a cloth after helping Kiri settle Eylan and Likan into their sleeping mat while you tended to Kiriya. “You’ve been quiet all night,” he said, crouching beside her. Neytiri didn’t look at him. Her voice, when it came, was soft but cut with steel. “I saw them.” Jake’s brow furrowed. “Who?” Her jaw clenched. “Neteyam. And the girl.” He sat down slowly, feeling the air shift. “What girl?” Neytiri nodded once. “That Lina girl— Two nights ago. I followed him. I wanted to be sure.”

Jake’s voice dropped. “What did you see?” Her eyes lifted to meet his, burning. “They were kissing. Her hand was on his jaw. He did not stop her.”

Jake swore under his breath, rubbing his temples. “Shit.” Behind the thin woven wall, there was a scuffle of movement. Someone breathing too loudly. Too sharply. Neytiri’s ears twitched. A moment passed before Lo’ak stepped into the light, arms at his sides, face drawn in guilt. Tsireya stood behind him, hands knotted in front of her, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I know,” Lo’ak said before either parent could ask. “I’ve known.” Neytiri rose slowly to her feet. “How long?” Lo’ak held up a hand. “I’ve known for a while. Since before he even held the baby. I saw them. First just talking, then… more. Since he started to go to the tide pools the hunters hand out by.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“I didn’t know how,” Lo’ak admitted. “She’s already barely holding things together. She’s feeding the baby alone. Putting the boys to bed. Waiting on him to come home. And I just—”

“You should have told us,” Neytiri snapped. “I thought he’d come around,” Lo’ak said, voice cracking. “I thought once he saw her — really saw her — saw the kids — it would all fall into place. I thought the memory flashes were working.” Jake’s jaw worked. “But he kept going back to Lina.” Lo’ak nodded. “He kept going back I guess.” Neytiri’s voice was trembling now. “And you let her believe he was trying.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to break her,” Lo’ak whispered. “She still believes in him.” Tsireya finally spoke, quiet but firm. “Lo’ak and I first saw them. I told him we should say something, but he said it wasn’t time.”

Neytiri turned away, her fists clenched. “He kissed another woman. While his mate waits. While she takes care of those babies alone.”

Jake stood slowly, running both hands down his face. “We need to talk to him.” Lo’ak looked up quickly. “Not yet. Please. He’s remembering. Not all of it, but enough that I think he’s confused. Let me talk to him first.”

Neytiri’s eyes narrowed. “And if he touches her again?” Jake answered this time, voice cold and low. “Then it’s no longer confusion. It’s a choice.” The word no one said was still thick in the air. And none of them could bear to imagine the moment you would find out.

The sky was dark, save for a stretch of stars reflected on the surface of the sea. Small waves lapped at the sand as Neteyam stood alone, arms folded, staring out at the horizon. His back was to the village, but he hadn’t gone far — not really. He could still hear the soft calls of nocturnal birds, the echo of distant laughter, the crackling of fires. Lo’ak found him there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped up beside his brother, letting the silence linger. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, the sea wind tossing their braids gently. Neteyam spoke first, barely above a murmur. “Did they send you?” Lo’ak shook his head. “No. I came on my own.” Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I already know what this is about.” Lo’ak sighed. “Then that makes it easier.” A long pause. Then, quietly: “I saw you with her, bro.” Neteyam flinched, but didn’t turn. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“No,” Lo’ak said softly. “Just looking out. For her. For the kids.” Neteyam finally looked at him, eyes conflicted, searching. “It’s not like that.”

“You kissed her,” Lo’ak replied, not harshly, just stating fact. “And you’ve been sneaking off for weeks.” Neteyam’s mouth opened, but no words came. Lo’ak shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to yell at you,” he said. “I’m not our dad. I’m your brother.”

He hesitated, then added, “And I’m hers too. Not by blood — but I helped catch your daughter when you were unconscious. I’ve held your sons when they cried for you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you like you hung the stars.” Neteyam’s eyes shimmered with something — regret, maybe, or confusion. “I don’t know what’s happening in your head,” Lo’ak said, voice low. “I know this memory thing is eating you up. I know you’re not the same. But that doesn’t mean you get to break her in silence.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Neteyam said. “But you are,” Lo’ak whispered. “Every time you don’t come home. Every time she lies to the boys and says you’re busy, or training. Every time she feeds the baby alone. And she won’t ask you to stay, she has no idea. She’ll wait for you to come to her.”

Neteyam turned his face away. “She thinks you’re getting better,” Lo’ak went on. “She thinks you’re coming back to her. And you are, sometimes. That night on the tablet, when you smiled at her. You felt like you. That’s what’s killing her. She hopes.” Lo’ak paused, then said gently, “Is it Lina?” Neteyam didn’t answer. “She’s not your mate,” Lo’ak said, still calm. “She doesn’t know your sons’ lullabies. She didn’t carry your child. She didn’t sit at your side when you were dying.” Neteyam closed his eyes. His voice was a whisper. “I know.”

Lo’ak looked at him with something like grief. “Then why are you still going to her?” The silence hung, heavy and raw. “I don’t know,” Neteyam said. “She’s… easy. I don’t have to feel like I’m failing when I’m with her.” Lo’ak’s eyes darkened. “She doesn’t ask you to remember.”

Neteyam nodded. “She doesn’t look at me like she’s waiting to find the old me.” Lo’ak stepped closer. “She doesn’t know the old you. We do. And she does.” Neteyam looked at him, chest tight. “What if I never remember everything?”

“Then you start from where you are,” Lo’ak said. “But you don’t build something new while she’s still holding the pieces you left behind.” Neteyam turned away again, swallowing hard. Lo’ak let the words sit. He didn’t demand. He didn’t lecture. Just before he walked away, he added one last thing, soft as dusk. “You were always the one I looked up to. The steady one. The protector.” He paused. “If you can’t remember it from your own memory, remember it came from me.” And then he left his brother alone with the stars.

It’s the next morning. You’re up early with the baby, trying to braid Eylan’s hair while Likan chews on a toy. Neteyam returns from the beach. His shoulders are tense. His steps are slow. You smile when you see him. “Hey,” you say softly. “We missed you at breakfast.” He hesitates. Then: “Can we talk?” Your stomach drops. You hand Eylan the comb and step outside with him, the light warm on your skin.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “I… I need some time. To think. To breathe. Things are getting clearer but… it’s a lot. Being here. With you. With the kids. With the pressure to feel everything I’m supposed to feel.” You go quiet. His words twist in your chest. “You don’t feel anything?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No— I do. I think I do. But I don’t know what’s real and what’s me wanting it to be real. Last night felt… good. You felt safe. Familiar. But then I woke up this morning and…” His hands clench. “I was terrified again. Of losing myself to a life I don’t remember.” You swallow hard. “So, you want space.” He nods. You nod too, but your lips tremble. “Okay.”

“It’s not forever,” he says, voice low. “I just need to understand who I am… on my own.” You force a small smile. “Of course. Take the time you need.” But when he leaves, heading toward the far edge of the village — you don’t know he’s going to see Lina.

you’re left standing outside the mauri with the wind in your hair and a silent ache blooming beneath your ribs. And for a long moment… you just stand there. Because what are you supposed to do? Chase after him? Beg him to stay? Demand an explanation he doesn’t even understand himself? No. You go back inside. You wipe your eyes before the kids see.

The sun had barely risen when he walked away. Soft golden light slanted through the mangrove roots, stretching long shadows over the damp earth. The village was still, caught in that in-between hush before the day began — birds just beginning to chirp, ocean breeze barely rustling the fronds above.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly sweet from the firepit’s embers. The kids were already stirring. Kiriya had begun to fuss softly in her basket, tiny fists working against the woven cloth around her. Eylan sat nearby, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm and yawning loudly — a tangle of half-finished braids still jutting out at strange angles. Likan lay sprawled on his belly, drooling into a woven mat and humming something tuneless to himself. You didn’t feel ready. But ready or not — you were their world. And you were not going to let them see you fall. You’ve already let them down too much as it is.

You moved on instinct. You knelt first beside Kiriya, scooping her into your arms with the ease of a mother who’d done this a thousand times, even if it still ached in your chest. She whimpered once before latching against your breast, and the tension in her small body melted almost instantly. You rocked gently, her soft suckling grounding you. “That’s it, my little star,” you whispered, brushing your nose against her temple. “Eat well. You’ve got a big day ahead.”

“Is it done?” Eylan’s voice broke into the silence, scratchy and young. “My braids?” You turned your head to him, gave a soft smile. “Not yet. Come here.” He scooted over eagerly, plopping himself down in front of you with crossed legs. “You stopped braiding it,” he said, not accusing — just observing. “I know,” you murmured. “Mama needed a moment. But I’m here now.”

You finished nursing Kiriya and shifted her gently to your shoulder. With one hand, you resumed braiding Eylan’s hair, fingers nimble even with your youngest curled against you, slowly drifting back to sleep. His hair was thick, like his father’s, and slightly wild — stubborn strands that always slipped from your grip. But you were patient. You always had been. Likan toddled over next, dragging his woven bird toy, his eyes still puffy with sleep. “Hungry,” he mumbled, pressing his face to your knee. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Soon, baby boy. Let Mama finish your brother’s hair.”

“I help?” he asked, pointing at the pile of fruit. You chuckled. “You can hand me the yovo, hmm?” He nodded proudly and waddled off on his mission. By the time you finished Eylan’s last braid and tied it off, Kiriya was burping sleepily against your shoulder and Likan had managed to bring back half a yovo fruit, teeth already sunk into it. You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. “Thank you, sweet boy. Very helpful.” He beamed, mouth full.

You got up slowly, adjusting Kiriya in your sling so she could sleep tucked against your chest. The boys followed as you moved toward the firepit, preparing their breakfast from leftover grilled fish and soft yovo mash. Eylan fetched the dishes, Likan danced in circles, and you worked — stirring, plating, humming softly — while the sun crept higher outside.

There were no grand declarations. No epiphanies. Just movement. Just being present. Just… trying. Because yes, you were his wife. But you were more than that. You were their mother. Their comfort. Their rhythm. Their constant. And no matter who stayed, who left, who forgot — you would always be the one still here.

The stars were beginning to blink awake as the sea breeze curled through the village, quiet and cool. Dinner had come and gone. The children were already tucked away — Eylan and Likan asleep in their nest, Kiriya dozing peacefully in her wrap against your chest. You sat close to the firepit outside Jake and Neytiri’s mauri, cradling her gently, her small weight grounding you more than anything else could.

Kiri was plaiting Tuk’s hair beside you. Lo’ak leaned against a post nearby, Tsireya tucked against his side. Jake and Neytiri sat across the fire, quiet, eyes flickering between the flames and each other. It was Kiri who finally spoke. “Neteyam didn’t come back with you today?” You shifted slightly. “He said he needed some space. Just for a while.” Lo’ak stilled. You didn’t see his jaw tighten, but Kiri did. Jake looked up. “He told you that directly?”

You nodded. “This morning.” There was a beat of silence. You were still trying to gauge the reactions when Neytiri stood slowly, brushing off her hands. “He asked for space,” she repeated, voice carefully neutral. “From what, exactly?” You blinked. “From everything, I guess. The memories. The pressure. Me.” You looked down at Kiriya. “He’s not running. He just… needs air.”

“Air?” Neytiri said sharply. “He has all the air in the world here.” Jake put a calming hand on her leg, gently. “Ma’Tiri.” Lo’ak straightened up suddenly. “It’s not just about the memories.” Everyone looked at him. Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “Lo’ak.” But he ignored her. “He’s confused, yeah. But it’s not just about that.” “Lo’ak…” Neytiri warned under her breath. He backed off instantly. “I just mean—it’s complicated for him. You can’t judge him for needing time.” You watched him, head tilting. “You okay?” He nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You didn’t press it. The odd quiet that followed said more than any of them did. You felt it but couldn’t place it — the edge in Neytiri’s tone, the way Lo’ak wouldn’t quite look at you, the heaviness in Jake’s silence. Kiri shifted closer to you, her presence warm, protective. “You’re all acting weird,” you murmured, trying to joke. “I’m the one who got asked for space. I should be the one brooding.”

“You’re handling it with grace,” Jake said finally, offering a quiet smile. “We’re proud of you for that.” You met his eyes, then Neytiri’s. Hers were guarded. Too guarded. Something was off. Still, you smile and looked down at your sleeping daughter. “He just needs time. That’s all.” No one argued with you. But no one agreed either. And as the fire crackled quietly, your heart ached with the weight of all the things left unsaid — because you were still standing in the light, and everyone else… already knew something you didn’t.

Three months later, your mornings had changed. No longer did they begin with tear-streaked cheeks or aching silence. They started now with purpose. With Eylan giggling as he tried to braid his own hair, with Likan waddling into your arms, babbling half-formed words, and with Kiriya’s soft, sleepy coos as she nursed while wrapped against your chest. You rose before the sun most days, not out of sorrow, but to reclaim yourself piece by piece.

You had begun to hunt again. The first time you picked up your bow, it felt foreign in your hands, the weight unfamiliar after moons of barely using it. But the moment your feet touched the forest floor—alone, quiet—you remembered. The strength in your arms, the rhythm of your breath, the way the jungle had always spoken to you. You didn’t go far the first time, but it was enough. Enough to remember who you were. Not just his mate. Not just a mother. But a warrior. A woman. A force.

Over time, you started to laugh again. It came slowly at first—soft smiles, half-hearted chuckles. But then, one afternoon, you met up with two old friends from your youth, both mothers now, and one cracked a joke about her toddler eating a bug. You laughed so hard you cried. You realized you missed yourself. And more importantly… you missed joy. Joy you haven’t felt since neteyam had his memories. You helped mend nets, wove baskets, joined other mothers in gathering sea fruits, and swam farther than you had since giving birth to Kiriya. You didn’t do it for Neteyam. You did it for your sons, for your daughter… and for you.

Jake and Neytiri loved you like their own. They helped when they could—watching the kids when you needed to gather, bringing fresh meat after long hunts, or simply sitting with you at night when you couldn’t sleep. They noticed your growing strength, the fire returning to your eyes, and they were proud—even if it broke their hearts that it had to be this way.

They said nothing of Lina. They didn’t have to. The pain in Neytiri’s eyes whenever she looked at her son, the way Jake sighed deeply whenever the topic of space came up—it was all there. They knew. And they hated it. But they also understood that Neteyam was lost in his own way, and anger wouldn’t guide him home. Patience might.

Lo’ak was the one who struggled the most. He couldn’t understand why his brother—who had once looked at you like you were the stars—couldn’t see you now. Lo’ak tried to hold his tongue, but it gnawed at him. Tsireya was the one who calmed him, reminding him that love can’t be forced, and healing isn’t always linear. Even Tuk knew. She had cried one night in your arms, confused and worried, asking if Neteyam would ever come back to being him. You didn’t have an answer.

The children were adjusting, each in their own way. Eylan, ever the oldest, had grown more protective, more aware growing into a man who mimicked his father without even knowing. He watched your face carefully when you thought he wasn’t looking, quietly stepping in to help with Likan or Kiriya when he sensed you needed a moment. Likan, wild-hearted and two, was all tangled curls and endless energy, bouncing between tantrums and giggles as he tried to mimic his big brother’s every move.

And Kiriya, just three months old, was beginning to show more of herself: tiny hands always reaching, eyes wide and curious, gurgling happily whenever you or her brothers came near. She loved being held against your chest, calmed instantly by your heartbeat. Together, the three of them were loud and loving and beautifully chaotic. They didn’t understand everything, but they were still happy. Still whole, because they had you.

Each night, after the children were asleep and the fire was low, you knelt and prayed to Eywa. For strength. For patience. For your mate to find his way back—not just to you, but to himself. You no longer waited by the door, hoping he would come. But you didn’t close it either. You lived. You thrived. You healed. Quietly, painfully, and steadily. And though you didn’t know it… Your light was still reaching him. Even from afar. Even in the arms of another. Something in him still remembered. And Eywa… was still listening.

Meanwhile with Neteyam, he spent his months with Lina, she always waited for him at night. Not coy. Not nervous. Prepared. Her hair was down, lips glossed with fruit oil, and her wrap — if you could call it that — barely covered anything. A soft green length of fabric tied at her hip with a loose knot that looked like a gentle breeze might undo it. Neteyam didn’t miss that. And she knew.

“Long day?” she whispered one night, slipping behind him, arms curling around his waist, mouth pressing to the back of his neck. She was tall, taller than you, where you stood at Neteyam’s chest, she stood just below his jaw. “You can relax now, you’re with me.” Her hands slid across his stomach, dipping low. He exhaled, chest tight. Sometimes, he didn’t stop her.

Her fingers found him hard, aching — always from her touch, her scent, the way she pressed into his back like she belonged there. She’d stroke him slowly, lips dragging along his jaw. Sometimes she’d murmur praise. Other times, she’d drop to her knees, hands sliding up his thighs — but every time her lips brushed against him, the sound of footsteps, a call in the distance, a flicker of light— He’d freeze. “Wait—” he’d say, hands gripping her shoulders. “Not now.” She always looked up, mouth flushed, eyes wide. “You’re always say that.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I know.” But he wouldn’t let her finish, wouldn’t let her cross that line. Even the night she climbed into his lap, completely bare under her shawl — guiding his hands to her breasts, her thighs parted over his hips, rocking gently until he gasped against her mouth — he stopped it. Her fingers had worked his tewng loose. Her tongue was in his mouth, his hands full of her heat and softness, his head spinning— Then a branch snapped outside. A child’s laugh. A shadow. He gripped her hips, breathless. “No. We shouldn’t.” She groaned in frustration, but softened, kissing him again. “You keep saying that.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“But you want me,” she whispered, grinding down again, making him stutter. “Don’t lie.” He didn’t. He never did. Because yes, he wanted her. She was beautiful. Willing. Soft and warm and slick against him. But every time they got close — too close — something pulled him back. Something inside or outside stopped him. And when he left her mauri, half-dressed and still aching, he’d collapse onto his sleeping mat and try to breathe.

That’s when the dreams began, not nightmares — memories. You. Laughing beneath him in the forest, hair tangled, your moans stifled by his kiss. And just felt it, he loved kissing you in those dreams, loved dipping his head and pressing up on your skin. You on your back, guiding him in with a sigh like you’d done so many times he just couldn’t remember them all yet. You crying with joy, his son in your arms. You pulling his hands to your growing belly. And the way you looked at him like he was your whole world. He started to wake up with a tightness in his chest. Not just lust. But longing. He’d press his palm over his heart like it could stop the ache. The confusion, the guilt. Because Lina felt good. Safe in a way. Familiar now. But when he touched her, it was never like that. The feeling of worship. Of oneness. That only lived in the dreams. And those dreams were growing stronger, more vivid, more real. Which meant, little by little… Lina was losing him.

he didn’t know when exactly the dreams had started exactly. Maybe it was after the night you looked at him with flushed cheeks, when the sunlight kissed your skin and your laughter echoed through that small space between you, when his fingers brushed yours and something deep in him shifted. Or maybe it was earlier—when Likan grabbed his tail one day on the beach toddling between his legs like he was so used to doing it. Maybe after he once again, stopped Lina from getting her desperate fuck. He wasn’t sure.

But now, they came more and more often. Vivid. Unshakable. Sometimes warm and quiet, like drifting through memories too soft to be real. Other times sharp, intense—desire threading through his body until he woke in the dark, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat, painfully aware of the ache low in his belly.

At first, he thought they were just dreams. Imaginings. Wishes. But they kept happening—so detailed, so real, down to the sounds of your voice, the way you smelled, the exact curl of Likan’s fingers around his thumb. Eylan laughing, splashing in the river as you reached for him. You smiling up at Neteyam in the forest, eyes glowing with pride and love. The feeling of carrying you into your new mauri when you first arrived at Awa’atlu, both of you still dripping from the sea. The first night Likan was born, when you placed the baby in his arms and cried into his chest, or when you both introduced Eylan to his new baby brother.

He started writing them down, carving the details into the bark of a sea tree near the cliffs where no one would look. Just in case. He needed to be sure. Needed proof. He wanted to bring them to you someday, look you in the eye and ask, Was this real? Did I carry you across the ocean? Did we love like this, this deeply, this hard?

And then there were the other dreams. The ones he didn’t know what to do with. Your hands on his chest, your mouth on his skin. The soft groan he made when your hips rolled against his. The sound of your laughter tangled in heavy breathing, the press of his hand between your thighs as your voice broke on his name. Your body beneath him, around him. Sometimes playful. Sometimes desperate. Always you.

He would wake up with his heart racing, painfully hard, breath caught in his throat. It was impossible not to imagine what it had felt like in reality—your warmth, the way you moaned when he whispered in your ear, how you gripped him when he pressed deep inside. Sometimes it left him quiet for hours. Other times, he found himself flushed, frustrated, pacing near the water’s edge, unsure if it was guilt or longing.

He never told Lina. How could he? Those dreams never had her in them. Only you. He still didn’t remember everything. He was still confused, overwhelmed, pulled in two directions. But each night when he curled beneath the woven mat in his quiet mauri, Eywa whispered a little more of his past back to him. Gently. Deliberately. Sometimes cruel in its intensity, sometimes kind in its simplicity.

The cove was half-shadowed, kissed in dusk light and the faint shimmer of tide pools. The waves lapped gently, rhythmic, soft like the hush of a whisper. Neteyam sat alone on a rock worn smooth by the sea, one leg bent, the other dangling just above the sand. His jaw was tight. His eyes distant, mind loud Lina found him there again, just as she always did, silent steps through the shallows, stopping just behind him. “You always come here when your head’s too loud,” she said softly, voice just above the waves. “I like that.”

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders didn’t tense. He was used to her now, her voice, her scent, her closeness. “I’ve been dreaming again,” he murmured, fingers drumming against his thigh. She took the invitation. Sat behind him on the rock, then leaned forward, pressing her chest to his back gently, her arms wrapping around his middle without hesitation. Her hands settled flat against his stomach. “About her?” He nodded slowly.

“I see her sometimes. The boys. The baby… Kiriya.” He said the name carefully, like it might shatter in his mouth. “It’s not just flashes anymore. I can feel the emotion of the moment. Like I was really there.” Lina rested her chin against his shoulder, her fingers tracing slow, calming shapes against his stomach. “Dreams can be like that,” she murmured. “Vivid. Powerful. Especially when you’re searching for something — for yourself. Maybe your mind is trying to fill in blanks with what your family told you.” He was quiet.

She turned her head slightly, brushing her lips just behind his ear, soft, innocent. “But here, now… none of it is confusion.” He inhaled — not sharply, but deep — and Lina felt the moment shift. She took it. She moved to sit beside him, hips pressed to his, then slowly reached for his hand and brought it to her thigh, guiding his fingers to rest there. “You weren’t dreaming when you kissed me,” she said, voice velvet smooth. “Or when we touched.” Her hand slid along his wrist, up his arm. “You weren’t someone else. You were you. And you were relaxed. Real. With me.” He looked at her now, eyes shadowed with conflict — torn. Lina’s smile was soft, never smug. She cupped his cheek with one hand, her thumb grazing his jaw.

“She may have been your past, Neteyam,” she whispered. “But I’m your present.” Then she leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t shy not like the first few times. Her fingers slipped behind his neck, pulling him closer as she moved her body more fully into his lap. His hands hesitated — one landing on her hip, the other still limp at his side — but she coaxed him gently, slowly. Her touch was steady, persistent, like the tide eroding stone. “You don’t have to force yourself to remember someone you don’t feel for anymore,” she murmured against his lips. “What if she’s just part of the story others told you? What if you don’t fit there anymore?” Neteyam looked at her — really looked at her.

“I don’t know what fits,” he admitted, low and raw. “I just… I don’t know.” Lina kissed him again — slower this time, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Then stop trying to remember who you were,” she breathed. “Let yourself be who you are. Now.” And for a while, he let her hold him like that. Let her mouth guide his. Let her arms wrap around his neck and pull him close, as if she could remake him from memory’s ashes into something brand new. And for now — she had him. Right where she wanted him.

Lina’s fingertips danced along the cords of muscle at the back of Neteyam’s neck, so light it almost tickled. She leaned in again — not to kiss him this time, but to let her forehead rest against his. Their breathing synced in the quiet. “You’re always thinking too much,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “Even now.” His hands had stilled at her waist. She could feel the tension buzzing just under his skin. “I see it, you know,” she whispered. “The weight you carry. The questions. The guilt.” She traced down his arm slowly, then took his hand in hers, guiding it back up, placing it over her heart. “But here, with me… you don’t have to answer to anyone. You don’t have to know anything. You can just be.”

His jaw clenched, throat tight. His fingers flexed against her chest, and for a moment she thought he might pull away. But he didn’t. Lina smiled gently and leaned back just enough to look at him fully. “You told me about your dreams,” she said, brushing his hair from his face. “How they feel so real. So full. But those dreams… they’re just pieces. Fragments.” He blinked slowly, watching her lips more than her eyes.

“You said they feel like memories, but maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re just your mind trying to give shape to something you lost.” Her fingers slid up under the leather strap across his shoulder, curling against his collarbone. She leaned in again, this time pressing a kiss to his cheek, then the edge of his jaw. Neteyam exhaled hard through his nose, but his hands came down to her thighs, steadying her in place. Lina’s voice softened, velvet sweet. “But this?” She guided his hands again — down her back, over the curve of her hips — slowly rocking forward so he could feel the press of her body. “This is real. This moment. Me.”

Neteyam groaned under his breath, jaw tightening, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he opened them again. “It’s not that simple,” he said, voice rough. “Why not?” She nuzzled against his neck. “Because I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not,” she whispered. “You’re waking up in a life you don’t remember. A mate you don’t recognize. Children who look at you like you’re someone you’re not. That’s not your fault.” She felt him tense under her, so she kissed the side of his neck, slow and soft. “You didn’t choose this, Neteyam.”

“I didn’t choose you either,” he said quietly. That made her pause. Not because it hurt — but because it told her she needed to move more carefully. So she gave a soft laugh — not mocking, but light, breezy. “No,” she agreed. “But sometimes Eywa puts the right person in your path at the right time. Someone who sees you. Who gives you space to breathe.” Her hands cupped his face gently now. “I’m not asking you to choose me. I’m just here. With you. Right now.”

His eyes flicked down — to her mouth, her neck, the way her chest rose and fell close to his. His hands were still on her thighs, but one began to trail upward slowly, as if he were testing what felt familiar. Or maybe… what felt good. Lina closed the distance again, this time kissing him with more intent — a slow burn, coaxing his mouth open with hers, one hand sliding down his chest and resting low on his stomach. She didn’t push further. Not yet. She just let the kiss carry the weight, the confusion, the need. And when he didn’t stop her, when he kissed her back and let his hands roam, when his grip tightened and his mouth opened wider — she knew. He was spiraling. Floating somewhere between desire and doubt. Between what used to be and what he didn’t remember. So she kissed him deeper, then slower. Then softer.

When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, she smiled and leaned her forehead against his again. Her fingers grazed his chest. “You don’t have to feel bad,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to want something that feels good. That feels real.” He didn’t answer. Just stared at the ground over her shoulder, jaw taut, hands still trembling on her body. “You’re not the same man you were before,” Lina whispered. “You don’t have to force yourself to go back to someone you don’t know. Maybe… Eywa gave you a second chance. A clean start.” Neteyam said nothing. But he didn’t pull away either.

And that was enough for her. Because as far as Lina was concerned — she already had her foot in the door. And every time he let her touch him, let her pull him in, let her speak softly into the cracks in his memory — He was already choosing her. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

His lips were still warm against hers. Lina didn’t move at first — didn’t dare. Her fingers lingered on his chest where she’d pulled him to her, heart thudding like a war drum in her ears. She kept her eyes on his mouth; breath caught in her throat like she’d swallowed fire. That kiss was real. That was progress. Slowly, she let out a trembling breath and smiled up at him, soft and sweet, playing the part, she’d carved out so perfectly.

“You always taste like the sea,” she whispered, voice low. “Even after all this time.” Her thumb dragged gently along his jawline, a featherlight touch meant to make him stay. To keep him close. Hers. Neteyam’s eyes flickered—uncertainty warring with something else. Want. Or confusion. Maybe both, she didn’t care which. Because he hadn’t stopped her. That was enough.

She shifted closer, knees pressing against his hips. Her fingers slipped from his jaw to the cords of muscle along his throat, brushing softly, tracing. “You don’t have to say anything,” she murmured. “I know what it feels like to be lost. You don’t owe anyone your peace.” He swallowed but didn’t answer. Just watched her. Watched the way her hands moved. The way her voice soothed. The way she filled the silence. Lina leaned in, nose brushing his. “Let me be that peace,” she whispered.

She had worked too hard for this, too long. From the moment she saw him step out off his ikran, a baby in his arms and war in his shoulders, she knew. She felt it. The weight of who he was — who he used to be. And she envied it. All of it. The love. The family. The way his mate clung to him like gravity. He never noticed her back then. Not really. But she noticed everything. She started helping with hunts she didn’t care about. Took training sessions near the Sullys. She gave him fruit, offered quiet jokes, asked him questions no one else did — just to hear him speak.

But his eyes always found their way back to her. The mate. The mother. So she stepped back. Smiled politely. Waited. Until the sky burned and blood soaked the sand, and suddenly, Eywa delivered him straight to her — broken, blank, and so beautifully lost. She had thanked the Great Mother that night. And every night since. Lina’s hand slid beneath the braid resting on his collarbone, fingertips brushing the skin just under the hollow of his throat. “I don’t ask you to be anything,” she said softly, lips brushing his cheek. “I don’t ask you to remember. I only ask you to feel what’s right in front of you.”

Her hand guided his again, this time to her hip, letting it rest there, just above the bone. His fingers twitched against her skin, but he didn’t pull away. She smiled. “You’re always tense around them,” she murmured. “Like you’re failing some invisible test. But with me… I see you breathe again.” She leaned in, barely touching her lips to his ear. “You feel like you when you’re with me.” And he did. She made sure of that. She never questioned him. Never pushed. She laughed at everything he said. She let him lead even when he didn’t know where he was going. She was patient. Attentive. Always near but never too much. She never even brought up the mate. Or the children. Not unless he did. And even then, only with a quiet smile and understanding eyes. The kind that said it’s okay that you don’t love them. You don’t have to.

Because eventually… He wouldn’t go back. Eventually, he would stop dreaming of a woman he didn’t recognize and realize how easy it was to just let her go. Eventually, he would choose the calm over the storm. And she would be there. Waiting, still smiling, still soft and still his.

Neteyam began spending more time outside during the day, often seated in the sun with Kiri or helping Jake mend a fishing net, eyes following the sway of the sea in silence. He spoke more now — slowly, cautiously — as if testing the weight of his voice in old rhythms. The boys would come up to him sometimes. Eylan offering him small gifts, Likan tugging at his tail to get attention. He didn’t always know how to respond, but he didn’t back away.

That morning, you caught him holding Kiriya again — this time with her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his braid as she gurgled happily in his arms. He didn’t realize you were watching. But he smiled. The dreams were changing him. He’d begun writing them down — scratching notes into thin leaf parchment when he woke, tracing the edges of memory with almost frantic curiosity. He saw your face in all of them. Your laughter. Your tears. The sound of your voice calling him “tìyawn.”

And lately, he’d been seeing Lo’ak too, laughing with him, hunting beside him, helping deliver Eylan, pulling him from danger. The images weren’t clear, but the feeling was. Love. Loyalty. Trust. He needed to talk to someone. So that night, he found Lo’ak sitting on the rocks near the shore, watching the tide pull against the reef. “You got a minute?” Neteyam asked, voice rough from use. Lo’ak glanced over. “Yeah, Whatsup bro?” They sat together in the moonlight, the ocean lapping at their feet. For a long time, Neteyam said nothing. Then, “I keep dreaming of you.” Lo’ak blinked. “Uh… thanks?”

“No,” Neteyam huffed a laugh. “Not like that, skxawng. I mean… we were close. Weren’t we?” Lo’ak’s smile faded into something soft. “Yeah. You are my brother. My best friend.” There was silence between them again, warm and heavy. Neteyam nodded slowly. “I feel it. Even if I don’t remember it all yet. I feel like I trusted you more than anyone.”

“Besides your wife, you did,” Lo’ak said. “You still can.” Neteyam rubbed a hand over his face. “Everything’s so loud lately. The dreams won’t stop. And every time I look at her—” His voice faltered, but Lo’ak knew who he meant. “It’s like… my body remembers even if my head can’t.” Lo’ak swallowed, choosing his next words carefully. “You don’t have to force anything. But if you feel it… follow that.” Neteyam looked at him, searching. “You think I’m a terrible person?”

“No,” Lo’ak said without hesitation. “I think you’re lost. But you’re finding your way back.” Neteyam exhaled, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “I missed you.” Lo’ak grinned. “I missed you more.”

But further back, hidden in the shadow of the reef wall, Lina stood — her back pressed against the stone, breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant to follow him, not at first. But when she saw him walking toward Lo’ak, toward his family, something gnawed inside her. And when she heard what he said — that he dreamed of them, felt something for them, missed them and that gnawing turned to fear. No. No! She had worked too hard to lose him now.

She had touched him, claimed pieces of him, given him herself in every way he would allow — all to be the one he reached for in the darkness. She couldn’t compete with dreams. Not if he started believing they were real. And so, as the brothers laughed quietly under the stars, Lina stepped back into the shadows — her smile gone, her hands curling into fists. If he was starting to remember who he was… Then she had to remind him who he could be. With her.

The lanternlight inside Lina’s mauri flickered low, casting her face in a warm, amber glow. Outside, the reef was quiet, only the occasional lap of water against stone and the breeze threading through the woven walls. Neteyam stood near the entrance, silent for a long while. He shouldn’t have come. He knew that. But her voice had pulled him in again, soft and aching when she’d said, “Can we talk?”

Now he stood in the hush of her space, tense and unsure. She hadn’t touched him yet — not like she usually did. She just sat there, on the mat, her knees drawn to her chest, her head resting lightly against them. “You didn’t come yesterday,” she said quietly. His brow twitched. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“I noticed,” she said, her voice tight. “You’ve been… different.” He didn’t answer. She glanced up at him — eyes glistening. “I keep thinking I did something wrong.” Neteyam exhaled. “You didn’t.”

“Then why don’t you want me anymore?” He flinched. Lina dropped her gaze, fingers curling against her legs. “You come here, but you don’t touch me like before. You don’t even look at me the same way.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m just—” she whispered cutting him off. “I know. Confused” A shaky breath escaped her lips. “But… you kissed me, Neteyam. You held me like I mattered. And I—I thought that meant something.”

“It did,” he said quietly. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He stepped forward, uneasy. “You’re not.” But she shook her head, blinking fast. “You are slipping away, and I can feel it.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she looked at him with trembling lips. “What did I do wrong? Why can’t I be enough?” Neteyam’s chest ached. He didn’t have an answer. His mind was too full — dreams, flashes of laughter, touches he couldn’t place, names that held weight even without memory. Lina leaned forward slowly, crawling toward him on her knees, eyes wide, wet. “Do you still want me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or was I just… something to hold while you were lost?”

“Lina—”

“Because I was there,” she said. “I didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t push. I just stayed. I listened. I held you. And now…” She reached for his hand. “You won’t even look at me.”

He looked down at her hand in his — warm, trembling. Her fingers threaded with his, then slowly, she guided his palm up to her shoulder, pressing his hand there like she was pleading with her skin. “Touch me like you did before,” she whispered. “Like I matter to you. Even if it’s just for tonight.” His fingers twitched.

She moved closer, lifting his hand to her collarbone now, guiding his touch as if it were his idea. Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed her neck. “There,” she said. “Do you feel that?” He swallowed. “That’s me,” she murmured. “Still here. Still wanting you.” Her hands slid to his waist, her head tilted, eyes searching his face. “Let me have this. Let me keep something before it all disappears.” His heart pounded. She rose slightly onto her knees, her chest pressed to his, her breath warm on his lips. Her hands curled around his shoulders, pulling him gently, softly, until his forehead was resting against hers.

“I need you,” she whispered. “I need us.” His eyes closed for a moment, the weight of her words curling around him like vines. Guilt. Sadness. Confusion. His body responded — it always did — but his mind was a storm. And then, like always… a noise outside. Children giggling, passing by. A familiar laugh in the distance — his brother’s. Neteyam tensed. He stepped back slowly, his breathing unsteady. Her hands slipped from his skin, her face falling. “Why?” she asked, voice breaking. “Why do you always pull away?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at her, gaze heavy with something she couldn’t quite decipher — sorrow, maybe. Or guilt. Or both. Then he turned and left. And she stayed there, staring at the doorway like it betrayed her. But in her chest, something twisted. If soft didn’t work… maybe it was time for something harder. Because she was not going to lose him. Not after everything.

The stars blinked above him as Neteyam walked the short distance from Lina’s mauri to the Sully’s. His hands were still warm from her touch, but his heart felt heavier than it had when he walked in. He hadn’t said anything on the way out. He never really did. The flicker of torchlight reached him first — then the sound of laughter, children’s voices, and the smell of grilled fish and roasted sea roots drifting through the humid evening air, home. He stopped at the edge of the mauri, just out of sight, watching.

Jake sat cross-legged with Tuk and Eylan, cutting bits of fish for both of them while they chattered excitedly. Neytiri was nearby, laughing softly at something Lo’ak had said while Kiri fed Likan, who squirmed and babbled with his usual endless energy. You sat to the side with baby Kiriya in your lap, bouncing her gently while you tried to eat with your free hand, the sling now loosened. Her little head bobbed as she cooed and reached for a piece of your braid.

The space was warm and full, lively and familiar. It felt like something he didn’t realize he’d been missing. Then Tuk spotted him. “Neteyam!” she chirped, waving hard with both arms like her life depended on it. Everyone turned. And you—your head snapped up, eyes meeting his with that small, soft smile that hadn’t changed, even through all of it. He stepped in slowly. Lo’ak shifted over without a word, patting the space between him and Eylan. “You’re late,” Jake teased. “I didn’t know I was invited,” Neteyam replied lightly, settling down between his brother and son. “You always are,” Neytiri said, smiling warmly at him.

Eylan wasted no time crawling into his lap, talking a mile a minute about the reef games he played with his friends and how he won twice but only because one of the boys cheated once and tried to pull his tail underwater. Neteyam listened. Really listened. His arm curled around the boy instinctively, his smile more genuine than it had been all day. Kiriya squealed from your lap; eyes locked on her big brother now curled in her father’s arms. Her little hands wiggled excitedly in the air. “She’s been very chatty today,” you said softly, brushing a hand over her head.

“Like you?” he replied before he could think twice. Your eyes flicked to his and your open your mouth in offense playfully, the words surprised even him. “Was that an insult? You saying I talk to much?” You laugh and so did he, a real chuckle. Then Lo’ak leaned in, smirking. “We were just talking about the clan gathering.”

“The big one?” Neteyam asked, eyes going to Jake. Jake nodded. “Few weeks. All the coastal villages are coming in for it. Singing, dancing, food — even a few races and competitions.” You grinned. “Eylan is already planning what he’s going to wear. And I’m thinking we’ll leave Kiriya and Likan with a sitter so we can all actually enjoy it.” Neteyam blinked. “A sitter?” You nodded and told him about a friend of Ronal’s who volunteered to watch them. “She agreed to watch them,” you said. “So the family can go.”

“She’s kind,” Neytiri added, “and Likan already loves her.” Neteyam looked toward Likan, who was now face-first in Kiri’s lap, pretending to be a sea creature while she dramatically scolded him for drooling on her skirt. Everyone laughed. Neteyam looked down at Eylan still cuddled into his chest. The world felt right for a moment. Lighter.

“I remember this,” he murmured softly. “This feeling,” he said more clearly. “This noise. The way everyone talks over each other. It’s warm. I remember that.” Lo’ak smiled at him, wide and proud. “You always said it drove you crazy.”

“But I liked it,” Neteyam replied. Eylan looked up. “You remember us, sempu?” Neteyam hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. “Not fully. But I dream about you. A lot.” Eylan’s eyes lit up. “What do I do in your dreams?”

“You cry a lot,” Neteyam teased, nudging him with a grin. Eylan gasped. “I do not!” Everyone burst out laughing. Likan shouted something unintelligible and flailed in agreement, as if he understood everything and Kiriya squealed again, bouncing in your lap. For the first time in weeks, Neteyam laughed — fully. Loud and real. He leaned into his brother, who bumped shoulders with him. You looked down at your baby, then at your boys, your mate sitting there like he always belonged, and you smiled.

Dinner had ended with the warm hum of laughter still lingering in the air, the scent of smoked fish and sea root still clinging to everyone’s fingers and hair. You’d barely noticed how late it had gotten until Tuk yawned with a dramatic stretch, and Eylan slumped more into Neteyam’s side, rubbing his eyes and murmuring sleepily. Likan was already asleep in Kiri’s lap, his little hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of roasted yovo fruit. Kiriya lay against your chest, blinking slowly from the sling, her fists curling into your wrap like she didn’t want the night to end. You rose slowly, brushing the side of her cheek. “Alright, bedtime,” you murmured. Neteyam was already shifting, carefully gathering Eylan into his arms. The boy sighed, nestling in with a contented little hum.

“I can get Likan,” he said, glancing toward Kiri. She smiled softly and handed over the sleeping toddler. “He’s heavier when he’s asleep. Good luck.” Neteyam gave a little huff under his breath and took him carefully, one arm under Likan’s bottom, the other supporting his back. “When did they get so big?” he muttered. “You’ve been gone a while,” Kiri said gently, then turned to help Neytiri tidy the dinner space.

With the baby against your chest and the boys in his arms, the two of you left the Sully mauri and padded softly across the sand toward your own. The stars blinked above, and the soft crash of waves against the reef formed a lullaby in the dark. Your home was quiet, warm. The fire pit glowed low with embers, just enough light to see by. Neteyam crouched and carefully lowered Likan onto the sleeping mat, then Eylan, who stirred immediately with a dramatic groan.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” Eylan mumbled. “You’re already sleeping, itan,” Neteyam said dryly, nudging him. “Am not,” came the sulky reply. “I’ll settle Kiriya,” you murmured, already tugging at the ties of her sling, her soft breath hot against your skin. “If you settle the boys—?”

“Done,” Neteyam said. It was not done. Eylan rolled onto his side, bumped into Likan, and immediately yelped, “He’s kicking me!” Likan sat up with a startled cry, wide-eyed and completely disoriented. “No kicking! No!” You sighed. “Great. Now they’re both up.” Neteyam rubbed his face. “I jinxed it.”

“Clearly.” The next half hour was a blur of soothing and shifting. Eylan wanted a different pillow — “not that one, the soft one!” and Likan kept scooting off the mat to look for a rock he swore he lost during dinner. You nursed Kiriya while walking gently in a slow loop, whispering soft lullabies, but she squirmed and whimpered, unsettled. “I think she’s overtired,” you murmured. “She gets that from you,” Neteyam called quietly from the mat. You shot him a look and he grinned.

Eventually, Eylan conked out again, curled around one of the large shell-shaped pillows. Likan was sprawled across Neteyam’s chest, one tiny hand curled against his father’s collarbone, breathing slow and deep. And Kiriya… well, she was still fussing. You sat on the edge of the mat, nursing her again, hoping this time it would soothe her to sleep. Neteyam turned his head where he lay on his back, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. “You make that look so easy,” he said softly. You huffed a tired laugh. “I don’t think my back would agree.”

“She looks so much like you when she’s angry,” he whispered. “She looks like you,” you corrected, brushing a finger down her nose. Neteyam’s voice dropped lower, warmer. “You’re really beautiful when you do that, you know.” Your eyes flicked to his. “Feeding her,” he added. “You look strong. Like a mother. Like a wife.” You felt your cheeks flush, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ve been doing it for months.”

“I know.” His gaze lingered on your chest for a moment longer before flicking back up to your eyes. “Still.” You cleared your throat. “You should get up. You’ll fall asleep like that.” He smiled rubbing a hand on Likan’s back “I might.”

“You haven’t slept here in months.” He looked down at the cozy chaos beneath him — soft woven blankets, the seashell pillows, Likan drooling slightly on his chest. “It’s nice,” he said quietly. “You made this warm. Safe.” You smiled, brushing Kiriya’s cheek. “That’s what a home is supposed to be.” He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move either. His hand rested lightly on Likan’s back, rising and falling with the toddler’s breath. “You’re good at this,” you said softly, surprising yourself. “At what?”

“Being a father. Even if you don’t remember how you got here… you belong here.” He turned his face toward you again. “You really think so?” You nod, “I do.” The fire popped gently. You switched Kiriya to the other side, and Neteyam’s eyes flicked toward your chest again before quickly looking away. “You know,” he said after a pause, “some of those pictures we saw… you looked downright dangerous.” You laughed under your breath. “Dangerous? You were looking at pictures again?”

“In a good way. Like… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I did,” you teased. “You liked that.”

“I do like that.” You glanced over. “Don’t flirt with me while I’m breastfeeding.”

“Why not?” he said, voice a little lower. “You’re still hot.” You laughed again, quieter this time, trying not to jostle the baby. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“Neither can I.” There was a pause. Then, softer: “But I think I mean it.” And when Kiriya finally drifted off against your chest, her little lips still puckered, Neteyam reached out and adjusted the blanket around your shoulder, fingers brushing the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Thank you for this,” he whispered. You met his eyes, voice almost too soft to hear. “You’re welcome home.” The mauri was quiet, soft with the hush of the ocean beyond its walls and the occasional murmur of sleeping children shifting in their dreams. But Neteyam lay wide awake, still and silent, his arms at his sides, his head turned slightly toward you.

You were close, closer than you had been in months. Eylan lay between you both, curled into his father’s side, one hand resting over Neteyam’s chest. Likan sprawled in his usual starfish pattern across the bottom of the mat, and Kiriya had been swaddled and tucked close to your chest earlier. But now, it was the middle of the night. The stars outside had shifted overhead. And Kiriya stirred, giving a soft, sleepy whimper. You woke immediately — that mother’s instinct still razor sharp. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, careful not to jostle Eylan. Kiriya let out a soft protest again, louder this time, and you pulled her into your arms, guiding her to nurse as naturally as you breathed. Neteyam didn’t move. But he wasn’t asleep. His voice came softly, almost hesitantly, like he was testing the darkness.

“If someone… forgot their whole life,” he said, “and started over… are they still responsible for what they do when they don’t remember who they were?” You blinked at the question, caught off guard. “You’re awake?” Kiriya suckled quietly, your hand stroking her soft downy hair. “That’s a strange thing to ask,” you said gently. “I know.” You could hear the tension in his voice — low and conflicted, almost uncertain. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just…” he paused. “What if… they did something they wouldn’t have done before? Something that… wasn’t fair to the people who love them?” Your heart tightened. Your fingers stilled where they stroked the baby’s back. The air felt thicker now. In the dark, you couldn’t see him. But you knew. You knew what this was. “Neteyam,” you said quietly, “did you do something?” He didn’t answer right away. You reached out, careful not to wake Eylan, and your fingers brushed across your son’s curls before finding the edge of Neteyam’s arm — warm, steady, trembling slightly. “I didn’t know who I was,” he said finally, barely a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t… feel. I still felt things. Wanting to be wanted. To feel like I mattered to someone.”

“And now?” He exhaled shakily. “Now I remember more every day. And I feel like I’m… two different people trying to live in one skin. The man who forgot, and the man who’s starting to come back.” Your hand stayed there, on his arm, fingers tightening just slightly. “And both of them are hurting.” He swallowed. You heard it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You whisper, “I know.”

“I think I already did,” he whispered. You were silent for a long moment, and Kiriya stirred again in your arms, unlatching briefly before shifting and settling once more. You brushed her cheek and whispered, “She’s hungry again. She does that. Doesn’t like to be alone.”

“I think I understand that.” You looked at where you knew he lay. “I don’t need a perfect version of you, Neteyam. Just the one who tries.” He was quiet, but your fingers still felt his — brushing lightly over your knuckles now, just barely. “I don’t want to be lost anymore,” he said. You nodded. “Then come back. Piece by piece. I’ll wait.” And there was something in his next breath — a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob, so soft it barely made it to you. You didn’t say more.

You stayed there, in the dark, with the baby nestled against you, your fingers resting against the edge of his hand across Eylan’s little head. And somehow, even with all that had happened — the heartbreak, the confusion, the silence — it felt like you were finding your way again. In the dark, but still together.

The rain had slowed outside, just a gentle patter on the leaves now, but inside the mauri, it was still warm with your shared breath and the soft sounds of your sleeping children. Neteyam hadn’t moved since your conversation started. Likan was curled up on his chest, Eylan pressed into his side, and Kiriya was snoozing in your arms. You let a beat pass. Then you whispered, not quite able to let it go, “Is that all you did with her?” He blinked slowly. “…You mean—”

“Yes, Neteyam,” you cut in, voice hushed but clearly not done. “Because I’ve been sitting here, holding our daughter, who literally looks like a smaller, grumpier version of you, and wondering how far another woman got with my mate while I was leaking milk and chasing toddlers.” Neteyam groaned softly, covering his face with his free hand. “You really want to do this now?”

“Yes.” He peeked out between his fingers at you. “…You’re serious?” You narrowed your eyes. “Dead serious.” He sighed, careful not to jostle Likan. “She… tried things.” You raised a brow. “She kissed me. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you muttered, nose wrinkling. “And, uh… she touched me.” His ears twitched slightly in embarrassment. You waited, blinking slowly. “Touched you how, exactly?” He gave you a long look. You didn’t blink. Neteyam cleared his throat. “With her hand.” You blinked again. “And?” you pressed, biting back a smirk. He gave a half-hearted shrug, lips twitching. “She tried to go down on me. Like… a few times.” You gave him a scandalized look, eyes adjusting to the dark. “She was very—forward,” he muttered quickly. “I never let her. But her hand… got there a couple times.”

You just stared at him and then shook your head. “Couple times, he says. Neteyam, a couple is two.” He looked at the ceiling like it held answers. “It was more than two.” You let out a soft snort. “I should throw this baby blanket at you.” He gave you a sheepish grin. “Please don’t. Likan might wake up. And I’m currently pinned under his drool.” You stared at him, lips twitching despite yourself. Then your voice turned teasing, but it held an edge. “So? Was she good at it?”

He choked. “What?” You tilted your head. “I’m asking. Was she good with her hands?” Neteyam looked like he wanted Eywa to strike him down where he lay. “I—I mean. It was… fine.”

“Fine?” He winced. “Okay, good. Whatever. It felt good. I’m not made of stone.” You leaned closer, voice lower. “Better than me?” He looked horrified. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I’m your wife,” you said, barely containing your laughter, “and if another woman had your favorite parts in her hands, I want to know if she did it right.” He groaned again. “It’s like you’re trying to kill me.” You shrugged, totally unfazed. “Was she better?”

“No,” he said without thinking. Then added, “Like—I mean I don’t fully remember everything with you, but I know how it felt with you. That connection. The trust. The way we… moved together. That’s not something you just replace.” You smiled a little, then asked slyly, “Did she smell good?” Neteyam paused. “What is this?”

“Answer the question.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She smelled like seaweed and flower oil.” You wrinkled your nose. “I knew it. That woman bathes in crushed petals like she’s trying to lure in unsuspecting men.” Neteyam chuckled softly. “You were always so territorial.” You shrugged. “Yes, but I’m more protective. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, lips twitching. “Was she softer than me?” His eyes slid over to you, finally catching on to the playful, wicked glint in your gaze. “You’re soft and strong. Best of both.”

“Was she prettier?”

“No.”

“Curvier?” Neteyam smiled. “No one fits against me like you do.” You paused, surprised by how much that made your heart skip. Then, in a quiet moment, you asked, “Did you want her?”

He went still. His gaze dropped to your daughter, curled on your chest. To your hand resting on the mat near his. And finally, to your face. “…No,” he said. “I was confused. Lost. And she was there. But I didn’t want her. Not like I want you.” The silence that followed was full of everything unspoken, all the weight of grief, memory, love, and longing. You exhaled. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoed softly. You nodded. “We’ll figure it out.” He looked at you a moment longer, then brushed a knuckle across Likan’s back. “You’re incredible, you know that?” You smirked. “Yeah, well. Your memory may be slow, but your taste is still perfect.” Neteyam laughed under his breath, and for the first time in ages, it felt like home.

The mornings felt different now. For the first time in what felt like seasons, Neteyam was back in the mauri where he belonged — where you and the children had waited for him without ever stopping. His things had been moved quietly during the early hours of his return, his arm brushing yours as he helped fold blankets, tuck them into corners, smooth over sleeping mats. The space had always been his, and yet now he treated it like a sacred gift he was trying to earn back every day.

He hadn’t gone to Lina since you told him not to — since he agreed not to. He hadn’t even looked in her direction when he passed the outer reefs. Every time guilt threatened to creep up his spine, he reminded himself that he was here because of you. Because you still loved him, still prayed for him, even when he’d forgotten everything.

He remembered more now — slowly, in pieces. The way you used to curl into his chest at night. The way Eylan would cling to his shoulders when he was younger, pressing his cheek into Neteyam’s neck. How Likan used to demand to ride on his shoulders, yelling “Up! Up!” with a chubby little hand tugging his braids. And how Kiriya’s lips curled the tiniest bit when she nursed, like she was smiling up at you in her own way.

He apologized over and over. Quietly, loudly, sometimes with tears in his eyes, sometimes with flowers braided into your hair when he thought words weren’t enough. He hadn’t slept with Lina — but it didn’t make what happened disappear. And he didn’t expect your forgiveness quickly. He just wanted the chance to prove he was worthy of it. You let him. Slowly. On your terms.

He swept the floors of the mauri. Took over the task of bathing the boys in the lagoon when they were fighting so you didn’t have to. Cooked badly — and burned things often — but he kept trying. Kiri joked once that he was trying to atone through labor, and Neteyam didn’t even deny it.

One afternoon, a few days into his return, Lo’ak came by to help him fix a crooked support beam that held up the side of the roof. The boys were napping after an afternoon of chasing each other in the sun, Kiriya nestled against your chest while you rested in the shade nearby. “Hold this steady,” Neteyam said, gripping the thick vine and pulling it taut while Lo’ak looped it around. Lo’ak grunted. “You got heavier since the war, bro. You’re not fun to lift anymore.”

“You got scrawnier,” Neteyam shot back, smirking. Lo’ak snorted. “You wish.” They worked in easy silence for a bit, sweat collecting at their temples, the weight of the sun warm but not oppressive. Then Neteyam asked casually — too casually — “So… you and my mate. You kissed her?” Lo’ak froze like someone had poured cold water down his spine. “What?” Neteyam didn’t look at him right away. He was focused on tying a knot. “She told me. Said it happened the night before I woke up.”

“You—she—oh my Eywa.” Lo’ak dropped the cord. “Bro, I didn’t mean to—she was crying, I was—Neteyam I wasn’t even trying to—I’m sorry.” Neteyam let the silence stretch. Then: “Was it… passionate?”

“Bro!” You, overhearing from the shade, couldn’t stop the snort that slipped from your nose. Lo’ak looked like he wanted to fling himself off the reef. “I mean I just—” Neteyam’s mouth twitched, trying to keep a straight face. “Should I be worried?”

Lo’ak waved his hands wildly. “There was no tongue, okay?! It was like—a sad, forehead-touchy kind of thing, and then we kissed but like—your wife kisses with emotion, okay?! I wasn’t trying to seduce her—” Neteyam was laughing now. Fully, openly. Lo’ak narrowed his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m serious,” Neteyam said between laughs. “Was it good?” Lo’ak turned to you. “Are you hearing this madness?” You were howling now, arms crossed as Kiriya snoozed peacefully, unfazed by her family’s antics. “I’m just saying,” Neteyam added, wiping his face, “if my brother kissed my wife, I at least want to know how I rank.” Lo’ak pointed at him. “You ranked. I promise. I almost got punched by guilt mid-kiss. It’s you, bro. It’s always been you.”

Neteyam’s expression softened at that. He nodded once, serious again. “I know. It’s okay. I just… I needed to hear it.” Lo’ak tilted his head. “Are we… cool?” Neteyam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You raised my kids with her. Helped her when I was gone, kept them safe. I’m not just cool with you—I owe you.”

Lo’ak smiled. “Just don’t make me babysit all three at once again. I still have nightmares.” You grinned, watching the two brothers laugh again. The ache in your chest softened. This was what you’d missed. What had been missing. And slowly, piece by piece, the bonds were stitching back together.

The dreams were getting worse. Or… better, depending on perspective. But for Neteyam, waking up next to you every morning while you slept peacefully—with your curves tucked beneath soft cloth, your breath warm and even, and Kiriya cooing quietly against your chest—was becoming increasingly difficult. Not because he didn’t want to be there. But because he really wanted to be there.

The dreams started off soft, tender… sweet flashes of you and him tangled in the glowing forest under a curtain of bioluminescent vines, your skin glowing, your laugh echoing in his ears as you kissed his cheeks, his mouth, his neck. But then they escalated. Faster than he was prepared for.

Now they were… loud. In every sense. They were full-body, flushed-skin, back-arching, tweng-tangling flashes that left him panting awake in the dark, his hands fisted in the bedding, his chest heaving, and a very obvious situation in his lap that he had to hide quickly before Eylan or Likan stirred beside him. He thought cold water would help. He was wrong.

So, every morning, right as the first rays of dawn touched the edge of the reef, Neteyam would sneak off into the waves, slipping into the water with a hiss through his teeth, determined to let the icy ocean chase the heat from his blood. It never worked. And when he came back in, shivering, teeth chattering slightly, you always gave him the same look. This day was no different. You blinked awake slowly, brushing a hand over Kiriya’s soft little back where she lay snuggled against your chest, her lips still puckered from nursing. Then you caught sight of him, dripping wet, shoulders hunched slightly, arms wrapped around himself as he tried to warm up. You blinked again. Then smirked. “Another swim, mighty warrior?” He cleared his throat, doing his best to look casual. “Just clearing my head.”

“Sure.” You sat up slightly, brushing Kiriya’s curls from her cheek, her sleepy little eyes barely cracking open. “Did the ocean help, or just make your balls disappear?” Neteyam choked, whipping around. “Skxawng!” You were laughing before you could stop yourself, your shoulders shaking, one hand trying to cover your mouth. Neteyam was pink around the tips of his ears as he rubbed his arms. “It’s cold out there.”

“Well maybe,” you said, setting Kiriya gently down beside her brothers, who were still tangled in a sleepy pile, “you should try not torturing yourself.” He huffed. “It’s not like I can control what I dream about.” You gave him a knowing look as you moved to him, placing a thick, woven cloth over his shoulders. He flinched at the warmth, grateful. “But you can control what you do about it,” you teased. He looked at you warily. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you said, beginning to rub warmth into his arms through the cloth, “I see you, Neteyam. You wake up every morning tense and hard like a stone pillar under that tweng. You’ve been diving into the water like some cursed, guilty little boy. But you’re not little. You’re a grown man. My mate.”

He looked anywhere but your eyes. You lowered your voice. “I know what your dreams are about.” He finally met your gaze, his voice low. “Do you?” You nodded slowly. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.” He groaned, pulling the cloth over his face. “Great.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you said, laughing softly. “They’re… kinda flattering.” He peeked at you with a look of dry betrayal. “You’re enjoying this?”

“Just a little.” He scowled, though it lacked heat. “It’s not fair. I remember just enough to want you, but not enough to feel like I deserve to act on it.” Your smile faded into something softer. You moved closer, fingertips brushing his arm. “You’re my husband. The father of my children. You don’t have to earn what’s already yours. You just have to come home to it.”

He looked at you for a long time, jaw tight, eyes searching your face. “I dream of you,” he said. “The way you used to kiss me. Touch me. Your voice—sounds—I didn’t know I remembered… They wake me up shaking.” Your lips parted slightly, your own breath catching. “And then I look at you,” he added, “and I just feel… pulled. Like my body remembers everything my head forgot. Every time I brush against you by accident, it feels like lightning in my chest.” You swallowed thickly, stepping closer. He glanced toward the children. “But I can’t keep waking up like this, hard as a rock, running into the ocean like a fool—freezing my balls off.”

You laughed again, unable to help it. “Do you want help next time, ma Neteyam?” His eyes darkened, lips quirking. “Don’t start, yawne. I’m barely holding on as it is.” You smiled at him with soft eyes, brushing his hair from his face. “Then maybe you should stop fighting so hard. Come back to me. All the way.”

He leaned in, almost without thinking, but then pulled back with a sigh. “I don’t want to mess this up again,” he said. “So I’ll wait until I know for sure I’m ready. You deserve all of me.” You nodded. “And you’ll get there. But maybe next time, skip the icy ocean.” He looked down at his lap, where the evidence of his dreams had finally subsided. “Good. Because my balls still haven’t recovered.” You giggled, smacking his arm. “Go warm up, skxawng. I’ll make tea.”

As you turned, he reached out and caught your wrist gently. “Hey.” You turned back. His gaze was full of everything he couldn’t quite say yet. “I love you,” he said, voice quiet. Your heart skipped. You squeezed his hand. “I know.” I giggle, “I love you more.” And as the morning sun broke through the clouds, there was a quiet promise lingering in the space between your joined hands: He was coming home. Fully. One dream, one breath, one kiss at a time.

The night was still. Quiet but for the gentle whisper of waves against the reef, and the occasional coo or sigh from the children shifting in their sleep. Neteyam sat on the mat, legs crossed, the tablet glowing faintly in his hands. You had already told him—twice—to come to bed. You were curled up at the far end of the mat, Kiriya tucked in your arms, Likan curled against your side, and Eylan’s head resting gently near yours. But still, he stayed up. Still, he scrolled.

He couldn’t stop. The images, the videos… they were you. Him. All the small things that should’ve been ordinary felt sacred now. You walking through the forest, barefoot, laughing. You trying to cut fruit with a curved blade and muttering curses under your breath when it slipped. You with the boys—smeared in mud, singing lullabies, dancing in the kitchen. Every second was a thread. And slowly, they were stitching his life back together.

Then he tapped a file. One he hadn’t seen before, the screen went black for a moment, then it lit up. It was you. Dressed in Omatikayan wedding cloth—deep forest green and rich maroon threads, handmade jewelry wrapped delicately around your wrists and ankles. Beads adorned your hair. Your face was dewy with tears. You stood inside a new home, just barely furnished, still smelling of fresh cut wood and woven palms. You looked straight into the camera and sniffled, smiling so wide it cracked through your tears.

“We’re mated.” You laughed, wiping your eyes. “I can’t believe it. I mean… I can, because of course it’s him. But I’m still—I’m married to Neteyam. The love of my life.” You giggled. “He went back to get the rest of our stuff. He wouldn’t let me help. He said, ‘Just stay here, baby. I’ll bring home our whole world.’” You glanced around, eyes full of emotion. “This is it. Our home. He built this with his own hands for us. And somehow, I get to live here with him.” The camera shook slightly as you leaned in. Your eyes were shining. Honest. “He loves me. He loves me so much. Even when I’m angry. Even when I don’t get things right. Even when I talk too much or sleep with my feet freezing cold. He never complains. He just… pulls me close. He tells me I’m everything he ever wanted.” You breathed out slowly, clutching something—your courting token—in your hand. “I never thought I’d have this. I never thought I’d get to be chosen. But he chose me. And I’ll spend, the rest of my life loving him the way he loves me. The way he made me feel like I deserve and the way I know he deserves.” The video ended quietly. Neteyam’s chest caved inward as he stared at the dark screen, frozen.

And then—It hit him. Everything. Like water crashing through a dam. The forest. The moment you first reached for his hand. The first time you slept curled up together under the stars. Your first kiss, his fingers trembling where they touched your jaw. His face pressed into your neck the night you gave birth to Eylan. You squeezing his hand, eyes locked on him as Likan came into the world. Your laughter. Your cries. The fights. The passion. The love. Every. Single. Second. He gasped—choked on air—and jerked forward as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His hands trembled violently. You stirred. He didn’t even realize how loud he’d whispered your name. “Ma—ma yawne—” You blinked awake slowly, sleep-soft and groggy. “Teyam?”

But his hand was already on your cheek, his breath hitching, eyes wide and wet as he leaned over you. And that was when Kiriya stirred—your movement jostling her. She let out a sharp cry, confused and still tired. Likan, pressed against you, whined and flailed sleepily. Eylan murmured something and turned over. You sat up quickly, trying to hush her, but Neteyam was shaking—smiling—and crying all at once, one hand over his mouth, the tablet slipping from his lap. You turned to him in confusion. “Neteyam—what—?” He was already pulling you close, chest heaving as he clung to you, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I remember.” His voice broke. “I remember everything.” Your heart stopped. “What—”

“Everything.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “You. Our life. The boys. Kiriya.” His hand hovered over her; chest wracked with emotion. “*You were right. You’ve always been right. I was yours. I’ve always been yours.” The emotion in your chest was a storm. You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

Then you heard feet, running. Kiri burst in, wide-eyed, Neytiri behind her. Jake wasn’t far. Tuk, sleepy and bleary, trailed behind holding her bow. Lo’ak came in next, tense and worried. “What happened?! Is something wrong?” Kiri’s eyes landed on Neteyam’s face—his tear-streaked, smiling face—and yours, where you trembled and wept against him. Neytiri’s breath caught. Jake’s shoulders slumped in relief. You turned to them, cradling Kiriya as Neteyam wrapped an arm around all three of his children, pulling them in.

“He remembers.” The room stilled. Kiri’s hands flew to her mouth. Neytiri was crying in seconds, turning into Jake’s chest. Tuk ran forward, hugging Neteyam’s leg. “You’re back?” He laughed wetly. “I’m back, Tuk.” Lo’ak stared, stunned, then shook his head in disbelief. “You’re such a skxawng,” he muttered, voice cracking. “I’m gonna punch you so hard later.” Neteyam only nodded, tears slipping free as he held you tighter. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “I probably deserve it.” You were sobbing now, holding onto him as he kissed your temple again and again, touching your face, your hands, your belly, like he had to feel every part of you to make sure you were real. He remembered. Everything. And from this moment on, he would never forget again.

Once the noise settled and the tears dried, the Sully family gave their son one last round of bone-crushing hugs, quiet laughter, and forehead kisses before Neytiri gently ushered everyone back to their mauri, smiling through her tears.

“I’ll see you in the morning, ma’itan,” Neytiri whispered as she smoothed his hair like she had when he was a boy. “My son has returned.” Jake gripped his shoulder with pride, his eyes red. “We’ll talk tomorrow. You’ll explain everything… after you sleep.” Kiri gave him a long, tight hug, and even Lo’ak ruffled his hair with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like relief. “You’re lucky I love you, bro,” he muttered. “You’re lucky I remember you,” Neteyam replied with a grin.

After the family trickled out, leaving only the soft glow of a candle and the quiet hum of night, you found yourself staring at the mat, where the three kids had already started dozing again in the aftermath of their interrupted slumber.

Likan had kicked off his blanket and sprawled belly-first across a woven pillow like a tiny lizard. Eylan had found his way to the spot Neteyam sat in earlier and curled up there like it was still warm, his little face slack with sleep. Kiriya, sweet and full after nursing, lay content against your shoulder, her soft breaths ghosting across your collarbone. “Stars,” you whispered, looking at the chaos. “They sleep like drunk adults.”

Neteyam let out a small, husky laugh and dropped into the mat beside you, his shoulders finally relaxed, his posture slouched in a way you hadn’t seen in months—like the weight of confusion had fallen off his chest. “You always said that” he said with a grin, brushing Likan’s stray braid out of his face. “I never understood it until now. He sleeps like he fought a tree.”

“He did fight a tree yesterday,” you said, smirking. “Lost, too.” Neteyam chuckled, glancing at you as you gently laid Kiriya down between the pillows and tucked her beside her brothers. You both stared down at them in silence.

“I missed this,” he said softly. You turned to him, laying on your side, your hand propping your head up. “You didn’t know you were missing it.” He groaned and replied “I know. That’s the part that kills me.” You reached across the mat and touched his wrist. “You came back to us. That’s all that matters.” His eyes softened. “You kept this going. All of it. The home. The kids. Me.”

“I cried. A lot,” you admitted. “And yelled. And didn’t shower nearly enough.” Neteyam grinned. “You smell fine. You always smell like… berries and sunlight and baby.” You giggle softly. “That’s either really sweet or mildly offensive.”

“Depends on the baby,” he joked. Then, after a beat, his smile faded into something gentler. “I remember what you went through. At least, parts of it. When I was shot. When you saw me unconscious. The birth of Kiriya.” You blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded. “Not the pain. But I remember her crying. And Lo’ak’s voice. And yours.” His gaze dropped to your belly. “You were in so much pain, and I wasn’t there. And then you were holding her and sobbing because I didn’t wake up.” Tears welled in your eyes. “You remember that?” He reached over and cupped your cheek. “I do now. It all came back. I felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe without you. But the second I saw that video of you—our wedding, you talking to the camera—it was like my whole soul snapped into place.” You sniffled, trying not to cry again. “I didn’t know if you’d ever see that.”

“I’m glad I did. You were so beautiful in that video.” His grin returned, sly this time. “I remember how long it took me to take those wraps off.” You flushed. “Don’t start, Neteyam. The kids are—” He leaned closer, teasing. “All asleep. Deep, drooling sleep. We could draw on their faces and they wouldn’t notice.” You swatted his shoulder, laughing into your hand. “You’re horrible.”

“I’m yours,” he whispered, brushing your fingers aside to kiss your knuckles. You stared at him, your heart full to the brim. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He lay down facing you, so close now your foreheads touched. “I remember every scar, every fight, every kiss, every moment I told you I loved you—and everyone I didn’t say it but showed it anyway. I remember you, yawne. All of you.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat, your fingers finding his, tangled loosely between your bodies. “You’re gonna have to prove it, you know.” He smirked. “Oh, I plan to.” Kiriya stirred in her sleep with a little grunt and both of you froze, peeking over her bundled shape. “She’s got your nose,” Neteyam whispered. You smiled. “And your attitude. She screams when her milk isn’t warm enough like I can do anything about it.” He laughed softly “She’s perfect.”

“She’s ours.” Neteyam leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss to your brow, your temple, then your lips. It was soft. Familiar. Like coming home. When you pulled apart, he yawned—finally—and tucked himself closer to you, curling behind Kiriya as you remained on your side facing him. “This side better than mine,” he mumbled. “Because it’s mine,” you teased. “I’m never leaving it again.” And you believed him. As the rain danced on the thatched roof above and your family slept safely around you, you let your eyes drift closed. Neteyam was home.

Lina paced the length of her mauri, the woven floor creaking softly beneath her bare feet. The ocean breeze no longer felt soothing—it was biting. Mocking. Her hands trembled as she set down the shell bowl, she had no intention of eating from. The scent of sea fruit made her stomach turn. Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since she’d last seen Neteyam.

No word. No visit. No trace of the man who once sat beside her every evening, tangled in her nets, tangled in her. Gone, like fog when the sun rises. And worse—worse—he had moved back into the home he once shared with you. That forest-bred thing he couldn’t remember loving. That mate who stood in her way again. She had heard it secondhand. Whispers from the market, low murmurs from children, the ripple of gossip as effortless as breath. “Did you hear? Neteyam moved back in with his family.”

“He carries the little one again, helps the boys bathe by the shore.”

“They say he remembers.”

That last part hit like a blade. He remembered. She’d dropped her basket when she heard, too stunned to care that her gathered sea herbs had spilled across the coral path. Her chest had gone tight, her vision narrowed. She hadn’t cried. No. She didn’t cry. But the burn in her throat was undeniable. He remembered. And he didn’t even say goodbye. He hadn’t needed to. You’d won. Again.

All her work, all her effort—everything she gave him: her attention, her patience, her body, her time—it had been for nothing. For a glimpse. A taste. And then gone. But Lina wasn’t the kind of woman to lose quietly. She sat that night beside her hearth, face lit by dim firelight, fingers curled tightly around a carving knife. She didn’t think about stabbing anything. Not really. Just the weight of it. The way the handle fit in her hand. She needed control. She needed something. Then the plan began to spin in her mind, fine and sharp as woven fishing line. If Neteyam remembered everything—everything—then surely, he also remembered pain. Jealousy. Doubt. The flaws. The insecurities. And maybe… just maybe, if she sowed the right seed, it would take root.

She didn’t know about your moment with Lo’ak—how could she? But that didn’t stop her from making one up. She found the right voice, trembling, sweet, just innocent enough. She whispered it first to a pair of girls near the shore. “They say she was never loyal,” she sighed. “Even when Neteyam was still unconscious. I heard Lo’ak was always around. Maybe too much.” She knew how to pick the right moments. Who to speak near, she wasn’t foolish enough to name names or say it too directly. But whispers had power in a clan this tightly knit. “Did you see how Lo’ak always carries the boys around? It’s like they’re his.”

“I thought she moved on. I heard she and Neteyam weren’t… together when the baby came.”

“She and Lo’ak used to sneak off into the woods before dinner, remember?”

Lies. Crafted with care. Not wild ones, but the kind that sounded like they could be true. And they spread. Lina watched from the rocks, arms crossed, as you passed with Kiriya in your sling and Neteyam at your side, your boys trailing behind him, clinging to their father’s fingers. You were laughing. He was smiling—genuinely smiling. Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair.

She had earned him. She’d been there when no one else had. When he didn’t know his name, she had whispered it against his skin. When he forgot who he was, she told him he was hers. But that version of him—blank, open, lost—was slipping further away with each passing day. So, her smile turned thin and patient, her hands laced sweetly in her lap, but her eyes stayed sharp. Scheming. She wasn’t done. Not yet.

It started with whispers — again. You had exactly, one week of peace together. But this time, the whispers were about you. At first, Neteyam tried to ignore them. He wanted to. He wanted to stay focused on the life he was building back — the family dinners, the quiet moments with Kiriya curled into his chest, the way Eylan giggled when he tossed him into the shallows, Likan’s sticky kisses, your soft sleepy smile before dawn. That was his life. But the voices got louder.

“She was with Lo’ak even before the baby came, I heard.”

“I saw them, always together, before Neteyam woke up. Touching.”

“Maybe the little one isn’t even his. Look at her eyes.”

“You think that’s why Lo’ak always helps with the kids? Guilt?”

One thing Neteyam had learned since regaining his memories: gossip in the clan was like a storm on the sea. Small at first, and then suddenly everywhere, churning, devouring, crashing over every surface. And it hurt. It hurt more than anything had in the last few months — because he had forgiven you. You had told him everything. That one kiss. That one moment of weakness. And he knew you regretted it. You had been broken. Alone. You had never stopped loving him. He knew that. But now, it wouldn’t leave his mind, the noise of it. Over and over. What if there was more? What if everyone else knew something he didn’t? He tried to push it down. Until the final blow came. “Lo’ak said something once… he said he loved her. That’s what I heard.” Neteyam lost it.

The entire family was gathered, talking near the cluster of Sully-linked mauri when it exploded. You were inside yours with the kids, nursing Kiriya down for her nap, and Neteyam was supposed to be helping Jake with spear repairs — but his voice rang out loud enough to stop everything. “You swore it was only one kiss!” Neteyam’s voice cracked like thunder, loud and hurt and furious. “One mistake! And now I’m hearing that my daughter might not even be mine?! That you and my wife—” Jake stepped in immediately, pushing a hand against Neteyam’s chest. “Hey! Hey! Watch yourself—” Lo’ak’s face twisted in confusion and disbelief. “Bro—what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You knew she was mine!” Neteyam shouted at him, ignoring everyone else, fury pouring out of every muscle. “You stood by her while I was dying, and now I’m finding out you touched her? Loved her? Are you proud of that?” Lo’ak stumbled back, face blanching. “No. What—Neteyam, I never—! It wasn’t like that! You know that!” Neytiri’s voice sliced through the air. “Enough.” But it was too late. You stepped out of the mauri then — Kiriya in your sling, wide-eyed, blinking against the noise. You looked… shattered. Neteyam saw you. The pain on your face. The hurt. The sheer shock at what he was saying. And still — still — he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you sleep with him?” he asked, low now. “Tell me right now, if you ever—” Your eyes welled up. “How dare you?” Everyone froze. You backed away slowly, turning without another word, disappearing down the sand path.

And then, a day passed. Two. You barely left the mauri, save for fetching food for the kids, helping them bathe and nap. You didn’t want to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him. Which is exactly when she came. Lina, you didn’t realize it was her before, honestly you didn’t even know what she looked like, but then she started talking. Soft-voiced. Sweet-smiled. Innocent eyes. “Oh,” she said gently, “I just… I saw you out, and I wanted to say I’m so sorry for what everyone’s saying.” You didn’t respond. She stepped closer. “It must be hard, all the lies. But if anyone’s lying, it’s not you.” You blinked, confused. She leaned in, whispering. “Neteyam lied to me too. Said he wasn’t with you anymore. I wouldn’t have ever let it happen otherwise. But… he got me pregnant. So… I guess you’re not the only one he’s been lying to.” Silence. Your vision blacked out. You shoved Kiriya’s fruit basket into Lina’s chest and bolted.

The entire family saw it. The storm that broke next. You stormed into the Sully cluster of mauri, hair wild, eyes blazing, your body shaking with rage, and before Neteyam could say a word—your fist collided with his jaw. “Motherfucker.” He stumbled back, hand to his mouth. “Wha—?!”

“You accused me of things I never did! Sleeping with your brother?! And now—NOW I find out you got the girl pregnant?! After everything?!”

“What?! Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?!” You shoved him again, sobbing, your arms flailing, “I loved you. I forgave you! I took you back, I let you in our home! And the whole time—”

“She said I what…?” Neteyam asked again. Lo’ak repeated it, slowly, disbelief still etched into his features. “She told your wife… that you got her pregnant, bro.”

“She—” Neteyam shook his head, blinking fast like he could erase the whole moment. “No. No. I never… Eywa. I never even slept with her.” You scoffed bitterly, a sharp sound that cut deeper than your fist had. “Well, she says you did.”

“I didn’t!” Neteyam barked, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “We… we kissed. She touched me, I told you that. But I never— I never laid with her.” You held up your hand, cutting him off like a blade. “Don’t. I swear to Eywa, don’t come any closer.” He stopped dead in his tracks. Jake stepped forward. “We need to get to the bottom of this. Now.”

That’s when Kiri ran up, breathless. “I heard it,” she gasped. “The other girls were talking. It’s Lina. She started the rumors. She’s the one who said the baby might not be Neteyam’s. She’s been lying this whole time. I knew it. I knew something was off—” The entire family turned quiet. Everything made sense. The rumors. The whispers. The timing. Neytiri’s face went pale with rage. Jake’s jaw was clenched like stone. And you—broken, shaking, furious—you stepped back, whispering only: “I hope she’s worth it.” Neteyam didn’t say a word.

Because for once… he had none. The silence after your final words was thick and suffocating. Your voice still rang in everyone’s ears. Kiri stood stiffly off to the side, face pale and lips pressed tight, trying to catch her breath after rushing from the far reef. Neytiri stood close to her, a trembling hand on Kiri’s shoulder. Lo’ak had his hand on your back, trying to steady you as you held Kiriya close now, her tiny fists gripping your braid, confused by all the shouting. Likan and Eylan stood by Jake’s side, wide-eyed and silent, watching everything with the sense that something very, very big had just happened.

Neteyam’s lip was bleeding. A trickle ran down the side of his mouth, where your fist had landed hard. He didn’t wipe it. He didn’t move at all. Just stood there, heart pounding out of rhythm, staring at you like he couldn’t breathe. Jake crossed his arms, staring hard at Neteyam. “Then you need to find out the truth.”

“What?” Neteyam’s eyes darted from his father to you, shaking his head. “I told you. It’s not true.”

“You think I care what you say right now?” you hissed, voice low and deadly. Kiri took Kiriya from your arms gently, but your hands didn’t fall limp — they curled into fists again. “I stood in front of your family, of my family, and defended you when you asked for space. When you forgot me. When you kissed her. When she touched you. I let it go because I loved you enough to let you find your way back. And now this?” Neteyam opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“You accused me of being unfaithful,” you said through your teeth. “Of letting your brother touch me. Of lying about our children. You believed the rumors without asking me first, and now you expect me to stand by and let you see her again? After she says you got her pregnant?”

You took one step closer, the fire from your soul blazing in your eyes. “I don’t care what you find out. I don’t care what she says. I don’t want you anywhere near that woman again. You walk into her mauri, Neteyam, and you stay there. You hear me?” He flinched at your words like they were lashes. Neytiri finally spoke, her voice cold, quiet. “She manipulated you. Lied. Twisted her way into this family’s peace. If you don’t find the truth, she will never stop.”

“And if she’s not pregnant?” Lo’ak asked warily. “If it’s just another lie?” Jake added grimly, “Tonowari and Ronal will deal with it.” Neteyam looked torn apart. His face was pale, expression twisted with a storm of pain. “I never wanted this.”

“But you made choices,” you said softly now, quieter. It was worse than yelling. “And now you live with them.”

“I’m sorry.” You scoffed. “You believed everything she said.”

“I didn’t! Not all of it, not really,” he argued, eyes desperate now. “But I— I wasn’t thinking. I was a mess. And she— she took advantage of that—” Lo’ak cut in, jaw tight. “Yeah, we know. But the damage is done. The clan’s talking like it’s already true.”

“I don’t care what the clan says!” you snarled. “I care about my children hearing lies that their father has another family!” Jake raised his hands, trying to calm the growing storm. “Enough. Both of you. We need to figure this out. Without sending Neteyam back there.”

Neteyam looked over at Jake now, lost. “How do we find out? If she won’t talk to anyone else, and I can’t—won’t—go near her?”

Kiri stepped forward slowly. “I might have a way.” Everyone turned to her. Kiri’s eyes were steady, serious now. “She talks to someone every day. A younger girl named Aluke. She was the first to start repeating the rumors about everything — about the baby not being yours. She might’ve overheard something else. She’s not very good at keeping her mouth shut.” You narrowed your eyes. “You think you can get her to talk?” Kiri tilted her head. “If she’s anything like she was as a child, yes. If not, I’ll figure out another way.” Lo’ak nodded. “If she’s saying too much, she’ll keep talking. Maybe she knows Lina’s real intentions. Maybe she even knows it’s a lie.”

“I’ll go with Kiri,” Neytiri said, jaw clenched. “That girl said she saw the kiss between you two.” Lo’ak grimaced. “That lie ends today, too,” Neytiri hissed. Jake nodded. “Good, go.” You didn’t speak again — just nodded, sharp and stiff, and turned back toward the mauri with your children. Neteyam reached out instinctively — not to stop you, but to be near you. “Ma yawne—” You turned your face just enough to look at him over your shoulder. There was no softness in your eyes. “I meant it,” you said again, low and quiet. “If you go near her, we’re done.” He watched as you disappeared inside with Kiriya on your hip, Likan trailing behind you sleepily, Eylan still gripping your hand tightly.

The night settled in around them like a heavy blanket, no stars visible behind the clouds. And all Neteyam could think, again and again, was: ‘what if it is… and I’ve destroyed everything anyway?’

The rain had started up again just before nightfall — soft and drizzling, tapping against the woven leaves of your mauri like a lullaby meant for someone else. Not for you. Not for the mess your life had become. You sat curled up against the far wall, knees pulled tight to your chest, your arms wrapped around them as Kiriya nursed at your breast, her soft suckling the only real sound in the room. Likan and Eylan were asleep on the furs, their small bodies curled up together near the low-burning fire pit, unaware of the storm — outside or inside.

Your face was damp, and not just from the rain that had kissed your skin earlier. You’d cried so hard your ribs ached. Your stomach burned. Your soul had frayed. You didn’t look up when you heard the flap of the doorway shift. Neteyam stepped in quietly, his shoulders hunched, eyes rimmed red and jaw tight. He was breathing like he’d run here — or maybe like he was trying not to scream. He saw you and stopped mid-step. You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. “Can I talk to you?” he asked, softly. Like you were something fragile. Like the wrong word would break you for good.

You didn’t answer. Just stared down at Kiriya, who had stopped feeding and now blinked up at you sleepily, pawing at your chest. Neteyam took it as a maybe and came closer, crouching slowly beside you, careful not to disturb the boys. “I know you’re hurting,” he whispered. “And I deserve it. I do. I just— I need you to know something. Really know it.”

You finally looked at him. Your face was blotchy, lips trembling, eyes bloodshot. His heart cracked wide open. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he said, quickly, his voice raw. “No matter what she says, or what anyone says… I swear it on Eywa. On my soul. I didn’t. I never did.” You stared at him for a moment, like you weren’t sure if your heart could risk believing him again.

“She tried,” he said. “A lot. But every time… something pulled me back. It didn’t feel right. It never did. Even when I didn’t remember everything, there was something wrong about it. And I promise, I promise baby I told you everything. Everything that happened.” Your voice cracked when it came. “You touched her.”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I did. And she touched me. I’m not going to lie to you. But it didn’t go further than that. I never let it. I never wanted to go all the way, even when I was confused. I didn’t let her stay with me. I didn’t let her into our home. I never crossed that line.” You choked. “Then how—how could you still accuse me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice nearly breaking. “I heard what people were saying and I thought… I thought maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was true and I— I couldn’t breathe. I lashed out. And I know it was wrong. I’m so sorry.” He dropped his head, resting his forehead on your knees. “I was stupid. I let myself get pulled into something I knew deep down wasn’t real. Not like this. Not like us. And now you’re hurting. And I did that. I did that.” You finally spoke again, whisper soft. “She said she’s pregnant.”

“I don’t care,” he said quickly. “If she is, it’s not mine. It can’t be. She’s lying. She has to be. And if she’s not… she was with someone else.” You stared at him, your hand resting on Kiriya’s back. “Why would she say it, then?”

“Because she knew I was slipping away,” he said. “I stopped going. I stopped touching her. I came home. She saw. She knew I remembered. That’s why she did this. To punish me. To keep you from forgiving me.” Your bottom lip quivered. “You don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“I know. But I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it if you’ll let me.” A silence passed. The sound of Kiriya’s breath. The fire crackling. A gust of wind outside. You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. “I don’t believe she’s carrying your child.” Neteyam’s eyes met yours, startled.

“I don’t believe her,” you repeated. “Because I know you. Even with your memory gone, I knew who you were. You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t give her that. You could make mistakes, sure. But that? No.” His throat bobbed. “I swear I didn’t.”

“I believe you.” Tears welled in his eyes, falling freely now. “Thank you.”

“I’m still angry,” you added quickly. “I’m so angry. I’m not ready to just… be okay. But I needed to hear it from you. That it wasn’t true.” He nodded, eyes shining. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

“I can’t give much,” you whispered. “I’ll still be here.” You exhaled slowly, eyes falling to the sleeping boys, then to Kiriya now curled against your shoulder. “I need you to be the father they deserve. Not the man that woman wanted you to be.”

“I will be,” he whispered. “I swear, yawne. No more lies. No more her.” Your lip trembled again. “You’re not allowed to leave us again.”

“I won’t.” He reached out, gently covering your hand with his.

The fire had burned low. The boys still slept, warm and safe beneath the woven furs. Kiriya dozed in your arms again, her soft little face pressed against your bare chest, one tiny hand curled at your throat. You rocked her absently, though your eyes stayed locked on the flames.

Neteyam hadn’t moved far. He knelt just beside you still, silent, watching the way you held your daughter. The weight of everything hung between you — grief, pain, betrayal, but also something else. The flicker of something alive. Something trying to bloom back to life in the ash of everything you’d survived.

When Kiriya let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering fully closed, you shifted and began to lower her gently to the mat, tucking her into the blankets beside her brothers. You stroked her cheek once and then let yourself sit back — your hands trembling from the storm you hadn’t yet shaken loose. Then… Neteyam reached for you. Slow. Gentle.

His hands came to your waist first, then slipped around your back, tugging you into him. You let it happen, though your arms stayed limp at your sides, your face burying into his shoulder automatically as your body began to tremble again. Not loud, not dramatic. Just deep, silent sobs. The kind that come when the worst has already passed, and all that’s left is the exhaustion of surviving it. He rocked you gently. “Ma yawne,” he whispered, over and over. “Oeyä yawne. I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here.”

His hands rubbed up and down your spine, anchoring you against him, his breath warm at your temple. You clung to him then, arms looping tightly around his chest, pulling yourself into his warmth as if you could melt into him and never have to leave. “Forgive me,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Please. I’ll say it every day. I’ll say it in my sleep. I’ll never stop saying it. But you have to know — I never stopped loving you. Even when I didn’t know who I was… something in me always knew you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was wet with tears, his eyes searching yours like he was still begging to be allowed this moment. And you nodded. “Then show me,” you whispered. “Show me, ma Neteyam.” He blinked. “Are you sure?” You nodded again, slow and full of meaning. “I want to feel you again. All of you.” He inhaled sharply, heart pounding, and then — reverently, slowly — he reached for your kuru. The moment he touched it, your chest fluttered, and your hands instinctively rose to the braid at the base of his skull. Together… you connected. Tsahaylu. And in an instant — the world shifted.

You gasped softly as everything came crashing in. The pain he’d been holding onto. The regret. The confusion. The shame. And then—underneath it, rising like the tide—the love. So much love. You felt it — how he’d carried your voice in his soul even when he didn’t know it was yours. How home had always been the sound of your laugh. How the dreams haunted him because you were in every one of them — your smile, your body, your touch. How much he missed being yours. Being Neteyam — your Neteyam. And you let him feel everything too.

The moment your belly swelled with Kiriya, and you lay awake at night just praying he’d live to see her. The quiet strength you held for your boys every day while breaking inside. The ache of being forgotten. The pain of being blamed. The unbearable longing for his arms, his voice, his eyes full of love. How you still wore his courting token in your hair every day. How even after everything — you still loved him. Still chose him. A choked breath left his throat, and he crushed you into his chest again, one hand cradling your head, the other spreading across your back.

“I can’t believe I forgot I had this,” he whispered hoarsely. “Everything. Every moment. Every promise I made. I meant them all.”

“I know,” you whispered back, your breath catching as more tears fell, softer this time. Cleansing. “I know, ma tìyawn. So did I.” He kissed your hair, your cheek, your temple, tenderly, over and over like he couldn’t stop. His hands shook against your skin. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he murmured.

“You already have it,” you said quietly. “You always did. You were sick, Neteyam. Lost. But I knew you’d find your way.”

“And you waited,” he whispered. “Even when I was breaking your heart.”

“I prayed for you every night,” you said. “I loved you even when it hurt.” He pulled back and touched your cheek with such reverence it made your eyes sting all over again. “I don’t know how I ever looked at another woman when you were right here.” You let out a broken laugh, and he laughed too, just a little, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re such an idiot,” you whispered, watery and smiling. “Biggest skxawng in the clan,” he agreed softly.

You both stayed there for a long time — connected, bonded, whole — until the fire burned down to embers and the soft rise and fall of your children’s breathing filled the quiet night. For the first time in moons, you weren’t broken anymore. You were together You looked up at him, your fingers still trembling in his. Your tears had dried, but their weight clung to your chest. The soft glow of the lantern in the corner of the mauri cast golden light over Neteyam’s face, over the worry in his brow, the love in his eyes.

You had missed him. Missed the warmth of him. The way his arms felt like protection. The way his presence calmed the storm in your chest like nothing else ever could. His hand rose to brush your cheek, thumb grazing softly over the edge of your jaw. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his voice low, reverent, full of ache. Your breath caught. “You don’t have to say that just because you remember now.”

“I’m not,” he murmured. “I’m saying it because I feel it. Because I’ve always felt it.” Then he kissed you. Slowly, gently—like a prayer, like an apology, like a promise. His lips moved with care, like he was relearning the shape of you, the rhythm of your breath. You shifted carefully until you were straddling his lap, your hands slid up his arms, his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as his fingers trailed down your sides, not rushed or demanding—but familiar.

He paused, eyes locking with yours. “Can I…?” he asked, voice quiet, but full of need. Full of reverence. You nodded, breathless, pulling him closer. He leaned in again, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I want to take every doubt out of your body,” he whispered. “Every lie she told, every word I ever said that made you feel less.”

Slowly, tenderly, he slid away the fabric of your chest wrap, revealing skin he hadn’t touched in what felt like years. He kissed every place he uncovered—your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, your shoulder. His hands were careful, steady, full of quiet devotion.

“I missed you,” he said against your skin. “The way you laugh. The way you look when you hold our children. The way your eyes soften when you’re teasing me. I remember all of it now.” You breathed in shakily, fingers in his hair. “Then show me.” And he did. Every kiss was a promise. Every whisper a vow. No rush. No demands. Just the slow, sacred return to something only the two of you had ever shared. To something no one—not even memory loss, not even betrayal—could truly erase. When he finally held you in his arms, skin to skin, soul to soul, the weight you’d been carrying fell away. You weren’t just forgiving each other. You were finding your way back home.

His hands moved with a reverence that made your breath catch, as if every part of you deserved to be memorized all over again. And maybe you did—maybe he did, too. His lips traveled slowly, unhurried, pressing to every dip and curve like he was rediscovering sacred ground. Neteyam was about to lay you down onto the mat but then the Likan shifted, and you both paused looking over at him. Instead, you silently pointed to the fur rug in front of the fireplace, and he lifted you effortlessly, laying you down in front of the warmth.

When he kissed down your body, over your chest, the soft skin of your stomach, and lower, you gasped, a quiet sound that broke somewhere between relief and longing. Your fingers curled against the blankets beneath you, your eyes fluttering shut. It wasn’t just the sensation of his mouth or the trail of heat he left in his wake, it was what it meant. It was him choosing you—not out of duty, not because memory demanded it, but because his heart knew it. Because he remembered. Because he wanted to.

You felt it in the way his lips lingered. In the way his hands steadied your hips like you were something precious. In the way he paused, looking up at you with dark, reverent eyes before continuing, like asking for permission even now. Your heart thudded in your chest, overwhelming and fragile. You whispered his name. Not in desperation—but in awe. He smiled. Softly. Like he knew what this meant. It wasn’t frantic or rushed. It wasn’t about need. It was about presence. You had him again. All of him. The weight of his body, the brush of his breath, the worship in his touch. And for the first time in so long, you weren’t surviving. You were living. You were loved.

Neteyam’s lips brushed your collarbone, slow and warm, and you gasped softly half-laughter, half-need. “You’re laughing?” he murmured against your skin, lips curving into a smile. You giggled breathlessly, your fingers brushing through his braids. “It tickles,” you whispered, voice catching. “You’re not usually this slow.” He chuckled, dragging his lips to your neck. “I’ve been gone a while,” he said lowly, “I think I’m allowed to savor my wife.”

You bit your lip. “You’re lucky I missed you.” He lifted his head just long enough to meet your eyes. “Missed me? Or missed this?” His hand slid along your thigh, deliberate but gentle. You grinned. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I want to hear you say it,” he teased, voice dipping as he nipped at your shoulder. “Fine,” you breathed, a flush blooming over your cheeks. “I missed your mouth… and your hands… and the way you—” You broke off with a gasp as he found a spot that made you squirm. “There?” he said with a smirk, nosing into your neck. You shoved at his chest, laughing. “You’re so smug.”

“Only when I’ve earned it.” You arched slightly, brushing your lips against his ear. “You haven’t yet.” His growl was soft but promising. “Challenge accepted.” You both laughed, your bodies close, breaths mingling. Then he stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I thought I’d never remember what you felt like. But now… I’ll never forget again.” Your eyes stung, heart pounding. “Then don’t ever leave me again, mighty warrior.” He leaned in, brushing your lips with his. “Never,” he promised.

Your breath hitched as his mouth wandered lower, slow and reverent, and your hand found its way to his hair. “You always do this,” you murmured, voice trembling with a smile. “Do what?” His voice was low, warm against your skin. “Take your time… like you’re unwrapping a gift.” He chuckled. “You are a gift. I’ve been starving, yawntu. Let me taste what I nearly lost.” His lips kissed down and around both your breast before kissing your nipple softly, his lips dragged against the harden nub You blushed hard at his words, shivering under his touch. “You’re saying things that make my knees weak,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said, tongue darting out to give you a tantalizing, slow flick. “Because I remember now. I remember exactly how to make you fall apart.” You gasped, laughing lightly, trying to tug him back up to kiss you, but he resisted, trailing his fingers up your sides instead. “No, no,” he teased, grinning against your skin. “You said I hadn’t earned it yet.” You whined. “Neteyam…”

“Say it again.” His tone was softer now, tender. “Say my name like that.” He moved his head down after biting your nipple and tugging softly making a little mess in his mouth. “Neteyam.” Your voice cracked on it, raw and breathless. He kissed down the curve of your ribs, slow and steady. “There it is.” A pause. “You always said it like that. Like it was sacred.”

“It is,” you whispered, cupping his face and drawing him up to you. “You are.” He kissed you then — slow, searching, aching — and as he hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, your legs tangled beneath the covers, you felt the shift. “Do you remember this part too?” you asked shyly, teasing. He laughed softly. “I remember everything to know you used to beg.” You let out a scandalized gasp. “I did not.”

“You did,” he said with a smug smile. “Especially when I’d tease these cute nipples with my tongue and my fingers….and when I sucked on your pretty clit and stuck my tongue in this tight little hole.” He leaned down and whispered something in your ear that made you swat at his arm, breathless and flushed. His fingers ran down your body, all the way dow between your bare thighs to rub small light circles on your clit, making you whimper “Fuck…!” you said, burying your face in his neck.

“You love it,” he whispered against your shoulder. “I love you,” you corrected, breath heavy on his neck as you kissed under his ear He froze, just for a moment but didn’t stop his movements. Then his voice broke as he said, “Say it again.” you repeated, one hand over his heart. “I love you…Always.”

“Even now?” You nodded. “Especially now.” He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. “Then let me show you how much I love you too,” he whispered. “Yes please…” you whisper as he worked his was down once more, smiling as he already got that little ‘please’ out of you. His head disappeared under the thin blanket, kissing and sucking the skin of your thighs, grazing his fangs and sometimes biting like he really was getting taste out of the act. Your moaned softly into the air having to control your voice now more than ever, not wanting to be interrupted. Neteyam’s hands wrapped around your thighs pulling you closer and tossing your legs over his shoulders, his breath lingered on your core making you clench around nothing before you felt his mouth on you.

His tongue worked magic between your thighs, hit the spots he had hit perfected for years, as if it was the only thing in the world he was supposed to remember. It’s been so long since felt him you didn’t realize you’d want to cum so fast, his tongue flicked up and down, side to side making you arch your back and whimpers escape from your lips. Your hands tangled into his braids tugging him closer as if his face could be anymore buried in you. He sucked on your clit making your eyes go wide and your grip tighten in his hair as you hiss into the air, “oh…oh my Eywa…” you whispered clenching your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut as he fucked his tongue into you, it only took a few sweet thrust before you were cuming on his tongue, your essence messing up his face, your thighs, and leaking down his chin to his neck as he lapped you up sweetly.

His head rose from the blanket as you were trying to catch your breath, he looked very pleased with himself. He wiped his face with the back of his hand before hovering over you again, his fingers trailing down to your core as he kissed you again letting you taste your cum on his tongue, it was sweet, like the flowers he picked for you yesterday. Your thighs twitched as his fingers made may to your hole, but you stopped him, “Ma Teyam…” you mumbled against his lips. He pulled away and looked down at you, “what is it sweetheart?”

You bit your lip at his sweet nickname and took a breath, “don’t…. don’t put your fingers in..” Neteyam tilted his head at your request, it’s been months since the last time you had sex he wasn’t to stretch you out, so it doesn’t hurt as much, and he was about to say so before you spoke again. “Want your cock to stretch me out…wanna feel it” you bit your lip and smile up at him sweetly, as if the most vile words ever didn’t just come out of you. Neteyam let his fingers pause where they were toying between your folds, rubbing against your tight hole and look he gave you was wrecked. “Oh, Great Mother…” His groan punched from his chest like he’d been struck.

You snorted through your nose, half laughing, half breathless. “Shh, the kids are asleep, ma Teyam—” You put a finger to his lips, wide-eyed. “Do not wake them.” He caught your wrist, kissed your fingertip, his voice rough and dark: “Then stop saying things that make me forget we even have children.”

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck, panting hard, his hand that was between your legs now gripped tight on your hips. “You can’t say things like that.” His voice was wrecked, trembling. You tilted your head sweetly. “Why not?” He growled, lifting his head to look at you, eyes ablaze. “Because I’m trying to be gentle, and that…” —he kissed you hard, teeth grazing your lip— “makes me want to ruin you.” You gasped into his mouth, heart pounding. His hands roamed now, slow but more desperate.

“Stars, yawntu,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me.” You giggled — quiet and sinful. “You keep saying that.” He groaned again, softer this time, but no less strained. “Don’t do that, don’t laugh like that after you didn’t just say the nastiest thing to me” which made you giggle again. “You want me just like this?” he whispered, voice dipping low, dangerously low. “Want my cock in you just like that?” He asked as if he was confirming that’s what you so desperately wanted. You nodded, lips parted, breathing shallow. And the fire in him roared. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” But even as he said it, he was already gone for you.

His body shifted again, ridding himself of his loincloth now hanging, hard and heavy between his strong thighs over cunt. Before his hand could, you swiped your fingers on your tongue giving them a nice wet lick before grabbing his cock in your hand, your stroked it softly and his body tensed, “oh fuck—great mother” he cursed dropping his head down, so your foreheads touched. “That feel good baby?” You whisper into his mouth as your lips brush, but you didn’t kiss.

“S-so good…” he matched your tone, strained. “My poor husband…so touch starved..” you giggle wickedly but it was still so, so hot to him. “You missed me muntaxtan? Missed the way I touched you? Stroked your cock?” Your words were hot down his throat he couldn’t breathe, so he nodded against you, brushing your skin close, quiet, hot. Like you’d just created a whole world for this moment. “Wanna fuck me muntaxtan?” He nodded again, hand running down your body to grip his out cock over your hand, “yea? Do it…fuck me, put it in muntaxtan…” you edged him as your jaw went slack as he entered you. Slowly, like he was memorizing how ever ridge on his cock, how every bugling vein felt going into your sweet, hot, cunt.

His jaw matched yours swallowing all the moans you let out, with every inch of his thick cock stretching you open. His eyes shut to calm himself, he felt like he could cum on the spot. “Oh…Eywa” you moaned and his eyes darted open, taking in your furrowed brows and heavy panting. His cock was only halfway in at this point, and he stopped, moving back and forth giving you a few shallow thrusts, “calling for God baby? Eywa’s not fucking you, my cock is fucking you…say my name.” His voice was soft but commanding. Your legs wrapped around your waist, one over the other on his back, his tails wrapped around your ankle and yours around his thigh. Neteyam dug his cock deeper in, until he was fulling you completely, cock snug in your cock, “f-fuck…Neteyam.” You whispered into his mouth making him smile, “that’s my good girl…so perfect for me…so good at taking instructions.”

Your eyes rolled you swear you was your brain when he started to move, shallow thrusts at first, balls slapping your skin softly as you took him in. “ah, ah, ah…” you went softly moaning against him. Your hands went up and over his shoulder to his back, digging into the skin as he started to spreed up his thrust. Your moaned start to get louder but he smiled and locked your lips in his kiss, swallowing all your noises, “shh baby…gonna wake the kids and I don’t wanna stop…” his tongue invaded your mouth quickly finding dominance over yours. It was sloppy and wet; you could barely kiss him back feeling him drag his cock against your sweet spot. His thrusts continued to get faster and faster until he was pounding into you, your entire body shook with his movements, but he kept you grounded, complete covered by him.

Your back arched off the soft mat, bringing your chest closer to his. His elbows hit the mat next to you bringing himself impossibly closer. “Oh—oh just like that…please tey—teyam..” you moaned into his mouth, and he let out a grunt. “Just like that?” He repeated moving a little harder and you lost the ability to kiss completely, as you nodded against him. Then suddenly he pulled out completely, you let out a whine in frustration, but it didn’t last long, his hands moved you without a thought, pushing you over onto your side and sliding into the spot behind you, back pressed against his chest facing the fireplace. His hand moved down to grip your right thigh pulling your entire leg up into the air as he effortlessly slides his cock back into your warmth with practiced ease.

Your stomach did flips when he started fucking you again, your hands gripping his arm that ended up under your neck and around the upper half of your body and you bit down on his bicep to keep from getting too loud. Your eyes were teary at this new depth, the way he just fit so perfectly into your cunt like you were made just for him. You sniffled leaning back against him wanting to be as close as possible while made him chuckle, “keep your leg up.” He commanded and took your hand bringing it down to your lower stomach where his cock bugles out and pressing down. You chocked on air feeling his cock move in and out of you, heightened the sensitivity, it was as if he knew (which he did) that spot would over activate your sweet spot. Your eyes widened and your jaw went slack once more; you couldn’t help the moans that escaped you. But he could, he gripped your lower face turning you to kiss him again swallowing up your moans, “feel that baby?” He whispered against your lips, “that’s how good I make you feel, you love it when I pump this cunt full huh?” He asked and you nodded frantically, “yes…yes yes yes feels so good…”

Neteyam smiled into your lips once again, “fuck you’re clenching so hard baby…gonna cum on my cock?” He asked speeding up his thrust once more, he was close too he wanted you to cum with him, and when you confirmed through a heavy moan you were close, he fucked info you faster. His grip tightened and so did yours, his hand that was in your stomach moved—with yours— back around your right thigh intertwining your fingers together as he fucked you. Your release hit you like a rough wave as he emptied himself in you at the same time. Neteyam came so much while his cock was thrusting more and more cum into you, he filled you to the brim, so much so that it leaked out the sides of your cunt even though he was still inside you.

You both came down from your high, cock still snug in you, and his hand rubbed up and down the side of your body, then he stopped and wrapped around you even more holding you there against him, the way it was always meant to be. “That was incredible” you bummed out making him chuckle. “I love you muntaxtan” you whispered to him, eyes closing. “I love you more tìyawn.” He said as he kissed your skin softly.

The fire crackled softly in front of you, casting flickering gold over the quiet curve of your back. The thin woven sheet barely covered the two of you, tangled between legs and limbs as you lay tucked between Neteyam’s arms, your back to his chest. His breath brushed the curve of your neck, slow and even now, but his fingers hadn’t stopped tracing patterns into your skin. Outside, the night sang with insects and the ocean’s lullaby. Inside, it was still. Warm. Full.

Neteyam’s voice broke the silence gently, quiet and husky, his chin resting just above your shoulder. “I used to think home was a place. Forest. Sky. Clan.” You hummed softly, fingers brushing over his as they danced across your stomach. He paused, then pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder, reverent and slow. “But I know now… home isn’t a place.” He paused. “Home is who you fight for. Who you crawl back to. Who you breathe for.” Another kiss, this one behind your ear. You felt the lump rise in your throat. He whispered it into your skin like it was prayer. “Home is You.”

You turned your face toward him, eyes full and glistening, and he kissed you. A soft, sacred kiss — not rushed, not fiery — just full of love. Of peace. Of truth. In that moment, with your body tucked to his, the fire warming your feet, and the stars peeking through the cracks in the thatched ceiling, everything was exactly as it should be. You smiled against his mouth, your voice a whisper. “And you’re mine.” He pulled you closer. Held you tighter. And there, beneath the soft songs of night and the gentle crackle of fire, the story that once felt like it shattered — finally felt whole again.

💜 Likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

💜I hope you all enjoyed reading this, honestly I tried to make it as realistic as possible, relationships are messy, especially when trauma is involved. So please any feedback I’d love to hear, and any ideas are welcome!

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He was the youngest of the Omatikaya to ever do it. His fathers expectations of him pressing him to become better, to be the best he can be, to be the symbol of the strength of the people. 

When he had told you that he was going to attempt his iknimaya, you were surprised. It was not that you believed he couldn't complete it, but he was so young, had so much time left in his life and there was no need to rush things. 

Nonetheless, you were excited. Over the moon for your best friend. Before he ventured out you had crushed him in your arms, pressing a swift kiss on his cheek to wish him good luck.

You weren’t surprised to see him arrive home unscathed. The celebration that night was loud, the clan's excitement at an all time high for the Olo’eyktans son. It was then that the young hunters approached Neteyam.

They were a few years older than the two of you – slightly jealous at the fact that Neteyam had accomplished so much when he was so young. But instead of teasing him, pushing him, even bullying him into submission, they took to praising him. 

There was no doubt that Neteyam would become Olo’eyktan. No doubt that he would lead the people when his time had come. So it was best to start making friendships now, to start fostering their relationships and secure their future positions in the clan while Neteyam was still young. 

You and him had been dancing when they approached. Moving your bodies to the beats of the drums, laughing freely, simply basking in the celebration. But then Teylun taps on Neteyam's shoulder, dragging his attention away from you. 

Over the music you can faintly hear something about ‘join us,’ and ‘welcome you,’. You miss most of what Teylun says, but from what you did catch it seems as if he and his friends want to congratulate Neteyam personally. 

The two of you were attached at the hip, everyone in the clan knew you both were inseparable. So when Teylun begins to lead Neteyam away you move to follow. But for the first time, possibly ever, you aren’t allowed to go.

Teylun pushes Neteyam’s shoulder blade urging him forward, before turning back to face you. “I’m sorry ‘eveng, we will be discussing warrior things. It is best if you stay back, converse with people your own speed.”

He is calling you a child? Just because you didn’t want to rush your iknimaya, did not mean that you were a weak child. That you couldn’t complete it if you really wanted to. Before you get the chance to retaliate, to say your piece, Teylun has already guided Neteyam the rest of the way to where his friends reside. 

You wouldn’t disrupt. It was Neteyam’s night, his celebration, and he could be in whoever's company he wished. You would see him in the morning anyway, then you could tell him how rude Teylun was to you. 

When morning arrives you begin your way towards the Sully kelku. Normally Neteyam would meet you halfway, then the two of you would head towards the training grounds or the forest together. He didn’t today though, maybe he was just tired. So you keep moving, you could just meet him at his home.

Maybe you could even steal some fruit or meat under the guise that your parents hadn’t fed you. Yes, that would be nice. A second breakfast to set you up for the perfect day. As you poke your head into their kelku, you don’t see Neteyam.

It still doesn’t phase you. Pushing past the hides that cover the entry way you make your way towards where Neytiri and Lo’ak sit. “Good morning auntie, Lo’ak.” 

The human word felt odd coming from your throat, but Jake had taught it to you when you were young. He said that the word meant close, almost motherly figure; and Neytiri was always like that to you. 

Lo’ak stands, crashing into your chest with a tight hug. He acts as if he had not seen you just yesterday, had not danced with you after Neteyam left with Teylun. 

“Would you like something to eat, child?”

When you nod, Neytiri hands you a leaf holding fresh fruits and roots. The perfect way to start your day. You begin picking at the meal with your fingers, picking the best pieces for yourself, and giving the slightly less best pieces to Lo’ak. 

After swallowing a few bites you begin to look around. Where is Neteyam? He is usually an early riser, and you had expected him to be up by now even with the late night he had. 

As if sensing your curiosity Lo'ak speaks. “Big bro left.”

He doesn't acknowledge the look on your face, doesn't even look up from where he's deciding what piece of fruit he wants from your leaf. You only come out of your stupor when he points at a particularly juicy piece of fruit and asks if he can have it.

“Where did he go?” You hand Lo'ak the fruit, leaning your head against his as you ask.

You can feel him shrug, feel his jaw work as he chews before he responds. “Dunno, I think he said something about going with Teylun.”

Neytiri snaps at Lo'ak, telling him to mind his grammar. She didn’t like how much English he included in his daily life, much less when he began creating Na'vi slang that matched with words his father had used when he was a human.

You tune her out. Instead focusing on how Neteyam is off with Teylun again. You could understand last night, it was important to show camaraderie. That must be what this is.

Allowing Neteyam to follow along with their hunt, or training, or whatever it was that they were getting up to. Allowing him to establish himself with the others who have completed their iknimayas.

So you thank Neytiri for the food, ruffle Lo'ak's braids, and head out to train yourself. You don’t manage to catch a glimpse of Neteyam for the rest of the day. It’s odd, and it places what feels to be a rock in the center of your chest. But you knew you would see him tomorrow. These new friends would ebb and fade, and even if they didn’t Neteyam wouldn’t abandon you for no reason. 

The next day as you approach the Sully kelku, there is distinct chatter. You can hear Teylun’s voice, is he ever going to leave Neteyam alone? Then Li’ral’s voice filters in too. Neteyam’s voice is the first clear thing that you can hear.

“Are you sure that I cannot join you later? I have not seen ma txeylan in nearly two days.”

Teylun laughs. You assume it is because he sees you as a child. Li’ral pitches in, confirming your thoughts, “The girl who has been attached to your side since the two of you were toddlers?”

“Yes, that is her.”

“She is a ‘eveng. You are a warrior now.”

Neteyam sighs, “She is not a ‘eveng. Just because she did not complete her iknimaya yet doesn’t mean-”

“But has she not trained as long as you?”

“She has. What does that have to do with her being a child?”

Thank Eywa he was standing up for you. You knew you could trust him. 

“It means she should have trusted herself, her training and attempted her iknimaya as well. It is childish fear that held her back.”

Most Omatikaya didn't complete their iknimayas until they were a minimum of fifteen years of age anyway. You were not behind, Neteyam was just leagues ahead of everyone. 

You think Neteyam would retort again. Come to your defense as he always had – but instead you can hear the familiar patter of footsteps. A faint conversation discussing the best way to roast a yerik, wafts over to your ears before you lose the ability to hear them. 

Maybe he had defended you again when you were out of earshot. There was no way he allowed the conversation to change so easily, still wanting to defend the person he spent so many years beside. 

The opportunity to confront him never comes. To ask for some comfort about the situation, for him to quell your fears that he truly did see you as a child. 

Just a short week after his iknimaya, Neteyam was to complete his dream hunt. You would not let him evade you before this event. The possibility of him dying was too great to not at least wish him luck.

Not because he needed it, you knew how strong and determined he was. But because you wanted to show that you still cared, still considered him your best friend even with the distance of the past week. 

When you approach the small group he's settled in, they go silent. Their eyes flit from Neteyam to you hastily. 

“Ma txeylan, do you have a moment?” You keep your voice light, trying to block the nervousness from seeping into your tone. 

Neteyam's ear flicks. The young hunters he's began to associate himself with eye him, smirks and grimaces adorning their features. His beads clink as he allows his head to nod slightly, “Of course.”

He lets you drag him a few feet away from the group. Positions himself with a view of the group he was sitting with over your shoulder. 

“I've missed you.” A polite smile graces your features as you speak. 

Once again he only nods to show any sign that he has heard you. But you don't let him get away with it; instead taking to staring into his eyes with your bright ones. So he grants you a small, noncommittal sound from the back of his throat.

When you realize that you won't be getting a vocal response you continue, “I just wanted to wish you well. To tell you I am hoping for good luck on your dream hunt.”

“Why?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his odd question, then they furrow, “What do you mean why?”

Neteyam’s eyes flick over your shoulder, making contact with the new friends he’s solidified himself with. Then he breathes a deep, annoyed breath, “Why do you feel the need to wish me luck. I am not a ‘eveng, like you,” For the first time in days his eyes meet yours, “I can handle myself.”

Oh. So that’s how it was going to be. You stuck with him for years, and now he wants to cast you aside because he has some new and shiny friends. 

How unfair. 

Laughter bubbles up behind you. When you look up you can see Neteyam’s lips quirk into a smile at the sound, can see the way his chest puffs slightly in pride. You don’t need to look at the group to know they were staring at you, that their amusement was due to your embarrassment. 

The sound burns into your memory. Sears painfully into the deepest parts of your brain. It must have changed the chemistry in your brain with the way that it now triggers your fight or flight response. 

That same laugh drags your attention from your friends. It brings a twinge to your chest – one that quickly places a scowl on your face. It’s bringing the urge to fight. To cross the cookfire and pour a full waterskin over Li’rals’s head. To shove Teylun over the log he’s sitting on and cave his nose into his face. To grasp Neteyam’s tail and attempt to dislodge it from where it rested on his spine.

But you take a deep, steadying breath. Take a loving glance at the friends you’ve surrounded yourself with; the ones who adopted you after Neteyam abandoned you. And you decided to take it out on him tomorrow during training, there no one could judge you for seeming bloodthirsty. 

The adults of the clan haven’t seemed to get the memo that you and Neteyam are not friends.

Well, more that you cannot stand him. Anytime he speaks, you grunt to reply. When he looks in your direction, you make sure to avoid your eyes. If he approaches your friends to discuss what they’re weaving or how the hunt went, you make it a point to act as if he does not exist.

When you’re in the same hunting party, not much is achieved. Formations are broken, twigs are snapped, prey is lost. No one can decide who to blame; Neteyam for putting you in the most useless part of the formation, or you for storming off and hunting by yourself. 

And sparring together always leads to more scrapes and bruises than when you spar for anyone else. So you’d think that Jake and your father would avoid placing you two together. That they’d want two of the clan's best warriors to stay in formidable shape. 

Their wiseness should have been able to influence their decision. To prevent them from ever even thinking that the two of you could be applicable partners. That you could ever go back to how it was.

Instead, at least once a month, the two of you end up partners. 

Unfortunately it is the most entertaining part of the session. Watching the two of you be forced into the circle; him smiling as he scratches the back of his neck, you huffing before shoving yourself off the tree you were leaning against. They’d watch in anticipation as Neteyam watched you, assessing your stance, trying to make eye contact.

Then their eyes would flick to you. Watching how you’d toe at the ground, roll your knuckles till they crack, bite your lip as you stare at your father like he personally offended you. It was obvious that you were wound up, like a cord ready to snap. 

You’d wait until the last moment, until your father or his would call for the start of the spar, to even glance in his direction. Rarely looking at his eyes, instead learning the movements of his muscles so you could determine his movements from that. Anything so that you wouldn’t have to look at his stupid face. 

At the beginning of the spar, everything would be cordial. Proper stances, dancing around each other before taking light jabs, ducking and dodging until you were inevitably told to ‘push your opponent!’. It was then that Neteyam would start lunging a bit more seriously, reaching his hands out to grab at your thigh or push your shoulder; something to tip your center of gravity, allowing him to pin you down. 

You’d retaliate with shoves of your own, letting your nails scrape a lot more than necessary. It was low, a bit dirtier than should be allowed in spars, but it wasn’t explicitly against the rules. Plus, who's to say the scrapes didn’t come after the two of you had started rolling around?

It didn’t matter how it happened. Didn’t matter who shoved who, who’s hips pinned the others down, who celebrated their victory a bit too early; the two of you would always end up tousling on the ground. 

Provoked, enraged, by the others misplaced confidence, whoever was pinned would buck and thrash until they had regained a bit of control. Then the two of you would be wrestling, throwing insults back and forth among the punches, grabbing braids, tugging tails, hell you’d even taken to some below the belt kicks a few times.

With how last night had gone, today was shaping up to be one of the worse spars the two of you have had. Neteyam had pinned you, somehow still in top shape after all the rumaut wine he had had yesterday. It would be fine, everything would be okay, but then Li’ral had to open his big fat mouth. 

It wasn’t loud, not wanting the elders, especially the Olo’eyktan, to hear him. But it was loud enough to drift over the edge of the circle to where you laid beneath Neteyam. You heard his voice float over you as your ears were just recovering from their ringing, ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if he mounted her like that again after eclipse one of these nights.’ Just who, on Eywa’s green planet, did he think he was talking about?

And if that wasn’t insulting enough, you could hear the faint laughter follow from Neteyam’s friends. On a better day, you’d take your eyes off Neteyam, angle your head back so you could tilt the yellow orbs to assess who specifically was laughing. You’d catalog them into your brain, prepare to treat them a little harsher the next time you sparred. But today was not a better day, and it was just in Neteyam’s luck that he also heard the joke, and was allowing himself a few huffs of laughter from where he rested above you. 

Your vision fades black at the edges, sole focus being on the boy atop you. With sudden, aggressive thrusts, you launch him from the seat he was claiming. He falls, landing on his back with a rough exhale.  While he’s disoriented, you rotate off your back and hastily crawl towards him.

Before you can settle yourself into a position that allows you to hold Neteyam down, you swing. Your fist collides with his cheek, the force splitting his lip and sending you falling over until you’re laid out on top of him. From there you swing your leg over his torso, taking a firm seat before you continue your onslaught. 

Surely, this had led to another joke to bubble from his friends. Something about how eager you were to mount him. You couldn’t hear it though, too busy thrusting your fist towards Neteyam’s face. Too busy ripping his arms away from where they came up to block your assault. Too busy pulling at those damn braids that he loved to swing around.

At some point Neteyam had tried to push back. Thrusted his hips up hoping to displace you, but you were too far up on his chest for it to do anything. Tried to grab your arms when you swung, yet you managed to dislodge them. Attempted to even roll his body under yours, to lay on his stomach and get some leverage to stand and force you off. But nothing worked, something had snapped in you – something that gave you insane strength that you were using to the fullest.

The rage you had felt forcing your blood to boil, for it to rush so fast through your veins that you were rendered unable to hear anything else. You couldn’t hear the gasps. Couldn’t hear the concerned murmurs. Couldn’t hear Neteyam saying he yielded. Couldn’t hear the Olo’eyktan telling you to get off of his son, nor your father reprimanding your sudden rampage.

Suddenly – well suddenly, for you, – you’re hoisted off of Neteyam. As you raise into the air you get a perfect view of him. Laid out on the dirt, chest rising in heavy breaths, lip busted and bleeding down the side of his face, cheek already gaining an indigo tint, braids misplaced from the wrap he had them in; it brings a maniacal grin to your face. 

Yeah, his friends and him could make fun of you all they wanted. But at the end of the day, you’d be the one laughing. That was one thing you’d made sure of ever since that night so many moon rotations ago – they’d never be able to call you a child again. 

Slowly a voice fades into your head. Vowels and consonants forming into syllables that you can finally piece together into words. It’s your fathers voice, he’s whispering a scolding, ‘I cannot believe you did that’, ‘ma’ite, I know he aggravates you, but he is still the Olo’eyktan’s son’, ‘How will it look to the elders’, ‘You’ll scare off potential mates if you keep up with this,’. You weren’t embarrassed at your actions, but being hauled away while everyone knew you were getting scolded brought a slight flush to your cheeks. 

You’re sure to be scolded more intently when safely tucked into your kelku. Sure that your mother will force you to spend more time with the weavers and the gathers, saying that it’ll soften your demeanor. Sure that your father will remind you of how he fought with Jake Sully and Neytiri, how their union was strong and Neteyam and yours should be similar especially with your mature ages. 

So when the conversation happens you let it. Nodding dutifully as they chatter; agree to chaperone the gathers as they forage, agree to weave with the elders so you can soak up their wisdom, even agree to stay in formation next time you go for a hunt. 

It’s only when they mention apologizing, that you deny. A grimace overtakes your features, brows creasing as you speak, “I will not do such a thing. I cannot do such a thing.”

“You will. We must be united as a clan,” Your father speaks, tone harsh, “Today you showed everything but unity. You showed the fierceness of the clan, and our unwavering determination. So you must tie the whole thing together with our camaraderie, this can only be completed with an apology.”

You frown, ready to plead, to beg for any other punishment, “Father please. I cannot do it.”

“You must.” He frowns back, not wanting to debate the matter any longer.

“If you were to have heard what his friends were saying about me, then you would understand!”

“It does not matter. We must take the high route.”

You stand, slightly moving towards the entrance flap of the kelku, “It was disgusting, bordering vile, father! And he – Neteyam, he was laughing right along with them!”

“What did they say?”

Fantastic.

You weren’t going to repeat their words. It would only make the situation worse. Your father wouldn’t stand for it, ready to defend your honor even if it put your family at risk of shame. 

“Can I not just avoid him? You and the Olo’eyktan do not have to place us to spar any more, and we can coexist just fine as long as we aren’t forced to interact.”

It must have gotten to him. Your father seems to be pondering the idea. It’d be much simpler that way, changing schedules and ensuring that the two of you don’t spar together would prevent most of their issues. But it would also mean that two of their best warriors wouldn’t have their best competition, and it would risk their skills dulling. 

A small grin graces your face. You could do this, could avoid Neteyam and his group of friends for the rest of your parents' days. And you’d never have to apologize for something you weren’t sorry for. But then your mother speaks, “You must apologize.”

“Mother! I cann-”

“You must! I will not have the elders shame our family at the weaving circle, will not have others whisper our names with disgrace on their tongues. Please daughter, swallow your pride this time, after you may avoid him, yes?”

Your head falls. Sure you may not have minded what the elders had to say, didn’t mind when people spoke ill of you; but that was because you knew they didn’t know the full story. That they would probably have your side if you had voiced your side too. 

So instead of rebuking again, you allow your head to nod. A soft hum of agreement leaves your throat before you depart through the flaps of the kelku. You storm through the clan, rushing to the ikran rookery; a nice flight to clear your head before your inevitable apology. 

It’s a calming mechanism you’ve used since you passed your iknimaya. The clear air and loads of open space allow you to think through all your problems easily. Small tricks and flips bring you confidence. Your skills in the air remind you of your skills on the ground; and a smile is brought to your face as you remember Neteyam flat on his back earlier today.

You fly for hours, watch the sun reach eclipse atop your ikran. Observe as the bioluminescent glow overtakes the forest. Eventually, your racing heart slows, and your breaths come more regularly, and it’s then that you decide you can apologize.

The Sully kelku has its entrance flaps open when you arrive, typical as the Olo’eyktan is expected to be available until the last clan member goes to sleep. You don’t walk straight in however, instead sing-songing a soft “Kaltxì.”

It is Lo’ak who comes to the entrance, “Oh shit.” He laughs out your name, “Dude, the way you beat Neteyam’s ass today was crazy!” 

“Yes,” a tight lipped smile adornes your features, “I am here to apologize. Is Neteyam around?”

Lo’ak gazes at you curiously, even though you put distance between you when you stopped talking with Neteyam, he had never let you fully seal the door. Normally when he’d praise your skills, you’d at least laugh a bit with him. Nonetheless, he nods, “Yeah. Yeah he’s on the sleeping mats.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to where you could find him.

“Where is everyone else?” 

“Mom and dad are out, and Kiri and Tuk are weaving.”

Good. This was good. You didn’t want to have anyone in the family hearing the conversation, but you also didn’t want to have it outside where anyone could hear. “Can you just come back in a little bit Lo? I must apologize to your brother in private.”

“In private?” Lo’ak’s eyebrows waggle, “Aloneee?”

You shove past him before turning and lightly pushing his shoulder to urge him into taking a few steps out the kelku. “It is not like that and you know it.”

As you move deeper into the home, you call out to Neteyam a few times. Eywa forbid he was improper when you finally saw him. When you finally hear his voice ring back, you allow yourself to duck into the area that held their sleeping mats.

Letting your eyes rove over him you can see the damage you did. You look at the way he winces upon sitting up, how his lip is still swollen, the indigo finally setting on his cheek, even the faint scratches that rest upon his pectoral muscles. He looked bad, it takes everything in you to not allow a smile to grace your features. 

You allow yourself to kneel, not wanting to seem higher or more important by towering over him.

“I am here to apologize. My earlier actions are inexcusable and I hope you can forgive me.”

Neteyam nods a bit. Lets your words linger in the air before he responds, “It is fine. We all get overcome by our emotions sometimes.”

“It is not fine.” Your head shakes, beads clinking to accentuate your point, “Please accept my apology, do not brush it off.”

“Okay.” His tongue darts out over his lips, bringing the bottom one between his teeth before he hisses from how tender it is, “I accept your apology.”

Good. He will no doubt tell his parents about your change of heart, and it will spread from there. Your family will be cleared from any possible shame and you can go on with your lives. As you move to get up Neteyam’s hand wraps around your wrist. 

Your eyes flick over to his, “What is it?”

“I’ve just been thinking. I miss you, we used to be so close, you know?” His hand falls, but his eyes keep peering into yours, “What happened to us?”

“What do you mean, ‘what happened to us,’?” You scoff, all semblance of being friendly disappearing, “Trust me when I say this. You are not important to me. You may have been, but you never will be again.”

Fast, jerky movements lead you out of the Sully kelku. How dare he say something so preposterous? How dare he act as if he’s not the reason the two of you are here? 

Unbelievable. 

At least you wouldn’t have to interact with him again. Thank Eywa.

Neteyam did not know what had gotten into you today.

Last night you had seemed pleased, happy to drink rumaut wine with your friends as the cookfire reduced to embers. He’d been watching you, allowing his eyes to roam over the people, but lingering on you for a bit longer than everyone else. 

This morning however something was off. You were on edge, nearly strung your bow too tight before archery practice. When the time for sparring finally rolled around, instead of meandering near the edge, you were bouncing on the balls of your feet – like a thanator ready to pounce. 

It was his luck that the two of you were paired together today. 

The dance you’d fall into was familiar, he was prepared for it. Ready to dance around and trade dominance until one of you became too tired to continue. But today, you’re hyper-aggressive; your moves are harsher, punches are harder, jabs are faster. 

He hisses the first time your nails make contact with his chest; it’s almost as if they’ve been sharpened, prepped to cut just for this. The sting urges him to take you down, to put some real use to his larger muscles thanks to his father's avatar DNA. 

He ducks down, using his right hand to grab at your left thigh. His hand slides down the smooth skin until he can grab at the flexion of your knee. Then he tugs it towards himself, tilting you backwards.

Instead of letting you fall alone, he follows. Neteyam lets his left hand move to the back of your head, preventing it from hitting the ground too roughly. But once you’re settled on the ground, he clambers over you, settling most of his weight on your hips. 

At first you try to hit him, fruitlessly using your arms to displace him. It doesn’t work, but it does get annoying. Neteyam moves to pin your arms, now he can secure his win without any other lesions to his body. 

He smiles, huffing a little laugh at how angered you are today. He wants to ask what was up with you, wants to ask what crawled up your tewng today. But then something happens – something otherworldly takes over you.

Unnaturally bucking overtakes your hips, your whole body is being used. Shoulders pressing into the ground beneath you, legs bent at the knee to grant extra force, even your arms slide across the ground to displace his grip.

The shock overtakes him, forcing him off your body. His back roughly hits the ground, and the breath is knocked from his lungs. And before he can even acknowledge that he’s off from where he once sat victoriously on you, you’ve launched a punch into his cheek. 

From there it’s only downhill. You’ve taken a seat upon him and begin laying into his face, his chest, his arms, really anything you can. 

Neteyam tries to fight it at first. Tries to defend his face, to force you off of him, to flip the two of you over, but nothing works. He tries to ensure your win, to yield, but his voice goes uncared for or unheard. 

It’s only when your father hauls you off of him that he gets some room to breathe. The break allows the ache to set in his jaw, and his cheek, and his lip, and his scalp. Eywa, did he hope that his grandmother would use the yalna bark salve today.

His father hauls him up from the ground. Gives him a once over as he questions, “You good boy?”

Neteyam nods, braids falling over his face when he doesn’t move to raise his head again. 

“Good. Go get patched up.”

With a pat and light shove to his shoulder, Neteyam is off. When he arrives to the Tsahik’s tent, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that it’s only his mother and grandmother inside. 

He can hear them chattering about something. The words ‘of age,’ and ‘best time to train a tsakarem,’ float to his perked up ears before he realizes they’re speaking about him.

So he delays making his appearance known for a little longer, taking post behind the tent where the hides are thin. Their words come softly muffled through the hide, his grandmother’s voice ringing through first, “Many will seek him out during the upcoming mating season.”

“Yes,” His mother hums, “I can only imagine how many gifts will swarm our kelku.” 

The two of them chuckle and it brings a smile to Neteyam’s face. But then he remembers how soon the season is, just a few short weeks away. Sure his siblings had teased him plenty about how many girls would throw themselves at him – but that was useless teasing, this was his mother and grandmother. If they’re speculating it must be serious. 

“It will all be for naught if he does not reciprocate. Has Neteyam spoken of anyone who has piqued his interest?”

“No, he has not. There are many near his age this season though.”

His mother was right, there were many who’d be his age this mating season. Even though Neteyam could think of the prospects himself, his mother and grandmother began to list off the girls that would be participating this season, allowing him to mull over their attributes himself.

“Pxule…” She is one of the singers. Soft spoken until she needs to voice the hymns of the ancestors and she finally allows her voice to raise. A kind girl, but not one he could see himself being mated to for eternity.

“To’lei…” A gatherer. Her nimble fingers always grant her perfect harvests. It would seem as if Eywa herself loves when To’lei heads into her forest, always granting her the best materials from whatever area she’s decided to forage in. Her skills would eternally be useful to the clan, but she engages in constant babbling as she gathers, rarely taking moments to embrace the natural noises of the flora and fauna.

“Mekani…” One of the hunters. She was able to flawlessly lead a hunt among the younger bunch; her stern tone leaving no room for discussion or pushback. Her shoulders were never bare when she arrived back at hometree, making sure to share the burden of such a success with her fellow hunters. A formidable mate, someone who knew how to lead and the importance of being strict, but she never seemed to let up, never showed a softer side that would be important for raising children.

Maybe Neteyam would need to take some time to sit and think when he got home. All of the options that were being listed were good options; just not for him. He needed someone who matched him, someone who questioned when he was making a bad decision, someone who could be soft when he didn’t know how to be. 

If he could take a trait from each of the girls listed and place them into a mold, he’d end up with the perfect mate. The one who would make him confident when he took the role of Olo’eyktan over. But that wasn’t possible, he couldn’t force any one of them to fit whatever mold he’d created in his head. Just as he’s about to push out of his kneel and approach the entrance of the tent his mothers voice cuts in again.

She spoke your name, “For a time, when they were little, I believed that they would end up together.”

“Hm. Why is that?”

“They were always together. You cannot be that close for so long and never grow any feelings – it is how I came to see Jake in another light.”

Neteyam hadn’t even considered the fact that you would be participating this year. Sure you were the same age, and had long since passed your iknimaya. However the thought of you getting dressed up in brightly colored loincloths and chest coverings just to dance around the cookfire with potential mates made him sick. 

His brain ran through the list of men who’d be eligible this year. Sure there were plenty of options, but none of them would be good enough. Korvyn was too timid. Sa’nel was too immature. Rikutu had many adventures with girls already. 

The thought of you ending up with a courting gift adorning your body by the end of the season soured his mood. 

He knew it was wrong – to be this protective over you, even though he hadn’t spoken properly to you in years. But that wasn’t his fault! He had tried; joined your friends as they weaved, taken the position of lead in your hunting parties, and he’d made sure to never take it easy on you during spars not wanting to undermine all the training he knew you did.

You were the one that refused to speak to him after he came into his own.

After his dream hunt,  he’d begun getting more responsibilities. It was around that time that you stopped talking to him. When he called across a clearing, your head would turn in the opposite direction. He’d sneak up on you and Lo’ak as you helped him with his aim, only revealing himself to give some advice of his own, but instead of sticking around you’d mention that he could take over before leaving. 

No matter what, it was a deflection, and it was you who influenced the distance. Not him. So why does it matter if you’ll probably be ending the mating season with a serious prospect courting you. Who cares that in the next few months you’ll mate before Eywa with some skxawng. It makes no difference that sometime in the near future there might be a child running around hometree with your eyes, your mates nose, and tiny loincloths weaved by your own fingers.

The thoughts wound Neteyam up tightly. As if he was twine woven around a tree to stabilize a kelku. It made his treatment rougher than necessary; his grandmother moving to massage the tensed muscles more than needed. 

Even though his muscles had been worked out, stretched and prodded until they were spongy and soft again, his brain was still a mess. What could he do to prevent such an outcome? How could he implement himself back in your life in a way that would put him in a perfect position to determine who you decided to spend the rest of your life with? 

Hours passed as he laid on his sleeping mat and pondered. Eventually his thoughts were interrupted by your voice calling out to him. At first he had assumed it had been a figment of his imagination – that because his thoughts were all consumed by you, his brain had decided to play a trick on him. But then the voice came again, and again, and it only stopped after he had responded. 

It was you, really you! Sitting next to him, poised upon your knees as you spewed something about an apology. Truly, he did not care. Everyone has bad moments, maybe not him, but now wasn’t the time to say that. 

You hadn’t liked that. Forced him to not just brush off your apology. And that’s fine, it’s the first time in nearly half your lives that you’ve said more than ‘okay’ or ‘I heard you’ to him. So he accepts your apology all while silently hoping that you’d stick around, say something else to continue the conversation. You must’ve missed him as much as he’s missed you. Must have been wondering what his daily life looked like now.

Instead, you move to rise. Hands plant on your knees as you let your center of gravity shift to allow your knee to come up from beneath you. It’s then that Neteyam realizes Eywa’s delivered you to him. Here, on a shining platter (your knees so you’re level to him), and he’d be a fool to not take the opportunity to talk. 

He lets his hand rest upon your wrist for a moment. Allows his calloused fingers to feel over your pulse point until you question what he needs. It takes him a moment to find his voice, to gather his thoughts into a proper sentence. 

“I’ve just been thinking. I miss you, we used to be so close, you know?” Neteyam lets his hand drop, believing that you’ll stick around without him tethering you, “What happened to us?” 

For a moment he thinks that you will give him an answer. Something about how you wanted space to grow into your own, but now that you’re both old enough you’re willing to become friends again. 

“What do you mean, ‘what happened to us,’?” A scoff falls from your lips, face falling into an unimpressed scowl,  “Trust me when I say this. You are not important to me. You may have been, but you never will be again.”

What?

What were you saying? Implying?

He supposes that he didn’t have to be important to you. But he never thought you’d say such a thing. Never thought such a statement would leave your lips when regarding your future Olo’eyktan.

Not that he needed to mention his rank. It was something that followed him as a child, something that lingered in the back of all the friendships that he held. You had never acknowledged it though, he was ‘just Neteyam’ and he couldn’t be happier for that.

Before he can move to grab you again, to try and force you to explain your rash statement, you’re up and out of the kelku. He moves to stand but his body aches and he can’t move fast enough. By the time he calls out to you, he knows you’re gone. 

How strange. 

No matter. Neteyam’s sure that he’ll have plenty of opportunities to talk with you before the mating season begins. Everything can be straightened out and he can claim his rightful position by your side and influence your final decision. 

If you were hard to get a hold of before, you were impossible now. Neteyam could rarely catch sight of you. When he did you were promptly out of his vision a moment later, as if you were a phantom of his imagination. 

He tried speaking to your friends. Urging them to spill the secret of where you were spending your time. When that didn’t work he tried bribery, offering them an uninterrupted dance with him during the season.

They hadn’t given up where you were spending all your time, but they had told him how you never stayed in the same spot for too long. That you allowed your schedule to rotate frequently to prevent being seen. This was not useful, but he had already pressed his forearm to theirs and grabbed their elbow in the traditional signal of a deal before they gave the information. 

When there was only a week left until the start of mating season, he took to more desperate measures. 

Neteyam begged his father to place you in his hunting party again. Jake's reply was less than pleasing, “No can do son. Strict orders to keep the two of you out of each other's hair after that last spar.” Who cared how that ended up?! The two of you were adults and could move past that if they gave you the opportunity. 

He asked his grandmother to speak to you when you went to her to be patched up. Mo’at sighed as she responded, “I will not get involved in your frivolous situation grandson.” Neteyam had scoffed, spewed something about how it clearly wasn’t frivolous to you, before he departed from the tent.

Next to suffer was Lo’ak. Despite how you had pushed him away, and refused to be seen around hometree with him, Neteyam knew that the two of you still hung out. As Lo’ak had been leaving the village one day Neteyam had stopped him, asking to tag along. “Sorry bro, not blowing up my spot for you.” had been Lo’ak’s carefree reply. What did he mean ‘blowing up his spot’? One would think that after all the heat Neteyam took for him, Lo’ak could do his big brother this one solid, but no matter there was still another path to try. 

The final person he dared try was your mother. She was always nice to him, loving and caring whenever he stopped by the weavers circle. Neteyam knew it would be a long shot, but it was still important to try all his options, to just implore her to tell him what had gotten under your skin. But she denied him too, “Ma’ite’s business is her business. You will have to find out from her yourself.” At least she was nice enough to pair her words with a soft tone and a light smile.

What a shame. How did they expect him to solve this situation if you wouldn’t speak to him! How was he supposed to ward off potential mates if he couldn’t be in your vicinity!

The thoughts consumed him all throughout the first week of the season. Sure Neteyam had his fair share of suitors approaching him; plenty of young women, even some men, approaching him to converse and delve into their lives. He still made sure to keep an eye on you however, glancing over the shoulder of the person in front of him, turning his head in your direction as he itches the back of his neck, a few times even excusing himself as he sees you walk off. 

The second week is when small gifts begin to be exchanged. He begins to get cuts of meat from Mekani. She delivers him the best, fattiest, pieces of sturmbeest and yerik meat. At first she delivers it raw, but as the week progresses she begins to cook it, glazing it in nectar, or roasting it with fruits. 

Neteyam’s not interested. To eat the meat is to show signs of interest, but it’d be rude to just discard. So instead, he takes it to his friends, distributes it between Teylun and Li’ral; and he only slightly regrets it when they begin to sing Mekani’s praises. 

Korvyn has been taking up your time. Not all of it, still allowing you to seek out other potential suitors, but he has certainly become bold in the last few weeks. He allows his tail to find your waist, to run it along the base of your own as the two of you talk. Tilts his head appropriately to show his interest in your stories. 

There wouldn’t be any worry from Neteyam if you hadn’t been smiling so happily at him. Hadn’t inched closer where you sat perched against the log. Hadn’t presented Korvyn with a fresh harvest of rumaut that you had cut up yourself. 

So the next morning Neteyam sets out, before the sun has risen over the horizon. He will bring back the best piece of sturmbeest meat, and then he is going to roast it slowly over the fire. When it is nearly done he is going to wrap it in a leaf with some fine roots, and glaze them both with honey, before allowing it to steam to perfection.

It would be perfect. A meal that he knew you consumed from childhood, perfected by his hands as the perfect distraction from other suitors.

Wait.

Wait.

What was he thinking? From other suitors? He was not trying to court you. Wasn’t trying to take a permanent, romantic, spot in your life. 

Well. It wouldn’t be that bad. 

He’d known you all your lives anyway. Been close until you were twelve. Your families liked each other, parents supporting each other in the war against the sky people. It wouldn’t be the worst scenario if he were to court you. 

Plus who would challenge the future Olo’eyktan for someone's hand? It would be stupid, they wouldn’t have a chance. Who would want a simple hunter, a weaver, a gatherer, or a carver, instead of the future leader of the Omatikaya? 

Teylun had said something similar to him just before mating season had started. Boasted that because of his title, he could obtain anyone he wanted, that he could probably get an older woman if he really wanted. Someone with more experience on everything, especially how to make him see stars in the privacy of their own kelku.

He was always more focused on the sexual part of things. On the physical level of affections, not on how they start, on the emotional base that makes everything more intense. But nonetheless, it was a great idea. He’d be able to ward off other suitors and maybe even encourage you to start seeing him how you once did again. 

So Neteyam spends the entire day preparing the meal. Kneels over the roast until his back gains a twinge. Ensures that the glaze covers the entire meal nicely, in a perfectly even layer before setting it to properly settle into the meal.

And when he’s finally settled, finally believes that the meal is perfect, he wraps it tightly in woven cloths to seal the heat. Then he’s off to the cookfire. He steps past where his friends reside, faltering for only a moment until he sees that Korvyn has yet again taken the seat next to you, then he is back on his mission. 

When he steps into the little bubble the two of you have cultivated neither of you pay him any mind. Your conversation flows, smooth despite his presence lingering in front of you both. Korvyn is in the middle of recounting how he learned to swim when his brother cast him into the river when Neteyam clears his throat.

The two of you turn towards the source of the noise. Korvyn lets a smile grace his features, always so friendly, but you just peer up at him. Your eyes go from the wide orbs that he’s used to, to half lidded at your disinterest. 

Neteyam’s eyes are only on you, watching the subtle sway of your tail, the way the furry tip brushes against Korvyn’s. He observes how your chest covering leaves very little to the imagination, it makes his throat dry up until Korvyn’s voice rings out to his left. 

“Neteyam, what can we do for you?”

So he clears his throat, lets some saliva coat his tongue, then speaks. “I wish to speak with her.” When no movement is made to leave the two of you alone he opens his mouth again, “Alone.”

“Oh. Right, of course!” Korvyn turns to you as he moves to get up, “I will see you later, kalintu.”

You let your hand grasp his bicep as he stands, allowing it to ghost over his skin until your hand rests in his. Neteyam can see the way your fingers flex as they hold Korvyns, can see the way his thumb rubs over your fingers before he inevitably steps away. 

When he departs your face falls more than it already had. Even more so when Neteyam sits next to you. Your brow creases, frown tilting your lips downwards. And finally, he’s granted with your voice being directed at him, “What is it?”

“I prepared this for you.” Neteyam begins to uncover the food, neatly unwrapping the cloths from around it before he hands you the leaf. You stare at it, lifting it in your palms to test the weight before raising your head again. 

“Thank you.”

“Open it.”

So you do, maneuver your fingers deftly to untie the twine that secured the leaf before beginning the actual process of unwinding the leaf. As you do a familiar sweet scent begins to flood your senses. You can tell what it is before it even comes into eyesight.

When it is finally revealed you can feel your mouth water. The delicious smell paired with delectable view sparks a hunger that you didn’t have before. But you couldn’t eat it, wouldn’t eat it, the implications were too great especially as anyone could see. 

You mutter a soft, “Thank you,” before moving to rewrap the food. Neteyam shoots his hand out though, halting all movement from you. 

“I wish for you to try it.”

It was dirty. A play that he shouldn’t be forcing right now, but Neteyam can feel Korvyn still lingering. He knows that he’s watching this whole interaction and Neteyam wants him to know that there’s competition. Worthy competition at that. 

“You know I cannot. That we are not prospects for each other.”

“Just try it. I wish to know if I’ve improved on the taste from when we were children.”

A huff leaves your nostrils. Heavy and harsh, as a clear sign of your distaste for Neteyam’s methods. But the slight grumble in your stomach does just enough to convince you. You raise the meat to your lips, parting them just wide enough for a bite before tearing off a piece with your teeth.

You let it rest on your tongue for a moment. To let the glaze flutter over your tastebuds before the tender richness of the meat joins it. It’s good. Very good. Unfortunately, Neteyam had mastered what herbs and spices went best with the meat and honey.

Swallowing your pride you allow a quick, “It is good.” Before you move to wrap the meat again. This time Neteyam lets you, pleased that you’ve tried his food in front of the whole clan. Even more pleased that you couldn’t deny that it was delicious – you may not have verbally said it, but he could tell from the way your eye sparkled and the upward flick of your ear that it was just as you liked it. 

The next few weeks went smoothly. Well, as smooth as they could in Neteyam’s eyes.

It had become clear to the clan that he and Korvyn were dueling for your attention. He had thought it would work in his favor, if everyone knew he was trying to court you, then they would encourage Korvyn to back off. 

Instead, Korvyn's friends seemed to step up their encouragement. Neteyam heard whispers from them about how good of a pick he had made, how if the Olo'eyktans son wanted the same woman then she must've been the perfect choice. If Neteyam wanted to take a page out of Li'ral's book, then he would have used the statement to his advantage.

Ran to you and told you that Korvyn only spoke to you because he wanted to stake claim over something that Neteyam wanted. But before he could even let the thought form he heard Korvyn’s voice drift over, ‘that does not matter to me. I thought she was perfect before he decided to intercept.’ Great. He was a great, honest guy. 

Neteyam really hopes that they can get along afterwards. That there wouldn't be any hard feelings when he took his rightful spot by your side. But he wouldn't be too upset if it didn't work out – the more distance between you two, the better.

As the time passed he began to appreciate you. At first it had been a distraction, to encourage others to stay away. But as he spent nights bringing you meals, rare flowers, dyes from rare fruits, even a couple of carved bone jewelry pieces, he got to know you again.

He relearned the sound of your voice – not the one he usually heard, the blunt, uninterested tone. But instead the light airy tone that you held in casual conversation.

Relearned how your outer eyelid begins to droop when you're tired. How you refuse to sleep when there's much left to do, and how your eyes begin to tear up in protest to your stubbornness.

Relearned how you'll allow your bare foot to scrape against the dirt when you find a pebble. Most would move their foot, kick the pebble away, or if they must, plant their foot on top of it and try to ignore the sensation. You instead, embrace it.

Relearned how observant you are. Even if you look to be immersed in a conversation, you're still tuned into everything around you. Your ears will flick back at particularly loud laughs, eyes will steal glances when people begin to move in your vicinity.

He feels as if he’s relearned you entirely. Cataloged every piece of you that was missing in the past twelve years. 

You must have felt the same. Felt as if you came to understand him better. That every missed moment was now known and that you were as close as before.

Neteyam’s drifting thoughts led to him messing up his weaving. He had switched stitching styles midway and now the armband looked crooked and mangled. He grunts in anger before putting his fingers into motion to fix his mistake. 

“What is wrong?” 

His mothers voice rings out behind him. She was preparing for dinner, carving the roots and slicing the meat while Neteyam sat a few feet away. She was always so observant, her oldest son the easiest for her to read.

“Nothing is wrong mother.”

He can hear the knife she held being placed down on the stone she was cutting on. Can feel her body heat shifting closer to his.  “Something is wrong. You are tense, hunching over your craft as if it must be shielded from the world.”

Neytiri's palm presses between his shoulder blades. It urges him to sit up straight.

“I want it to be perfect.”

He can feel his mother peering over his shoulder. It brings tension back into his body as he holds his breath. If his mother didn't like it he isn't sure what he would do. 

“It will be.” Neytiri nods approvingly, “You do not need to rush.”

He did need to rush. Teylun told him this morning during training that he overheard that Korvyn had finished his courting gift. That could only mean that he would be presenting it to you tonight at the gathering, which meant that Neteyam had to finish his courting gift before then. 

The two of you had been close last night. Closer than usual, dancing next to the fire with other couples. Body's swaying and twirling around each other, never straying far enough for someone to slip between you two. If Korvyn got to you first tonight, Neteyam was nearly sure that you would accept his gift, that he would lose you to him.

So he just smiles tightly at his mother. Nods in faux agreement that he had time to complete it, that he could be patient. He knew better though, and he knew he could complete it. Hours spent training in the ways of his people meant that he was well versed, he would complete this easily before the festivities tonight.

Normally armbands were fashioned with feathers as accent pieces. Two or three that would hang down the wearers bicep, usually of a color that meant something to them. He wants the feathers to be something that stand out; a nice rich orangy-red. Not only would it stand out against your blue skin, but it’d also draw attention, garner questions about who made it for you.

The thought brought a small smirk to his face. You, confirming the suspicions that the two of you were becoming something more, to any and all who asked. 

As he approaches the fire he scans to look for you. You aren't at your normal log. You aren't settled where your friends are. Aren't nibbling on something near the edge of the forest. 

Where were you?

Maybe you were late. He had heard that you were going to wash at one of the hot springs after training today, maybe you just hadn't made it back yet. That would make sense.

He takes up position with Teylun, Li’ral, and the rest of their friends. He tries not to get too comfortable, to be ready to jump up and head over to you as soon as you breach the forest.

Neteyam didn't want to seem like a prude by not partaking in the activities while he waited. So he drinks some wine and assumes a casual, loose position. He converses with his friends, shares his opinions on their prospects, answered when they question his stance with you.

The conversation almost leads him to miss your arrival. But his ears flick towards the sound of your voice instinctually. He allows his head to swerve with them, to watch as you greet your friends. You seemed happy, smiling as you caught up with them, he wondered what you were talking about.

It seemed wrong to interrupt. When the conversation died down he'd slowly meander over, politely ask your friends to excuse you, and drag you away from prying eyes. Then he could present you with the armband and implore you to give this courtship a chance.

As he ponders how the situation would go, Neteyam can see a figure approaching. When his eyes refocus he notices its Korvyn. He's approached you while you talk, urging you away as Neteyam was just daydreaming he would. 

No.

No, no, no. Neteyam only has one thought coursing through his mind as he approaches – Korvyn would not ruin this for him. 

“Korvyn! Can I speak to you for a moment?” Neteyam places a firm hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Korvyn nods, “Of course.” 

Neteyam drags him away; away from prying eyes, away from their friends, away from you. 

“I heard you are going to give a courting gift tonight.” 

“I am.”

Neteyam lets his tongue lave over his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he picks his words carefully. “I do not think it wise to do that.”

“Why is that?” Korvyn’s brow furrows, nose scrunching before he schools his expression back to neutral.

“I wish to court the same person. And-” Eywa is he really doing this? Yes, he was and there was no turning back now, “and it would be embarrassing for her to deny you in front of everyone.”

“She has said that she would deny me?”

Neteyam lets his lips press tightly together, “I have not asked. But it would be wise to think of all possibilities.”

With another pat to Korvyn's shoulder Neteyam turns to leave. He makes his way back to the fire, back to the music, back to you. 

But you aren't there again. So he rushes to your friends, questions your absence like he should have done earlier. They tell him you were tired, that you had outdid yourself earlier and the hot spring loosening your muscles only made you more tired.

That is fine. Perfectly fine. He could see you in the morning, before training went underway. Drag you away to a more secluded area and confess his feelings then while he presents you with the armband he carefully crafted. 

So he goes back to his kelku. Laid down on his sleeping mat and pulled a pelt over his body before drifting off to sleep. When he wakes up he's excited, happy to see where this day takes him. Ever the optimist.

But when he gets to the training grounds you are not there either. It is fine, you were probably late again – you said you were tired the night before, maybe you just slept in today. 

Neteyam tries to keep his optimistic mood, to be the open and kind person that he should be. However it falters as the day goes on and he still does not see you. 

You didn't make an appearance for the midday meal. Fine.

Didn't show up to the weavers circle to gossip with your mother and the other older women of the clan. Fine.

Weren’t up high on the ikran rookery tending to your ikran as if they were your child. Fine.

Maybe your father had sent you out to duties he was unaware of. Things that drew you away from the village. But then you weren’t at the fire later on. Not the cookfire or the celebration fire either.

And to be honest, it was still fine.

Neteyam was able to emotionally regulate himself to not fall into a spiral. To not consider that something bad had happened, or that someone else was able to steal you away in courtship before he could. You were probably resting, and if you were not resting maybe you had fallen ill. 

So he lays his head down to rest another night, preparing to get up as the sun rises. He'd go to your kelku and ask for you before you had a chance to leave – not that you would be leaving, since you were sick, of course.

Upon arriving your mother greets him.

“Oh Neteyam! So good to see you – quite early though.. How is your mother? And your siblings, are they treating you well?”

A polite smile graces his face. He’d always been fond of your mother, and it’s important to answer all her questions diligently if he wanted to ensure she also liked him. 

“I apologize for the intrusion. She is well, I believe she's preparing for a hunt right now. My siblings are also well – troublemakers, but they are well under my watchful eye.”

Your mother nods along as he speaks, showing her interest, “That is good. I am very happy to hear the Olo’eyktan’s family is doing well.” She wipes her knife with a cloth, sheathing it before her face lights up, “Ah - I apologize, you must be here for something important if you came so early.”

Neteyam smiles, your name leaves his lips and he smiles politely. When your mothers expression falls into something morphed from confusion Neteyam realizes his mistake and continues.

“I was hoping to speak to her.”

“She is gone for the day already, another busy schedule.”

“Do you know where I might be able to find her?”

Neteyam feels as if he can see the gears turning in your mothers head. It’s as if he’s watching her weigh the pros and cons of revealing your location. He hopes that the pros outweigh everything else and that she’ll guide him in the right direction but he’s not foolish – he knows family should stick together. It’s his fathers favorite saying anyway.

“I do not. She has taken on many responsibilities recently.”

Neteyam can feel his face fall before he can school his expression. Disappointment settles in his bones, weighing his shoulders down. But before he can fully allow himself to count today's pursuit as a loss, your mother speaks again.

“She may be with the gathers. Fishing while they gather fibers for weaving. However, I am not certain.”

A smile graces his face at that. It wasn’t a definite answer of your whereabouts, but it's good enough. There were many spots to gather fibers down the river, and the walk would give him ample time to perfectly craft his confession. 

As he walks through the forest Neteyam allows himself to kneel and pick a few flowers. If all went well maybe you'd allow him to braid them into your hair. He could picture it now. The two of you sitting in an alcove of a fallen tree, the ambiance of the local fauna surrounding you, talking about any and everything that came to mind as Neteyam weaved your braided hair into other patterns to incorporate the flowers as well.

Sounds of rushing water and muffled voices force him out of his daydream. Arriving to the river means he has to attune himself to everything – he’d hate to miss you because you were on the other side of the river, or if the group you were with ended up being more inland. 

When he passes groups Neteyam puts on a proper face. He smiles, greets the clan members – sometimes he helps them with picking the fibers, or hauling a catch. When he comes upon the third group, he spots you nocking an arrow a few paces away. 

After you release the arrow, he calls out to you. He watches as your yellow eyes snap to his figure. You allow your head to fall into a slight nod of acknowledgement before wading out to retrieve your catch. 

Neteyam steps slowly, as if he is trying to not startle an animal. His hands reach out in front of him, trying to show that he means no hard as you yank the arrow from the octofins body. When you toss the fish into a basket filled with the rest of your kills, he finally approaches.

“Can I steal you from fishing for a few moments?”

He can see the way your tongue rolls over your top teeth beneath your lips. The way your eyes narrow just slightly, before you motion towards the forest.

Good. The denser flora would better muffle your conversation from prying ears. He wanted this to be a more intimate moment, and he’s glad to see that you share the sentiment. 

Neteyam feels like a child with how he brambles behind you. His feet snap twigs, his hands take ages to move the vines from his vision, and his heart is pounding in his chest. Any sense of preparation flees when you reach a clearing that you deem good enough.

“Speak.”

Not the joyous greeting he had hoped for, but it was fine, he could work with it. Perhaps you were just stressed about bringing back enough fish.

“How have you been? I missed you at the festivities the past few nights.”

You scoff, “I am fine. I have been busy – I am currently busy as you just saw. What did you come all this way for?”

“I wish to give this to you, so you can carry a piece of me with you always.” Before Neteyam can begin to dig into the satchel that rests tied to his tewng on his hip, a snarl from you halts his movement.

“Do not humiliate me. I will not allow it, not again.”

“I would never. These past few weeks have been very special to me. I feel as if I have gained ma txeylan back, as if we had never grown apart.”

Your lips tightly purse together, and you nod. This is not how Neteyam thought it would go. He believed that you would share his sentiment, that you would elaborate on how it felt from your perspective. Did someone else get to you first? 

“Do you not feel the same.. Did–did you agree to pursue someone else already?”

“Oh you are just so full of yourself! Can’t you see that?” You bellow, “You toss me aside for some new shiny friends, just to act like it’s my fault that we aren’t friends anymore. And now you bring up Korvyn? After you’ve forced your rank so that he does not court me?”

Neteyam allows his brow to crease. “What do you mean?”

“The other night! He had approached me to speak before you dragged him away, and yesterday morning I hear that he's been asked to stay away by the future Olo’eyktan.”

“No. No, not that.” He waves his hand dismissively, before looking back at you, “I did not toss you aside.”

“After your iknimaya. When Teylun first approached he called me a child. Then you brushed me off until your dream hunt, and then you only laughed at me and called me a child yourself!”

Realization dawned on his face. Much had happened in the past years, so much that he had buried that memory in his head, refused to allow it to see the light of day.

“I… I am so sorry.” You huff a laugh, disbelieving smile adorning your features before Neteyam continues, “I was taken with the praise that was being bestowed upon me, blinded by their perceptions of who I was that I didn’t consider how rude and childish my actions were.”

“Even if that were true, you only started taking an interest in me when you saw others approach – not because you truly wanted to reconnect.”

“It started like that, but I have always enjoyed our time together.” Neteyam hopes you can hear the earnestness in his tone. 

He tries to assess the non vocal signs you give him. The way your ears are slightly tilted back in annoyance, the way your tail is lashing angrily, how your fingers dig into your elbows where you hold your arms together. And despite your standoffish stance, you don't snap at him again.

“Actions must be paired with your words. Do not embarass me.”

A smile graces his lips, overjoyed that you're giving him a real opportunity, “You wont regr–”

“If you try to humilate me again the beating you recieve will be worse than the last.”

“Of course.” The smile falls a bit, but he cannot shake it from his face entirely. “May I help you bring back the fish you have caught?”

The thought dances around your mind before you shake your head, “No. You may begin with whatever you're trying to achieve tomorrow. Let me fish in peace.”

Not wanting to ruin his chances, Neteyam listens. Withdrawing from the area bidding the lingering clan members a goodbye before he begins his trek back through the forest. It hadn't gone as he planned, but you hadn't taken away his opportunity. Hadn't sealed and locked your heart away like one of the pressurized doors at the human outpost. 

He hoped that his luck would play out. That he would be able to charm you into feeling the same way for him. But time would only tell.

Everyday Neteyam worked on something. Something to impress you. Something to show he cared. That he considered you as more than a prize to win. 

At first they were simple things. 

A nice feather to tag your arrows with. 

Materials to help you craft a stronger grip for your knife.

Polished rocks that could be carved down into something to adorn your body or be used as decoration.

But Neteyam knew those things would only mean so much. Deep down he knew that anyone could retrieve those items for you – he had to distinguish himself somehow, to show how much better he was for you then any of the other candidates.

So the gifts progressively got more elaborate.

When you carved yourself a new bow, he weaved fibers together to make you a string to match its fury.

When the two of you somehow ended up in the same hunting party, he placed you in prime positions. No longer watching for unseen stampedes, but now being the one to arrive at hometree with the delight of knowing the clan would feast on your kill tonight.

He spent time making new meal combinations. Picking the ripest fruit to pair with savory mushrooms. He’d scour for ferns to crush into spices for meats. Swim out to rocks in the middle of lakes and rivers to catch the bigger fish that resided there. 

Neteyam wished to make you clothes, jewelry, shawls, anything that could adorn your body. He wanted others to look at the craftsmanship and question where you found the time to make something so intricate when you were so busy. He wished for a deep purple tint to find your cheeks when you admitted that Neteyam made them for you, that he somehow found time in his even busier schedule to make you such detailed gifts. But he knew he had to wait –  that he should wait, at least until you accept his courting.  

So until then he continues with other acts.

He makes mental notes of beautiful hidden alcoves that he sees on patrol. Which he later begs you to accompany him to. Some are in the forest, hidden behind vines and trees but bright with glowing flowers and moss. Others are in the floating mountains, lush green spots that contain shallow bodies of water for the two of you to lounge in after a long day.

Most importantly, well most important in Neteyam's mind, he makes more of an effort to listen and also show you that he heard you. 

When he asks about your day, he makes sure to delve into the little details about what fibers you're using for your weavings. Then the next morning more miraculously arrive outside your kelku. 

When you state that a meal didn't come out as good as you hoped because the fruit you used wasn't of the rarest quality because you didn't want to scale the mountain for it, Neteyam makes sure that not only the fruit, but the meat and the nectar you were using show up with him the next day. You tried to take it from him with a polite apology, but he insisted that the two of you cooked together. He couldn't stop himself from getting caught up on the fact that you let him feed you when taste testing the meal.

When you complained others speaking about you, Neteyam set them straight. 

To’lei said that the future Olo’eyktan couldn't have a carbon copy of himself as a mate, that he needed someone with a slightly different personality. So he politely reminded her that his mother not only matched, but exceeded in some senses, his fathers personality and their leadership has been strong and prosperous. 

Ulkan mentioned how the two of you had always butted heads, that this complete change did not make sense. Neteyam informed him that people can change and mature, but also that mistakes and misunderstandings happen and those are mendable wounds.

And before Teylun and Li'ral could even think of making a comment Neteyam took the initiative to speak to them. He tried to not dwell on the past, to blame them for his past mistakes, but he did make it clear that they would have to respect you from now on, along with more of the clan's women. Specifically for you however he made it clear that it is not to be because of his interest in you, but because they can acknowledge your skills and prowess in what you do.

After weeks of changing his ways, of proving himself to you Neteyam began to think that it would not work. That you wouldn’t ever take him seriously and all of this was for naught. Sure, you had softened – allowed him to be around you more, laughed freely, and teased him as you once did. But that didn't mean you'd give him a real chance at proving how good of a mate he'd be.

But one morning as he's making his way to the training grounds he sees you already there. You’re teaching some of the children how to properly hold their bows – what stance their feet should be in, how to twist their hips, and how to line their shots. That isn't unusual, the children loved to learn from you and you didn't view it as a hindrance as long as they listened.

What was unusual was the bright orange and red feathers that adorned your bicep, upon trailing his eyes up a bit more Neteyam could see that they were attached to a very familiar pattern. 

He couldn't stop the smile from gracing his face. The boyish grin bringing a sparkle to his eyes as he approached calling your name. 

“You accept?”

You startle. Wave the children off dismissively, and huffing a bit when they don't disperse easily because of their nosey habits. But then you turn to him fully and nod. 

“I am willing to try. It is as if you brought back the aspects of the boy I grew up with and paired them with the actions of a man.”

“That was my goal.” His hands reach towards your hips but they hover instead of landing, “May I touch you?”

When you nod again he allows his hands to fall. His thumbs begin soothing over the skin they rest on, “How about a kiss too? I promise I will not disappoint you.”

Instead of answering you allow your lips to press to his. It's brief, nothing to cheer or shout over, but it's everything to Neteyam. It's proof that all his months of trying have now progressed into something palpable, and it means that his feelings are reciprocated. When he moves to kiss you again, you press a hand to his chest halting his movements.

“There are children around.”

“It is nothing they have not seen from their parents.”

“Do not be hasty. How about we go flying tonight, and we can… continue then?”

Neteyam nods eagerly, dislodges himself from you and begins to make his way across the training grounds. If he were to stay nearby with this recent revelation hanging in the air he wouldn't be able to contain himself. 

So he strides away, takes to sharpening a spear with an even wider grin than before adorning his features. He cannot wait for the future that he is so sure will happen – mating before Eywa, the ceremony with the clan, the births of your children, and eventually falling into the roles of leaders.

He should make a stop by the spirit tree to thank Eywa later. Neteyam is sure that she has had a role in this. That she had opened your heart and mind to the idea of him, and that without her he would have never been able to atone for his past mistakes, and never had won you back.

He would have never become important in your eyes again if not for her.

Maybe he would even take you - to prove that she had blessed this communion. Or maybe not, he should save that for when you consummate the union anyways.

Translation: Eveng - child Ma txeylan- my best friend Rumaut - cannonball fruit Ma’ite - my daughter Kelku - home Kaltxì - hello Tewng - loincloth Skxawng - idiot/moron Kalintu - sweet person

a/n: lowk didn't love the ending of this but i wanted to write it instead of figuring out my ten minute presentation thats due in a few days or studying for my super important exam on monday soooo it is what it is

Dividers by @cafekitsune

tag: @skepticalvoidhedgehog