neteyam constant misser

01. show me, warrior — (23k wc) — series part 1

you are one of, if not the, fiercest huntresses of the omatikaya clan, skilled with your bow and arrow on the ground, but even more unparalleled on top of your ikran. for this, your being neteyam’s second during missions against the RDA is a no-brainer. everybody knows you’re the only one who can go toe to toe with him. he knows that, you know that.

02. always, paskalin — (24k wc) — series part 2

you and neteyam visited lo’ak in awa’atlu, but unexpectedly, what was supposedly a moon long vacation had to be extended indefinitely. along with enjoying the way of life in the reef, you also became a witness to the sky people’s increasingly cruel attacks and hunting of the tulkun.

03. he has the blood of warriors — (10.4k wc) — series part 3

what was supposedly a little harmless foraging in the forest made little naran just like mama and papa— a warrior.

04. exes don’t fuck, yawntu — (17.2k wc) — one shot

neteyam and you are exes... but neteyam refuses to be an ex.

05. he got everything from you — (2.4k wc) — one shot

neteyam and his little family in which his toddler son can hear his footsteps anywhere.

06. i will burn happily, baby — (25.1k wc) — one shot

you were sent to kill neteyam, the warrior you have repeatedly grappled with in your clan’s raids that he kept sabotaging. you are confident he won’t recognize you without your paint, but alas, he does!

07. taste of your lips — (13.7k) — one shot

you and neteyam have been fuck buddies for over a year now, existing in a bubble full of tension and secretive glances. he had imposed a rule of no kissing early on, claiming it would only complicate things— until a game of truth or dare was played... and apparently, he has no issue being kissed at all.

08. hopelessly devoted — (19.2k) — one shot

for twenty-two generations, your father’s family has guarded a sacred legacy: one woman will choose a life of solitude and remain unmated for life for the service of the great mother and the people. you decided it will be you now... except for one problem. neteyam. the boy who has looked at you with quiet and unwavering devotion since you were children.

09. where the act ends — (14.4k) — one shot

neteyam offered a proposition to the most quiet girl in the clan: pretend to be his intended to make another girl jealous... but a short time into it and the lines had blurred for him. not for you, though! you’re serious about the mission, much to his frustration.

10. taming the tides — (20.2k) — one shot

hardened by the grief of losing your mother and fueled by the rage you have for both the sky people and the sullys— who brought their war on your shores— you made it your mission to avoid them at all costs. unlike your siblings, you never softened up to them, and you loathed the fact that neteyam, their eldest, just wouldn’t stay out of your sight.

11. the song of hope — (15.7k) — one shot

you had long since given up on the illusions of the old songs... the ones that spoke of honorable warriors. you had seen firsthand just how cruel and evil they could be. but just as you were giving up, someone did come, and not only did he save you from the brutal life you had been dealt, he also gave you a chance to live again... and a chance to love.

12. let me earn you — (17.7k) — one shot

neteyam has always been the only boy who stirred your heart. as a man, he is everything you’ve ever wanted... and now that circumstances have finally drawn you closer, it feels like the perfect chance to make him see you. but with the looming war, the firstborn son of toruk makto has no room for distractions, and he won’t hesitate to push aside anyone who threatens his focus.

13. i’m here to stay — (16.8k) — one shot

a year ago, you made the painful choice to walk away from neteyam after he proved time and again that his duties to the war party came before you and his son. you knew he was only trying to be the dutiful soldier everyone expected him to be, and that he would have kept going that way... until your son unwittingly reminded his father of everything he was throwing away for the sake of duty and war.

14. to have you — (16.5k) — one shot

neteyam had carried a quiet attraction to you ever since lo’ak and kiri brought you home when you were children. growing up, neteyam was many things, but he was never malicious nor was he a liar... so you couldn't begin to understand what possessed him when, in a druken haze, he started blurting out things you would never have dared to dream of— not even in your wildest dreams.

15. it was you — (18.7k) — one shot

you had spent your whole life longing for a path that was yours to lead, yet even the choice of who to mate with was stolen from you, when you were told about a betrothal your father had engineered with the son of toruk makto.

16. into your world — (26.8k) — one shot

a botanical expedition with your fellow scientists was supposed to be nothing short of a fun field trip, except that it turned into something entirely unexpected. now, you find yourself held ‘captive’ by the omatikaya. granted, it’s not exactly a brutal imprisonment if you’re enjoying every single minute of it. the only problem is that your enjoyment has become the absolute bane of someone else’s existence—the incredibly grumpy eldest son of toruk makto.

17. no one else — (19.4k) — one shot

being the sister of one of the clan’s most promising warriors is one thing, but having neteyam constantly be there to act as brother #2 is another.

18. home to you — (22.5k) — one shot

the war against the sky people had taken everything from neteyam. he never thought he’d had the chance to be with you again... but now that he’s back, he’s willing to do everything to get you back. there’s only one hiccup... you are mated and a mother now.

19. there is only you — (18.8k) — one shot

you’ve always liked neteyam but you’ve also always known that he’s far out of your league. you know where you stand, and not once did you ever dream of having him for yourself. you know he’ll never like you back anyway... but it's one thing to know and another to hear it from him.

“Y/N! Over here!”

Kiri’s voice cut through the noise and you turned around to see her waving frantically from a table near the center of the clearing, surrounded by Spider, Lo’ak, a few of their hunter friends, and him. Neteyam.

Your heart did its usual, foolish flutter, smiling at her before weaving through the crowd toward them. As you drew closer, you noticed the tight seating arrangement.

To be fair, it was filled with men of particularly larger physique. There was barely enough room for Spider, let alone another Na’vi. Neteyam scanned the table and saw the thoughts forming on your your face. You’re going to politely wave Kiri off and tell her you’d eat later instead. So, without a word, Neteyam’s elbow dug sharply into Lo’ak’s ribs.

“Ow!” Lo’ak hissed, nearly dropping his roasted meat.

“Move over,” Neteyam commanded in a low, authoritative murmur, shoving his brother a full foot to the left. Lo’ak grumbled under his breath but complied anyway, leaving a perfectly cleared space right beside Neteyam.

“Oh, there, Y/N!” Kiri offered the seat with a grin.

Neteyam looked up at you with a nonchalant look, acting as if he hadn’t just practically manhandled Lo’ak away. You rounded the table and slowly folded your legs beneath you to sit on the mat beside Neteyam.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you settled into the space. The heat radiating from his side was instantaneous, a contrast to the cool evening breeze filtering through the branches.

“You're late,” he noted, his eyes scanning your face, tracking the slight smudge of soot on your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered, stupidly going mute for a moment with how close he is and before you could actually answer, he reached to his side and pulled a large leaf toward you. Usually, you’re left with a random assortment of scraps when you sit with the other kids you live with at the longhouse, but this one was piled with the sweetest, most tender cuts of roasted meat and roots, and a handful of the rare blue berries you always picked when you go out to forage.

“Kiri prepared it,” he murmured and cleared his throat, pushing the leaf into your hands.

Kiri’s ear twitched at the mention of her name and she turned to the both of you.

You smiled when your eyes locked, “Thank you, Kiri. You shouldn't have bothered...” you said cheerfully.

Her brows furrowed. “For the seat? Sure. I always ask you to eat with us, I don’t know why you also always refuse.” she pouted.

You started eating the meat on your leaf, chuckling at her sulking. The young ones at the other table still need assistance with eating sometimes, and the ones your age are not always as attentive. Your hunger and the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast didn’t really register to you until you started downing your food.

Neteyam reached over before silently pushing a small wooden cup of water toward you. You grabbed it and drank the cool water gratefully, the soothing liquid easing the tightness in your chest. As you set the wooden cup down, your fingers brushed lightly against Neteyam’s. A faint, electric warmth jumped across your skin, making your pulse spike, but you forced your eyes to stay fixed on your food.

That was just Neteyam. He was always doing things like this, paying attention to the smallest details, noticing when someone’s cup was empty, sensing when a space needed to be cleared, or when someone needs help. And that was you. You are always in need of help.

So of course, the eldest son of Toruk Makto who was bred from birth to watch over the people, to lead with a watchful eye and a steady hand is always ready to give it. This kindness extends over everyone and not really a special favor to you, because it was simply the fabric of who he was. He was just as attentive to the young hunters learning to string their first bows.

You looked up briefly, watching from the corner of your eye as he laughed at a joke Spider made, his teeth flashing in an easy air, his shoulders relaxed.

You loved him.

You had loved him for as long as you could remember, but it wasn't the kind of love that demanded possession. You didn't dare dream of standing beside him as his mate, or wrapping your songcord around his wrist in front of the whole clan. To you, Neteyam was like the great Hometree itself. Magnificent, sheltering, and belonging to everyone. You were entirely content to admire him from the periphery, to be the quiet shadow that appreciated his warmth without ever asking to burn in it. Knowing that he was safe, that he was thriving, and that he would one day be the glorious leader the Omatikaya deserved... That was enough for you.

“Hey, Y/N,“ Lo’ak suddenly spoke up, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was leaning across the table, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked between you and his older brother. “You know, if you're always this hungry, you should just hunt with us. Neteyam here can teach you how to properly take down a hexapede. He would be so eager to share his wisdom with you.”

Neteyam’s ears immediately flared, pinning back slightly against his head. He didn't look at Lo’ak, but his jaw tightened. “What are you even talking about,” he calmly said in a low voice, bringing his cup to his lips to sip.

“She works in the kitchens and the nurseries, Lo’ak,” Kiri said, crossing her arms against her chest. “She doesn't need to waste her time missing targets with you.”

“I don't miss!” Lo'ak protested, throwing his hands up.

“You missed twice yesterday,” Neteyam retorted smoothly, his tone perfectly even, though he reached out and casually grabbed another sweet root from the center platter, dropping it onto your leaf without a word.

Across the circle, Kiri rested her chin in her hands, her gaze drifting between you and Neteyam with a quiet, knowing expression. She didn't say anything, but the subtle quirk of her brow made your forehead crease in confusion. You arranged the meat, roots, and fruit properly, scanning the table for a spare leaf to cover and fold it with, only to see all their leaves scantily discarded.

You bit your lip, planning to get up and get a fresh leaf. You hadn't even made a sound, but without breaking eye contact with the hunter he was speaking to, Neteyam’s hand shot out and gently caught your wrist. His grip was warm, his thumb resting right over your pulse point.

“Leaf?” he murmured over his shoulder to you, seamlessly continuing the conversation with the hunter. With his free hand, he grabbed a clean leaf from a neighboring table and gave it to you.

Across the circle, Lo’ak stopped chewing. He looked at Neteyam, then at you, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across his face watching you begin to fold the leaf.

“Are you full or are you just bothered with what Lo’ak said?” he asked quietly as their friends began to talk and laugh loudly.

Your forehead creased, chuckling. “I am full. I am bringing this back to the kids,” you said. “They tend to get really hungry in the middle of the night.”

Neteyam watched your hands work, his eyes tracking the neat, careful way you bind the leaf. “Then we should add more,” he said, his tone telling you this was a no-brainer.

“No, there’s no need. The kids also need to learn how to make do with what’s there. Besides, the food is rationed...” you reasoned.

He huffed. “Even so. The kids need to eat... But then, it’s your decision. You’re basically the one raising them,” he said in a soft voice, staring at your side profile, but he immediately caught himself. “The clan is thankful to you for that.” he added in a flat tone, looking away to look at the mess on the table instead.

“We have sisters in the longhouse as well, I am not entirely alone in it,” you replied, finishing the bundle.

When the dinner finally wound down and the people began to disperse, laughing and slapping each other's shoulders, you stayed behind. It was muscle memory at this point. You knelt to gather the leaves, the discarded bowls, and wipe down the tables

“I swear, you're the one running this clan, Y/N,” Kiri mused, dropping to her knees beside you to stack a pile of the bowls. She shook her head, though her eyes were fond.

“Don't exaggerate, Kiri,” you laughed, leaning over to pick up a stray cup. Before your fingers could touch it, a large hand closed around it first.

You looked up. Neteyam was kneeling right there, seamlessly joining the cleanup. He didn't say anything at first, just quietly moving around the space, stacking heavy bowls and carrying them toward the washing area so you wouldn't have to. He was a warrior, built for the hunt, yet he moved through the domestic chore with a quiet, efficient grace.

“Go on ahead, Kiri,” Neteyam suddenly said, not looking up from his task. “We’ll finish up here.“

Kiri looked between the two of you, pursing her lips. “Right. I’ll get going...” she said in a singsong voice, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before wandering off.

With just the two of you left, the silence felt thick, charged with the steady hum of the forest outside. Neteyam worked quickly, ensuring you didn't have to bend down for a single heavy object. When the last mat was cleared, you turned to him, wiping your hands. “Thank you, Neteyam. Good night.”

You quickly turned to head toward the winding path that led up to the high branches, but his footsteps closely followed yours.

“I'm walking you up,“ he stated like it was a fact of the moment.

You shrugged. He often does that anyway. “Alright. But just so you know, I know my way home,” you chuckled.

“It's dark, and the higher ledges are slick from the evening dew,” he replied smoothly, his hands resting casually on his hips as he looked down at you. It was the perfect excuse, the responsible commander looking out for a clan member. He completely ignored the fact that you climbed these branches every single day of your life without a single slip. He was only glad you didn't argue.

But that was mainly because walking up the winding pathways of Hometree beside him was quite the torture you can’t refuse. The warmth of his body shielded you from the cool draft blowing through the upper canopy, and you know, that when you lay awake later, you will think about every detail of tonight like a teenage girl with a crush.

When you reached the longhouse where orphaned children are housed, the low, collective breathing of sleeping kids greeted you. There were children as young as four years old huddled together on the woven mats.

“Here we are,“ you whispered, turning to him. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your face in the dim light of the bioluminescent moss.

You slipped inside, finding your spot on the floor. Almost instantly, a tiny four-year-old girl stirred, whimpering in her sleep before crawling over and burying her head against your side. Another young boy shifted, tossing his arm over your legs. You smiled softly, wrapping your arms around them to draw them close, and began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby.

Outside the shelter, Neteyam stood still. He listened to the faint, sweet sound of your humming, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar, fierce warmth. He told himself he was just ensuring everything in the clan was sound before he left. He told himself that a warrior simply values peace in the clan. He didn’t want to acknowledge anything other than that.

A few days later, the forest was alive with the bright golden light of the afternoon. You were deep in the woods, leading a small group of the younger children on a foraging trip. Among them was Tuk, who was practically bouncing on her heels.

“And this one! What does this one do? Can we eat it? Is it poisonous? Will it turn my tongue blue like Lo'ak's when he ate those bad berries?” Tuk fired off questions without breathing, pointing at a glowing fern.

You laughed enthusiastically, kneeling down so you were at her eye level. “No, Tuk, this one isn't for eating. But see these veins? If you ever get a scrape, you can mash these leaves up and put them on the cut. It stops the stinging.”

“Whoa,” Tuk gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.

You gathered the children closer, holding up a bright, deceptively beautiful leaf. “Now, look closely at this one. See these tiny, pale hairs on the edges? Never, ever touch this. They have sharp, pin-like needles. They will stick into your skin and itch for days. Do you understand?”

The children all nodded solemnly, completely captivated by your voice.

You were so focused on their wide, curious eyes that you didn't hear the soft rustle of the brush behind you. Neteyam had just finished his patrol. His body was tired, his muscles tense from hours of scouting, and by all accounts, he should have reported straight to his father. Yet, the moment his duties were cleared, his feet had carried him straight toward the woods.

He had known Tuk was with you, as usual. He had used that exact thought to make himself comfortable with the decision. I'm just checking on my sister, he told himself, ignoring the way his heart had done a strange, eager leap the moment he saw the bright feathers of your long braids.

“Neteyam!” Tuk’s high-pitched voice suddenly rang out.

You blinked, turning around as the circle of children parted. Neteyam has already reached your flock, looking every bit the fierce warrior the kids idolized. The children instantly gasped, looking at him with awe.

“The teacher is so immerse... A palulukan could have attacked anytime,” he said in a humored voice, his lips curling in a smirk.

Your lips twisted. “And the hunter should have also known that these paths are not the paths a palulukan would take,” you playfully narrowed your eyes but you grew serious right away. “Did you come to get Tuk? We were just about to walk home, it's almost eclipse.”

Neteyam paused, his tongue catching in his throat. You were so practical and straight to the point. It was exactly the excuse he had prepared in his mind should you question his presence, but hearing you say it so plainly made his chest feel strangely hollow. He couldn't admit to you, or to himself, that Tuk was entirely secondary.

“Yeah...” he said, clearing his throat and rounding the group of children, his ears twitching slightly. “I just got back from patrol.”

“We better get back, kids,” you announced, clapping your hands together. “The skies will darken in minutes and we don’t want to be caught in the dark.”

The children obediently scrambled into a line, holding each other's hands and walking ahead of you. You and Neteyam fell into step behind them, keeping a watchful eye on the little line.

“They're so good with you,” Neteyam murmured, watching a little boy trip over a root, only for Tuk to proudly help him up. “They actually listen. When I try to tell Tuk to stay put, she completely ignores me.”

You chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that made Neteyam’s gaze snap right to you. “It is only because I speak to their curiosity and I rarely demand for their obedience. They are curious kids and they are really behave when you speak to them about what they want to know.”

Neteyam watched you as you walked. The fading sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching the amber light in your eyes. He stifled a soft smile, a sudden wave of something fierce washing over him. You were almost exactly the same as the kids you were teaching. You had grown up, yes, but that pure, undiluted light in your eyes had never faded. You were still the same curious, incredibly polite, and deeply kind girl who used to sit in the corner of his family's hut, laughing quietly with Kiri.

He found himself stepping just a little bit closer to you as the shadows of the forest lengthened, completely oblivious to the knowing pairs of eyes watching over you both from the high branches of Hometree.

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The atmosphere inside Hometree felt unusually heavy. You were returning from a long day in the woods, carrying a basket of rare roots and leaves that Mo’at had explicitly requested. This was exactly what you did for the clan: anything. You don’t really have an official designation; you were simply someone who could do anything. An errand girl.

Mostly you gather fibers for the weavers and forage for the cooks, but when necessary, you could weave and cook, too. Your mornings were spent with the children, and since most of your chores were usually over before the communal dinner, you manage to help in the kitchens as well.

And now, you felt fortunate that you were tasked to the woods to gather the herbs the Tsahik is in need of, because an older hunter from the Olangi passing through the Omatikaya territory had chanced upon you and talked to you about your great aunt, Suk’tet.

It is not like you’ve ever met this lady before... Despite your mother being Olangi, you grew up in the Omatikaya; but still, your mind was occupied and weighed down by the conversation you had with the hunter.

“She is very sick, child. The fever clings to her like a shadow, and the people are afraid she will pass without any of her blood with her.”

The news left a cold ache in your chest. Already feeling deeply dispirited, you hugged the basket closer to your chest and decided to take a quiet shortcut, intending to quickly drop off the herbs and retreat to the high branches. But as you rounded the pavillion toward the back entrance, the sound of low, intense voices made you freeze in your tracks.

“…she will ground you when the burden of leadership becomes too heavy,” Mo’at’s sharp voice echoed clearly through the space.

“Y/N?”

Your breath hitched. It was Neteyam’s voice.

“Tsahik, I see that you mean well,” Neteyam continued, his tone formal but strained. “Y/N is a good woman. She cares deeply...”

“There is a but. What is it?” Neytiri’s voice cut in, smooth and unyielding.

“Mother, I… I don’t see why you cannot see what I mean,” Neteyam sighed, his frustration bleeding through his words. “You are an Olo'eyktan's mate, and you are strong. A fearsome warrior who helped Dad fight his battles. Y/N… She’s… She cannot even hunt for herself. She cannot protect herself either. If I were to choose my mate, it would be someone who is capable of protecting my children because I would be completely occupied with protecting the people.“

Your stomach dropped, a cold, sickening weight pooling in your gut. Your grip tightened so hard on the basket that the stalks of the fresh herbs began to snap under your fingers.

“She works with children right now and you can see she is good with them,” Mo’at grinded.

You heard Neteyam sigh. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Your breathing hitched. You can literally feel goosebumps raise on your skin from how cold you were feeling inside.

“You underestimate Y/N,” Neytiri replied, her voice carrying a fierce edge. “Her father was an honorable warrior of the Omatikaya, and her mother a warrior of the Olangi.”

You heard Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “And she is not them, mother,” he said flatly. “I hope you are hearing how ridiculous this is.”

“Enough,“ Mo’at commanded. “You have spoken too much, and I hear you. I will not speak of this again.”

Pressing your back against the column, you gritted your teeth, your entire body shaking as you fought back the hot tears threatening to spill over. You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, forcing yourself to stay entirely silent. A moment later, Neteyam strode out of the pavilion. His posture was rigidly stiff, his jaw clenched, his steps heavy as he walked right past your hiding spot without noticing you.

You closed your eyes and forced a ragged breath into your lungs, desperately calming your racing heart. He was right about everything. It was a ridiculous idea. You didn't even know what had possessed Mo’at and Neytiri to pitch such a far-fetched match. But understanding his logic didn't mean it didn't cut you to the absolute core. He was so utterly appalled by the very concept of you being his mate that he could barely find a kind word to soften his rejection. To him, you were completely unsuited and unimaginable.

Waiting until the burning in your throat subsided, you stepped out from the shadows and walked into the pavilion. Mo’at and Neytiri were sitting in a heavy, tense silence. Neytiri’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as you approached, her gaze searching your face, likely wondering just how long you had been standing outside.

Acting as completely normal as you could muster, you knelt and began pulling the herbs from your basket. “I have the roots you asked for, Tsahik,” you said, your voice tight but clear.

Neither of them spoke. They remained utterly silent, the weight of the air suffocating, until Mo’at uttered a simple, quiet thanks for your job. You bowed your head and left as quickly as your legs could carry you.

During dinner that night, the vibrant atmosphere of the communal area felt entirely distant. For the first time in your life, you felt exhausted. You took a seat at the lower ledges with your companions from the longhouse, instantly diving into the task of tearing up meat and mashing roots for the younger children. You didn't get a single bite onto your own leaf. You couldn't eat anyway, your throat felt entirely closed up. You just wanted the day to end so you could finally curl up in your sleeping mat and cry where no one could see you.

Across the clearing, Neteyam sat at his usual table, completely distracted. His neck craned, his eyes trained on your back. You were turned away from him, your shoulders slightly hunched as you patiently fed a few toddlers. He had been watching long enough to know that you hadn't taken a single portion for yourself.

A strange, sharp pang clawed at his chest. Neteyam knew there was no possible way you could have heard his conversation with his mother and grandmother, yet an irrational sense of fear kept pulling his gaze back to you. He tried to tell himself he had done the right thing. He knew, ever since he was a child, that he did not belong to himself. His choices weren't his own. He belonged to his parents’ expectations, his siblings’ protection, and the future of the entire Omatikaya clan.

He knew, without a doubt, that should the council choose someone they deem suited for him, that he would mate with her. For his part, he believed that he needed a fierce warrior by his side. Much like the partnership his parents had. It was the only logical choice for the people.

Yet, he knew what he felt when Mo’at had pitched the idea of you being his mate. His heart had leapt into his throat with a terrifying, fierce surge of possessiveness, a reaction he had immediately suppressed and buried under cold, harsh logic. That was impossible. How could he be so selfish?

He wanted to talk to you. He needed to hear your voice, to see that quiet, comforting smile that usually settled his mind after a long day. He felt ridiculous. Pathetic. He feels weighed down by what he said about you, by how he disparaged you to his mother and Mo’at, and yet here he is, desiring to hear your voice.

And because he is selfish when it came to you, he decided he would wait until the dinner ended, knowing you would stay behind to clean the tables, and he would help you just like he always did. That plan calmed him down a little.

But it didn’t last long. From your table across the clearing, he saw you stand up. Neteyam’s forehead creased in immediate confusion as he watched you gather five of the youngest children, gently guiding them away from the light of the fires and out of the clearing.

Without even thinking, Neteyam pushed off his mat and stood up to follow you. He was delayed, forced to weave through the crowded tables and dodge a few greeting hunters, his eyes never leaving the path you took. By the time he broke away from the crowd and stepped onto the winding ramp upwards, you were already high up in the branches, nearing the longhouse.

He climbed quietly, his long strides easily closing the distance. Just as he reached the platform of the shelter, he caught sight of you returning from the back of the longhouse, lifting a wooden basin of water.

You stopped dead in your tracks when your eyes landed on him standing in the dim light. You managed to force a small, flickering smile before continuing to walk toward the doorway.

Neteyam immediately stepped into your path, making you halt. Up close, he could see the profound exhaustion in your posture. You looked completely dispirited, your usual warmth entirely replaced by a hollow, distant look that he couldn't quite put a hand on.

“You didn’t stay until the end of the meal,” he said softly, his eyes tracking the way your body was already angled toward the entryway, as if you couldn't stand the thought of lingering for even a second.

Your lips parted slightly, your eyes flickering away, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Uh, yes. The kids are done eating, and I’m putting them to bed,” you murmured.

“You didn't eat much,” he blurted out, the words slipping past his lips before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to sound like he had been watching your every move, even though that was exactly what he had been doing.

Your forehead creased, and you looked up at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. The irony of his sudden concern was almost laughable. “I’m not that hungry,” you said quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Is there anything you need, Neteyam?”

The straightforward, practical question hung in the air. He didn't have an answer, because he didn't even know why his feet had dragged him all the way up here. “No, nothing—”

“Y/N!!!”

Milo's high-pitched, crying voice suddenly pierced the air from inside the longhouse.

Setting the basin down with a hurried splash, you immediately rushed inside, with Neteyam following close behind. Little Milo was sitting on the woven mats, tears streaming down his face as the other children frantically explained that they had been playing a reckless game of tag in the dark and he had tripped.

“How many times have I told you not to run inside in the dark?” you scolded them gently, kneeling down to inspect a small, bleeding scratch on Milo’s elbow. Neteyam quickly light the hanging firepots up. You sighed, turning toward your side of the longhouse where your baskets of healing supplies were kept. “Stay still, Milo. I'm going to get the salve.”

“Let me see,” you heard Neteyam’s deep voice resonate through the small shelter.

You paused, turning your head to see him already kneeling in the spot you vacated. He was carefully dipping his large, calloused fingers into the basin water, his touch remarkably gentle as he began to wash the dirt from the little boy's scratch. “A future hunter doesn't cry over a little scrape like this, right? You have to be brave,” Neteyam murmured, a soft, encouraging smile on his face that made Milo instantly sniffle and nod bravely.

You walked back over, your chest aching at the sight, and silently applied the herbal salve to the wound, wrapping it neatly in a strip of soft, woven cloth.

Standing up, you turned to the rest of the wide-eyed children. “All of you, wash your hands in the basin and get to your sleeping mats right now,” you commanded.

“Y/N, will you tell us a story tonight?” one of the younger girls pleaded, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

“No,” you said strictly, keeping your tone firm despite the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. “As punishment for your rowdiness causing Milo to get hurt, there will be no story tonight.”

A collective, dramatic groan echoed through the longhouse.

You let out a soft sigh, your features softening just a fraction. “There will be a lullaby instead. Now, to bed.”

They immediately scrambled to their mats, grumbling but obedient. You turned around to face Neteyam, who was now standing by the entrance, his tall frame nearly brushing the upper beams of the longhouse as he watched you.

“Thank you for helping with Milo,” you whispered, your voice completely devoid of the playful, affectionate teasing you usually shared with him. You kept your distance, your hands clasped tightly behind your back.

He looked down at you, his golden eyes deep and swirling with unspoken words. His lips parted, his ears twitching slightly as if he were fighting the urge to reach out, to say something, anything, to bridge the immense, freezing distance that had suddenly formed between you.

“Y/N, there’s something—”

“You should definitely go now, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, using the kids as an immediate shield. “The children need to settle down, and it needs to be quiet in here. Good night.”

“I should go then,” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping into that familiar, quiet register. He lingered by the threshold, his eyes scanning your face one last time, searching for whatever was casting that heavy shadow over your usual warmth. “Good night, Y/N.”

The moment his tall, muscular frame disappeared past the woven flap of the longhouse, the forced smile slid completely off your face. Your chest felt like it was being compressed by a great, invisible fist. You turned back to the kids, pushing the agonizing memory of his cruel words deep down into the recesses of your mind. Tonight, you couldn't afford to break.

After all, you do care deeply. That’s your defining trait.

You sat down on the woven mats, and as promised, you began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby. The children huddled close, their breathing slowing down as sleep claimed them one by one. But as the longhouse grew quiet, the heavy silence only made the echo of his voice louder in your head.

For years, you were content to just exist in his orbit. You knew your place. You were practically just doing the scraps of everyone’s work. You were who they remember when they needed something done and didn’t want to ask their equal to do it. You do the thankless tasks while the real warriors bled for the clan.

Someone like Neteyam needed a mate who could ride into battle beside him, a woman with fire in her blood and not someone whose greatest talent was comforting crying children in the dark.

Your eyes pricked with hot tears before it spilled over. You huddled close to a sleeping child, closing your eyes and letting the darkness swallow you, wishing more than anything that you could simply disappear.

The next morning brought a shift in the wind, and with it, a strange sense of timing. You were on your way to deliver a fresh batch of woven sleeping mats to the lower ledges when one of the clan's senior scouts stopped you in the corridor.

“The Tsahik calls for you, Y/N,” he said, his face grave.

You shifted your weight on your other foot, feeling a bit of unease. “What for?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just go. It seems important. An Olangi rider came at dawn, must be about your mother’s family.”

You shifted the heavy stack of woven mats to your other hip, a cold knot of dread tightening in your stomach. “Thank you. I will go right away,” you murmured to the scout.

But you didn't drop everything, for that wasn't in your nature. You marched down to the lower ledges first, carefully laying out the fresh bedding for the families who needed them, ensuring the task was finished before you finally turned your steps toward the healing pavilion.

When you stepped past the beaded curtain, the scent of crushed leaves and dried roots filled your senses, and you saw Mo’at sitting near the central hearth, grinding paste in a heavy stone mortar.

You knelt before her, keeping your posture perfectly respectful. “Good day, Tsahik. I was told a messenger arrived. Is it about my great aunt, Suk’tet?”

Mo’at paused, her sharp eyes tilting upward as she studied your face. “Indeed, it is,” she said, her voice a low, gravelly hum. “How is it that you already know?”

“I chanced upon an Olangi hunter near the borders yesterday,” you explained softly, keeping your eyes trained on the dirt floor so she wouldn't see the lingering redness in them. “He told me of her condition.”

Mo’at nodded slowly, setting her pestle aside. “The message confirms it. The fever has gripped Suk’tet tightly. She is growing older and the spirit grows weary when left to fight in an empty home. The Olangi council sends word to us out of respect for your mother’s blood.”

You let out a quiet, heavy breath. “I should go and take care of her, Tsahik,” you said, your decision born from what you were feeling more than what you are thinking. “I am Omatikaya, but the Olangi blood is half of who I am. I want to tend to her.”

Mo’at’s eyes narrowed slightly, a quiet, knowing look swimming in their depths. “Are you certain, young one? Reconsider the children you spend your days with. They look to you for much.”

You bit your lip as your gaze lowered, feeling guilty that you hadn’t even thought of them when you decided. You will miss them all dearly. “The children have other adults who will ensure they are fed and looked after,” you replied. “But my great aunt has no one. She only has me.”

Mo’at stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you until she finally gave a single, slow nod. “Go then. I will arrange your travels. May the Great Mother guide your path.”

You spent the next two days privately packing your meager belongings, but true to your nature, you refused to leave your duties unfinished. You spent your mornings foraging double the usual amount of roots, wanting to leave the longhouse well-stocked before your departure.

On your final afternoon, you were walking back toward Hometree through the lower forest trails, guiding a small flock of children who were carrying tiny bundles of sweet-pods. The sun was dipping low, casting long, amber shadows through the trees, when a familiar rustle in the brush made your posture instantly stiffen.

You turned and saw Neteyam step into the clearing. His bow was slung over his shoulder, his skin still glistening with light sweat from a perimeter run. His gaze immediately locked onto you, a sudden, bright intensity flaring in his golden eyes.

You stopped and he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face. “Tuk is not with us today, Neteyam,” you stated, cutting straight to the only logical excuse he could possibly have.

Neteyam paused, his ears twitching backward slightly at the precision of your voice. “I know,” he said softly, taking a step closer.

You grimaced slightly, turning your attention to a little boy who was struggling with his bundle, adjusting the strap for him to avoid looking at Neteyam. “We are just heading back. It is nearly time for the evening meal.”

He nodded. “I’ll walk you,” he said.

You gritted your teeth, guiding the kids to walk ahead of you. “Do you think I cannot... protect these children, Neteyam?” you blurted out, your mouth getting ahead of your mind.

You saw his head rear back for a moment, shadows of surprise and something you cannot pinpoint crossing his face. “Of course, I do. You are good with these children, Y/N,” he said.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but you did look away, your brows almost touching your hairline as you gritted your teeth. Neteyam angled his head to look at you properly.

“Seriously. I do not have a single doubt that you’d protect these children to the best of your ability,” he murmured.

You lifted your brows and nodded. “Yes, I believe you, Neteyam,” you replied before stepping past him to guide the children who are stepping out of their line.

He followed after you, casually walking beside you. “We’re going on a two-week-long hunt in the western forest. Is there anything you want from there?” he asked, his hand extending half an inch as if he wanted to reach out, though he caught himself.

“Nothing I can think of right now,” you said politely. “But thank you.”

His lips parted to say something again, but one of the kids already snagged your attention. He took a deep breath through his nose. You were never really as close to him as you were with Kiri, so now he doesn’t know what else to say just to keep you standing in front of him for a few moments longer. He wanted you to tell him to be safe. He wanted you to look at him with that quiet trust that always secretly anchored his heart.

Instead, your expression was entirely vacant and he couldn’t find the warmth in your voice. He watched you walk the children up the roots leading to Hometree, and when the kids are finally under the safety of the hollowed trunk, he spoke again.

“It has been years since we last hunted in the western forest,” he said, stalling you with a conversation. “I remember it was a hundred times more perilous than this one.”

“Then it would probably be best if you report to your father now to prepare for the hunt,” you said, turning to the kids to make sure they aren’t pushing each other off the winding ramp. “I need get the kids up to the common area.”

Before he could utter another syllable, you stepped past him, your shoulder brushing the air inches from his chest. Neteyam stood frozen in the middle of the entryway, his fist clenching at his side as he watched you retreat into the winding ramp. The cold, empty hollow in his chest was growing wider, and he didn't know how to stop it.

That night at dinner, the communal area was alive with the boisterous shouting of the hunting parties preparing for the grand hunt. But Neteyam sat at their usual table in absolute silence, completely ignoring the loose banter between Lo'ak and Spider.

His eyes were trained like a predator's on the lower ledges.

He watched you sit with the young ones from the longhouse, watched you tear up meat, wipe smudges from tiny faces, and hand out portions, completely ignoring your own leaf. Once again, he hadn't seen you take a single bite all night. A deep, agonizing urge to stand up, walk over, and force you to eat burned in his gut, but the heavy expectations of his position kept him pinned to his mat.

He looked forward to the end of the meal again, his heart hammering against his ribs. He thought of coming clean, of telling you what happened with his mother and his grandmother, and everything he had said. He debated fiercely with himself. Would telling you about the matchmaking only hurt you more? You knew nothing about it, or so he thought, and explaining his rejection might just plant a seed of pain where there was none.

He didn’t know if he were only imagining things. That perhaps he was so guilty, he was imagining you pulling away because of the damning words he had uttered in the healing pavillion. He’s pretty sure you weren’t always like this. You were never dismissive, especially of him. You were always happy to talk to him. Always looking at him like he personally hung the stars in the sky.

He looked at Lo’ak who is busy eating. Everyone in the table is immersed in a conversation and... he just needed to ask.

“Lo’ak,” he called in a whisper and Lo’ak immediately turned to him.

“Oh?” Lo’ak asked, his brows furrowing at the distraction.

He swallowed, biting the inner flesh of his lips. “Do you... Do you remember what Y/N is like?” he whispered.

Lo’ak looked to the side in confusion. “Y/N...?” he repeated. “What she is like?” Lo’ak closed his eyes for a moment. “She’s just a few tables down, bro. Why are you asking that as if she’s gone or something?” he giggled.

Neteyam’s lips pulled back, baring his fangs. “Just answer the question.”

Lo’ak cleared his throat to feign seriousness. “What she is like to everyone or to you?”

Neteyam’s forehead creased. “Is there a difference?”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Are you stupid?” he whispered and Neteyam stared at him in a way that made bim clamp his mouth shut for a moment. “Okay, so... She’s very kind, she’s always willing to do everything for everyone. She’s also really cute when she smiles, especially when she’s shy and she’s very—”

“What was that?” Neteyam asked, every word emphasized.

“What?” Lo’ak whisper-shouted

“Stop imagining her like that,” Neteyam replied with a scowl, his eyes once again landing on your table.

He was about to ask Lo’ak to elaborate on what he said about how you were to him, when he saw you stand up from your table. Neteyam’s shoulders instantly tensed. It was entirely too early. The main feast wasn't even halfway finished, yet you were already guiding a couple of the youngest, sleepiest children toward the shadows of entryway.

He stood up, ignoring Lo’ak’s confused calls behind him. He took three urgent strides toward the aisle, determined to catch you before you reached the winding ramp—

“Neteyam.”

Mo’at’s sharp, commanding voice followed him and Neteyam stopped, his head snapping toward his grandmother, who was gesturing heavily for him to join the circle of elder council members near the central hearth.

“The Olo'eyktan requires your calculations for the western trails,” Mo'at stated, her eyes locking onto his with an unreadable, stern look.

Neteyam looked back over his shoulder. Your shadow was just disappearing past the grand archway of the entryway, completely vanishing into the dark pathways of Hometree.

His shoulders slumped, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping his chest. He slowly turned around and walked back toward the elders' circle, suppressing the bitter frustration roaring in his blood.

He fought the urge to groan, trying to soothe the sharp ache in his chest as he sat among the strategists. He reasoned with himself that the two weeks might help him clear the cloud in his mind that’s making him imagine things. In two weeks, the air between you would be better, because he will have been in a better headspace, too.

He had no idea at all that by the time he comes back, the bed where you slept would already be stripped bare.

The next day, you helped prepare the kids for the day one last time, pressing your forehead against their small brows, swallowing down the lump in your throat. They would be looked after by the other sisters, but you cannot help but feel sad and guilty about leaving them anyway.

“The hunting party left at dawn,” Mo’at informed you as you stood before a direhorse, her voice full of meaning. “But Hito will take you there safely.” She nodded to the young scout she tasked to accompany you.

You smiled, “Thank you, Tsahik,” you mumbled, turning when you heard hurried sounds of footsteps coming toward you.

You saw Tuk running, with Kiri and Lo’ak tailing behind her. “Y/N!” she called out. “Is it true?! You are leaving?” she asked as soon as she's standing in front of you, tears wetting her cheeks.

You glanced at Kiri, sighing softly as you lowered yourself to level with her. “Only temporarily, Tuk. I have a sick aunt I need to take care of...” you explained.

“Like Ta’uri?“ she asked, referencing an elder who was gripped by a lasting fever and passed last season.

You nodded, “Yes... you can say that. She is all alone, Tuk, and I need to be there for her.

Her lips tugged downward, but she nodded anyway. “Hug Popiti for me, Y/N... it’s been so long since I last saw her,” she cried dramatically, burying her face into your hair and wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.

You smiled, nodding as you caressed her braids. “I will, Tuk. I'll tell her you're growing into a fine huntress.”

“Don’t worry, Tuk, I can always take you to visit Y/N,” Kiri said, stepping forward to wrap her arms around both of you. Her eyes met yours over Tuk’s shoulder, filled with a quiet, intense concern. “The Olangi isn't that far by ikran.”

“Me, too. But you’ll have to let Y/N settle there first,” Lo’ak said, pausing and looking at your packed satchel. “Won’t you say goodbye to Neteyam?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You forced a small, awkward laugh, the sound hollow in your ears. “He wouldn't be back until next, next week...” you said, turning your gaze vack to Tuk. As if, you thought bitterly.

Lo’ak smirked. “Up to you,” he said in a singsong tone, biting on a piece of fruit.

The journey to the Olangi clan took two full days on the back of a sturdy direhorse, including the necessary breaks to rest and eat. But the moment the dense, claustrophobic canopy of the rainforest gave way to the endless, shimmering sea of grassland, something inside your chest broke open. The sky felt massive, an unbroken dome of brilliant blue that stretched out forever.

When you finally reached the Olangi encampment, a vast circle of beautifully woven leather tents and banners snapping in the wind, you asked for your aunt's home. A young warrior led you to a tent near the eastern edge, where the great direhorse herds grazed.

Suk’tet was lying on a bed of thick furs, her skin flushed with a stubborn fever, though her eyes were still as sharp as flint.

“S-Suk’tet?“ you called out in a small voice, stepping inside to get a better look of her.

“You shouldn't have left the forest, child,” she rasped even without opening her eyes and seeing you, her voice was weak but her tone scolding as you knelt beside her to press a cool, wet cloth to her forehead. “The Omatikaya is your home.”

“Once upon a time, this was my mother’s home, too, Auntie,” you replied softly, squeezing her frail hand. “I am Omatikaya and Olangi. My mother’s blood runs in me just as much as my father’s. I will take care of you.”

Over the next two weeks, you completely threw yourself into the ways of the plains. You missed the high branches of Hometree, but the plains were endless and you had more ground to walk on. When you’re not taking care of Suk’tet, you’re learning how to properly tend to the massive direhorses, how to harvest the tough, sun-baked roots of the plains, and how to cook the rich, heavily spiced stews that sustained the hunters through long days under the scorching sun. You worked until your muscles screamed and your hands were calloused from coarse leather reins.

“Oh, Y/N, I can never be as hardworking as you are,” Popiti said dramatically as she helped you wipe mud from a direhorse. “Surely, Tuk isn’t, too?”

You pushed your lips forward to stifle a chuckle. “Tuk is very curious. She comes with me when I forage in the woods, she loves to study the flora.”

She waved a hand. “Well, I think that’s the equivalent of what I do with you here,” she declared and grinned. “Once she visits, we’ll show her the fun stuff they don’t have back in the forest.”

You laughed softly, your heart tightening with a brief, familiar ache at the mention of Tuk's name. “She would love that, Popiti. She’d love it here.”

Before Popiti could reply, a sudden, heavy shadow fell over the two of you, accompanied by the smug, smooth chuckle that had quickly become the bane of your existence over the last ten days.

“Rinsing a direhorse's hocks is a hunter’s duty, forest girl. You're going to scrub the hide raw if you keep using that gentle touch.”

You closed your eyes for a brief, exhausting second before turning around. Standing there, leaning casually against the wooden post of the horse pen with a stalk of sweet grass jutting out from his smirk, was Ziklan. The moment you had arrived in the camp, the hunter had seemingly made it his life's mission to insert himself into every single chore you attempted.

“I am doing just fine,” you said, your voice dripping with sweet, deliberate politeness as you wrung out your woven cloth. “And I didn't ask for your critique.”

“You never ask,” Ziklan countered, stepping into the muddy pen. Without waiting for your permission, he took the heavy wooden bucket from your hands and poured a fresh splash of clean water over the direhorse's flank. “But don’t worry, it is my duty as a generous clan member to ensure you don't accidentally get kicked into the dirt.”

“I have handled direhorses before,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“In the thick trees, maybe,” Ziklan scoffed playfully. He reached out, his hand flashing quickly to pluck a stray bit of dried grass out of your braided hair before you could swat his hand away. “Out here, they run like the wind, Y/N. You have to be firmer with them. Like this.” He slapped the beast’s flank with a loud, firm thud, and the direhorse let out a contented snort, settling under his touch.

Your face crumpled in disgust and Popiti fell in a fit of laughter. “He has a point, Y/N. Ziklan is the best rider in our clan. If you want to learn how to properly race across the ridges, you should let him teach you.”

“I am here to take care of my great aunt, not to race,” you muttered. Ziklan was helpful, you couldn't deny that, but he was just so incredibly annoying. He never left you alone.

“Suk’tet is sleeping,” Ziklan noted, handing the empty bucket back to you, his fingers deliberately lingering against yours for a brief second. “Which means you are free. Come to the ridge so I can teach you.”

“No, thank you. I have roots to prepare for tonight's stew,” you said, turning on your heel and walking out of the pen.

“I’'ll gather them for you!” Ziklan called out behind you, his laugh echoing.

You shook your head, walking back toward Suk’tet's tent. Ziklan's relentless attention was exhausting, but in a strange way, it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He didn't look at you like you were a fragile caretaker who needed protection. Somehow, it eases the burn brought by Neteyam’s rejection.

By the end of the second week, Suk’tet’s fever had finally broken completely, leaving her weak but fiercely demanding her usual herbal tea. You were standing near the eastern edge of the camp, helping Popiti sort through a basket of dried grass for the hearth, when a high-pitched, familiar shriek suddenly echoed paces away. You turned around, seeing Tuk running toward you, her high-pitched voice calling your name excitedly.

Your face instantly split into a wide, genuine smile, the heavy weight that had settled in your chest for weeks suddenly lifting. “Tuk!” you cried out, dropping your basket and jogging toward her.

Popiti chased after you. “Tuk!!” she screeched excitedly.

Tuk tackled you into a fierce, rib-crushing hug. “I missed you so much! Everyone does! Look at your clothes, you look so beautiful!” she cheered, pulling back to inspect your sleek Olangi leathers.

“I missed you too, little one,” you laughed.

Tuk turned to Popiti, hugging her like they are both grown women who had just reunited. “Oh, sweet dear, it has been so long!” Tuk said, wiping an imaginary drop of tear on her cheek.

“Indeed, it is! I would have prepared an afternoon tea for us, my dear, if only I know you’ll be visiting!” Popiti replied, wiping her cheek, too.

You chuckled at their antics, clearing your throat. “I think, I can do something about that,” you narrowed your eyes playfully, and then turning to Tuk seriously. “Where is your sister?”

You craned your neck to look at where she came from, your smile slowly fading as the blood in your veins turned to absolute ice. Standing beside the massive flank of an ikran was not Kiri.

It was Neteyam.

He fixed something on his saddle while his eyes were locked entirely onto you as he approached. He was still strapped into his heavy hunting harness, dark grease from the forest canopy smudging his collarbone and a quiver of heavy arrows rattling against his back. He looked like he just got back from the hunt, pushed his ikran to its absolute limit, and flown straight here without washing the grit from his skin.

You stood up slowly, your brows furrowed a little. It was glaringly obvious that he had rushed here, and equally obvious that he was completely blindsided to actually find you standing in the muddy horse pens instead of being safely back at Hometree. He was looking at you as if you had stolen something from him.

His gaze raked over you, taking in your sun-kissed skin, the sleek, fitted leathers that hugged your frame, and the way your long braids moved freely in the breeze and his lips parted a fraction of an inch. His head tilted.

“They told me you left the forest,” he said, his voice raspy. He stepped closer, his jaw tight.

“My great aunt is sick,” you replied, keeping your chin lifted despite the sudden, erratic skipping of your heart. “She has a stubborn fever. I came here to nurse her, and I will stay until she is well.”

His intense golden eyes locked onto yours with a scrutiny so fierce and unblinking that you suddenly found it impossible to look him in the face. You shifted your gaze to the dirt, your skin prickling under the weight of his attention.

Tuk, entirely oblivious to the thick tension vibrating between the two of you, stepped up and beamed at Popiti. “To be honest, I didn't even know we were flying out here today! Neteyam just arrived from the long hunt and I told him you left the village, and well... here we are! I guess Neteyam misses you just as much as the rest of us do.”

Neteyam instantly snapped his gaze away, clearing his throat roughly as a deep, unmistakable purple flush crept up the sides of his neck and flooded his ears. He clamped a massive hand over the top of Tuk’s head, effectively muffling her next words while trying to look anywhere but at you.

Your own cheeks flared. Desperate for an escape from the suffocating awkwardness, you blurted out the first hospitable thing you could think of. “I... I will go prepare some tea for you two. We can eat some of the dried honey biscuits, too.”

But just as you spun on your heel to head toward the tents, a familiar, melodic whistle echoed from the edge of the ridge. Ziklan strolled into the clearing, a casual smirk plastered across his face.

“You know, forest girl, if I hadn't gone home to eat and sleep, and had just waited on the ridges for you to show up, I would have died of old age by now,” Ziklan teased, slinging a long arm over the wooden fence post. “You are completely heartless.”

“I never promised you anything, Ziklan,” you sighed, casting him a dry look. “I distinctly remember telling you I wasn't going.”

Neteyam’s head snapped toward the intruder. His flustered, embarrassed frame vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a rigid, towering warrior who clearly did not appreciate this stranger invading your personal space. His eyes narrowed to slits, tracking Ziklan’s movements with a cold, territorial glare that practically screamed his desire to physically shove the man a three-mile distance away from you.

Ziklan, however, possessed an incredibly bold streak and absolutely zero sense of self-preservation. Sensing the heavy gaze, he turned his grin directly onto Neteyam.

“Neteyam te Suli?” Ziklan asked, his tone shifting into one of genuine, deep-seated respect.

Neteyam gave a single, stiff nod. He extended his forearm in the formal warrior's greeting. Ziklan clasped it firmly, but Neteyam’s fingers locked around the man's wrist with a grip that was entirely too tight, his knuckles white under his blue skin.

“What brings a legendary warrior such as yourself to our lands, Neteyam?” Ziklan asked, seemingly unfazed by the bone-crushing grip.

Neteyam’s jaw pulsed, his teeth grinding together before he directly uttered, “Y/N.”

“Y/N?” Ziklan echoed, blinking in surprise before looking between the two of you. “Ah, yes! This forest girl. Well, she has been a savior for her aunt. Suk’tet has been practically bedridden since the turning of the season, but just two days ago, Y/N had her sitting up and taking the air. We finally brought her out to see the sun today. Right, Y/N?”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed further, the muscle in his cheek twitching. Objectively, he knew he should be grateful. He should be glad that you had found someone kind, someone helpful who made your grueling chores easier in a foreign clan. But as he watched Ziklan stand comfortably close to you, Neteyam couldn't find a single drop of gratitude in his chest. He felt like a complete fraud, an awful, bitter weight settling deep in his stomach.

When Neteyam offered nothing but a freezing silence, you took it as his usual indifference toward your life outside of his family's circle. Why should he care about what you’re doing out here anyway? Swallowing the lump of disappointment in your throat, you placed your hands on Tuk and Popiti’s small shoulders.

“Let’s find a good spot for our gathering,” you urged.

“Can Neteyam join our tea party, Y/N?” Tuk asked, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes.

Popiti immediately leaned in, shielding her mouth with a hand as she whispered loudly to Tuk, “I highly suggest we do not bring boys into our sacred circle. They ruin the gossip.”

“But Neteyam will be entirely alone,” Tuk whispered back urgently. "Y/N is his only friend here, and I think he really, really wants to hang out with her. We can even invite Ziklan to balance it out! They can act as our personal guards.”

“Fine, I will ask him,” Popiti relented.

Within seconds, Popiti had scampered over to pitch the idea to Ziklan, while Tuk tugged relentlessly on Neteyam’s hand. Ziklan didn't need to be asked twice. “An afternoon tea with Y/N? Count me in,” he grinned, sending a playful wink your way.

You leveled him with a completely deadpan expression.

“I’ll even help you stoke the hearth and brew the leaves,” Ziklan offered smoothly. “Our guests can just sit back and relax. Popiti, why don't you guide the young warrior's sister to the shade near the weaving tents?”

“Or,” Neteyam interrupted, his deep voice slicing through Ziklan’s easy hospitality, “I can be the one to help Y/N. Besides, I have been meaning to learn how the Olangi prepare their blends. You know these plains better than I ever could, Ziklan. It makes more sense for you to ensure the children stay safe near the perimeter.”

Ziklan’s lips parted, his mind visibly grinding through the flawless logic of the suggestion. He looked at Neteyam’s towering, unmoving frame, then back to the girls, and finally nodded, completely sold. “Right. You're completely right about that, my friend. Let's go, girls!” With a sweeping gesture, he guided a giggling Tuk and an eager Popiti away toward the center of the camp.

The silence that settled over the horse pen was instantaneous and deafening. You stood by the wooden bucket, deliberately avoiding Neteyam’s gaze.

“I don't really need any help,” you muttered, picking up the woven basket of dried tea roots.

“I want to learn,” Neteyam said softly, his tone losing every ounce of its earlier authority. “Show me how it is done.”

You pursed your lips, letting out a small sigh as you shrugged and began walking toward the communal kitchens. Neteyam fell into step right beside you, his massive strides falling perfectly into rhythm with your smaller ones.

As you began sorting the dried roots, washing them in a clay basin, Neteyam hovered close, his eyes quietly cataloging every tiny detail that had changed about you over the last two weeks. Heck, he was extremely detailed on it he even tracked the small scratch on your thumb.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

“I am fine,” you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the knife in your hand. “My aunt is resting. She is doing much better than when I first arrived.”

“I am glad,” Neteyam murmured, his voice softening into something raw and incredibly intimate. “Nobody ever stays sick for long on your watch. You are better than most of the trained healers in the pavilion. I think it is because you actually care deeply for the souls of those you tend to.”

Your fingers froze over the clay basin. You care deeply. Those words again.

A sudden, sharp sting of memory sliced through your chest. The memory of his cruel, careless words about your lack of strength, your inability to hunt or protect, your unfitness to stand beside a future leader. You gritted your teeth, forcing the pain down as you arranged the honeyed biscuits, a clay pot, and clay cups onto a heavy wooden serving tray.

Before you could lift it, Neteyam’s large hands slid beneath the wood, effortlessly taking the weight from you. He didn't say another word, silently carrying the tray as you scanned the ridge to see where Ziklan had taken the girls.

“Y/N! Over here!” Ziklan’s voice boomed from a shaded knoll near a cluster of vibrant banners. He waved an arm, a massive smile on his face.

“Is he always like that?” Neteyam murmured.

You glanced up at him with your brows furrowed. “He is a good man,” you murmured, felt a sudden urge to defend the hunter. “He has helped me more than anyone else since I got here.”

Neteyam stared at you, his eyes tracking the small, genuine smile that graced your lips. A bitter, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. He felt like a monster. An awful, selfish person who couldn't even find it in himself to be happy that you had found comfort and safety in a strange place. He tried to imagine how Kiri would react, knowing his sister would be overjoyed for you. But he wasn't Kiri. He knew exactly why his blood boiled at the sight of Ziklan, and the realization terrified him.

“Finally!” Popiti clapped happily as Neteyam carefully set the heavy tray down on a woven mat.

The next hour passed in a blur of lighthearted chatter. Popiti and Tuk ran the entire conversation, practically putting on a theatrical performance about their tragic separation, while Ziklan laughed loudly, entirely missing the subtle, icy cues Neteyam kept throwing his way. It was blindingly obvious to Neteyam that Ziklan was completely infatuated with you, and the hunter didn't have the slightest bit of shame about showing it.

“I wish we could see each other every single sunrise, Popiti,” Tuk declared dramatically, clutching her chest and wiping a fake tear from her cheek. “But the cruel distance separates our souls!”

Ziklan snorted into his tea, thoroughly entertained by their antics.

“You can see each other whenever you want,” Neteyam spoke up suddenly, his voice steady as he looked at his little sister. “I will fly you here myself.”

“Seriously?!” Tuk squealed, jumping up.

Popiti immediately nudged her with an elbow. “Manners,” she whispered fiercely, before turning a highly formal, respectful gaze toward Neteyam. “That would be most grand, respected warrior. You are incredibly gracious to offer such a thing.” Popiti then turned to you, speaking as if she were a wise elder rather than a child. “Y/N, you have a very thoughtful friend. Perhaps we should allow him to join our future gatherings.”

“I would like that very much,” Neteyam replied, offering a low, respectful bow of his head before taking a slow sip from his small clay cup.

“Hey, what about me?” Ziklan chimed in, tossing a seed at Popiti.

“You have tracking duties for the Olo'eyktan, Ziklan,” Popiti said dismissively, waving a hand. “You cannot always be lounging around with the ladies.”

And just like that, the girls unknowingly laid a path that Neteyam walked with relentless, calculated devotion.

Every single morning for the next moon, the heavy thrum of ikran wings would signal Neteyam’s arrival. He always brought Tuk, but the moment her feet hit the dirt, Neteyam would vanish into the background of your daily life, transforming into a silent force of labor.

He brought rare forest herbs for Suk’tet that he specifically asked Mo’at’s expertise on. He brought prime cuts of fresh hexapede and various forest fruits from his morning hunts, quietly handing them off to the camp cooks for you and your aunt. One afternoon, while you were away by the river, He spent three hours under the scorching sun patching the worn, weather-beaten outer hide of your aunt's tent, his massive hands skillfully weaving the thick woven walls until the structure was completely windproof.

He wanted to make things easy for you here. He didn’t want to think of you wanting for anything.

By the end of the second month, Suk’tet had completely recuperated. She was back on the back of a direhorse, back in the elders’ social circles and was finally able to join the rituals. But you lingered on the plains, wishing to see her all the way through it, making sure she is completely fine. You had grown genuinely close to Ziklan, finding a comfortable, easy friendship in his loud, unfiltered nature.

One afternoon, Neteyam had just finished thatching your aunt’s roof when he found the two of you out on the southern ridge. Ziklan was standing directly behind you, his hands adjusting your grip on a heavy shortbow, his chest practically pressed against your back as he guided your aiming arm toward a distant target.

Neteyam froze at the edge ridge, his eyes narrowing into slits. He wanted to act normal. He wanted to be the stoic, composed future leader the council raised him to be, but looking at you encaged in another man's arms, hearing your bright, unburdened laughter ring across the plains is unleashing something ugly in him.

He couldn't do it anymore. He admitted it to himself fully, the truth crushing his chest: he loved you. He felt for you more than words could ever express, and the raw, green jealousy raging in his blood was a monster he could no longer tame. He hated that Ziklan could openly admire you and be with you. At the same time, Neteyam hated himself for being entirely, unforgivably selfish.

He had spent his entire life suppressing his own desires for the good of the clan and had never done a single thing purely for himself... And right now, he knew that if he didn't start being selfish, he would lose you forever.

“She's a natural sharpshooter, this one!” Ziklan joked loudly, catching sight of the towering his frame standing like a statue in the brush. “I might just have to convince her to stay here.”

You gathered your practice arrows beforr walking up to Neteyam, entirely oblivious of the storm brewing in his dark eyes, and pointed toward the eastern tents. “Popiti and Tuk are over by the weaving mats. Tuk has been waiting for you.”

“You are learning archery?” he asked, his voice rough.

Your adrenaline was making it hard for you to wipe the smile off your face, turning to him with a breathless, excited smile and his gaze softened into something so intense, so vulnerable. A warm golden light of the sun was shining on you so specifically, it felt as though Eywa herself had drawn a golden line toward you, pointing you to him. He reached out without thinking, wiping the sweat off your neck and moving a strand of hair that’s sticking to your skin.

A soft, nervous giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it. You quickly swatted his hand away, stepping back as a sudden, violent heat flared under your skin where his fingers had grazed you. You cleared your throat quickly.

“I wish only to learn so I can hunt... so I can protect myself and the children when we forage,” you said, your heart hammering against your chest. “I need to know how to protect them from danger. The children follow me everywhere in the forest.”

His brows furrowed. “There is no need for that, Y/N,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a firm, protective register. “Our clan has many hunters and warriors. It is our duty to handle the sustenance and protection of the people.”

Your lips pressed into a hard, rigid line. The lingering warmth vanished, replaced by a sudden wave of old anger. You tilted your head up, staring directly into his amber eyes. “You really don't even remember your own words, do you?”

Neteyam blinked, his brow furrowing. “My own words?”

“Yes,” you spat, the softness entirely gone from your voice as months of suppressed hurt finally broke through the surface. “You didn’t really think I heard you tell your mother and the Tsahik that I couldn't even hunt for my own food or protect my own life, did you? You asked how someone like me could ever protect the children of a future Olo'eyktan. I don't disagree with you on that, Neteyam. I know I am not a warrior. It is your right to choose a mate who fits your grand vision of a leader, and it is also my right to choose mine.

You stepped closer, your voice entirely cold.

“But you should know... I never wanted to be your mate anyway. I never even thought of it,” you said. “I wish you well in your pursuit of a perfect, strong warrior mate, Neteyam. Truly.”

You swept past him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you marched toward where Popiti and Tuk are. Neteyam didn't follow. He stood entirely paralyzed, heavily burdened by the sheer weight of reality. He had no defense. He had said those exact things. He believed them to be logical amd right at the time, even though the words had tasted like ash in his mouth the moment they left his lips. It had never felt right.

You had heard it all. You had carried his stupidity, his arrogance, and his cruelty in silence for months, and yet, you were still too kind to allow him to be comfortable around you.

He felt his chest hollow out completely. You didn’t even want him. He had spoken so cruelly, spent months agonizing over duty and pride, while you hadn't even considered him a choice. But he had, and it all felt so comical he knew his Mo’at and his mother would laugh at the fact. How dare he reject the idea of you, when it was he who was heads over heels for you this entire time?

It was always you. Since you were children running through the high branches, he had never truly looked at another girl. When he was weary from the endless pressures of being the perfect heir, your quiet laughter was the only thing that lifted the weight from his shoulders. You grounded him. You always had. Like always, Mo'at had been right and he had been completely, utterly blind.

Later that night, back at Hometree, Neteyam sat near the low embers of a secluded fire, a skin of strong, fermented wine gripped tightly in his hand. Lo'ak sat across from him, silently tearing into a piece of dried meat.

“I love her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam whispered into the darkness, the confession tearing out of his throat for the very first time. “I love her so much.”

Lo'ak didn't even pause his chewing. “Tell me something new.”

Neteyam snapped his head up, his eyes wide. “How did you know?”

Lo'ak rolled his eyes, letting out a dry snort. “Because I have functioning eyes? And a shred of common sense? Kiri has a million friends in this village, but growing up, you were always completely centered on Y/N. You were always about what Y/N would like and need. I know you try to be there for everyone in the clan, but you would drop a council meeting with Dad if Y/N ever needed a basket carried or a path cleared. You’ve had it bad since we were kids.”

Neteyam lowered his head into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him. “I... I always just thought I wanted to make things convenient for her. She spends every waking hour making life easy for everyone else in this village. She cares so deeply for the old and the small, and she never stops to think if anyone is looking out for her. I never stopped to think why my urge to protect and provide was so violently strong for her, and her alone.”

A hot, stinging moisture flooded his eyes, blurring his vision until a heavy tear escaped, tracking down his nose. He angrily wiped it away with the back of his hand, pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets to stop the trembling.

“What the fuck, bro...” Lo'ak mumbled, his voice dropping into a rare moment of genuine sympathy. “She really got you bad...” he looked at Neteyam. “But well, why are you crying? Y/N likes you, too, I know that! I see it. And I also know that Y/N knows you care for her. She knows who you are.”

“I hurt her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam choked out, his voice thick with unspent grief. “I hurt her so deeply.”

“How? Is this about you flying to the Olangi camp every single day?” Lo'ak asked, a worried smirk on his face. “Because everyone knows you're not pulling a four-hour round trip just so Tuk can play hand-clapping games with Popiti.”

“No... before that,” Neteyam whispered, staring into the dying flames. “Mo’at and Mother talked to me moons ago. They suggested Y/N to be my betrothed. And instead of listening to my heart, I let my pride and my narrow view of what a leader ‘needs’ take over. I said cruel, unforgivable things about her strength. And she heard every single word.”

Neteyam’s grip tightened on the flask until his claws dug into the wood. “And the worst part, Lo'ak? She was still so kind. She carried that pain in silence, allowing me to exist comfortably around her, never throwing it in my face until today when I finally pushed her past her limits. She must have been in such agonizing discomfort every time I forced my way into her space... and she never said a word.”

Lo'ak breathe sharply through his teeth, shaking his head. “Stupidity... Eywa practically dropped your destiny right into your lap and you kicked it off a cliff. What’s your plan now?”

“I don't want to keep showing up if my presence genuinely makes her miserable,” Neteyam said, his chest constricting tightly as the image of Ziklan holding your bow arm flashed vividly behind his eyelids. “But I also cannot let her think I am giving up. I can't let her fall for someone else.”

Lo'ak let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “So... you're just gonna keep using Tuk and Popiti as shields to force your way back into her life, huh?”

Neteyam didn't answer. He knew he should be ashamed. He knew he had no right to be territorial, but the sheer terror of a life without you overrode every ounce of his ingrained honor. He would keep showing up.

But his master plan exploded directly in his face the very next morning.

When Neteyam marched back into the clearing after his dawn patrol, the first thing he saw was Tuk and Popiti sitting on the high woven platform outside his family's kelku, giggling uncontrollably as they played a frantic hand-clapping game.

Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his heart stopping. “Popiti?” he called out, stepping closer to ensure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

The young girl snapped her head around, beaming. “Hello, Neteyam!”

“We don't need to fly all the way to the plains anymore, Neteyam!” Tuk cheered, jumping up and down on the mats. “Popiti and her mother traveled through the night to be with Norm and her sister! There is a huge possibility they are moving to the forest permanently. Isn't that amazing?!”

Neteyam stared at the two girls, a loud, high-pitched ringing filling his ears as his gaze volleyed between them. His throat went completely dry. “Is... is Y/N back?”

Popiti’s smile faded into a serious, knowing look, and she shook her head slowly. “No. She won't be coming back to the forest, I think. Ziklan has officially started courting her. They will be mated soon, and that means babies also.” Popiti nodded sagely, as if she were an expert on the matter. “Y/N is going to stay with the Olangi forever.”

Neteyam’s heart dropped straight into his stomach, a physical sensation of icy dread washing over him. At the moment, his mind can’t even differentiate between being hunted by a starving palulukan in the dead of night and the fact Popiti was talking about. His mind spun out of control as he imagined the future.

“Y/N can't do that!” Tuk shouted, her face twisting into a fierce scowl, mirroring exactly what he was feeling. “She belongs to us! She is Omatikaya!”

“Well, once she binds her spirit to Ziklan, she becomes Olangi. That is how things are. Right, Neteyam?” Popiti asked, looking up at him for confirmation.

Tuk looked up at her big brother, giant tears overflowing her lower lids. Neteyam forced his shaking knees to bend, dropping down to eye level with the two young girls. He reached out, placing his massive hand tenderly over Tuk’s head.

“It doesn't work like that, Tuk. Popiti,” Neteyam said, his voice incredibly calm but carrying a desperate weight. “Y/N is both Omatikaya and Olangi. Her mother's blood and her father's blood make her who she is. A mate will not change anything. She will always belong to both.”

Tuk sniffled loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “But will she ever come home? I miss her being here so much, Neteyam... I pray with Mo'at for her aunt's health every single night just so she can come back to us.”

Neteyam lowered his eyes to the woven floorboards, his chest aching so severely he could barely draw breath. “She will come back... if her heart wishes it so, Tuk.”

“Will her heart ever wish it?” the little girl whispered.

Neteyam’s gaze remained locked on the ground. “We will see...”

The universe, it seemed, was determined to strip away every last bit of his time. Later that afternoon, Neteyam was summoned to the high council, a gathering led far more by the sharp, unyielding gaze of his grandmother, Mo'at, than by his father.

As soon as he took his seat, the elders began discussing the formal arrangements for his future betrothal selection. His jaw slackened. Looking at the completely blank, deliberate expression on his grandmother’s face, he knew instantly that this entire timeline had been forced forward by her hand. She was trying to lock him into his duties.

“Which is why,” Mo'at said, her sharp voice echoing off the woven walls as she looked directly at him, “I expect you to cease these endless, frivolous flights to only Eywa knows where. Stay here, Neteyam. Act like a true leader who prioritizes his people.”

Neteyam’s shoulders slumped, a profound, hollow numbness spreading through his limbs as he heard the incredibly loud this is your choice tone from Mo’at. Every single avenue was closing. Popiti was in the forest, stripping away his excuse to fly to the plains, and the council was locking him into a cage of duty.

He watched his grandmother walk away toward the healing pavilion, and before his brain could register the danger, his feet began to move. He followed her. He pushed past the beaded curtains of the pavilion, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was going to tell her. He was going to call off the selection.

“Tsahik,” he barked out, stopping her in the center of the quiet structure. “I am trying to win Y/N's heart. I need the betrothal selection to stop. I will not choose anyone else.”

Mo'at slowly turned around, her face completely expressionless, though her eyes held a deep curiosity. “Do you remember the exact words you had spoken in this exact room months ago?”

“I remember what I said, Tsahik,” Neteyam intercepted, his voice cracking with emotion. “I will remember my own stupidity for as long as I draw breath.”

“Then you must understand that Y/N will never forget it either,” Mo'at replied coldly.

“I am going to try anyway,” Neteyam vowed, stepping closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I will never give up on her. I was too blind to see the gift Eywa had placed directly in front of me. I was so consumed by the weight of the leadership, so obsessed with being the perfect leader, that I ignored the only voice that has ever kept me whole. I thought a leader only protects through the bow. But Y/N... Y/N holds the very soul of our people. She heals the old, she guides the young, she binds the broken pieces of this clan together. No one is better than her, Grandmother, not even I. I am not even her equal, but I will spend every sunrise trying to be worthy of her. Even if it goes against the council.”

Mo'at stared at her grandson, a flicker of profound awe breaking through her tight-lipped facade. The boy had finally grown into a man who understood that his heart must be louder than his mind.

“Very well,” she said softly, turning back to her herbs. “Do what you must do.”

The very next morning, the moment his dawn patrol was ovr, Neteyam pushed his ikran into a sprint across the sky, flying straight back to the Olangi encampment.

Neteyam was a perfectionist by nature. He was a boy who prided himself on being pristine, composed, and unshakeable. But today, the toll of his sleepless nights and absolute terror was laid bare for everyone to see. His ears were pinned flat against his head, his tail hung low and twitching with anxiety, and the regal posture he usually carried was completely fractured by fear.

The moment his boots hit the dirt, his shoulders squared automatically as his eyes locked onto Ziklan. Thank Eywa, you were nowhere in sight.

Ziklan noticed him immediately, stepping away from the herd with a curt, surprised nod. “Neteyam? If you're looking for Popiti, she and her mother left for the forest days ago.”

Neteyam swallowed hard, forcing his raging jealousy down into the pit of his stomach. He looked at the Olangi tracker, forcing himself to speak with a raw, stripping honesty that cost him every ounce of his pride.

“I know,” Neteyam said, his voice steady but thick. “I did not come for the girl. I came for Y/N.”

Ziklan froze, his lips parting in genuine surprise.

“Ziklan,” he called out. “I want to thank you," Neteyam continued, his golden eyes unblinking. “I want to thank you for doing what I was too cowardly and foolish to do. You saw Y/N’s worth instantly... You proudly showed her your admiration and made her feel safe when I did nothing but bring her grief. I respect you for that, Ziklan.”

Ziklan blinked, his eyes awkwardly looking everywhere but at Neteyam. “Y-You’re welcome? I mean, Y/N is a great woman. What’s not to like?” he giggled.

Neteyam looked at him with an easy smile. “But if you must know... I am here to win her back. And I will go through you, or anyone else in this clan, if I have to.”

Ziklan went entirely pale for a fraction of a second, staring at the massive Omatikaya warrior before he suddenly burst into a flustered, stammering laugh. He reached out, nervously patting Neteyam’s massive shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, wait! Hold your ikran, warrior! There is absolutely no need to go through anyone. I am not... courting Y/N.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched. “You are not?”

“No,” Ziklan chuckled, shaking his head. “Look, I like her. Any man with eyes would. She’s beautiful and fierce. But... well, I also have eyes in my head, Neteyam. I've watched you endure a four-hour round trip every single day just to carry her water buckets. I know a desperate man when I see one,” he grinned. “I am glad to know that you are a man of immense honor. Most guys with your rank would have pulled status and thrown their weight around to clear me out of the way, but you came to me directly. I respect that. Don't mind if I steal that move for my own future courting.“ Ziklan smirked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder toward the communal kitchens. “She's over there. Go get her. Good luck!”

The sun was barely over the horizon, casting long, sharp shadows across the dirt as Neteyam walked toward the outdoor kitchens. He spotted you instantly, laughing softly with a group of Olangi women as you prepped roots for the morning stew.

The moment the other women noticed the towering Omatikaya heir standing at the edge of the shade, their conversations died into astounded whispers. You turned around, your breath catching in your throat as your face instantly twisted into a hard, defensive scowl.

Why was he here? You thought you had finally broken him days before. You had once again spent the entire night crying into your furs, furious at yourself for still caring, furious that his face was the only thing you saw when you closed your eyes. You deliberately turned your back on him, picking up your knife and focusing entirely on the vegetables.

An hour passed. You worked until your fingers were stained with juice, completely ignoring the edge of the clearing. You assumed he had finally taken the hint and flown away, but when you finally turned around to carry a basket to the fire, you froze.

He hadn't moved an inch. He was still standing exactly where you left him, his massive hands tucked nervously behind his back, his entire posture vibrating with a fragile, desperate tension. He was waiting for you.

You tried to march past him, but Neteyam stepped directly into your path, his tail dragging in the dirt, his ears completely flattened in a posture of total surrender.

“Please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, entirely dry. “Y/N, please just allow me to speak. Then I will leave if you command it.”

You raised your eyes, forcing them to remain cold, indifferent, and dead to the world. But the sheer vulnerability in his golden gaze made your throat tighten.

“I am an idiot, Y/N,” Neteyam said, the words rushing out of him like a floodgate opening. “When I said those cruel, unfeeling things to Mo’at and my mother, I had convinced myself they were right. I thought that to be a leader, to be a protector, I needed a mate who mirrored my mother’s strength, someone who knew how to kill and hunt. I had such a pathetic, narrow view of strength that I failed to see that you are the one holding the actual future of our people in your hands.”

He took a ragged breath, stepping closer, though his hands remained down.

“No one knows the children better than you. No one has held the hands of our dying elders with more grace than you. I am completely ashamed that I ever deemed you unequal to the title of a leader's mate, when the truth is... I am not equal to you. I was too blinded by my own arrogance to see that the only person lacking true strength in that room... was me.” Neteyam took a deliberate step back, physically granting you the space to breathe. “I do not ask for your forgiveness today. Or even tomorrow. But I swear to you, by the Great Mother, I will spend every single sunrise for the rest of my life proving to you that I can be a man worthy of standing by your side.”

His words hung heavily in the crisp, cool morning air. He stared at you, desperate, begging for any sign that the ice in your chest had thawed. But the memory of the tears you had shed over him was too fresh, the wound too deep. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you soften.

Keeping your face entirely flat, your voice cut through his lingering hope like a sheet of ice. “Are you done?”

Neteyam’s ears twitched with a faint, visible pang of grief. He swallowed hard, his tail lowering. “Yes.”

“Okay, then move.”

You didn't wait for him to fully step aside, you pushed right past his shoulder, your basket tightly gripped in your hands. Neteyam didn't try to stop you again. He simply stood in the center of the camp, watching your retreating back, his chest hollowed out by the brutal realization that words would never be enough to fix the wreckage he had caused.

You marched straight down to the riverbank, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you refused to look back. Your hands were shaking so hard you could barely loop the leather straps of the massive communal waterskins over your arms. You braced your knees, preparing to haul the immense weight back up the ridge, when a massive hand suddenly gripped the leather straps, effortlessly lifting the weight completely out of your grasp.

You snapped your head up, a sharp scowl flaring on your face. “I told you to move.”

“I did move,” he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, his eyes downcast to the riverbed so he didn't look like he was challenging your authority. Without an ounce of strain, he swung the massive, heavy waterskins over his broad shoulders, a weight that would have made your knees buckle instantly. “But I cannot let you carry this.”

You could hear the faint, underlying rumble of frustration in his throat, not at you, but at the fact that anyone in this camp had allowed you to haul such a ridiculous weight by yourself.

“Do you do this every day?” he asked, his lips thinning into a tight line as he looked at the steep ridge trail.

“I don't need your help,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “But if you are going to insist on stealing my chores, the least you can do is do it in absolute silence.”

Neteyam bit his lower lip, turning his head away to stifle the sudden, breathless smile that threatened to break across his face. Hello there, little fire. He had never seen this side of you. You were always so gentle, so soft-spoken, and kind. He had never seen your eyes flash with such fierce, blinding spirit, and the fact that it was directed entirely at him made his blood sing.

For the next weeks, Neteyam turned the Olangi camp into his personal proving ground.

He completely outworked you. Every single time your fingers so much as brushed against a tool, a knife for chopping vegetables, a basket of heavy laundry, a broom for the tent mats, Neteyam would materialize from the shadows, silently and gently prying it from your hands. It was driving you entirely insane. You wanted to ignore him, you wanted to freeze him out, but it is impossible to ignore a towering warrior who is literally completing your entire daily checklist while you are forced to sit on the sidelines with your arms crossed.

The Olangi clan watched the entire spectacle with utter fascination. Elders would sit outside their tents, whispering in amusement as they watched the proud, decorated heir of Toruk Makto skinning vegetables, scrubbing blackened cooking pots until they shined, and carrying logs that usually required two men, all for one furious forest girl. They knew he was courting you, but given the permanent scowl on your face, they all collectively agreed he must have committed a crime of historic proportions.

He would touch down the exact moment his morning patrol ended and refuse to leave until the communal dinners were finished. He wouldn't even sit with the Olangi to eat, he would wait by the washing basins, tracking your movements until you approached with a dirty dish, only to grab it first. He would have tied you to a support beam before he ever let you scrub grease in the kitchens again.

By the middle of the second month, you sat between Suk’tet’s legs while she braided your hair. She was completely healed, her strength entirely restored, her eyes as sharp as ever.

“You have been far from the jungle for too long, child,” she said softly, her fingers weaving the leather ties into your hair. “As much as my old heart loves your presence, I know this endless sky is not the home you grew up in. You have made good friends here... but everything you have ever known is the forest. The Hometree. Your father’s people.”

A quiet ache settled in your chest. It was true. You missed the canopy. “Back at Hometree... I do not have a biological family left, Auntie,” you muttered, turning to face her. “Here, I have you. But... I do miss the children. The little ones I told you about.”

Suk’tet smiled warmly, cupping your cheek with a calloused hand. “You are a beautiful soul, Y/N. Everywhere your feet tread, people learn to love you. They cling to you and build a home around you. You barely knew me, yet you nursed an old woman back from the grave.”

You smiled back, your eyes crinkling. “You are blood of my blood, Suk’tet. I would do it again, though I prefer you stay healthy.”

She let out a dry chuckle, clearing her throat as her eyes turned mischievous. “The son of Toruk Makto... he is your lover?”

Your face erupted into a furious, flustered scowl. “No!” you insisted, though the sudden, violent racing of your pulse gave you away instantly.

Suk’tet simply scoffed, a knowing smirk on her lips. “I see.”

You packed your meager belongings that very afternoon. Ziklan, ever the loyal friend, insisted on guiding you back to the Omatikaya boundaries, a trek that took two full days on the backs of the swift direhorses.

You had absolutely no idea the level of absolute chaos your sudden departure had caused Neteyam.

When he had arrived at the plains two days ago only to leard that you had left with Ziklan, his mind had shattered. He had spent forty-eight hours flying over the forest canopy, terrified that you weren't coming back to the forest at all, that you were fleeing from him forever.

The moment your direhorses broke through the dense foliage into the Omatikaya clearing, a crowd of scouts was already assembled, already mounted on direhorses. Neteyam was at the front.

“Y/N!” his voice broke, his shoulders slumping in a wave of relief so massive it looked as though he might collapse. He was moving toward you before your mount had even come to a full stop.

Before you could even slide off the saddle, Neteyam’s arms were around your waist, pulling you down into a fierce, crushing hug that buried his face into the crook of your neck. The surrounding scouts watched with wide, wondering eyes.

You pressed a firm palm against his hard chest, pushing back until he reluctantly peeled himself off you, though his hands lingered on your waist.

“Ziklan,” Neteyam greeted, turning a sharp but respectful nod toward the Olangi hunter. “Your journey took too long.”

Ziklan raised his hands in the air, a massive, unbothered grin on his face. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger, warrior, as they say.”

Neteyam let out a low huff, and you immediately leveled him with a sharp glare. “The journey always takes two days, Neteyam.”

Neteyam quickly cleared his throat, “Of course,” he nodded without a fight before turning back to Ziklan. “You should stay for supper, Ziklan.”

Before you could force Ziklan to say yes, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks echoed from the Hometree’s entryway. A dozen children from the nursery came tearing down the dirt path, their little feet flying as they chanted your name. Your face split into a brilliant, breathless smile. You dropped to your knees, throwing your arms wide as the kids tackled you into the dirt, their little hands clutching at your clothes, nuzzling their faces against yours.

Neteyam watched with a soft, incredibly tender smile. They had missed you terribly. The entire village had.

That evening, the kitchens prepared a feast that felt more like a celebration for a returning warrior than an errand girl. The older cooks completely barred you from the hearth, shoving you into a seat and telling you to just rest and be served for once. You spent the night sharing stories of the plains, while Tuk and Popiti sat close, Tuk beaming with absolute joy that your heart had chosen to return home. Mo'at herself greeted you with a warm touch to your shoulder, asking after Suk'tet with a look that told you she knew exactly what had been happening on those plains.

The moment the feast concluded and the crowds began to disperse, Neteyam stayed behind to gather the trash. You stayed too, slipping into your familiar routine. A few of the older kitchen women lingered, scrubbing the large pots, their eyes darting between you and the towering boy across the room.

“Y/N,” one of them whispered loudly, leaning over the counter with a massive grin. “Is it true? Did Neteyam really fly to the plains every single sunrise for two moons just to watch you chop roots?”

“Is he your lover?” another chimed in, nudging your ribs.

“Or is he still courting you?”

Your face flushed a violent, burning purple. “No! None of that,” you stammered, frantically scrubbing a leaf plate. “He was only flying out so Tuk could play with Popiti.”

The older woman let out a loud huff. “Oh, please! Popiti has been living in the forest for over a moon now, and Neteyam didn't fly Tuk to the plains a single time before you left. He only had wings when you were out there, child.”

You denied everything until your throat was dry, but the denial was entirely futile. If Neteyam had stolen your chores on the plains, he doubled his efforts now that you were back on his home turf.

He began waking up before the first light of dawn, hauling waterskin after waterskin up from the river to fill the kitchen reservoirs before you even opened your eyes, completely eliminating your morning lifting routine. When you went to prep vegetables, he was already there, moving in a silent, perfect rhythm beside you. The head cooks just watched the two of you with silent amusement, never asking questions.

One afternoon, you returned to your sleeping mat after a long day in the forest with the children and found a beautiful, custom-made quiver resting on your furs. Inside were a dozen hunting arrows, each one perfectly balanced, featuring a unique and intricate fletching of bright blue and silver fibers. You bit your lip, your fingers tracing the soft feathers. You knew the handiwork instantly. The sheer, relentless devotion of the gesture finally chipped away the last of the icy armor around your heart. You couldn't even remember why you were supposed to be angry anymore.

The next morning, during the meal prep, Neteyam silently slid into the seat beside you, reaching for a basket of unpeeled roots.

“Why are you doing this, Neteyam?” you asked quietly, your voice losing its sharp edge entirely. “You are a warrior. You shouldn't be wasting your hours on meager kitchen labor or crafting arrows for a novice.”

Neteyam stopped his knife. He turned his head, his amber eyes completely bare, stripping away every ounce of his warrior pride as he looked at you.

“I told you before, Y/N... I was completely blind,” he said, his voice dropping into a deep, resonant chest tone. “I was so consumed by the council’s beliefs on how a leader must fight that I completely forgot how a leader must care for his people. I hunt, and I scout, and I bleed for this clan, but you have been the one keeping them together since we were children. You are so much more noble, so much stronger, and far more vital to the survival of the Omatikaya than I will ever be. This clan has a hundred hunters and warrior. But there is only one you. For them... and for me.”

He took a sharp breath, his fingers trembling slightly against the wooden table.

“I know you will not believe me, but when my grandmother first suggested you as my betrothed... I wanted it so desperately that the intensity of my own selfishness terrified me. In my panic, I tried to hide behind duty. In my immense stupidity, I failed to realize that the best decision I could ever make for our people was to follow my heart. A leader protects the people, Y/N... but it is you who teaches them who they are. I cannot live a life without you.”

Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you felt completely breathless. You stared at him, your throat tight, before quickly looking down at the half-chopped fruit in your lap.

“I...” you whispered, your lips puckering slightly as you peered up through your eyelashes. “Well... I was just going to say that I want to be your friend again. I am tired of being annoyed at you...”

Neteyam’s entire face lit up, a brilliant, breathtaking smile tearing across his lips as he bit his lower lip to keep from shouting. “Then I will be the greatest... friend this world has ever seen,” he vowed softly. “I promise. I won't mess up again.”

You shrugged, a small chuckle escaping you. “None of us are perfect, Neteyam. We make mistakes. To be fair... I was mean to you, too, over the last two moons.”

He let out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter. I deserved every single bit of it.”

“Agreed,” you murmured, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

His eyes danced with light. “Can I... can I sit at your table for dinner tonight?”

“My table?” you asked, raising a brow. “The nursery children sit there. They are incredibly rowdy.”

“I don't care,” Neteyam said instantly, his posture softening. “I can help you feed them.”

That night, the older members of the clan watched as Neteyam sat at the children's table, completely buried under a mountain of toddlers.

The kids were entirely oblivious to his fierce warrior reputation, the only thing that’s important is that they can climb on his massive frame like a Hometree branch, and having him at their table was an absolute fun time. Two small toddlers were hanging off his shoulders, another was pulling on his ear, and Neteyam didn't care in the slightest. He spent the entire meal helping you cut up meat and wipe messy faces, so focused on the task that by the time the kids were full, neither of you had touched your own food.

You looked down at his leaf plate, which was still piled high with untouched food, and let out a bright laugh. Neteyam grinned back, finally taking a bite, only to nearly choke when a two-year-old suddenly tackled his neck from behind.

“Alright, alright, we should let him eat,” you chuckled, gently prying the toddler off his back. The little girl immediately flopped into your lap, yawning hugely before snuggling her head against your chest. You tickled her nose, angling your head to look down at her sleepy face. “Always so sleepy when your belly is full, aren't you?”

The child let out a soft grunt, and you heard Neteyam let out a low, deep chuckle beside you.

Up on the leader's dais, Neytiri and Mo'at watched the scene unfold, exchanging a silent, amused look, shaking their heads in unison. If the boy had only listened to them the first time, this path would have been infinitely easier, but by choosing the long, painful route, he had managed to show you a depth of devotion that words alone could never have conquered.

The weeks that followed blurred into a seamless routine. You were together almost every waking hour, except when he's on border patrols or you're on your lessons with the children.

Meanwhile, Tuk and Popiti became a permanent fixture of teasing, constantly trailing behind you like two tiny, blue shadow-demons intent on destroying your sanity.

“I think you should have seven babies,” Tuk announced one afternoon, skipping backward ahead of you while balancing a basket of berries on her head. “Three boys to hunt with Neteyam, three girls to be with you, and one extra to just run around and be loud with us.”

“What?” you sputtered, nearly tripping over a stray root. “Tuk, please. I am just trying to sort these medical leaves, don’t be silly.”

Popiti leaned in, her eyes flashing as she mischievously smirked. “Seven is an uneven number, Tuk. Highly impractical for horse formations. I suggest eight. Four pairs. And the binding ceremony must happen before the next high moon, otherwise, the gossip in the weaving tents will go stale, and my mother says stale gossip is a sin.”

“I am right here,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “And gossip? What gossip?”

“Just something we’re working on,” Tuk chirped, completely unbothered. “We're just helping! You two are not going the way Mom said you’re going so someone has to do the logistics.”

Before you could threaten to assign them both to communal pot-scrubbing duty for a month, a trio of older kitchen women intercepted you near the drying racks. They looked at you with their arms crossed and their expressions a mixture of intense maternal scrutiny and absolute glee.

“Ah, finally you are back,” the elder called out, a sharp smirk cutting across her wrinkled face. “Y/N, come here. We need you to settle a wager before we throw these two little birds into the river.”

You stopped, raising an eyebrow. “A wager?”

The older woman gestured dramatically toward Tuk and Popiti, who were suddenly looking very innocent. “These two have been running from the nursery to the looms telling everyone who will listen that Neteyam has already built you a formal three-room kelku on the high branches, that he has personally wrestled a palulukan to make your wedding leathers, and that you have secretly agreed to move the entire Olangi direhorse herd into the middle of our hunting grounds.”

You felt the blood rush to your ears so fast they practically vibrated. All of those are ridiculous. “What?”

“Oh, it gets better,” another elder chuckled, leaning over a basket of sweet roots. “Tuk swore to the Tsahik this morning that you and her brother already shared the first mating bond under the stars, and that Neteyam cried tears of joy for three hours straight afterward.”

“I did not say three hours!” Tuk shouted defensively, her face flushing. “I said two! And he didlook like he was going to cry when I saw him earlier today!”

“Tuk! Popiti!” you gasped, your voice cracking as you looked between the girls and the highly entertained elders. “Neteyam has not built a kelku, he has not wrestled a palulukan, and he absolutely, under no circumstances, cried for two hours! There is no mating ceremony, and the direhorse herd is staying exactly where it is!”

The older woman let out a theatrical sigh, shaking her head as she handed a couple of iridescent rocks to the woman next to her. “A pity. I lost five beads on the palulukan. But you cannot blame us for checking, child. The future Olo'eyktan has been walking around looking all lovesick for moons now. We had to verify the misinformation before Mo'at started scheduling the clan dance.”

“Go play in the mud, you two,” you muttered, swatting at the girls' shoulders as they giggled and sprinted off toward the river. You turned back to the smirking elders, utterly exhausted. “Please tell me Neteyam hasn't heard any of this.”

The woman just winked. “Oh, he heard the part about the crying. Lo'ak made sure of it.”

You nearly choked, your eyes closing in frustration, mostly because you were desperately trying to pretend that the moment of him saying he couldn't live without you never happened. But you also know that the tension between you was growing heavy. You couldn’t completely go back to what you two used to be. Things have now shifted into something thick, dark, and predatory.

One time, you caught him watching you from across the training clearing. His golder eyes were dark, heavy, and burning with a fierce heat as they tracked the curve of your waist. When he noticed you catching him, he simply raised a slow, challenging brow before turning back to his bow. That wasn’t the first time you caught him looking at you with that same look and he’s not exactly shy about it at all.

“Focus,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing the tip of your ear. “Draw the string back to your jaw.”

He stood directly behind you, his massive chest framing your back, his large, warm hands resting firmly on your hips to adjust your stance. He pulled your hips back slightly, aligning your spine against his hard frame, and you completely forgot how to draw air into your lungs.

You tried to focus on the woven target tied to a distant three, swinging in the air to simulate a moving target. You swallowed hard, pulling the heavy string back until your knuckles grazed your cheek. You held your breath, tracking the swinging target through the dappled sunlight, and released.

The arrow cut through the air before embedding itself dead-center in the moving bullseye.

You shrieked in absolute delight, your jaw dropping. Without thinking, you spun around and jumped directly into Neteyam’s arms, laughing hysterically against his shoulder as you jumped on the soles of your feet.

“Hell yeah!” Neteyam cheered as he caught you effortlessly, his massive arms locking around your lower back, lifting your feet off the ground as he twirled around, his deep laugh rumbling directly into your chest.

“You are capable of anything, Y/N,” he murmured against your jaw, his grip tightening until you were flush against him. “You always have been.”

You leaned back slightly but you didn't pull away completely, your eyes locking onto his lips, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tilted your head a fraction of an inch closer as your wide, golden eyes peered up at him. That tiny, deliberate movement was all the permission his starved soul needed.

Neteyam’s breath hitched, a low, desperate sound tearing from the back of his throat as he closed the remaining distance. His lips crashed into yours with the force of a breaking dam.

It wasn was heavy, consuming, and desperate right away, carrying the weight of a year's worth of unspoken longing. One of his massive hands slid up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your braids to hold you firmly against him, while his other hand clamped around your waist, crushing your frame entirely against his. He kissed you like a starving man who had finally found the only thing capable of keeping him alive, pouring every ounce of his soul into the pressure of his mouth.

When his teeth gently caught your tongue and sucked, deep and demanding, a soft whimper escaped you. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes wide and your face burning with a scandalized, breathless laugh.

“Neteyam!” you whispered-shouted, looking around the empty canopy.

He bit his lower lip, his amber eyes glowing with joy. “Sorry...” he mumbled, though his smirk told a completely different story. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours and pressing a hard kiss against your lips. “I love you, Y/N. So much. I love you so much.”

You stared up at him, your lips tingling, wet and swollen from his kisses. Giving in completely, you stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him back down for another.

Now that the threshold had been crossed, the forest became a beautiful, dangerous paradise of stolen moments.

It started on an afternoon in the deep brush, where you were supposed to be gathering red fire-ferns for the healing pavilion. Neteyam had volunteered to ‘guard’ you, which apparently meant standing entirely too close and distracting you every time you reached for a stem.

“You missed one,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, heavy register.

You looked down at the perfectly bare patch of earth. “Neteyam, there is literally nothing there but dirt.”

“I was talking about this,” he countered smoothly. Before you could call him out on his terrible tracking logic, his large hand was already pulling you sharply into the thick, shadows of the broad-leafed ferns.

He pinned your lower back against the damp trunk of a massive tree, his mouth dropping onto yours with a sudden, breathless hunger. You pulled him closer by his hunting harness, your quiet gasps for air completely muffled by the bruising rhythm of his lips. By the time he let you go, your basket was half-empty and your lips had a telltale crimson.

Two days later, the tension followed you up to the shadow of the ikran roost. You were wrapping a fresh leather strap around the chest piece of his riding gear, trying to focus while his golden eyes tracked your every movement.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, pulling the knot tight. “People are watching from the lower ledges.”

“No, they aren't,” Neteyam whispered back, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips.

You stepped back, biting your lip with a feigned fear and his hand shot out to grab your wrists, gently but unyieldingly pinning them against the wall, stepping into your space until his hard chest completely crowded you out. He leaned down, his tail wrapping firmly around your ankle to anchor you in place.

“Neteyam, someone might land an ikran,” you whispered-shouted, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Then they land,” he mumbled playfully against your jaw before his mouth caught yours again. He sucked on your lower lip, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your wrists until you stopped resisting and melted completely into the wall behind you.

But the true madness always happened long after the village had gone to sleep.

You met in the highest branches of Hometree, far above the sleeping tiers where the night air was still and cool. The moss beneath you glowed with a soft, pulsing blue light, casting an ethereal shimmer over Neteyam’s bare chest as he pulled you into his lap.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck, his teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin right above your collarbone.

You chuckled. “I just tried Popiti’s root sap,” you mumbled, a soft shiver running down your spine as his long fingers traced a burning path up your inner thigh. You reached up, your fingers tangling into the thick beads of his queue. “If the kids wake up and find my mat empty, I am blaming you entirely.”

Neteyam huffed a laugh against your lips, “Tuk and Popiti had spread more gossips among their flock. They really believed I wrestled a palulukan for you, I have their approval.”

You burst into a quiet, breathless laugh against his mouth, the sound immediately cut off as he pulled you down into a deep, consuming kiss that left both of you completely lost in the dark canopy.

Tonight was no different. The sky was decorated with thousands of stars but the distant waterfalls glowing with a soft, ethereal light was your main view as you sat nestled comfortably between Neteyam’s long legs, your back resting securely against his broad chest as the two of you shared a sweet fruit.

“I have a confession,” Neteyam murmured, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “When Popiti moved to the village and ended my excuses to fly to the plains... I genuinely thought my world had ended. And then that little demon doubled down by telling me Ziklan was going to make you his mate.” He let out a low, fake gasp, imitating Popiti's high voice: “And they'll be mated soon, and that means babies also!”

You burst into a loud, echoing laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “She completely misinterpreted our friendship.”

“She did,” Neteyam muttered, his lips trailing down to press a warm, lingering kiss against the side of your neck. “But those words echoed in my mind every single day, even after Ziklan told me he wasn't courting you. I was losing my mind.”

“Told you? Did you confront him?" you asked, craning your neck to give his lips more room against your skin.

“Sort of...“ He whispered, his hands sliding beneath your top to rest against the warm skin of your ribs. “I told Tuk you would come home when your heart wished it... but in my head, I was already drafting an entire list of arguments to drag you back if you choose not to.”

“Such as?” you teased, your breath hitching as his fingers began to trace slow, deliberate circles upward.

“Like... ‘if you never come home, what about the children?’” he murmured against your ear, making you laugh even harder.

“Neteyam, you sound like I left you to be a single father,” you snorted, closing your eyes as his lips traced a burning path down the length of your neck to your collarbone.

“It felt like it, too,“ he chuckled. “The kids ask for you the second I take them into the brush.”

His mouth found yours again, cutting off your reply with a deep, heavy kiss that stole the remaining air from your lungs. His hands slid down to your hips, his fingers slipping beneath your loincloth, his calloused thumb finding your center through the thin fabric.

A sharp, needy whimper vibrated in your throat as your hips bucked automatically against his hand.

“You are so wet already...“ Neteyam growled against your lips, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register.

His long fingers caressed your slit, humming when he found you really slick. He parted your velvety folds to expose your burning heat, inserting two fingers in one, deep stroke, making you moan loudly against his mouth as he anchored your hip with his other hand. His thumb pressed firmly against your clit, moving in a frantic, relentless rhythm that had you shaking within seconds.

He pulled his mouth away, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his head lowered in your chest, his teeth gently nipping at your skin while his fingers worked your pussy into absolute madness. You stifled your moans, your hand grabbing his large forearm, your head falling back against his shoulder.

The combination of his fingers stretching you inside, his other hand kneading your breast, and his mouth sucking at your pebbled tip had your mind splintering. The terrifying thrill of anyone seeing both of you here added to your pleasure.

“Neteyam—” you cried out, your fingers locking into his braids as your body tightened into a violent, shuddering climax.

You shook in his arms, your walls clamping rhythmically around his fingers as he held you tightly through the storm, kissing you hard as you fell weak against him. You are literally forced out of your body by the shattering pleasure he has given you that when his hands moved with a purposeful hunger to turn your body around in his lap, you feel like a twig that had separated from a bark, hanging loosely but holding on for dear life.

His large hand held your other thigh to make you straddle him. His hand caressed its way up your back, clamping on your nape as his lips came crashing down on yours. You kissed him back, holding tight onto his shoulders. He kissed his way down to your breasts, sucking and biting before he lowered you down on the flat and wide surface of the branch.

He adjusted between your legs, fitting his large body between them until your felt his mouth on your warmth. He laid his tongue flat, licking your slit before sucking at your sensitive nub.

“Oh, Neteyam!” you moaned before biting your lip, your hips bucking away from the stimulation of his tongue’s pressure on your clit, urging a release from you that he ultimately got.

You felt a warm liquid gush out of you and his tongue licked you clean as he untied your loincloth around your tail. He let out a low chuckle when you bucked away from his mouth again, kissing your inner thigh and squeezing the other. He hovered over you as he reached behind him to shed his own loincloth.

You bit your lip as you watched him, spreading your legs for him as you watched his loincloth peel away. His hand held your thigh to spread it wider, his other hand holding his cock that you are currently eyeing. It wasn't your first time seeing it... but it still daunts you.

You licked your lips wet, reaching out to wrap your fingers around it. He let go of it to let you have your way with him, groaning as you twisted your fingers softly around this girth. You smiled, watching him tremble as his hold on your thigh tightened from the agonizing stimulation, but after a while of allowing you to play with him, he pushed you thigh back, your foot resting flat on his bicep.

He looked at you, his dark eyes grazing your naked form, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He lowered himself down a little, his large arm circling around your torso, his hand holding you by your nape. “I love you so much,” he mumbled, kissing you.

He guided the wide head of his shaft to your wamrth, pushing against your defenses. He was breathing heavily, and you can tell he wanted to close his eyes by the time he successfully slid the head into your warmth, but that he's fighting it.

His other hand lowered down to cup your butt cheek, helping him guide himself better as he sinks down into your tight walls. The girth was immense and you're barely breathing, feeling like someone's trying to insert a rod into you that which does not belong there. He was so thick and large and you feel every inch of him in you.

“You're so big...” you mewled, panicking a little.

He hushed you softly, kissing your lips. “You can take it all, baby...” he mumbled, his hand reaching out to softly rub your clit just as he was sinking in.

He kisses your neck to amp the distractions, taking you away from the immense fullness in your pussy, making you moan in absolute pleasure. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth and the next thing he did explained why: he pushed the remaining length into you in one go, and a loud, strangled moan tore from your throat.

Your eyes widened, your inner walls stretching to their absolute limits around his immense thickness, a sensation of pure, suffocating fullness locking your hips in place.

“Fuck, baby, you are so tight...” he groaned his forehead resting against yours as his thumb found your clit again, gently rubbing the bundle of nerves to ease the stretch.

His mouth claimed your mouth again, kissing you thoroughly, sucking at your tongue. The moment your body adjusted, he began to move. He started with slow, agonizingly deep pulls, bottoming out against your core before picking up a frantic, relentless pace. The branch beneath you moved softly with the rhythm of his thrusts. Neteyam buried his face in your neck, his deep, guttural grunts vibrating against your skin as he forcefully pounded into you.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, your mind completely vacant of anything but the white-hot electricity of his body moving inside yours, moaning his name when the tension snapped completely.

Neteyam let out a loud groan into the night air as he came inside you, his entire body going rigid as he buried his face in your braids, holding you so tightly against his chest it felt as though he wanted to fuse your spirits permanently. You rode the wave of his release, your own body shattering into a blinding climax that left both of you completely spent, tangled together on the high, mossy branch.

Long after the heat had cooled, Neteyam remained hovering over you, his fingers gently stroking your cheek as he pulled the leather ties from your hair, letting your braids fall loose against the bark.

“Please, don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered into the quiet dark, his eyes soft and filled with a peace you had never seen in him.

You let out a soft, tired chuckle, wrapping your arms securely around his neck. “I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to. My heart is entirely trapped here,” you mumbled. “With the children and all.“ you added, pursing your lips.

His head lifted, his eyes playfully narrowed. “Uh-huh?”

You let your head fall down the moss. “And with you... Maybe one-fourth of it...”

He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, fighting with every ounce of his strength to keep his face from crumpling. Seeing you stand there, so small, so frightened, and so utterly devastated by his sudden cruelty, was tearing his soul apart. I love you. I love you so much, his mind screamed. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and tell you he was just joking, that he was not really mad, but he had to do this, for you. So he could live with himself knowing that what could happen to him in the war will not hurt you as much as it would if he allowed you to hope.

He needed you to hate him. He needed you to move on and let go of him. He did not want you to wait for nothing if he ended up dead in the war, because the thought of you wasting your youth mourning a ghost was a fate worse than Eywa's judgment.

So, he delivered the final blow, letting the venom drip from his tongue.

“And who's to say I won't meet a Metkayina woman I would want to actually mate and settle down with?” He said, watching you rear your head back as if you had been slapped. “We’re not... that serious, Y/N. Surely you know that? You're not really thinking that I would like to keep you knowing that there is more to life than here, do you?”

Your breath hitched, staggering a step backward, the words striking you like a physical blow to the gut. Hot tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the silhouette of the man you had given your heart to.

“Why are you being so mean?” You let out a breathless, desperate laugh, trying to play it off as a misunderstanding, but the illusion shattered as the first tear spilled over your cheek.

Neteyam didn't respond. He balled his hands into tight fists, his claws digging painfully into his palms to stop himself from reaching for you. I love you so much, baby. I love you so much.

“Do you mean that?” you asked in a small, fragile voice when he didn’t respond. Your lower lip quivered, and the sight nearly brought him to his knees.

He swallowed the lump of what seemed like obsidian blade in his throat, forcing his voice an octave deeper to mask the tremble threating to expose him. “Yeah. It’s common sense.“

You nodded slowly, the harsh truth settling deep into your bones. Reaching deep down for whatever pride you had left, you managed to form a smile onto your face.

“Then... have a good life... and I wish you well,” you said, your voice breaking entirely on the final words. “I love you... so much. Even if yours was not real, mine is, Neteyam.”

Before he could break, you turned on your heel and walked away. He watched your shoulders slumped, shaking with violent, silent sobs. The moment you rounded the thick roots of Hometree, out of his sight, you broke into a desperate run, fleeing into the dark alcoves of Hometree with no idea where you were going.

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

The rhythmic sound of your pestle grinding against the mortar filled the healing pavilion. The air was thick with the sharp, clean scent of crushed roots and soothing eucalyptus leaves.

But the quiet was soon disrupted by the sound of urgent footsteps, too light to belong to an adult, and you knew what was to come.

“Ma? Ma!“

A tiny, high-pitched voice echoed outside, making your lips twist in a smile. You stopped your grinding and lifted your head up to give your son your whole attention, immediately seeing his small and chubby form bound into the pavillion. He was clutching his Toruk plaything.

You raised a brow at him as you watched him heave, knowing he ran his way up here from only Eywa knows where. “Where were you, Ervo?”

“Mama, Toruk Makto is back! My friends... My friends... I saw him!” he jumped on the soles of his feet, showing the Toruk toy right up to your face. “Toruk is this big!” the boy chirped, his round, golden eyes wide with pure, innocent excitement.

You smiled, lifting a hand to cup his small face. “Were you so excited?” you asked. “Did you see Toruk Makto, too?”

Your son nodded enthusiastically, making his little toy dive-bomb into a pile of uncounted herbs. To him, Jake Sully was a legendary figure from the stories told around the communal fires, a hero who came from the stars. He was excited about the idea that his favorite hero once lived in this Hometree, so now you could barely comprehend his joy about Toruk Makto finally being home, sleeping under the very same canopy as him.

He plopped down to sit in front of you. “With his family!” he said. “He.. He has a big son.”

Your fingers froze just as you were reaching for the covered bowl of his fruit snacks. Your head tilted, hardening your resolve and grabbing the bowl for your son. “Now, you need to eat fruits. Toruk Makto doesn’t like kids who don’t eat healthy food.”

The boy eagerly grabbed the bowl and started munching on the cut up fruits. You grabbed a soft woven cloth to wipe his sweat off with it. At twenty-two, you were now far from the girl left weeping in the roots of the forest. You had survived the worst from the clan, the whispered gossips, and the subtle shunning due to your unique situation.

Of course, there are single mothers in the clan, too, but all of them were simply widowed by war. None of them were an unmated, nineteen-year-old girl whose child was fathered by an unnamed man. But your people were nothing but progressive, and so you were not really openly disrespected, but you knew that Mo’at’s choice to make you her tsakarem was met by a strong opposition by the council.

You watched your son eat, hoping against hope that the son he was talking about was Lo’ak. The Great War had ended weeks ago and peace was supposedly returning to Eywa’eveng, but until this exact moment, the reality of what that meant hadn't truly pierced the quiet bubble you had built for yourself and your son.

You didn't know if he was among them. For all you knew, he had stayed true to his word. Perhaps he had long since met a Metkayina woman he would actually take as a mate and not simply... play with. Perhaps she was someone proud, strong, and perfectly suited for the firstborn son of Toruk Makto, completely different from the girl he discarded three years ago.

A sudden, sharp rush of resentment and old bitterness flared up in your chest, hot and wicked. You shouldn't care. You had braved everything alone and raised a beautiful, thriving boy without a single piece of help from the man who broke you. You had sworn you would never feel a damn thing for him again.

But as you turned your head to look back at your son, who was currently making small noises as he made his Toruk toy fly, your heart clenched. The boy was growing more and more into the exact likeness of his father every single day. From the curve of his brow and nose down to the way he smiled.

It was probably a fate worst than being shunned by Eywa. Forgetting and moving forward are not for you, not when you carried and are raising a child you share with who you are supposed to forget. And the fact that those things must be so easy for him, knowing that he had discarded everything that could possibly hold him back, pisses you off at least once a day.

You convinced yourself he was not among his family who came back, or that if he did come back, it was only to show his Metkayina mate to the people. And then he will go back to where he belongs, and your son would remain yours and yours alone.

The truth did not come from the announcements for the returning warriors, it came from the idle, buzzing gossip of the clan as you made your way up the winding pathways toward your kelku later that evening. Two weavers were sitting near the common walkways, their hands busy with fiber, their voices carrying easily through the humid air.

“...and Neteyam, oh, I remember when he left. Every girl I know was upset,” one groaned, leaning in. “He’s a great warrior, they say he fought fiercely at the vanguard. I’m so glad he’s back now... and unmated still!”

“Truly? No Metkayina woman caught his eye?” the other replied, sounding surprised. “I saw him, he is so handsome... and even much bigger than he was when he left. Many must have tried.”

You forced your feet to keep moving, your grip tightening around your sleeping son that the boy let out a confused whimper. You rubbed his back, “I’m sorry, my love,” you cradled his head and he purred.

The gossip words swirled in your mind still, unleashing a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions.

A bitter, venomous part of you felt a sickening sense of vindication to know that he is unmated. Good, you thought sharply. It serves him right. He had shattered you on the pretext of finding someone better, only to return with nothing but himself. But beneath that spite lay a far heavier dread. If he was unmated, he had no anchor elsewhere. He was going to stay.

You put your son down on his cot, caressing his small head. You laid his Toruk toy beside him, smiling when you remembered his earlier excitement. You would withdraw for this night completely, choosing not to join the communal dinner and eating a quiet meal of cold roasted roots and fish, but you knew this won’t be sustainable in the long run if you would keep skipping the communal meals.

Hometree was massive, you could very much use it as a shield to not cross paths with Neteyam as much as possible. You didn't need to sit at the tables or mingle in the open clearings; you could just slip down to the communal kitchens, gather your meals, and retreat back to the safety of the healing pavilion.

​And that was exactly what you did the next day.

You arrived at the kitchens at its busiest. Huge clay pots simmered over open flames, filling the air with the rich, savory scent of roasted meats and sweet, starchy roots.

“Busy day?” you asked Marla, watching all the cooks around her moving like they do during feasts.

Marla turned to you, her kind, crinkling eyes smiling immediately at the sight of you. “A welcoming feast for the Sullys,” she told you, her smile huge and meaningful.

Years ago, before the world broke apart for you, Neteyam used to practically live in this corner of Hometree, constantly bothering and begging Marla to bake your favorite wild-berry pie when he was still courting you. You and Neteyam had been a constant fixture in her kitchen, teasing her and stealing scraps until she chased you out with a wooden ladle.

Because of that closeness, Marla was likely the only soul in the entire village who truly knew the timeline, the only one who suspected that Neteyam was the father of your boy.

​But she had never whispered a single word to anyone. She had kept your secret fiercely, protecting you from the brunt of the clan's judgment when you were only nineteen and terrified.

​As the other cooks distracted themselves with the massive platters of meat, Marla stepped up to you. “Are you alright?” she reached out, her calloused hands that had spent a lifetime feeding the Omatikaya gently squeezing yours.

You smiled, playfully scowling at her. “Of course, Marla,” you said.

She sighed. “He is back. I saw him,” she said in a small voice.

You shook your head. “It means nothing to me anymore, Marla,” you assured her, chuckling. “I am a mother now and my son is the only thing I care about. Which is the reason I’m here... I’m getting his breakfast. And mine...” you bit your lip.

The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “Not joining the communal meals like last night?”

You pushed your lips forward. “I’m busy... at the pavillion,” you said.

“Hm,” she mused, pulling away to get a heavy wooden tray, arranging a generous portion of food and right in the center, putting two large, perfectly baked slices of the very same berry pie, your son Ervo’s absolute favorite. “There is a feast tonight, but I’ll have your food delivered for lunch and dinner, too. Keep that boy of yours fed.” she murmured softly, giving you a knowing, gentle nod.

You smiled and nodded, swallowing a lump on your throat. “Thank you, Marla... For always helping me.”

She huffed a snort through her nose. “I watched you grow up, watched you brave what none could have survived. It is the least I can do.”

With the heavy wooden tray carefully balanced in your arms, you made your way back through the quieter upper branches of Hometree. When you stepped back into the cool shade of the healing pavilion, the tension in your shoulders finally began to bleed away.

Ervo was exactly where you left him, sitting cross-legged on a large woven mat. He was completely absorbed in his own world, flying his little reed Toruk toy over a pile of smooth river stones he had arranged to look like mountains.

Ervo’s ears perked up instantly as soon as you laid the tray down, his eyes widening as he spotted the two large, vibrant slices of wild-berry pie on the dish. He gasped, dropping his toy immediately, his tail giving a happy, rhythmic thwap against the woven floor. “Pie!”

“Pie after your meat and roots,” you corrected gently, tapping the tip of his nose with a smile.

You sat down cross-legged in front of him, carefully cutting up the roasted meat into small, manageable pieces. He ate eagerly, his small hands grasping the wooden bowl, his cheeks puffing out as he munched. But midway through the meal, a chorus of small voices echoed from the pavilion's entrance.

Three young children peeked inside, laughing and holding small woven balls. “Ervo? Come play! We are finding the big beetles today!”

Ervo practically vibrated in excitement. He nearly choked on his fruit, his little tail tapping the floor in a frantic, desperate rhythm. He began to scramble to his feet, ready to bolt toward his friends.

“Son, you can’t play after you’ve just eaten,” you said, your voice firm but gentle as you caught him by his waist. “You need to let your food settle in your belly.” You playfully tapped his round, full belly, and he let out a bright, tickled chuckle.

He slumped back down onto your lap, pouting slightly as his friends waved and promised to wait for him near the lower roots. He held his small waterskin with both of his little hands, taking a big gulp. “I need to stay?” he asked, blinking up at you with wide, pleading golden eyes.

You nodded, taking the spoon to feed him a bite of the sweet berry pie. “Yes. You must stay until Mama says it is time.”

“Okay...” he mumbled, pointing at the pie. “Pie?“

You chuckled and hugged him, kissing his cheek. “And because you are a sweet and remarkably obedient boy, here you are...” you took the plate and fed him.

He sat patiently, swinging his legs and chattering to you about the giant beetles his friends had promised to find. When enough time had finally passed, you wiped his sticky face with a damp cloth, kissed his forehead, and sent him off. He spent almost the entire day running wild under the massive canopy, his distant, joyful laughter occasionally drifting up to the pavilion.

By midday, the heat of the forest had settled into a heavy, hummed stillness. You were deep in your work, sorting dried herbs and organizing small clay vials of medicine, when the heavy beaded curtain at the entrance rustled.

You looked up, your posture instantly straightening as Mo’at stepped into the pavilion.

The Tsahik moved with a timeless, regal grace, her sharp eyes sweeping over the quiet room before finally landing on you. Mo’at was one of the few people who had fiercely shielded you from the clan’s harsh judgments three years ago. When the council of elders had deemed your situation immoral. Mo’at had silenced them all. She had ignored their protests, stubborn and unyielding, and had chosen you to be her tsakarem.

For some reason, she had always acted as though your situation was entirely normal. She had never once asked you who the father was, nor had she ever looked at you with anything less than absolute pride.

“You are working hard,” Mo’at spoke, walking over to your table, her long fingers brushing over the herbs you had just sorted.

“There is much to prepare for the returning warriors, Tsahik,” you replied, dipping your head. “Many have old wounds from the sea that need checking.”

Mo’at hummed. “The forest is changing,” she said. “The wind brings back what was once thought lost to the tide. Some trees bend in the storm, and some roots hold fast, hidden deep beneath the ground where no one can see them.”

You looked up at her, a sudden apprehension in your eyes. Your hands slowed over the mortar. “The clan is rejoicing their return. It is a good change.”

Her eyes, clouded with age, locked onto yours. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips, “The Great Mother does not weave a thread without purpose, child,” Mo'at murmured. “A seed planted in secrecy still bears the unmistakable fruit of the tree it came from. The eyes of the clan may be blind to the truth, but blood always recognizes the stride of her own blood.”

Your breath hitched toward completely, your heart hammering violently against your ribs, a cold sweat breaking out across your palms.

“The boy is strong,” Mo'at continued softly, her hand reaching for yours to squeeze it with an immense, grounding warmth before she began to turn away. “He has your fierce spirit, but do not hide in the shadows forever, Tsakarem.”

You were profoundly grateful that Ervo had spent the entire afternoon running wild with the other children that by the time the distant sounds of the feast began to echo through the branches, he bounded into the healing pavilion, his little eyelids already heavy, entirely spent from the day's excitement.

“Ma…” he mumbled, dragging his feet as he leaned his small, warm body heavily against a soft woven pillow on the floor. “The big feast has started.”

You smiled, caressing his small head and his eyes fluttered shut.

“The big feast… Toruk Makto…”

He didn't even finish his sentence before his breathing deepened into a profound, undisturbed sleep. You quietly let out a breath, fixing everything to finally wrap the day up. Gently, you scooped his small, solid form into your arms, cradling his head against your shoulder as you carried him up to your kelku. You silently thanked Eywa that his exhaustion spared you from making up elaborate excuses for why you can’t attend the feast and you also wouldn't have to explain to a heartbroken two-year-old why he couldn't go see his legendary hero tonight.

Meanwhile, at the high dais, Neteyam sat rigidly to the right of his father. His family was seated with Tarsem who is at the center of the table, wearing the heavy, ornate mantle of the Olo'eyktan. Jake and Tarsem were deep in low, serious conversation about the integration of the returning warriors, but Neteyam’s attention was entirely fractured. His golden eyes restlessly combed through the crowded rows of tables, scanning every face, every laughing group, every shadow cast by the great fire.

He saw childhood friends, old sparring partners, and familiar faces of the Omatikaya. But none of them held the features that had been branded onto the back of his eyelids for three agonizing years. Every time he had closed his eyes, he sees you. When everybody thought he was going to die, it was your memory that got him crawling back to life. It was your face that kept his heart beating.

He had spent the entire day fighting the desperate urge to walk straight into the healing pavillion, refusing to ambush you considering how he left things between you two. He was hoping against hope. He had hurt you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you would welcome him with anger or indifference, but he can work against that.

He would beg and work for your forgiveness.

Now, as the feast drew to a close without a single glimpse of you, a hollow disappointment settled deep in his chest. He thought about finally going to the healing pavilion tomorrow. To talk to you and tell you that he survived the last three years on your memories. That he lived because he wanted to get back to you.

The following morning, however, the clan's future demanded attention. The council convened in the high longhouse, the atmosphere dense and formal.

Tarsem stood before the elders, his posture proud but his shoulders carrying a visible, heavy weariness. He unclasped the ceremonial ornaments from his chest, placing them on the woven mat before Jake and Mo'at.

“The war has kept me from my family for far too long,” Tarsem announced, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion. “My mate and my child have sacrificed enough. With Toruk Makto returning, I wish to step down from the leadership to focus entirely on my family. I am formally asking Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan to succeed me as Olo'eyktan.”

Neteyam stared at the older warrior, the air in his lungs has long turned to ice. He had no idea Tarsem was even mated. He looked at the weary, determined lines on the leader's face, and then the realization hit him like a physical blow. You were the official tsakarem of the clan. The future Tsahik. Traditionally, the Olo'eyktan and the Tsahik walked hand-in-hand, their paths intertwined to lead the people.

But the Olo’eyktan could also mate the tsakarem who has not yet succeeded the Tsahik.

If Tarsem was stepping down to be with his family... A sickening, hollow sensation opened up in Neteyam's stomach. It felt as though a direhorse had kicked him squarely in the sternum. He could barely register the rest of the council's murmurs.

The thought of you mated to another man, the thought of you bearing Tarsem's child, giving someone else the love he had so brutally discarded, made him feel utterly empty. He managed to offer a strained, tight nod to the council, muttering that he would take time to consider the immense responsibility, before abruptly excusing himself.

His feet moved without his permission, operating on pure, desperate instinct until he found himself near the clearing just outside the healing pavilion.

And there you were.

You were only a few paces away, navigating the path with a hurried grace, balancing a small wooden drying rack stacked with freshly gathered herbs against your hip. Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. You had grown even more beautiful, your expression guarded and fiercely mature. Yet, you were entirely unchanged.

His heart kicked against his chest, his whole body charging with a sudden, violent spark of electricity, as though for the first time in years, his heart remembered how to work. A recognition that his soul belonged exactly where you stood.

Then, his gaze flicked down. A small boy was tailing closely behind you, his little feet skipping to keep up with your brisk pace.

Neteyam’s heart plummeted into a dark, bottomless abyss.

“Mama, look!” the boy chirped. The high-pitched, innocent voice sent an unexplainable, agonizing warmth straight through Neteyam’s chest.

Mama.

The reality solidified, crushing him. You were a mother. You belonged to Tarsem. Neteyam watched from the shadows as you stopped your hurried pace, bending down to see whatever the little boy was pointing at on the forest floor.

“Glowing bug!” the boy shouted, his entire little body vibrating with pure, unadulterated excitement.

A soft, melodic chuckle escaped your lips. To Neteyam, it sounded like the distant, beautiful chiming of bells, a sound he had been starving to hear. His chest ached as you reached out, gently ruffling the boy’s dark hair.

“Yes, my love,” you told the child, your voice softening into a gentle warmth you still possessed. “Do not touch it. It is irritable during daylight.”

The boy tilted his head, his wide golden eyes blinking up at you. “Because it can't glow?”

A genuine laugh broke from your chest this time, bright and clear.

Hidden behind the foliage, Neteyam found a faint, involuntary chuckle slipping past his own lips. The question was so innocent, so entirely pure. The boy shared your exact expressions, the same inquisitive tilt of the head. He was beautiful. He was everything Neteyam had ever dreamed of having with you during those quiet nights before the war took everything away.

He watched you hold the boy’s hand, your fingers laced securely with his small ones as you guided him into the healing pavillion. The beaded curtain fell shut behind you, cutting off his view, but the image remained scorched into his mind.

It was confirmed. You were mated to Tarsem, and you two have a child together.

Grief and jealousy seized Neteyam’s heart, squeezing it until he could barely breathe. Tarsem had everything he had ever wanted, everything he had dreamed of during those freezing nights by the ocean. Everything he had bled and fought for over the last three years was now in the hands of another man. Neteyam had never moved on from you, but he understood that you did. After all, he had hurt you. He had sliced your heart open right before he left, and he couldn't blame you if you did what he had wanted you to do and did everything in your power to erase him from your mind.

For weeks, you thought you had managed to completely avoid him, using the labyrinth of Hometree in your favor to avoid crossing paths with him. What you didn’t know, though, was that Neteyam spends at least an hour a day watching your son play with his little friends whenever he’s at the training grounds.

And come nights, he would stand where he stood on the day he saw you for the first time in years. He felt absolutely immoral for coveting a brother’s wife, but he would stand here to willingly welcome the Great Mother’s wrath should she find it righteous to strike him down, but he couldn’t keep himself away from you. And your child, for that matter.

He had successfully assimilated back into the warrior ranks, his name wildly popular among the younger hunters and the children, even to your little boy, who often overheard the older kids whispering about the mighty son of Toruk Makto.

One afternoon, Neteyam was standing near the edge of the clearing by the warrior paths, leaning lightly against a massive root as he watched your son and his friends loudly play a game a few yards away. Suddenly, a stray kick sent their small, tightly woven ball flying wildly off course. It tumbled across some ground roots, rolling over the moss before finally bumping directly against Neteyam’s foot.

He blinked, looking down before he bent to scoop up the lightweight toy.

A moment later, the sound of tiny, rapid footsteps approached. Ervo came bounding over to retrieve it, but he skidded to a sharp halt when he looked up and realized exactly who was holding his toy.

The little boy froze, his round, deeply familiar eyes wide. Slowly, Ervo brought his small hand up to his mouth, nervously nibbling on his thumb as he peered up at the towering warrior. A wave of natural apprehension and deep shyness washed over his little face, his ears twitching back slightly as he evaluated the large, chiseled stranger.

Neteyam looked down at the boy, feeling his chest suddenly expand with an unexplainable, fierce warmth the moment their eyes met. Up close, the resemblance was almost dizzying, but somehow, the boy looked strangely familiar but not you familiar... But Tuk familiar.

He softened his posture completely, making himself look as unthreatening as possible. Feeling the gentle shift in the his energy, Ervo smiled just a little bit, still nibbling on his thumb.

The tiny grin was Neteyam's undoing, he suddenly felt too weak. The boy was too cute. His own lips, usually set in a serious line these days, threatened to break into a massive smile for the boy.

“This yours?” Neteyam asked, his deep voice dropping to a soft, rumbling purr as he showed the ball in his open palm.

The boy nodded quickly, his courage returning. “My ball...”

Neteyam lowered himself onto his hunches, his long legs folding smoothly so he could level his eyes with the boy. He didn't want to tower over him like a scary monster.

“What’s your name?” Neteyam asked gently.

“Ervo,” the boy said in a small but clear voice. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking into Neteyam’s eyes. Then, with a sudden flash of bravery, he tilted his head. “You?” he asked courageously, treating Neteyam less like a formidable warrior and more like an age peer he simply wanted to be friends with.

Neteyam’s golden eyes lit up instantly. A genuine, breathy laugh escaped him, and a huge smile cut through his lips, transforming his hardened features. It made the boy smile, feeling a little more comfortable.

“Neteyam,” he said.

“‘Teyam...” Ervo echoed, trying out the syllables, his voice small and endearing. He pointed a small finger at the toy. “My ball?”

“Here,” Neteyam murmured, carefully placing the woven sphere back into Ervo's tiny, waiting hands.

“Thank you...” Ervo said politely. He turned on his heel to head back to the game, but after a few paces, he stopped. He looked back at Neteyam one last time, offering a bright, lingering smile before running off to rejoin his friends.

Neteyam remained on his haunches for a long time, watching the boy's retreating form, his hand still feeling the faint, lingering warmth of where the boy's fingers had brushed his own.

You have no idea about all of these. Apparently, more interesting things happen to your son daily that literally coming face-to-face with Neteyam is just one of the ordinary moments. He told you more about the beetles he observed with his friends more than the prior fact. So, you remained blissfully unaware, thinking that you were successfully living a life where your path has never cross with Neteyam.

You had spent three years scrubbing his face from your memories, teaching your heart to go numb at the mere thought of him. You convinced yourself that if you ever came face-to-face with him, you wouldn't feel a damn thing.

Then, one afternoon, the universe finally caught up to you

You left the pavillion to get Ervo for lunch, catching him sitting in a patch of dappled sunlight in their playground, completely absorbed in watching a line of colorful bugs march across a fallen log. His back was turned to the pathway. You smiled as you rounded a corner, but then your breath trapped itself in your throat.

You saw Neteyam approaching.

He was walking toward your son, his head tilted to the side with a small smile plastered on his face. He looked intensely curious about what Ervo was doing, drawn to the boy by some invisible force.

Panic, sharp and blinding, pierced your chest.

“Ervo,” you called out to your son, causing the boy to lift his head up.

Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his own head snapping up at the same time your son did that it looked almost comical. His golden eyes locked onto yours for the first time in three years. And you, who did the stupid thing of forgetting, was not prepared for all the changes at all that your heart jumped to your throat.

He had grown impossibly taller, his frame wider and heavily muscled from years of brutal warfare. His jawline was more chiseled, his handsome face bearing the subtle, hardened maturity of a man who had long outgrown the twenty-one-year-old who had left you behind.

“Mama?”

Your eyes immediately darted back to your son, fortunately taking your focus away from Neteyam. Ervo scrambled to his feet, leaving his bugs behind. “It’s time for lunch and you didn’t come back to the pavilion,” you said in a very motherly voice that reminded Neteyam of how Neytiri sometimes uses her Mom voice.

Ervo laughed and ran toward you, his little body crashing against your thigh. “I saw bugs!”

You bent, lifting him into your embrace and rubbing his back. You held him like a shield, your posture rigid and defensive as you lifted your sharp, icy glare on the man before you.

Neteyam was standing frozen, watching you hold the child, and the fierce, battle-hardened warrior seemed to dissolve. Every hard edge of his chiseled face turned incredibly soft and gentle. His ears drooped slightly, and his eyes swam with something profound and unspeakable. The coldness with which he treated and looked at you three years was gone, replace with the desperation of a man who was drowning.

“Y/N—” he breathed, his voice low and carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid apologies.

You didn't let him start anything, though. Clutching Ervo tighter against your chest, you turned your back on him, refusing to let him speak another syllable. You walked briskly back into the safety of the healing pavilion, your heart racing violently against your ribs.

That night, the cold wind offered no relief from the heat building inside Neteyam's mind. Deep in sleep, he got dragged backward by a subconscious that refused to let him forget the taste of you. In his dream, he was back in the hidden cave deep in the woods.

The air was thick with the scent of moss, rain, and the intoxicating, sweet musk of your skin. He was buried inside you, his knees spreading your thighs wide as he pounded into you relentlessly. It was a searing, glorious ache. His large hands came up to frame your jaw, fingers digging into your braids to anchor you as he leaned down, kissing you hard, bruisingly deep, drinking in your frantic gasps.

The cave was alive with the raw, animalistic sound of your bodies. The wet, sliding heat, your breathless cries, and his own low groans vibrating against your chest.

You threw your head back, the muscles of your throat straining as you clutched at his broad back, your fingernails digging tracks into his skin. Your moans were hoarse now, stripped raw after the breathless screams he had driven out of you.

“Neteyam...” you cried out, your hips arching up to meet his punishing, deep thrusts, begging for the release that was coiling tight between you.

He leaned down, catching your slick, parted mouth in another heavy kiss, breathing your name back into your lungs. “Oh, baby...” he choked, his chest heaving as he reached up to tenderly stroke the sheen of sweat off your forehead, his thumb tracing your cheek even as his lower body maintained its relentless, demanding pace.

You cried out again, a desperate sound of pure pleasure, pulling him down by his neck with a fierce strength that demanded all of him... And then Neteyam jolted awake with a violent gasp, nearly losing his balance and falling off his hammock.

He sat up abruptly, chasing his breath as if he had just run a marathon, his skin slick with sweat. He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his hand up to roughly massage the bridge of his nose. He fought the overwhelming, agonizing urge to let out a loud, frustrated groan, catching himself just in time to ensure he wouldn't wake his family.

Breathing heavily through his nose, his hand slid down his torso, grabbing his crotch. His cock was punishingly hard, straining painfully against his loincloth, throbbing with the memory of you. He squeezed himself tightly through the fabric, trying to ease the agonizing ache, but the phantom sensation of your tight, wet heat wrapping around him was too vivid, too real. Like the many other dreams in the sea.

He knew it was wrong. He was literally committing a sin, lusting over a woman mated to another man. For Eywa's sake, he was a warrior, a future leader, and he was losing his mind over you, like he had when he was a boy. Yes, memories of you had been the only thing that got him through the lonely, brutal years of the war, keeping his relationship with his own hand extremely intimate during long nights on the battlefield, but it is wrong now.

Yet, as he sat there in the dark, his pulse hammering in his ears, it didn't truly feel like a mistake.

It was just that... you were so much more beautiful up close than any fleeting glimpse he had caught of you over the past weeks. He had looked into your eyes, smelled your scent, seen the fierce, maternal beauty radiating from you, and now his body was paying the price for that proximity.

Unable to bear the suffocating confinement of the hammock any longer, Neteyam quietly swung his long legs over the edge. He stood up noiselessly, his tail twitching with restless tension as he slipped out into the cool night air, knowing he would have to find a secluded spot in the forest to take care of his hard-on before the madness consumed him entirely.

Days after that, while you were at the pavilion and your son was having his afternoon nap in his cot beside you, the heavy beaded curtain at the entrance rustled, making you look up nonchalantly, expecting an apprentice or a hunter.

But your face instantly hardened when you saw Neteyam standing in the entryway. You stopped mid-motion, your hand freezing over the mortar where you were grinding a fresh poultice.

“I got... cut,“ he mumbled, his voice low and tentative.

You raised a brow, your jaw clenching as you looked him up and down. You didn't want him here, but as the tsakarem, you couldn't turn away someone seeking care. “Let me see,” you said coldly, jerking your head toward the seat in front of you.

He walked over and sat down, but as he did, you saw his golden eyes immediately glance toward the side, curiously tracking the small, sleeping form of your son in the cot. Your chest tightened. You purposefully extended your hand, reaching for a tall stack of drying leaves and shifting a woven basket to deliberately block his view of the boy.

When he finally held out his hand, you inspected the injury. The cut wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but it definitely required a proper disinfectant, the kind of minor scratch he could have easily treated on his own with some river water and basic sap. Both of you knew he had come here just to see you.

In fact, Neteyam prepared for days just to be able to do this.

You took his hand impersonally, your grip firm and strictly professional. Despite your coldness, Neteyam bit his lower lip, completely distracted by the sudden, overwhelming sensation of your soft hands touching his skin for the first time in three long years. A jolt of pure electricity ran up his arm, but he stayed still as you worked on the wound in absolute silence.

The quiet in the pavilion grew heavy, suffocating him. He couldn't take it anymore.

“You’ve... made a good life for yourself,” he began softly, his eyes fixed on your lowered face as you carefully applied a cool, crushed herb paste to the cut.

You completely ignored him, your expression blank as you reached for a clean strip of woven cloth.

“You have a beautiful boy...” he added after the silence stretched, his voice thick with a strange emotion.

You stopped. Your hands went completely still on his wrist, and you slowly lifted your head to look up at him, your sharp eyes piercing straight through his chest.

“Can we keep the silence?” you asked, your voice a flat, dangerous whisper. “My son’s a light sleeper.”

Neteyam blinked, the rejection hitting him like a physical blow. He immediately nodded, his ears drooping slightly as he looked back down at your hands wrapping the cloth around his palm. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

His chest tightened until it felt like a vice was crushing his lungs. Sitting this close to you, he wanted to say so much more. He wanted to scream the truth. He wanted to throw himself at your feet, to kneel on the floor and apologize until his voice gave out for the horrible lies he had told you before he left. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to press his face into your neck and tell you how much he loves you. That he had never stopped loving you for a single second. His heart, his body, and his soul had never known another woman, and they never would.

Even now that you are mated.

But as he watched you expertly tie off the bandage with detached efficiency, reality crashed over him.

He knew it would be wrong to even try to be friends with you now. You were a mated woman. You were a mother. He had absolutely no place in your life anymore, and he had no right to disturb the peace you had built. Every time he remembered that fact, it felt like his insides were being violently wrung out. It was a constant, living nightmare, made worse by the fact that seeing Tarsem around the village brought the agonizing jealousy back to the surface every single day.

He was so deeply envious of Tarsem. It should have been him. He was supposed to be your mate. He was supposed to be the father of your beautiful child, coming home to you after a long hunt. But he had sacrificed all of it for a war he wasn't even sure he'd survive.

I hope it's fucking worth it, he thought bitterly to himself later that night.

He lay completely awake in his hammock, staring up at the dark canopy of Hometree, unable to sleep as the image of your little boy filled his mind. The child was so small, so incredibly fragile, but Neteyam knew without a doubt that the little boy held your entire heart. A soft, involuntary warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of him. Ervo.  Remembering how peaceful the boy looked while having his nap, a faint smile touched Neteyam's lips in the dark.

You could have been mine, he thought with a heavy, suffocating grief settling over him like a boulder as he closed his eyes.

As he drifted to sleep, the weight of his emotions faded into a blinding, golden warmth.

In the dream, the sky above was a brilliant, cloudless blue, and the heat of the sun baked into his skin. He wasn't a warrior burdened by the future of a clan; he was just a boy, resting his head comfortably in your lap as the water lapped gently against the riverbank.

This was the sanctuary his mind always built for him.

It was the exact same dream that had saved his life on the blood-soaked sea. When the bullet had torn through his chest, when his breathing had rattled and his pulse had slowed to a terrifying flutter, his family had been screaming. The healers had been desperately pressing against his wound, fighting the tide of his fading life. But in his mind, he had felt no fear.

In his mind, he had only felt you.

You leaned down over him, your dark hair catching the light of the sun, casting a soft shadow over his face. Your expression wasn't cold or defensive like it was these days, it was full of that fierce, consuming love that used to belong entirely to him. Gently, you cupped his face with both of your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw before you leaned down to kiss his lips softly.

Even in the depths of his sleep, the phantom sweetness of your touch made his lips curve into a faint, relaxed smile.

You pulled back just an inch, a soft, melodic chuckle vibrating in your chest at the sight of his grin. You ran a hand through his braids, your voice a gentle purr that seemed to echo from the very heart of the forest.

“‘Teyam... wake up,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his temple. “Wake up.”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped open.

The golden river and the warmth of the sun vanished instantly, shattered by the dark, cool reality of the woven ceiling above his hammock. He sat up abruptly, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His hand flew instinctively to his chest, his large fingers pressing hard against the thick, raised scar tissue right over his chest that he could conveniently cover with his chest knife sheath.

Your kelku were branches away, and you were wrapped in the arms of another man, but his lips still tingled with the memory of the dream.

He slid his hands over his face, letting out a long, ragged breath into the empty darkness of his quarters. Dreams of you always visited him whenever he slept with a heavy heart. It was a cruel mercy, a replaying loop of a life he had thrown away. Yet, as he stared out into the quiet shadows of Hometree, he knew those dreams were the only reason he was still breathing.

It was his mind’s instinctive way of giving him a reason to hold on, a desperate, stubborn tether keeping his soul anchored to the earth, simply because he couldn't bear to leave a world where you still existed. He prepared for the morning patrol, going about it as enthusiastically as he could, and when he got back, he was told that the high council wpuld convene once more in the longhouse.

The elders sat in a wide semicircle, their faces solemn, while Tarsem stood at the center. Neteyam took his place near his father, his eyes fixed firmly on the table, refusing to look at Tarsem so he wouldn’t and couldn’t picture out what-could-have-beens.

Tarsem cleared his throat, his deep voice commanding the room's attention. “Elders, Toruk Makto, Tsahik,” he began, bowing his head respectfully to each. “We have spent over a moon organizing the integration of our returning warriors, ensuring our borders are secure. The Omatikaya are strong. But as I stated before, the war has kept me from my duties at home for far too long. I must officially request to step down from my duties as Olo’eyktan so that I may leave and focus entirely on making up for lost time with my mate and child.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched so hard he thought he’d break his teeth. Hearing it out loud again felt like a fresh blade twisting in his ribs. His mate. His child. He closed his eyes, forcing down the violent surge of envy that threatened to choke him.

One of the elders, an old weaver named Okan, nodded slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of his staff. “The council understands, Tarsem. A leader’s heart must be whole to lead, and yours has been divided by the sea for many moons. You have done well by our people. I wholeheartedly support your decision, and should the council follow suit, you could fly to your family as soon as we grant your request.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched, snapping backward. Fly?

He blinked, his mind faltering as the word echoed in the quiet longhouse. He raised his head, staring at Tarsem in utter confusion. “Fly?” Neteyam interrupted, his voice cracking slightly before he hardened it. “Olo'eyktan... your mate and child are here. In Hometree.”

The entire council went completely still.

The elders blinked at him. Jake shifted in his seat, a furrow forming between his brows. Even Mo’at slowly lifted her sharp, clouded gaze, her expression unreadable as she stared at her grandson.

Tarsem turned around slowly, looking at Neteyam as if the young warrior had been struck by a stray arrow to the head. “What are you talking about, Neteyam?” Tarsem asked, a small, baffled frown crossing his features. “My mate and daughter are with her clan, the Tayrangi. They have been waiting for my return by the Eastern cliffs since the sky people's vanguard fell.”

Neteyam felt the blood drain from his face. The air in his lungs turned to pure frost. He sat frozen, his fingers digging into his knees.

“Who...?” Neteyam choked out, his throat working desperately to find words. “Then... Y/N? You are not... mated to Y/N?”

Tarsem let out a sudden, startled chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Y/N is not my mate. Why would you think that?”

Neteyam’s heart leaped violently into his throat, hitting his ribs with a force that made his breath hitch. A weakened, shuddering gasp escaped his lips. He felt so suddenly lightheaded he would have fallen right onto his face if he weren't already sitting. She isn't his. She isn't mated to anyone. “But... she is the Tsakarem,” he stammered, his mind racing, trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his assumptions.

“And she will make a fine Tsahik one day,” Tarsem countered gently, his eyes softening with amusement. “But that won’t be enough reason to make Y/N mate with anyone. She is a strong woman, Neteyam. She answers to no man's timeline.”

“She... she is unmated?” Neteyam asked again, his voice dropping to a desperate, trembling whisper, completely exposed before the entire council. He didn't care. He needed to hear it. He needed the world to stop spinning.

Elder Okan sighed, his voice carrying the familiar, slightly judgmental tone of the older generation. “She did get pregnant sometime three years ago, yes. But she refused to name the father. No one in the village knows.”

“Because it is unimportant,” Mo’at’s sharp, commanding voice cut through the longhouse like a whip, silencing the elder immediately. She leaned forward, her knowing, amber eyes locking directly onto Neteyam’s pale, trembling form. Her gaze was heavy, loaded with the exact same truth she had leveled at you the day before. “Y/N can raise Ervo all on her own. She is a strong woman, as Tarsem said. She needs no unnamed ghost to claim what is hers.”

“Indeed, Tsahik,” Tarsem agreed, bowing his head.

Got pregnant sometime three years ago...

The words rang in Neteyam’s ears, expanding into a deafening sound that drowned out the rest of the council meeting. Three years ago.

Ervo.

The boy’s small, chubby face flashed in his mind. The round, golden eyes. The shy, familiar little smile that reminded him of Tuk. The way his ears twitched. The strange, unexplainable warmth that had flooded Neteyam's entire chest when their eyes met and when he saw the little boy’s smile. He had thought of his strange resemblance to Tuk, but truly, it had been a resemblance to him.

The boy was his.

Tarsem’s voice brought him back. “Neteyam, as I was saying—”

“What is needed?“ he cut him off.

Tarsem’s lips parted, his eyes volleying in confusion. “That you consider accepting my request to—”

“I accept anything,” he said in a firm voice. Heck, after today, he could build a freaking Hometree using sand.

“Are you sure?” Jake asked, turning to him with furrowed brows.

Neytiri also looked at him with concern. “Son, this is a matter of great consequence. You need to plenty of time to think.”

“Plenty of time is not something we have the luxury of right now. Tarsem needs to be with his family,” he said. And I need to be with my own, he thought.

His parents nodded. As soon as the council wrapped the meeting up, he practically threw himself out of the council longhouse, his long legs eating up the woven pathways as he sprinted toward the upper branches.

He burst into the healing pavilion, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. But the pavilion was empty. The small cot where Ervo usually napped was neatly folded, and the mortar and pestle sat clean on the wooden table. A young healer’s apprentice, a girl of fourteen, jumped in startle at his sudden, towering entrance.

“Where is she?” Neteyam demanded, his voice rough and laced with an urgency that terrified the girl. “Where is the Tsakarem?”

“S-she went out,” the girl stammered, pointing a trembling finger toward the lower pathways. “To gather herbs—”

Neteyam didn't let her finish, he turned on his heel and descended the winding ramps frantically. When he finally reached the ground and ran to the dense brush, he immediately saw you.

The afternoon sun was filtering through the canopy, casting long, golden beams of light on you as you walked slowly, your hands reaching down to pluck a root or a leaf.

And right behind you, tailing you with his little feet skipping over the moss, was Ervo. The boy’s cheeks were completely full, puffing out comically as he happily munched on a handful of sweet berries from a leaf, clipped in his small arm is a small Toruk toy.

His boy.

The realization hit Neteyam in the gut with a force strong enough to almost make him fold, breaking the dam he had been building around his heart since he came back, to protect you from his own selfishness. The grief and the jealousy, it all melted away, replaced by a fierce, protective instinct so primal it made him tremble.

The snap of a twig under his large foot broke the silence of the clearing.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your shoulders immediately going rigid, your hand instantly moved to hover protectively over Ervo’s shoulder before you slowly turned around. The moment your eyes landed on Neteyam, your expression hardened into a deep, defensive scowl.

But Neteyam didn't look like the broken, submissive man who had mounded his head in apology in the pavillion days ago. He stood tall, his shoulders squared, his chiseled face bearing a look of absolute confidence. There was still the desperate, drowning look in his golden eyes, but there was also a burning, unyielding clarity.

“‘Teyam?” A small high-pitched voice called.

His gaze slid downward, tracking behind your hip where Ervo was now looking at him.

Your head snapped to your son, wondering at the familiarity in his voice. The little boy remained looking at Neteyam, his round eyes widened because he recognizes the tall stranger from the training grounds. He stopped chewing his berries, his tail giving a hesitant little flick.

“Hi,” Neteyam said, “Ervo.” His voice was incredibly small, a soft, rumbling purr that trembled on the edges as he tried with everything in him not to let it crack. He looked at his son’s small face, tracing the curve of his nose, the almost identical placement of his stripes.

He had been so stupid to believe otherwise. With the clarity he now possessed, he could clearly see that this boy looked more like him and nothing like Tarsem. He didn’t know how he could be so blind.

He blinked when you stepped forward, cutting off his view of the boy. You stood right in front of Neteyam, your head tilted up fiercely. Even though he towered over you, his massive frame casting a long shadow over your smaller one, you didn't show any worry. You looked at him like a mother palulukan defending her cub.

“We need to talk,” Neteyam said, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

You clenched your jaw, your fingers wrapping tightly around the handle of your basket. “I have nothing to say to you,” you told him, your voice cold and impersonal. “I am busy. Move out of my way.”

Neteyam didn't move an inch. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, his golden eyes burning with a truth that could no longer be hidden.

“He’s mine. Isn’t he?”

The question carried no doubt, no hesitation. He knew it in his heart. He knew it in the way his own soul had recognized the boy from the very first moment.

Your face crumpled, a sharp mix of pained exhaustion and deep-seated bitterness tightening your features. You let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-scoff, the shield you had built over the last three years cracking a little under the sheer absurdity of his sudden realization.

“Took you long enough,” you said, your voice dripping with sharp sarcasm. You tilted your head up, daring him to look you in the eyes. “Thought maybe he was fathered by any of the men I laid with after you left?”

His reaction was instantaneous, and you relished it. Neteyam’s jaw locked, his golden eyes narrowing into the sharp, dangerous slits of a furious predator. His ears pinned flat against his head, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked terrifyingly possessive, a look that used to make your stomach flip, but now it only served as a cold reminder that he was no longer in possession of you. Or your son. In fact, he had absolutely nothing to do with either of you.

“No, I never did,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intense rumble, emphasizing every single syllable as he fought to keep his temper under wraps. “I thought you were mated to Tarsem. I just learned now that you were not, and the moment I learned, I knew right away that your boy is mine.”

“Tarsem?” you blurted out, a genuine, bewildered chuckle slipping past your lips. It was completely ridiculous. “Tarsem is practically an older brother to me.”

“Y-You are the tsakarem,” he stammered slightly, his fierce demeanor slipping into desperate defense. “In the council meeting, I learned he was mated, and that he had a child. Because he was the Olo’eyktan, surely he would be mated to the future Tsahik... and then I saw you... and Ervo.”

You huffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “And you didn't even think to ask Tarsem?”

“Ask him? I couldn't even look at him without feeling the urge to strangle him,” he admitted bluntly.

The two of you stood there like madmen, standing in a secluded patch of the forest, whispering heatedly to each other just to avoid alarming the little boy whose ears were currently perked up, trying to catch the heavy conversation.

“I suppose I should be thankful to Tarsem then,” you said, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Neteyam let out a breathy huff, but honestly, nothing could ruin his mood for the rest of his entire life. The crushing weight that had suffocated him for weeks had now vanished and it felt as if he were handed a brand new life. “And I suppose I deserved every bit of that suffering... I thought I had completely lost you—”

“You did,” you cut him off cleanly, your voice turning flat. “Ervo being yours means absolutely nothing for the both of us. If you want to be in his life, you can be. I won't keep him from you.”

Neteyam stared at you, watching your face lock into a firm, business-like expression. It was true that a part of him had foolishly hoped to win back both his son and the love of his life in one breath, but he could work with what you were offering.

For the time being.

After surviving the living hell of thinking you belonged to another man, absolutely nothing could stop him now. Before today, he had accepted that the brutal way he ended things between you had forced you to hate him, to bury his memory under a layer of cold indifference. But while you looked completely detached right now, Neteyam knew his own heart. He was going to come for you so strong, so steadily, that you wouldn't even realize he was doing it until he was fully woven back into your life like he had never left. He was going to pick up exactly where he left off. He was going to get you back.

Breaking the tense silence between you two, you took a deep breath and dropped down onto your haunches, leveling yourself with your son. “Ervo, you’ve met Neteyam before?”

Ervo nodded quickly, pointing a berry-stained finger. “He.. he gave my ball back.”

Neteyam smoothly lowered himself onto his haunches too, bringing his massive frame down to the dirt. Ervo looked at him with a classic mix of childhood shyness and courage. Then, the little boy turned his head to look at you.

“Toruk Makto’s son, Mama?” Ervo asked in a stage whisper, acting as if Neteyam wasn't even sitting right there, discussing him like a fascinating object.

“Yes, my love,” you said gently, tapping his small nose before glancing up at Neteyam. “He’s a big fan.”

A beautiful, breathless chuckle escaped Neteyam, his eyes twinkling with a sheen of tears. “Is that right?” he asked Ervo, carefully placing a large, trembling hand on the boy's small shoulder.

“Yes! I love Toruk!” Ervo beamed, proudly holding up his wooden Toruk toy for Neteyam to see.

“What do you say about coming to meet him later today?” Neteyam asked softly.

The boy's jaw dropped. “Toruk Makto?” he asked in pure wonder.

“Neteyam...” you warned, your eyes widening as you gave your gaze back to him.

Neteyam turned to you, his eyes swimming with unshed tears, but his expression was entirely sincere. “It’s my son’s simple joy, Y/N. I can make it happen for him...” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“But... you’ll have to...” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward Hometree.

“Tell them?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I want to tell them, Y/N. I want to tell the entire village, in fact,” he said, his gaze dropping back to the boy before looking at you. “But only if you’ll allow me.”

You bit your lower lip, looking at the raw vulnerability in his face. “Your family... is fine. The entire village... I think it will need time.”

Neteyam nodded firmly, accepting your terms instantly. He turned back to his son with a bright smile. “Yes, my boy. Toruk Makto. Do you want to go meet him?”

“Yes!” Ervo squealed with zero hesitation. Without warning, the little boy threw his entire body forward, launching himself against Neteyam’s broad chest and wrapping his chubby little arms tightly around the warrior’s neck.

The impact seemed to weaken Neteyam significantly. The sheer force of his son’s affection caused him to stagger back slightly, a soft gasp leaving his lips. Neteyam wrapped his long, muscular arms securely around the boy’s tiny frame, burying his face in Ervo’s hair as his tears finally spilled over, rolling down his chiseled cheeks.

Your own face crumpled in sharp pain at the sight. You quickly looked away, blinking back your own tears at how overwhelmingly emotional the moment was. For Neteyam, at least. Because right now, to your innocent son, Neteyam wasn't a long-lost father or a ghost from the past. He was simply a very kind, very cool guy who was going to bring him face-to-face with Toruk Makto.

You all walked back to Hometree together, the foliage parting easily as Neteyam carried Ervo all the way. The boy’s small, heavy weight rested securely against Neteyam’s chest, one of Ervo's sticky, berry-stained hands loosely gripping some of his braids. You walked half a pace behind them, keeping your eyes on the path but acutely aware of how naturally Neteyam’s large arm cradled your son’s frame.

You couldn’t help but notice how Neteyam could barely take his eyes away from the boy. Only looking at the path from time to time to make sure he’s still going the right path, but Ervo has his full attention. When you reached the lower levels of Hometree, you stopped him near a thick root. Several clan members were lingering nearby, not even trying to hide their intense curiosity, eyes darting from Neteyam to the child, and then to you.

“I will prepare him,” you told Neteyam, your voice clipped and entirely business-like as you reached out to take Ervo. “You could just meet us near your family's hut when it's time.”

Neteyam didn't hand the boy over immediately. Instead, he stepped way too close, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He lowered Ervo gently to his feet, but kept a hand on the boy's shoulder, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. “I can help you prepare him,” he offered softly.

Too conscious of the clan’s eyes on you, you shook your head. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Sure? he murmured, his voice a smooth, infuriating purr.

“Yes,” you hissed, grabbing Ervo’s hand. You turned on your heel and marched away, thoroughly thrown off your game by his sudden, relentless proximity.

Neteyam stood alone on the root, but as he watched your retreating form, a soft smile spread across his lips. His heart soared even higher when Ervo suddenly looked back over your hip, flashing a bright grin and waving his small hand. Neteyam waved back, his chest bursting with a brand-new sense of purpose.

Later that evening, you and Ervo walked up the winding ramp toward the large Sully kelku. Neteyam was already on the outside platform, pacing restlessly on the wide branch leading to the entrance. When he saw you, his face lit up, and he quickly guided you both inside.

The rest of the Sully family was entirely clueless. They knew only that Neteyam had insisted on a private family dinner to introduce someone.

The moment you stepped inside after Neteyam, Kiri’s eyes went wide. “Y/N!” she greeted happily, rushing forward to throw her arms around you in a tight hug.

Little Tuk, who was now ten years old and growing fast, stepped closer, her curious gaze dropping instantly to the toddler holding your hand. Ervo, meanwhile, was completely unfazed by the girls. His wide golden eyes were locked onto Jake Sully, looking up at the legendary Toruk Makto with absolute, unadulterated wonder.

Meanwhile, Neytiri took one look at Ervo, at the inquisitive tilt of his head, the unmistakable slope of his nose, and her breath caught. She didn't need to piece anything together. Beside her, Jake was already grinning, recalling Neteyam’s uncharacteristic, panicked outburst at the council meeting about Tarsem and the tsakarem. The pieces fit together perfectly.

“Neteyam?” Neytiri called out, her voice trembling slightly with an emotional weight.

Neteyam took a deep breath, standing taller before he took Ervo cleanly into his arms, lifting the boy up so his family could see him properly. “Dad, Mother... This is Ervo. My son. Born to the woman I love.”

You turned Neteyam with wide eyes but his tearful eyes were entirely on Ervo. The kelku erupted with gasps. Your son, of course, was entirely clueless about the gravity of the moment, only thrilled that the legendary Jake Sully was looking at him like he was some kind of grand prize. Neytiri’s eyes filled with tears as she rushed forward, her hands hovering over Ervo’s face, murmuring about how much he looked like Neteyam as a toddler.

Then, she turned to you. Without a word, she took your hand, pulling you into a fierce, deeply emotional embrace. “Oh, Y/N,” she breathed. “You were all alone...“

Ervo, ever attentive and fiercely protective of you, instantly tracked the movement. Seeing his mother surrounded, his high-pitched voice cut through the loud chatter. “Mama?”

“I’m here, my love,” you smiled, gently pulling away from Neytiri so he could see you.

Reassured, Ervo smiled brightly. He turned back to Jake, excitedly thrusting his Toruk toy forward. His small tail curled tightly around Neteyam’s forearm in a subconscious gesture of comfort, making Neteyam let out a breathless chuckle as his tears rolled down his nose. Neteyam’s eyes found yours across the room. You gave him a very small, hesitant smile before turning back to talk with Neytiri.

The dinner itself was smooth and warm. At first, Ervo was a bit shy, the large family becoming slightly overwhelming for him. Once, he even wriggled in Neteyam's lap, his small hand reaching out toward you. “Mama...” he whined softly.

You leaned over, offering a reassuring smile as you caressed his rounded cheek. “Papa will feed you, baby...” you told him gently.

You looked at his tiny face properly. He was so small. For all the years of his existence, he had never had a father, and he had never asked about one, either. You were only fortunate that he was still too young to be truly curious about the missing piece of his life.

“Papa...” Ervo echoed, testing the word on his tongue.

You nodded, reaching out to gently tap Neteyam’s chest to emphasize the word. “Papa.”

But as your fingers brushed against his chest, your tap inadvertently shifted his leather knife sheath. The strap slid aside, and your eyes caught a glimpse of the faint, thick, raised scar tissue hidden underneath. Right over his heart.

Your eyes snapped up, locking onto Neteyam’s face. He was staring back at you, his eyes completely misty, entirely focused on the profound fact that you had just introduced him to his son as Papa. He hadn't even noticed that his sheath had moved, or that you had seen the mark of the bullet that had nearly taken his life. Your forehead creased in a brief, sudden moment of worry and realization, but before you could dwell on it, Ervo snagged your attention.

The boy jumped in Neteyam’s hold, a demanding grin breaking across his face as he looked up at his father. “Feed me!” he ordered cutely, wrapping one chubby arm securely around Neteyam’s neck.

A massive smile broke across Neteyam’s lips, but a soft, choked sob escaped him at the same time. He bowed his head, a single tear rolling down his pointed nose. Your face crumpled in a sharp pain at the sight. Your hand instinctively balled into a tight fist at your side, forcing yourself to restrain the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort him.

Neteyam quickly wiped his face, recovering his composure to feed Ervo, who began eating happily while the rest of the family absolutely doted on him.

“It’s like seeing Neteyam as a toddler all over again,” Jake noted, his own food completely forgotten as he watched Ervo chew his food rapidly, his cheeks puffing out. In fact, everyone at the table was too busy watching the boy to eat. “The kid eats like a syaksyuk.”

Neytiri smiled warmly at you. “Y/N, your blood did not fight back at all,” she joked and you chuckled. She looked as though she wanted to ask a thousand questions about the last three years, but she wisely chose not to meddle between you and Neteyam.

“How old is he?” Tuk asked you shyly, leaning over the table to peek at Ervo.

You smiled at the girl before turning to your son. “Ervo, how old are you?”

Your son proudly held up two fingers. “This many,” he said grandly.

Neteyam chuckled, and the entire table burst into a loud laughter. Ervo smiled proudly, soaking up the attention.

“Oh, you are still a baby,” Tuk teased gently.

Ervo’s ears immediately pinned back as he scowled, shaking his head. “Not a baby!”

You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh as the family shared another collective chuckle over his little outburst. You reached over, pressing  a palm against Ervo’s chest to calm him while Neteyam instinctively began rubbing the boy's back in perfect synchronization. “Sorry, he’s in that stage...” you murmured.

Ervo quickly forgot his anger anyway, his eyes locking onto the sweetroot pie. He pointed a finger at Neteyam, asking his father for a piece. Neteyam chuckled and glanced at you for permission.

You nodded slightly. “Just a little. Too much sweets keep him up all night,” you whispered softly.

You immediately clamped your mouth shut when Ervo’s head swiveled toward you, his ears perking up at the word 'sweets'. Neteyam let out a quiet laugh, quickly distracting the boy by showing him the pie.

After dinner, the family moved outside to catch the cool evening air, stepping onto the wide woven platform that wrapped around the exterior of the kelku. Jake and Neytiri had asked to spend time with Ervo, and Jake was currently enticing the boy with wild, grand stories about Toruk. Ervo was completely captivated, though his golden eyes still occasionally flicked back to the edge of the platform to make sure you were still there.

“He is so protective of you,” Neteyam noted softly, stepping up to stand beside you.

You kept your gaze fixed on Ervo, who was currently talking to Jake like he was a grown warrior, wildly gesturing with his hands and adding his own imaginary details to Jake's Toruk stories. A soft, genuine smile touched your lips, and you rubbed your arms with your palms against the evening breeze.

“He is...” you replied quietly. “But it’s also because we are always together. For a little boy like he is, I am the whole world. Now... that world will be expanding for him.”

Neteyam looked down at you, his expression intensely wistful, the bioluminescent dots on his face glowing brighter, telling you of the intensity of his feelings. “I’m sorry about everything being so rushed... will it be a shock for him?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

“I don’t think so... he’s still very young, and I don’t think he truly understands the concept of what a father is yet,” you admitted, biting your lower lip. “I no longer have parents where he can see a normal family dynamic, and he hasn’t gotten to the age where he asks about his friends’ fathers. To him, you are just a new, wonderful person in his life.”

You heard him let out a heavy, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N...” he whispered, his voice cracking, dropping to a small, broken tone. “I am so fucking sorry I was not here with you. That I didn’t know when I should have known—”

“Because you were fighting a war to make sure he would have a safe world to live in, Neteyam,” you cut him off cleanly, turning your head to look at him. “And you couldn’t have known because I chose not to tell you. You have done nothing wrong to our boy, but you do have a lot to make up for.”

Tears pooled heavily in his golden eyes, reflecting the soft blue light of the forest. “But I have done you wrong. I hurt you, Y/N... I didn’t have to leave the way I did. I was so cruel—”

You shook your head slowly, letting out a soft sigh as you looked back out at your son’s laughing form. “Let’s leave the past behind us, Neteyam,” you cut him off again, your voice unyielding. “I am a mother now. The one thing it did to me is make me realize that all of my woes and heartaches before I became one don’t matter nearly as much as my son’s well-being.”

Neteyam stared at you, watching the solemn, fierce, and beautiful maturity of your face. He found his chest aching, completely melting for this version of you, too. The incredible, unbreakable woman that his son had made of you. You were stronger than any warrior he had ever fought alongside, stronger even than himself.

He loved you so deeply it terrified him. And as he watched you watch his son, Neteyam swore a silent vow to Eywa that he would stop at nothing to make you feel, believe, and trust in that love again.

The next day, you woke up with the familiar weight of your son’s small body missing from your side, not an unusual occurrence, as Ervo was a notoriously early riser, usually content to play quietly with his wooden toys near the entrance of the kelku.

But your attention was quickly snagged by the sound of the woven flap being opened wildly. Ervo came rushing back inside, his little feet pattering frantically over the mats. You sat up, seeing his face was flushed with pure, unadulterated excitement, his golden eyes wide as plate saucers.

“Mama! Mama, look!” he chirped, dragging you up. “Papa is sleeping outside!”

Your breath hitched. Papa. The word still felt entirely foreign. You pushed yourself up, your forehead creasing with confusion. Stepping out onto your kelku’s small, private platform, your jaw nearly went slack as you looked up.

There, suspended between two thick branches just a few steps away from outside your entrance, was a sturdy hammock. Hanging carelessly from a nearby knot in the wood were Neteyam’s massive longbow and a leather quiver full of arrows, swaying gently in the morning breeze. Neteyam himself was just waking up, his long, muscular frame shifting as he stretched, his tail lazily dropping over the edge of the woven fabric.

He looked down, his golden eyes instantly locking onto yours. The moment he saw your stern expression, he smoothly swung his legs out, dropping down onto the main branch. He looked a bit rumpled from sleep, but his posture was instantly alert, a soft, eager smile instantly forming on his lips when Ervo peeked out from behind your thigh.

“Neteyam, why are you sleeping out here?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“I just thought it would be convenient,” he said, his deep voice carrying a gravelly, morning rasp. He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you need anything, I’m right here. If there is danger, I’ll be here to protect you both.”

Your lips parted, a frustrated, disbelieving breath escaping you. “There’s... there’s absolutely no need for this, Neteyam. Truly. We have lived here for years, and none of that danger has happened. And if we ever need—”

“Please,” he cut you off gently, stepping forward. The towering, confident warrior from the previous evening seemed to completely vanish, replaced by a man looking down at you with a gaze so heavy with repentance it made your chest ache. “I want to help you in any way I can. I want to be of use to you. Tell me anything you need done, and I will get it done. Anything you want, I will find it. I came back too late, Y/N. We should have been a team raising Ervo from the moment he was formed... but you were all alone in it.”

You could see the raw, agonizing struggle on his face. You know Neteyam. He was never one to just do things to force his way into your bed. And right now, he was literally begging for the dirty work. He was begging for the labor and the heavy lifting.

You remembered the promise you had made him the day before: you wouldn't keep Ervo from him. You looked down at your son, who was already staring up at Neteyam like he was an invincible giant, and you let out a long, defeated sigh.

“Fine,” you said, your voice entirely flat, masking the way your heart gave a traitorous thump against your ribs. “Ervo needs to wash, and he hasn't had breakfast yet. I need fresh fire-roots from the lower gatherers, and the water basin is completely empty.”

Neteyam’s eyes lit up instantly, a profound, breathless look of gratitude washing over his features as if you had just handed him a decree rather than a list of mundane chores. “I'm on it,” he said quickly, nodding with an intense, ironclad seriousness. “I’ll get the water first.”

Neteyam moved so fast you’d think he had a visible countdown ticking away right on his face. He practically flew down the branches of Hometree, returning in record time with heavy, sloshing containers of clean water to completely top off your large storage basins. Not stopping there, he immediately grabbed every single empty waterskin from its woven basket, jogging down to the river to fill them with cold water. He lined them up perfectly, wiped clean, as if he were preparing a high-ranking commander’s tent for inspection.

With the water sorted, he disappeared again, darting toward the communal kitchens to fetch breakfast.

Down at the bustling cooking fires, he came face-to-face with Marla for the first time in years. The older woman paused, a warm, knowing smile spreading across her wrinkled face as she looked at the young warrior. “What do you need, boy?” she asked, as if he never left and this was just a normal day where he comes to you food.

“A tray of food for Y/N and our boy,” Neteyam said, a small, nearly imperceptible smile tugging at his lips at the words our boy.

It felt like a normal day three years back, but this time, he was getting food for you and the child you two made.

Marla’s eyebrows raised in surprise, just a fraction, before she hummed softly. “And none for you?” she asked, her hands already deftly assembling a generous tray of fresh fruit, roasted fish, and steamed roots.

Neteyam shook his head quickly. He didn't think you’d particularly enjoy having his him hovering around the mat for breakfast just yet. He didn't want to push his luck.

As she wrapped the food in clean leaves, Marla looked at him gently. “How was the eastern sea like, boy?”

“Beautiful...” Neteyam murmured, his voice dipping into a wistful, quiet tone. “But I wasn’t really there for its beauty.”

The truth was, not only was the war cold and brutal, it had been a psychological prison for him. Every Na’vi was taught from birth to put their full trust in Eywa, to meet death without fear because all energy is borrowed... and one day, you’ll have to give it back. But Neteyam? Neteyam had feared death every single day. He had been terrified of dying, not out of cowardice, but because of the sheer agony of what he had left behind.

He had wanted to go home to you so badly. Sure, he had cut things off and hurt you deeply before leaving, foolishly convincing himself that making you hate him would be better than leaving you to mourn a dead mate if he never returned. But the moment the sky people's bullets started flying, all he wanted was to live. To survive, go home, and hold you in his arms again.

“I didn’t know how much I missed...” he voiced out softly.

Marla sighed, her expression softening with deep maternal sympathy. She reached out, patting his hand with a heavy, grounding comfort. “You were fighting a war, boy. To keep the sky people from ruining this world,” she reminded him gently. “If you must know... she is very strong. Very strong. And your boy is, too.”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped up to her, pooling with fresh tears. The words were meant to comfort him, but they only fed the monster of regret clawing at his chest. He had missed so much. No matter how many times you or Marla told him that it was a time of war and he couldn't have known, he still felt the agonizing weight of his absence. He should have been there to hold your hand while you were heavy with Ervo, he should have been there to witness every single one of his son's first milestones.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he thanked Marla, took the heavy tray, and walked back up to your kelku.

By the time he stepped back inside, Ervo was already cleanly bathed and changed into a fresh, tiny loincloth. The boy was energized as ever, and the moment Neteyam set the tray down and lifted him up, Ervo smelled so naturally of a baby and sweet sap that Neteyam couldn't help but bury his face in the boy's hair, snuggling into him with a soft sigh.

Ervo giggled loudly, his little hand immediately reaching up to grab at Neteyam’s braids. He looked over at you as you knelt by the tray, arranging the food. “Papa will feed me?” Ervo asked, his high-pitched voice filled with easy trust.

You paused, looking up from the food to glance at Neteyam. Neteyam froze, his eyes wide and pleading, nodding down at you rapidly as he immediately lowered his massive frame onto the woven floor, setting Ervo securely on his lap.

“What about your morning patrol?” you mumbled quietly, keeping your voice low so only he could hear.

You watched as Ervo settled against Neteyam’s chest like it was the absolute best seat in the entire world, vastly bigger, sturdier, and much more comfortable than any mat.

“It won't be for another hour,” Neteyam replied softly, his attention snagged by your son, who was aggressively pointing a sticky finger at the specific fruit he wanted to eat. Neteyam immediately jumped into action, carefully peeling it and breaking it into perfect, toddler-sized bites.

Your lips pushed forward slightly, a tiny, involuntary twitch of amusement hitting you as you watched a legendary, hardened warrior completely smitten, utterly held captive by the small hands of your little boy.

Without a word, you pushed your own leaf of food toward Neteyam. You couldn't finish everything anyway, and he clearly hadn't brought anything for himself. You immediately looked away, deliberately avoiding his reaction, completely missing the way his golden eyes literally lit up with a breathless joy just because you shared your food with him.

Once breakfast was done, Neteyam practically refused to let you touch a single dish. He cleaned up everything in a flash while you gathered your stuff and prepared for your day at the healing pavilion.

As you moved around the kelku, Neteyam bit his lower lip, his eyes quietly tracking your every movement. A heavy, aching tightness gripped his chest. It felt so beautifully, agonizingly domestic. This was the life that should have been his if he had just played his cards right. If he had only known there was still so much left to live and play for.

When it was time to leave, he insisted on walking you to the pavilion, with Ervo still riding happily in his arms.

As you stepped inside the shade of the healing pavilion, you glanced back at the pair. “That boy will forget how to walk if you keep carrying him everywhere,” you noted, your tone carrying a humored edge.

Neteyam smiled warmly, stepping into the pavilion after you. “Just let me,” he murmured softly, gently cradling the back of his son’s head in the crook of his neck. “He fits so perfectly in my arms.”

He carefully set Ervo down on a soft mat, ruffling the boy’s fluffy hair.

“Papa will come back right after my patrol, okay? We’ll go play. What do you think about that?”

Ervo nodded rapidly, already thoroughly distracted by some scattered wooden toys he had left there the day before. “Okay. I wait,” Ervo chirped.

Neteyam smiled breathlessly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the top of his son's head. As he straightened up, his golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, holding your gaze for a long, quiet beat.

You found, with a sudden leap in your chest, that you still knew him entirely too well. You didn't even need words to understand the silent message written all over his face: Please let me keep coming back.

For the next weeks, it’s all he ever did.

He sleeps in a hammock outside your kelku, wakes up to fetch you and Ervo breakfast, and goes to his morning patrol only to come back to spend time with Ervo. He climbed the treacherous upper water-vines three times a week, bringing back the sweetest, clearest mountain run-off before you even had the chance to check the waterskins for refill.

Most days, you won’t even need to ask the gatherers the specific, rare herbs that needed replenishing, you’d find them already restocked, knowing that Neteyam had to have gone to the slippery, moss-covered undersides of the floating mountains to get them, and still be back before dinner.

One hot afternoon, you walked down to the lower training clearing to find him completely surrounded by the village children. Ervo was sitting securely on top of Neteyam's broad shoulders, holding onto his ears like reins, his little tail swishing with absolute pride.

Neteyam was kneeling on one knee in the dirt, completely unbothered by the weight of your son. In his hands, he held a small, practice bow, the kind given to young children just beginning their training, and a single blunt arrow.

The village kids were huddled around him in a tight, breathless semicircle, their wide golden eyes glued to his every movement. None of them questioned why a decorated warrior of the Great War was spending his precious afternoon off hanging out with a bunch of kids. To them, he was simply the coolest person alive.

“You must not just look with your eyes,” Neteyam explained, his deep voice dropping into a quiet, captivating whisper that had every single child leaning in closer. He adjusted his grip on the tiny bow, his massive hands looking almost comical against the small wood. “You must feel the wind on your skin. Listen to your surroundings and keep sharp, Eywa will tell you exactly where to go.”

With an effortless, fluid grace, Neteyam drew the string back. High above them, a single, broad green leaf loosed itself from a branch, lazily fluttering down. The blunt arrow struck the falling leaf and with a dull pop, the arrow and leaf landed on the bush.

The clearing absolutely erupted. The children gasped, clapping their hands and jumping up and down in pure amazement. Ervo, right on top of his father's shoulders, let out a high-pitched, victorious shriek, bouncing so hard that Neteyam had to quickly reach up with one large hand to steady the boy, a soft, booming chuckle escaping his chest.

“Me next! Papa, let me try!” Ervo said excitedly.

Neteyam’s ears twitched forward, a breathless smile breaking across his face at the title. He carefully hoisted Ervo down from his shoulders, cradling him against his chest as he looked up and finally spotted you standing at the edge of the clearing.

The moment his eyes met yours, the confidence vanished just a little. His posture softened completely, his golden eyes searching your face with that familiar, quiet hope. He turned to the kids and told them something you couldn’t quite hear before he headed over to you, wiping sweat from his forehead, his breathing slightly heavy.

“Is it time for his nap?” Neteyam asked eagerly, his ears perked up, entirely ready to carry the boy back up the massive tree.

“No,” you replied softly, holding Ervo’s hand and kissing the palm of it, causing him to giggle. “But it is almost his nap time.”

Neteyam adjusted his grip on Ervo, his fingers splaying protectively over the boy’s small lower back. “Going somewhere?” he asked, looking down at you.

You hesitated, your eyes briefly scanning the woods beyond the clearing. You bit your lower lip, a sudden wave of distraction clouding your features. “I’m just getting something.”

“If you need anything, I’ll get it for you,” he said instantly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over you like a shield. “That way you can put Ervo down for his nap and you don’t need to go out there.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. The mid-day heat was picking up, and Ervo’s eyelids were already drooping against Neteyam’s chest. “I just need some moon lily and tealo leaves,” you admitted, your focus drifting.

You were entirely too preoccupied to notice the way Neteyam’s head reared back slightly, a heavy shadow of fear and surprise violently washing over his chiseled features. He knew exactly what those two herbs combined to create. You used to drink that exact eclipse tea years ago, back when the two of you were stealing moments in the dark, desperate to prevent a pregnancy before you two were properly mated. He used to be the one to get them for you.

“I’ll get it for you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick and strained as he forced a weak, hollow smirk onto his face. “I know exactly where to find them, remember? Been here, done that.”

He was trying to play it cool, to inject some humor into the air, but inside, his chest was collapsing. Yes, you weren't mated. But that didn't mean you didn't have a lover. Even when the two of you had been secretly together, half the young men in the clan had tried their luck with you. He didn't doubt for a single second that they were still trying, and the thought that one of them might have finally won, that you needed this tea... made him want to curl up and scream into the dirt.

“Are you sure?” you asked, completely missing his inner turmoil.

“Yes,” he nodded tightly, carefully transferring a sleepy Ervo into your arms.

“Thank you, Neteyam,” you murmured, adjusting your hold on your son and turning to head up toward the pavilion.

An hour later, the bead curtains of the pavilion rustled, and Neteyam stepped inside. Ervo was already fast asleep on a small cot in the corner, and you were at your workspace, meticulously washing the fresh moon lily and tealo leaves Neteyam had brought back.

Neteyam’s golden eyes instantly tracked a young woman sitting quietly in the corner of the room, her tail twitching nervously.

“I am so sorry for the hassle, tsakarem...” the girl, Peyra, whispered for the nth time. She watched you grind the herbs into a paste, completely uncaring that Neteyam was standing just paces away.

You let out a heavy sigh, pouring hot water over the mixture. “This is not a hassle, Peyra. It is only that I wish you would be more responsible with your intake if you are going to be having regular sex.”

And oh, the irony of your own words was not lost on you. The literal, living proof of your own past irresponsibility was snoring softly just a few feet away. Peyra nodded sheepishly, gratefully accepting the wooden bowl of steaming tea you handed her, drinking it down quickly before offering a polite nod and slipping out of the pavilion.

Once the curtain settled, you glanced up. Neteyam was still standing exactly where he had been minutes ago, rooted to the floor like a massive, awkward tree.

“What?” you asked, wiping your hands on a clean cloth.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, shifting his weight. “I thought...”

Your eyes narrowed at his sketchy behavior. “You thought what?” When he didn't answer, the pieces suddenly clicked in your mind. A look of sheer disbelief crossed your face. “You thought that was for me?”

Neteyam licked his dry lips, his ears pinning back in pure embarrassment as he looked away. “Not... not in a bad way,” he muttered, his voice quiet. “I just thought... well, the men of this clan would have to be incredibly stupid not to shoot their shot while I was gone.”

You raised a single eyebrow, entirely unamused but secretly startled by the possessive edge in his tone. “I have a toddler and a healing pavilion to run, Neteyam. I have absolutely no time for that.”

“Of course,” he responded instantly. The sheer, overwhelming wave of relief that washed over him practically took all his words away. His shoulders dropped, the suffocating tension leaving his frame.

Trying to break the sudden silence, you went back to organizing your tools, casually asking, “Do the reef people have their own contraceptives? Perhaps made of seaweeds?”

Neteyam blinked, thoroughly caught off guard. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion as he actually had to think about it. “Not that I know of. I never laid with anyone back there.”

Your fingers froze over your grinding stone. Your forehead relaxed for a brief, traitorous second, a strange lightness hitting your chest before you quickly forced your features back into a harsh, defensive scowl. “I didn’t ask you that.”

“Right. Of course,” he said, a tiny, breathless smile tugging at his lips at the sight of your incredibly cute, stubborn scowl. He knew he was pushing his luck, so he quickly cleared his throat, stepping back toward the exit to return to his normal programming. “I’ll get going. I have a meeting with the council.”

You watched him walk out, the beads clattering behind him. The moment he was gone, you bit your lip, lowering your head to lean your forrhead against the table as you tried to calm the frantic beating of your heart. You had tried so hard over the last three years to bury your curiosity, to force yourself to believe he had found a woman in Awa’atlu just so the pain of him leaving would finally numb out.

But hearing him say, so casually and honestly, that he had never been wth anyone else... it unleashed a warmth you weren't prepared to handle. You were still so deeply affected by him, and you hated how easily he could still disrupt your peace.

Meanwhile, inside the council longhouse, the atmosphere was heavy. The village elders were gathered in a circle, mapping out the upcoming leadership transition between Tarsem and Neteyam. Tarsem was set to return from the Tayrangi clan on the day of the mantle passing, but before that could happen, the elders were strictly focusing on political technicalities.

When Neteyam arrived and sat beside his parents, Neytiri leaned over, quietly explaining the current topic of discussion. Neteyam’s brow furrowed in deep confusion.

He looked across the fire at one of the senior elders leading the discussion. “Forgive me, but why are we discussing a list of prospective betrothals for me? Doesn’t the clan already have a tsakarem?”

The elders shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uneasy, pointed glances. Finally, Elder Okan cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Well... we do, Neteyam. But... Y/N is... for lack of a better word, disgraced. She had a child outside the sacred bond. She is a—”

“Elder Okan,” Neteyam interrupted cleanly, instantly silencing the entire longhouse.

Neteyam stood up, his massive frame towering over the council fire. He looked the elders, the warriors, and every single member of the council dead in the eye, his gaze burning with a fierce, protective fury.

“If she is a disgrace to this clan, that is only because I disgraced her,” he stated, his voice echoing off the woven walls with absolute authority.

The room remained silent, listening to him.

“I am the father of her child,” Neteyam said. “I got her with child, and then I left her here, completely alone, to bear the weight of my absence and raise our son. I broke her heart and left her in the dark to go fight the war for our people. And through all of it, she did not break. She rebuilt herself again and again, she raised a beautiful boy, and she proved her worth and her devotion to the healing of our people every single day.”

He watched realization and shame dawn in their faces. If it weren’t for Mo’at years ago, these people wouldn’t even have considered you as the tsakarem. They overlook what you do for the people and it didn’t mean anything to Neteyam anymore now that they seemed to have feel a deep respect for you only after he spoke on your behalf and destroyed his own perfect son, perfect soldier reputation.

He is far from perfect. Not when he left you alone to be ravaged by these people.

“She is the only woman I will ever mate with. And if this clan wants me as their Olo’eyktan, they will accept her as their Tsahik.”

Neytiri patted his hand on the table. “Has she agreed to be your mate, Neteyam?”

Neteyam swallowed, glancing down at his mother. He shook his head, “No,” he said. “But I'm going to court her...”

Jake scoffed, stifling a smile. “Better get to it, son,“ he said as he cleared his throat.

One morning, Neteyam walked you two to the pavilion as per usual, but you noticed some elders watching from a far. It had felt like you were in a circus in the past moons, with the clan members watching your every move like they were trying to unleash a secret.

When you were younger, you were more eager to please, more  eager to belong because you grew up an orphan. But being a mother had changed all that, you care for no one’s opinion now, and you genuinely feel like you owe none of them an explanation about Ervo, and who his father was, even though it has gotten rather obvious who exactly it was.

“I'll come back later, baby,“ Neteyam told Ervo, kissing his temple but when you glanced at him, his eyes were on you as though he was talking to you.

You looked away when you felt your heart jostle inside your chest. Sometimes, when he talks to Ervo... It feels like he was talking to you. He put Ervo down and your son waved up at him quietly as he began to walk. You dropped down on one knee, wrapping an arm around your son. He always seems so sad when Neteyam has to leave.

“Bye, Papa!” you said in a small voice, urging him to mimic you.

Neteyam looked down at you both, waving at Ervo, his eyes soft on you.

“Take care, Papa,” you urged Ervo to say.

“Take care, Papa!” your son parroted in a high-pitched voice and you kissed his round cheek.

Neteyam laughed and waved at him again. When you entered the pavilion, you remembered your stone mortar that Neteyam had painstakingly sourced and gifted you years and years ago when you became one of the apprentice healers. It had cracked right down the middle the previous afternoon and you couldn’t help but sigh in a moment of grief as you thought of trudging down to the claymakers on the lower levels to seek a replacement.

You did a double look on your workable, though, when you caught sight of a brand-new mortar and pestle.

You made your way to it, your heart soaring excitedly. You ran your fingers over the smooth, flawless grain of the dark river stone. It was perfectly weighted, the edges meticulously shaved down and grooved to explicitly fit the unique contour of your palm. It was a signature style you recognized instantly, only Neteyam worked stone with that specific patience, and only he knew the shape of your palm.

You looked beyond the curtains, on the pathway where Neteyam had disappeared for morning patrol.

Over the next weeks, a quiet wave of things you were still just about to need and want was already manifesting before you, though Neteyam had never given you a reason to question this. It was as though he was anticipating your every need before you could even vocalize them, entirely devoted to your convenience.

One night, a chaotic hunting accident had kept you at the healing pavilion until long past eclipse, stitching deep lacerations and mixing poultices. Marla had already kindly sent up a tray of dinner hours ago, and you had eaten in quiet intervals between patients.

By the time the pavilion cleared out, you were exhausted, sitting on the woven mat to sort the remaining herbs. Ervo was leaning his small, heavy body completely against your side. His eyelids were heavy, blinking slowly against the soft glow of the hanging firepots, but his stubborn little fingers were tightly hooked into your beaded top, desperately holding out.

The soft clatter of the curtains made both of you look up, seeing Neteyam step inside, fresh from what must have been a grueling, late-night council meeting.

The moment your eyes landed on him, an involuntary warmth flooded your chest, and your face lit up before you could even think to mask it.

“Papa!“ Ervo voiced the exact excitement you were obviously feeling.

“Hello, my boy,” Neteyam smiled, the exhaustion instantly draining from his face. He dropped to one knee as Ervo scrambled up and ran toward him, his small body crashing directly into his father. Neteyam’s golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you didn't even try to remove the soft smile lingering on your lips.

“The little man won't sleep without you,” you said, shaking your head with a gentle huff before looking back down at the roots on the table.

Neteyam chuckled, looking down at his son, whose eyes were suddenly twinkling with newfound energy. “Is that so?” he grinned, immediately digging his large fingers into the boy's sides to tickle him, earning a loud, breathless fit of giggles that made you look up again, completely charmed. “Is that why you were practically leaning against Mama already, but still you won’t sleep, hm, little warrior?”

You watched as Neteyam smoothly scooped the boy up, cradling him in his massive arms like an infant. Ervo threw his head back, laughing endlessly as Neteyam leaned down to blow air against his exposed neck, tickling him until the toddler was completely out of breath.

“Neteyam...” you called out, your voice a soft, warning murmur to break up the rowdiness. “He needs to sleep.”

He grinned, settling the boy deeper into the crook of his arm as he sat down properly on the mat across from you. “You sleep now, little man. Close your eyes.”

“But tomorrow... tomorrow...” Ervo mumbled, his small hands weakly waving in the air, trying to animate a bow and arrow. Neteyam had been taking him out for archery practice with a blunt arrow, and the boy had been entirely crazy about it.

“Yes, yes, tomorrow, Papa will teach you again,” Neteyam promised softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Ervo, don’t you miss your bugs?” you interjected from your spot, crushing a handful of dried leaves.

“I miss... I watched bugs today, Mama... many bugs... many colors...” Ervo trailed off, his voice dropping into a sleepy slur. His heavy eyelids finally fluttered shut, his little head snuggling deep into the warm expanse of Neteyam’s chest.

Neteyam let out a quiet, breathless sigh, his eyes snapping to yours as a soft, private smile pulled at his lips. You smiled back, the quiet domesticity of the room wrapping around the three of you like a blanket.

“You're here late today,” he noted quietly, his gaze dropping to the sheer volume of plants around you.

You sighed, rolling your shoulders out. “Most of the herbs needed restocking after tonight, and I just felt the sudden urge to clean everything up... for my own convenience tomorrow.”

“Ever the perfectionist,” he murmured, his lips twisting into a fond, nostalgic smirk.

As he shifted to get more comfortable, Ervo’s heavy head moved against his shoulder, once again pushing his chest knife sheath completely out of place. Your eyes lowered instinctively, and under the steady light of the fire, you saw the scar clearly. It was a vicious, jagged scar of raised, pale flesh.

Your brow furrowed, a sudden chill running through your veins. “What happened?”

The easy, playful aura around Neteyam evaporated instantly, turning deeply serious. “The war,” he answered bluntly.

You huffed, frustrated by his brevity. “I know it's from the war, Neteyam. I am a tsakarem. I am asking what happened.”

He looked at you for a long beat, adjusting his sleeping son securely against his torso. “I got shot,” he said in a tone that undermines what happened. “The metal went deep. Almost died.”

You took in a sharp, ragged breath as a terrifying tremble shook through your core, but you quickly steeled your expression, trying desperately to hide how profoundly the thought of his near death shook you to the bone. You bit your lower lip hard enough to draw color. “I'm glad you lived...” you mumbled, your eyes glued to the floor.

He let out a wistful, quiet scoff, a tiny smirk forming on his face. “You pulled me back,” he murmured softly. “Otherwise, that version of Neteyam never would have known about your struggles, or the fact that you brought Ervo into this world. I never would have known my son.”

Your forehead creased deeply, a sudden sting behind your eyes as tears began to pool. “Pulled you... back?”

“I succumbed to darkness then... But I dreamed of you,” he confessed, his gaze dropping to Ervo as if the absolute intensity of your stare was too much for him to bear. “We were at the river... You kissed me and told me to wake up. So I did.” He swallowed hard, finally forcing his golden eyes back up to lock onto yours. “Y/N, I know I said stupid, unforgivable things to you before I left three years ago. I hurt you, and I—”

“And you shouldn't have?” you cut him off, your voice cracking as the buried agony flared to life in your chest. “I think I already know what you're going to say, Neteyam, and I tried to understand—”

“No, you don't understand,” he pressed, taking a step forward on his knees, his face entirely open and desperate. “I said what I said, but that didn't mean I meant a single word of it. I love you, Y/N. I loved you so much then, and I love you so much still. Even much more now.”

“You told me it was not serious,” you said, the words slipping out in a small, broken voice that felt like an open wound. “You told me to my face that it was a passing thing, that you would find someone better in the reefs and you’d settle down there. You were so cruel to me... and I must admit, I rejoiced when you came back entirely alone.”

You knew you had told him then that the past didn't matter anymore since you became a mother, but sitting here in the dark, looking at his scar, you realized you were still entirely haunted by that.

A small, incredibly tender smile formed on his lips at your confession. “I bet you did,” he murmured softly. “But I lied about all of it. How could I find someone better when I had already had the best thing in this world? And I was never going to settle down with anyone that wasn't you. It sounds stupid, but I was so terrified I would die out there, Y/N. I thought it would be easier for you to mourn a man you hated, rather than a man you were waiting for. I didn't want you to be hurt when I couldn’t be here.”

“I got hurt anyway,” you whispered, your lips pulling down as the first heavy tear spilled down your cheek.

Seeing your tears, Neteyam didn't hesitate. Moving with extreme care so as not to disturb the sleeping toddler wrapped in his left arm, he slid across the mat until he was kneeling directly beside you. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingers stopping just inches from your knee, desperate to touch but terrified of crossing the line.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick and fractured. “I thought I was protecting you but all I did was poison what we had and the time we had left then. All I did was leave you with that pain while you carry my child. The desire alone to bring back time and change everything is already the heaviest burden I will carry.”

You turned to him and the sight of your tears knocked the air out of him like he had been struck in the gut. His arm reached up to wrap around you and pull you to him and you allowed him to hug you. The moment his scent hit you, everything in you collapsed. You buried your face against the crook of his neck, resting your forehead heavily against his sturdy shoulder as a quiet sob escaped you. Neteyam held you tight, his large hand pressing firmly into your back, burying his face in your hair as his own silent tears flowed.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered over and over into your hair, his voice trembling. “I am here and I will never leave your side again. I love you so much...”

A sudden, rhythmic rustle of the bead curtains echoed through the pavilion.

You both stiffened slightly, pulling back just enough to look toward the entrance. Your breath hitched. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the moonlight, was the Tsahik herself. Mo'at stood, her sharp, knowing eyes sweeping over both of you. You with your tear-stained face, Neteyam with his arm wrapped fiercely around you, and little Ervo snoring peacefully between you.

You pulled away and wiped your tears off, while Neteyam looked everywhere but his grandmother. Mo’at shook her head, completely ignoring the emotional wreckage but she couldn’t let the shyness slip.

“Are you really acting like two teenagers caught hugging? Please. Not while your little boy was between you two,“ she said with an experience that remained entirely unbothered. “The moon lily roots need to be steeped, tsakarem—”

“Yes, Tsahik. I... know what to do,” you said in a soft voice.

“Hm,” she responded before slipping back through the curtain, leaving the three of you in the quiet darkness.

You finished up your work at the pavilion in the quiet hour following Mo’at departure. Neteyam walked you up to your kelku, the cool night air wrapping around you both while he carried a deeply sleeping Ervo in his arms.

When you stepped inside the familiar dome of your home, you struck a flint to light the hanging firepot, casting a low, golden glow across the woven walls. Neteyam moved silently, laying the sleeping mats out properly so he could ease Ervo down. But the moment the boy’s back touched the mat, he stirred and let out a soft, tiny whimper. His small, chubby arms reached up blindly, wrapping tightly around Neteyam’s neck.

“Papa...” his small voice croaked in his sleep.

Neteyam let out a profoundly endearing sound, his chest hitching as he immediately wrapped his broad arm around Ervo to anchor him. “I’m here, boy,” he mumbled, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Ervo’s small head.

He looked up at you from his position on the floor, a quiet, slightly hesitant smile playing on his lips. Your lips twisted into a soft expression. “You can stay,” you said quietly, stepping onto the mat. “If you want.”

“I want,” he answered right away, without a second of hesitation. His large hand splayed over his son’s chest, the gentle weight calming the toddler completely. Ervo settled back down, his grip loosening slightly, though his arms remained loosely draped around Neteyam's neck.

You sat on the edge of the mat, leaning over to carefully pry Ervo’s arms away so Neteyam could sit up, but your son only tightened his hold, nuzzling his little face directly against his father’s cheek as a cute, stubborn sound escaped his mouth.

You let out a soft chuckle and shook your head, giving up. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wake up with a stiff neck tomorrow,” you whispered.

Lowering yourself onto your side on the mat, you tucked your hand under your head to use it as a pillow. Your soft eyes looked at your son, watching his peaceful, even breaths. As you stared, your gaze naturally traveled past the boy's face and met Neteyam’s eyes.

The two of you were entirely silent for a long moment, just staring into each other’s eyes across the space of your sleeping child. It didn't feel awkward, and the tension had translated into something incredibly warm, grounded, and so deeply familiar that your eyes pricked with unshed tears for a fleeting second.

“How was it like?” he mumbled, his voice a low rumble.

“Hm?” You shifted your hand, gently caressing Ervo’s soft head.

“When you were alone here... everything,” he murmured, his ears dipping slightly in a display of profound vulnerability. “I want to know... if I can.”

Your lips twisted into a faint smile. “I didn't move here until after I gave birth. I was still living at the communal shelter before that... so I was basically the prime example of what not to be,” you noted, trying to chuckle the memory off with a soft smirk.

Neteyam’s brows furrowed deeply, his chest tightening. “Were you shunned?”

“Not really... Mo’at made me her tsakarem,” you said softly. “And then, when I finally gave birth, we moved into this kelku... and we made it our home.”

Neteyam smiled weakly, his eyes scanning the cozy hut. It was filled with woven baskets, drying herbs, and small wooden toys, everything that meant so much to you and your son. “How was it like? When he was a baby?”

“He was hungry all the time, but he didn't cry much. He was the goodest boy,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your son’s round cheek. “I’ve heard most of the other mothers speak of being awoken in the dead of night by their screaming babies, but Ervo just didn't cry at all. When he woke up in the morning, he was always so entertained by the sun’s rays seeping through the woven walls. He would just lay there, watching the light and waiting for me to wake up, even though he was clearly hungry.”

Neteyam sniffled. You pulled your eyes away from your son to look at him, and your heart twinged when you saw a heavy tear roll off the tip of his nose, catching the firelight.

“I should have been here...” he choked out, his jaw clenching.

“You were fighting a war, Neteyam...” you mumbled softly.

“Still... I am entirely too acquainted with regret,” he whispered, his golden eyes raw with grief. “With you, and with our son... there is so much I missed. So much I wish I could take back.”

You reached across Ervo’s small frame, gently placing your hand over Neteyam’s large hand where it rested on the boy’s chest. “But it just wasn’t the case, Neteyam...” you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbow. “Everything that happened is the will of Eywa. I didn’t have it easy, but you didn’t have it easy either. You almost died out there, I almost lost you completely. The war hurt every single one of us.”

He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with tears. “It was I who hurt you...”

“And I am letting it go. I am forgiving you,” you murmured.

Leaning across the small space, you lowered your head and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. You felt his breathing hitch instantly under the gentle touch. When you pulled away, a soft, breathless smile formed on your face, while his wide, golden eyes remained glued to you in absolute reverence.

“I love you so much, Y/N...” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ll bring you to some of my memories with Ervo tomorrow,” you whispered, settling back onto the mat.

“I would like that very much,” he smiled, his hand turning over to interlock his fingers with yours.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of Ervo’s energetic chirping. The boy was moving like a happy little worm right between you and Neteyam, his tiny feet kicking at the blankets.

Throughout the night, Neteyam had shifted, wrapping his long, heavy arm securely around your waist, his head cradled directly against yours. He stirred the moment you shifted, his large hand playfully catching Ervo’s tiny hand as the boy reached up toward a bright ray of morning light cutting through the ceiling.

“Papa!” Ervo shrieked with absolute delight, laughing loudly as he rolled over on the mat to face the two of you.

Neteyam instantly scooped him into his arms, hugging his small body tightly against his chest. You pushed yourself up on one arm, leaning over to kiss Ervo’s cheek. “Are you hungry, little man?”

“Yes!” he chirped, aggressively struggling to free himself from Neteyam, who had immediately begun to tickle his ribs. “No!! Help me, Mama!” he shrieked, giggling uncontrollably.

You laughed, sitting up to fix your messy braids as you watched them play. Ervo’s bright giggles completely filled the kelku, and when he finally managed to wiggle free from his father’s grip, he scrambled across the mat and ran straight into your lap, still laughing. You hugged him close, and his small body melted into you.

Your eyes found Neteyam, who was sitting up, a soft, incredibly contented smile gracing his chiseled face as he watched you both.

“I should go get your breakfast from the kitchens,” he said, preparing to stand.

“Or we could just join breakfast downstairs,” you offered casually, adjusting Ervo’s small loincloth.

You didn't catch the exact moment Neteyam’s face literally lit up, but by the time you were all walking down the winding ramp, it was entirely obvious that both he and Ervo were far too excited. Ervo had never asked why you rarely ate at the communal meals anymore; to him, the only important thing had been eating. But now that you were actually walking toward the communal ground, he was far too energized to be trusted on foot.

Neteyam happily scooped him up. When you finally stepped into the bustling communal clearing, the sheer volume of eyes turning toward the three of you was completely overwhelming. It wasn't as if the clan hadn't seen Neteyam practicality living outside your kelku and serving your every need for the past moons, but seeing the three of you walking into the morning light together was an undeniable confirmation. The whispers faded into respectful, wide-eyed silence.

You sat down and ate together as a little family, Ervo comfortably splitting his time between sitting in Neteyam’s lap and snuggling into his side.

Once breakfast was over, Neteyam walked you both back up to the healing pavilion before his morning patrol. Ervo immediately ran inside the bead curtains after loudly telling Neteyam to take care. You turned to follow your son, but before you could take a step, Neteyam caught you gently by the elbow and pulled you back to him.

Before you could even speak, his lips came down to crush against yours.

It was entirely unlike the soft, gentle kiss you had given him the night before. This was hard, deep, and all-consuming. A possessive, breathless demand that told you exactly how much he had starved for you over the last three years. By the time he finally let you go, your breath was completely trapped in your throat.

You licked your wet lips, blinking up at his towering frame. “Take care...” you mumbled, entirely at a loss for words.

His smile was lopsided and entirely boyish before he turned on his heel and trotted down the path for patrol. You stood there, your face burning incredibly hot. He was still exactly the same, disciplined and perfectly behaved on the outside, but the moment he was provoked, it was like letting a wild animal out of its cage.

You worked diligently until midday, and the moment Neteyam’s rotation ended, he arrived at the pavilion so the two of you could take Ervo out. You had originally planned to leave the boy with Kiri while you two visited the Tree of Souls, but you miraculously ran into Neytiri and Jake near the lower levels, both of whom were practically eager to babysit.

Apparently, Neytiri had been secretly spoiling your son with sweet fruits and rare treats for weeks now, to the point where Ervo recognized his grandmother as the ultimate source of good food. Jake, on the other hand, had a much grander bribe.

“I promise him a ride on Toruk,” Jake said with a laugh, winking at the boy.

“Looks like he’s going to have the absolute time of his life today,” you said as you and Neteyam walked away, laughing together.

“The luckiest boy alive, if you ask me,” Neteyam smirked, stepping over a thick root. “Lo’ak, Kiri, and I never even had a chance to ride on Toruk when we were kids, you know?”

You pushed your lips forward thoughtfully. “I also don’t recall having Toruk around much growing up. Did your father claim him back during the war?”

Neteyam nodded, reaching out to pluck a small, vibrant purple flower from a low-hanging vine. “He did, right after the first major battle we had against the sky people.” He stepped closer, gently handing the flower to you. “I guess Dad’s releasing Toruk back to the wild soon. But not before giving our boy a ride.”

You smiled softly, tucking the stem of the flower securely into your dark braid.

When you finally reached the sacred sanctuary of the Tree of Souls, the air grew thick with a profound, spiritual quiet. Without a word, you reached out and grabbed Neteyam’s large hand. He squeezed your fingers tightly, and together, you stepped under the massive, glowing canopy, the silver, crystal-like tendrils brushing against your skin.

You reached behind you to pull your kuru forward, looking at him with a soft smile. He did the same, his golden eyes watching you with so much raw devotion it almost made you want to look away.

“I want... to be at his birth,” Neteyam said suddenly, his voice thick. “I want to be there for it.”

You bit your lip, a soft chuckle escaping you. “Alright... but warning, I look like an absolute mess in this memory.”

He let out a quiet groan, stepping into your space to press a deep, tender kiss against the side of your head. “You can never look like a mess to me, my love.”

You smiled, raising your braid to connect with the glowing tendril. Neteyam followed suit, and as your neural paths linked to the sacred tree, the world dissolved. Suddenly, you were both drifting into a memory that was permanently tattooed onto your brain.

Neteyam found himself standing in the corner of the healing pavilion, the vision so sharp and vivid he felt as though he could physically reach out and touch the woven walls. You were lying on a pile of soft mats, a mountain of pillows supporting your back as you struggled to breathe, your skin glistening with sweat. You looked so young, so exhausted, and so deeply pained.

Neteyam stood there, watching you writhe, feeling his heart being brutally torn in two every single time a sharp cry of agony escaped your lips. Mo’at was hovering over you, doing her absolute best, encouraging your breathing and guiding you through the final, grueling moments until a sharp, loud cry echoed through the space.

Neteyam craned his neck, a massive, breathless smile breaking across his face as he watched Mo’at lift a large, healthy baby boy.

“A boy, Y/N,” Mo’at’s echoed voice filled the memory.

He watched you weep with pure exhaustion and relief as you reached out your trembling arms, taking the boy against your bare chest. Mo’at gently helped you latch the hungry baby, and Neteyam watched the scene in absolute wonder, his large hands balling into fists as his chest tightened with an overwhelming wave of emotion.

Sensing the sheer, heavy weight of Neteyam’s energy through the bond, you slowly disconnected from the tree. The vision slowly faded, and when you opened your eyes, you looked over to find him crying silently, heavy tears streaming down his face.

Your breath hitched, and you immediately moved into his space, cupping his wet cheeks with your hands to wipe the moisture away.

“I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry I wasn't there,” he kept repeating, his voice breaking.

You shook your head firmly. “No. Quit apologizing, alright? You’ve been crying entirely too much lately,” you teased softly, peering up into his eyes. “Come, I promised to show you the funny memories I have with him.”

He let out a breathless smile, his large hands wrapping gently around your wrists to keep your touch against his skin.

You reconnected, and as promised, you pulled him into the lighter moments of your son's life. You showed him the exact moment Ervo let out his very first, bubbling laugh; the clumsy afternoon he took his first, unbalanced steps across the hut; the quiet, breathless second he first babbled the word Mama. You showed him the quiet, lazy afternoons spent in the pavilion, and one particularly hilarious afternoon where Ervo had been utterly terrified of a bug attack, only to clumsily brave his fear and swat it away when he noticed that you had pretended to be scared, too.

By the end of the memories, Neteyam was completely nonverbal. He was crying even during the moments you considered funny, his heart overflowing with the years he had missed.

You pulled away from the tree, looking at him with pursed lips and incredibly soft eyes, reaching up once more to brush the tears from his sharp cheekbones. By now, the eclipse had fully brought darkness over the land, causing the long, sweeping tendrils of the Tree of Souls to pulse with a vibrant, deep purple bioluminescence.

“Thank you for allowing me to be a part of all of it...” he mumbled, his large hands gently cradling your hand, lifting it up to his face so he could press a fervent kiss directly into your palm. “You make me so incredibly happy, Y/N. I never thought I would have the chance to hold you again... and now, you have given me Ervo, you allow me back into your life... it all just feels like a beautiful dream.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand tightly. “You deserve to be a part of all of it, Neteyam... and to be a part of our lives, too.”

He smiled, a sudden, familiar mischievous light sparking in his golden eyes as he stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between your bodies. “And what if I stay for life?”

You shrugged playfully, pressing your palm flat against the center of his warm chest. “I wouldn’t mind...”

Neteyam looked up, admiring the breathtaking beauty of the glowing canopy above before lowering his gaze back down to you. The playful light vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unyielding confidence.

“I want to court you properly, Y/N,” he stated firmly. “Until you choose me as your mate.”

Your brows furrowed, a highly amused smile pulling at your lips. “Aren’t you doing that already?” you asked, a soft blush hitting your cheeks. “I thought you were already courting me... I kissed you last night, and you kissed me today.” You bit your lower lip. “And we have Ervo...”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, though you could tell he was practically elated, his ears twitching rapidly just like your son’s did whenever he was too happy. They truly were identical.

He caught both of your hands, enveloping them in his massive grip. “I love Ervo very much... but he and his future siblings are entirely separate from us in these matters. This is about us. You and me.”

Your brow twitched, your eyes widening slightly. “Future siblings?”

He bit his lip, a boyish smirk creeping onto his face. “If you want...” he mumbled, leaning down slightly. “Don’t you think Ervo wants playmates?”

“I think he wants us home right now so he can tell us his grand stories about Toruk,” you countered, turning to drag him by the hand out from under the tendrils.

Neteyam didn't let you step away. With a sudden, firm tug, he pulled you right back to stand flush against his front. You looked up, your breath hitching at the dark, blazing heat suddenly swirling in his golden eyes. You put a hand up to press against his chest to steady yourself, but he smoothly caught your wrist, pulling your hand up and draping it over the back of his neck before lowering his head to claim your mouth.

His large hands found your waist, gripping you tightly to pull your body flat against his hard, heavily muscled frame. He deepened the kiss instantly, his tongue sliding past your lips, and you lifted your other hand to hook tightly around his neck, pulling him down further. His hands began to frantically feel up your sides, a low, needy moan escaping his throat when his hand slid upward to firmly squeeze the soft weight of your breast. You pulled him down by his braids, practically eating him up as the years of starvation melted away.

“I missed you... so much,” you moaned against his lips, your hips tilting instinctively into his.

His hand rubbed down your back, pulling away just a fraction of an inch, his breathing ragged. He cupped the back of your neck with his large palm. “I missed you more, my love. You have no idea how many times I dreamed of this,” he growled softly, before burying his face back into your neck, kissing you hard.

You smiled against his skin, breaking away only to kiss your way down the sharp line of his jaw and the column of his throat. You trailed your lips down over his collarbone, tracing the taut, heavy muscles of his chest and abdomen. Neteyam’s breathing hitched violently, his abdominal muscles contracting sharply by the time you sank down onto your knees in front of him on the soft grass.

You looked up at him, deliberately licking your lips wet, your fingers immediately working the ties of his loincloth. He helped you with a trembling urgency, and the moment the fabric fell away, you came face-to-face with his thick, fully aroused length.

You bit your lip, angling your head as you darted your tongue out to lightly lick the bead of precum glistening on the wide head.

Neteyam let out a harsh, guttural groan the moment the wet warmth of your mouth enveloped the entire head, his hips twitching forward as you began to suck softly. Your hand wrapped securely around the base of his length, pumping him with a slow rhythm while you licked and sucked. You flicked your eyes upward, catching him watching you with a fierce, ravenous intensity, his gaze completely dark. You smiled around his girth, swallowing more of his length, your hand caressing the remaining skin.

You licked the entire length of him, from the head down to the base, kissing and tasting him before sliding him back into your mouth, sucking hard while your hand pumped his shaft.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” Neteyam was whimpering and groaning into the quiet night, his thighs quivering violently as his fingers tangled tightly into a handful of your braids to anchor himself.

When he finally braced his legs and came, you firmly refused to let go, ignoring his weak attempt to gently peel your head back. You swallowed his hot come, your tail swishing frantically behind you in the grass.

The moment you cleaned him off, Neteyam’s hand gripped your jaw as he lowered himself onto the grass, his lips coming crashing down on yours in a bruising kiss. His hands were frantic against your skin, quickly untying the loincloth around your tail, kissing you deeply the entire time and tasting himself on your tongue.

The moment your fabric was cleared away, he gently guided you down onto the soft grass beneath the purple glow of the tree. His mouth slid down to suckle fiercely on your breasts, his tongue swirling aggressively over your pebbled tips. He was moving like a man who didn't know what part of you to kiss or touch first, the sheer desperation consuming him.

After suckling your breasts, his large hand pried your legs apart. He knelt heavily between your thighs, lowering his head down to press his mouth directly against your wet, aching core. You let out a loud gasp as his lips and tongue found your sensitive nub, sending violent vibrations of pure pleasure straight up your spine.

“Ah... shit, Neteyam,” your head fell back into the grass, your fingers gripping the earth as his mouth went to work on your pussy. He grabbed the back of your thighs, lifting and pushing it against your body, his tongue licking your wet slit with a deep hum. He was holding your thighs with such a tight, bruising grip that when your body began to quiver and your hips buckled, you couldn't move away from the intense stimulation.

By the time he finally pulled away, you were as weak as a sun lily in the dark, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He hovered over you, his lips glistening wet with your essence, before he simply licked his lips clean. You pulled his neck down for a kiss, which he gladly gave you, before he pushed himself up on his hands, his fingers gripping his hard girth and lining the heavy head up with your pulsing entrance.

You spread your legs wider for him, your hand wrapping tightly around his thick bicep. He lowered his head to catch your lips in a deep kiss just as he sank his cock completely into your tight heat.

You let out a sharp whimper at the sudden fullness, and he instantly deepened and hardened the kiss, driving himself all the way in until his hips slammed against yours. The sheer girth you hadn't experienced in three long years gave you a moment of sharp discomfort, but your body quickly adjusted, your walls squeezing tightly around him, making him let out a breathless, deep chuckle against your mouth.

You chuckled weakly back, reaching up to cutely pinch the tip of his pointed ear.

“Nothing says home better than that,” he mumbled, peppering kisses along your jaw.

You intentionally squeezed your muscles around him again, tilting your chin up. “That?” you bit your lip.

He groaned loudly, his hand sliding down to grab the back of one of your thighs, pulling it high up over his hip as he drew his pelvis back. You let out a loud moan when he pushed all the way back in. When you looked up at him through the dark, the gold in his eyes were entirely gone, completely consumed by the black. You knew you were about to get it.

And you did. Neteyam began to thrust, pounding into you with a heavy, relentless pace that always had you screaming his name. His broad arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, while his other hand caged the side of your face, his forehead resting firmly against yours as he fucked you hard into the dirt. The friction and depth brought you straight to the edge, your grip on his shoulders tightening until your nails dug into his skin, your entire body quivering under his weight.

He continued to pound relentlessly into you even as you crashed over your high, shivering violently as he finally stiffened, coming deep inside you in hot, pulsing spurts. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as you hugged him tight, both of your breaths echoing loudly under the canopy.

You chuckled softly after a long moment, caressing the smooth skin of his back. “You’re heaving too much, baby. What? Has the mighty warrior lost his extraordinary stamina?” you teased lightheartedly. “Used to be... you’d be attacking me for the next round right about now—”

You shrieked with a laugh when you felt his teeth sharply nip the sensitive skin of your neck.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his hand sliding down to possessively caress your waist before traveling back up to your breast. “Well, I am attacking you now...” he mumbled, his golden eyes flashing as he spread your thighs apart once more, his heavy length sliding right back into your slick heat.

You chuckled, pulling him down by his neck to lose yourself in another kiss. The succeeding rounds were slower, much more thorough, as though his body perfectly remembered exactly what to do with every single inch of yours.

Though you desperately wanted to stay wrapped in his arms and spend the entire night under the glowing tree, you couldn't forget your son.

“He’s probably looking for us by now,” you said, a trace of motherly worry bleeding into your voice as you sat up and began fixing your beaded top. “He hasn’t been away from me for this long.” Your heart gripped slightly at the thought of him crying because you had been gone too long.

You and Neteyam quickly dressed and walked back to Hometree, arriving just in time for the evening meal. You were openly holding hands, your fingers tightly interlocked as you stepped into the light of the communal clearing.

You were fully expecting to see a crying, frantic Ervo being consoled, but as you scanned the area, your jaw nearly dropped. He was not crying at all. In fact, he was up on the dais, sitting comfortably on Jake’s lap while Jake, Neytiri, and Tuk completely fussed over him. There wasn't a single trace of sadness on his face. He was eating happily, his high-pitched, energetic voice reaching you from across the clearing as he rambled animatedly to Neytiri. The surrounding clan members watched you and Neteyam enter, their eyes tracking your joined hands with knowing smiles.

“He’s definitely not looking for us,” Neteyam noted with a deep chuckle.

“This little traitor...” you jokingly whispered, laughing as you shook your head.

Your son finally spotted you from across the room, and his bright smile vanished instantly, his lower lip pulling down into a pout the second he realized his parents were back.

You walked up toward the dais, and Neytiri looked up, smiling warmly at you. “Oh, he’s going to cry...” she mouthed in playful horror. “He’ll be out like a light in minutes, Y/N. He’s had a very long day.”

You chuckled, reaching out your arms to take your son from Jake. “Mama!” Ervo said, his voice instantly turning shaky as large, dramatic tears pooled in his eyes.

“No, no, no, my love...” you murmured softly, cradling his head against your shoulder and gently rubbing his back.

“You are gone long?” his small voice asked, the slight accusation breaking your heart. Neteyam’s breath hitched beside you, his large hand immediately splaying over Ervo’s small back to soothe him.

“Yes... did you miss me and Papa?” you asked gently, kissing his temple.

The boy sniffled, his large golden eyes looking up at you with an expression that looked exactly like you had just caught him stealing sweet berries before breakfast. “No... I was with Toruk,” he stated bluntly.

Jake’s booming laughter echoed off the wooden pillars, and Neytiri laughed out loud as well. Your jaw went completely slack, your wide, laughing eyes glancing over at Neteyam. This boy!

“We fly, Mama! With Grandpa and... and... Grandma!” he chirped, his hands waving in the air. He looked over at Neteyam with absolute pride. “Toruk is bigger than Hometree, Papa!”

You passed Ervo over to Neteyam when the boy reached out for him, immediately chattering a mile a minute about his grand flying experience. You all sat down together on the dais, listening to Ervo ramble about the wind and the sky. He was truly the center of the family's joy, and as you and Neteyam sat back against the cushions, you caught Neteyam’s eyes pooling with fresh tears.

He glanced over at you, and you breathlessly chuckled when a heavy drop of tear rolled down his nose. He angled his head closer to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I love him so much, baby...” he whispered, his voice trembling with an overwhelming gratitude. “I love you so much.” He leaned in, affectionately nuzzling his face against yours.

You held the side of his face in your hand, your thumb wiping the tear away. “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

When Ervo saw you kiss him, the toddler quickly scrambled forward in Neteyam's lap, leaning his small body up to aggressively kiss Neteyam’s other cheek, his tiny hands cupping his father’s jawline. You grinned brightly at Neteyam as he blinked at his son in pure, breathless adoration.

He was turning a sleek hunting knife in his hands. At seventeen, he already carried himself with the heavy, unshakeable confidence of a man who knew he was born to lead. You froze for a short moment before your mask snapped back into place, your expression hardening into the cold, untouchable gaze the rest of the clan knew all too well.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice clipped.

He flipped the knife once more, catching it expertly by the hilt before sliding it into his chest sheath, his golden eyes never leaving yours while a slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I came to tell your brother about the change in patrol rotation. I stayed behind when he left because you were still sleeping. It wouldn't be good to leave you here unguarded.”

You crossed your arms, looking down at him from the slight elevation of the alcove steps. “I don’t need a guard, or protection. Besides, no one in this clan would dare cross into this hut.”

“I am not talking about who, I am talking about what,” he countered easily, pushing himself up to his feet and the sudden height difference made you want to take a step back, though you forced your feet to stay glued to the floor. “This part of Hometree is accessible to stray viperwolves. You know that.”

He was right, much to your annoyance. Because your father was Jake’s second-in-command, your mother a fierce huntress, and your brother a rising star among the warriors, your family’s pod was situated on the lower, more vulnerable branches. It was a position of pride, a statement to the clan that your family stood as a shield between danger and the gentler artisans of the upper branches.

Still, you weren't about to give him the satisfaction. You rolled your eyes, a deliberate show of disrespect that you would never dare attempt to do to him in front of your father.

“I am awake now,” you said coldly, walking past him toward the water basin. “You can leave.”

Neteyam let out a low huff of laughter, his cocky nature bleeding into his posture as he tilted his head. “What, no ‘thank you’?” he asked, a smirk playing on his face.

“I did not ask for you to guard me,” you replied smoothly, bringing your waterskin up and taking a slow, deliberate drink to avoid looking at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. He turned his back to leave, his long tail flicking lazily behind him, but just as he reached the threshold of the pod, he paused and turned around, pointing a long finger toward the hearth.

“I brought you food from earlier since you weren’t at the communal breakfast,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something a little more private. “I didn't know you were such a sleepyhead.”

Before you could snap back a retort, he slipped through the woven entrance and was gone.

The moment his presence left the room, the invisible weight on your chest lifted. You let out a long, ragged breath as you rolled your eyes. Moving to the edge of the pod, you looked out into the bustling morning of the village, your eyes automatically tracking his retreat.

He walked down the massive branch with an easy grace. It was no secret that his father had once been a dreamwalker, an avatar, and Neteyam seemed to have inherited the broader, more muscular physique of his father, setting him apart from the other boys his age, including your older brother's lanky build, making him look like he belonged with the more seasoned warriors.

You watched him until he vanished into the crowd, a familiar, frustrating knot tightening in your stomach. You noticed everything about him and that never sat right with you. He’s your older brother’s best friend and your brother is his shadow, meaning he was a permanent fixture in your periphery.

It didn’t suffice that girls in the clan would want to befriend you to get closer to your brother, Neteyam had to add to the equation, too. So now, you’re burdened by the constant presence of girls pretending to be chummy with you only to ask you about your brother or Neteyam days later.

It made your life less about you and more about them, making you struggle to find age peers who are actually interested in being friends with you.

Except for Lekya and Reti.

They weren't entirely different from the other girls, they still giggled whenever the young hunters walked past and gush over Neteyam and your older brother. But they always seem to be less intimidated by the coldness, and sometimes, meanness, that you use to fend everyone off. You had long given up on trying to shake their presence off. No matter how coldly you ignored them, they always found a way to tail you around, stubbornly dragging you into their plans until your sharp edges softened just a fraction.

Like some days when they would drag you down to the river for a ‘picnic,’ a concept they had apparently learned from the older girls like Kiri and her friends. Now, they had even brought along a boy named Kar’ek, gentle and sharp-witted. You quickly realized he wasn't a threat to your peace in the slightest; he had absolutely no interest in girls, preferring to watch the young hunters from afar with an appreciative eye.

Surprisingly, you found yourself actually enjoying it. Safely hidden under the shade of the trees where the conversation quickly turned from the weather to the young warriors of the clan. They were talking about them like they were heroes, but you had other ideas, like nitpicking every single imperfection you had witnessed on the training grounds.

In that, you became uncharacteristically talkative. It was obvious to the three that you found none of them attractive. They were all trying too hard.

“Like Nurte yesterday,” you said, leaning back on one hand with a scoff. “He took three entire minutes just to aim at a target that wasn't even moving, all because he knew the girlswere watching. It’s pathetic.“

“Oh, well,” Lekya giggled. “He’s just trying to look brave. What about Tayrel? He practically broke a baby tree trunk with his spear during the strength drills.”

“He missed the dummy entirely and hit the tree because his footing was completely off,” you countered smoothly, rolling your eyes. “He has the balance of a newborn ikran. If a viperwolf actually attacked him, he’d trip over his own tail.”

Kar’ek let out a dramatic, breathless laugh, fanning himself with a broad leaf. “Oh, she is vicious today! But she’s not wrong. Tayrel spends more time oiling his braids than practicing his strikes.”

Not even Neteyam was spared to your nitpicking. You were incredibly detailed when you tore into him, mimicking his cocky posture by puffing out your chest and tilting your head back, mocking his signature smirk.

“And don't even get me started on the golden boy,” you scoffed, lowering your voice to copy his deep, confident cadence. “Look at me, I am Neteyam, I can shoot a bow with my eyes closed because I am so perfect. Please. He drops his left elbow every time he releases an arrow on a hard turn. He’s sloppy when he thinks no one is looking, and that arrogant little half-smile he does when he lands a hit? It looks like he swallowed a sour piece of fruit.”

You laughed, expecting the others to join in on the mockery, but you suddenly realized the riverbank had gone entirely quiet.

You blinked, popping a sweet berry into your mouth. “What? You all have gone silent. Nothing to say about that arrogant boy?”

Kar’ek looked at you like you had lost your mind. “What are you talking about, girl? He is valiant and a gentleman!”

“He is also not arrogant, Y/N,” Reti chimed in, pouting. “He is kind and humble. Just last moon, he helped me carry my heavy fiber bundles all the way to the weaving looms. And your brother helped Lekya!”

You grimaced, the berry suddenly tasting sour. “Show-offs. Both of them. You shouldn't have accepted their help. They only do it so everyone can look at them.”

Before Reti could snap a retort back, the crunch of leaves announced the arrival of a new group. You turned around and saw five young hunters strolling out from the thick foliage, laughing and shoving each other. At the front were your brother, Sak’nur and Neteyam. They had clearly just finished a grueling training session; their skin was glistening with sweat, and they carried themselves with the eager energy of boys ready to plunge into the cool river.

But the moment they stepped into the clearing, Neteyam’s golden eyes locked onto yours.

He raised a single, amused brow. You hadn't even realized you were doing it, but you were glaring at him with enough heat to burn through Hometree. You swiftly slid your gaze to your brother.

“What are you doing here, Sak’nur?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the peaceful atmosphere like a knife.

Your brother blinked, holding his hands out in confusion. “Uh... swimming?”

The other hunters laughed, instantly chiming in. They began boisterously greeting Lekya, Reti, and Kar’ek, completely unbothered by your hostile aura. Kar'ek offered them a witty greeting back, while your “friends” instantly smoothed their hair, their previous defense of Neteyam turning into shy, bright smiles as they began chatting with the boys.

Your sharp eyes found Neteyam again when he chuckled and saw that his eyes were on you, his tail flicking with pure amusement. He tilted his head, looking down at your stormy expression.

“And here I thought the river was supposed to be relaxing,” he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, teasing register meant just for you. “What’s with the scowl, sleepyhead?”

Truthfully, his heart swelled at the sight of you; he loved the fire in your eyes, and his teasing was born from a desperate desire to see you react to him, and only him. But to your ears, it was just another arrogant provocation from him, just like the many other times in the past.

The other hunters caught his words and burst into a loud, obnoxious laughter, with your brother shaking his head at your expense.

The hot flush of embarrassment crawled up your neck, painting your cheeks a deep, furious violet. Without thinking, your hand snapped down, grabbed a heavy, overripe fruit from the leaf platter, and hurled it directly at his chest.

The fruit exploded against his sternum, leaving a sticky, bright purple smear across his smooth skin.

The laughter died instantly. Sak’nur’s jaw dropped, and the rest of the boys froze in sheer shock. No one, absolutely no one, threw things at the future Olo'eyktan.

Neteyam blinked, looking down at the sludge dripping down his chest, and then looked back up at you. You lifted your chin to wait for his anger, already burning in anger, but as his eyes met yours, you saw no fury. Instead, his golden eyes danced with a dangerous, thrilled light. A slow, breathless smile parted his lips. He wasn't insulted at all. He looked utterly captivated.

You let out a sharp, furious hiss, unable to bear the heat of his gaze for another second. Scrambling to your feet, you turned on your heel and sprinted away into the safety of the forest, leaving the river, your friends, and his maddening smile far behind.

Later that night, you sat at your family’s table, just a few paces away from the Olo’eyktan’s family, as the clan hierarchy dictated. The orange glow of the central fire bathed the communal clearing with warmth and you know you would have loved it if you the Sully family’s table weren’t exactly on your line of the sight. Looking at the fire meant accidentally meeting Neteyam’s eyes, which is exactly what happened four times in a row already in the past few minutes.

Beside you, sat Sak’nur, eating heartily, though he occasionally cast a wary glance your way. The memory of the riverbank still plagued you. You didn’t feel sorry at all, but you do feel like you could have handled it better. There were too many witnesses to your volatile nature, what’s worse, it included your brother.

Just as your lips were pulling in a grimace, a movement drew your eye. A fighre stood up in the Sully table and began walking toward your family's area. Neteyam. You let out a deep breath off your nose, pretending to be busy with your food but when Sak’nur elbowed you, you were forced to look up.

As he approached, you noticed he was carrying a leaf square bowl. Inside was a freshly baked sweet-root pie, a delicacy usually reserved for special celebrations.

Your stomach dropped. No. Do not do this here.

“Greetings, sir,” Neteyam said smoothly, dipping his head in a respectful nod to your father before his eyes shifted down to you. The cocky, teasing hunter from the riverbank was gone, replaced by the perfect, dutiful Olo’eyktan to be.

Your father let out a booming laugh. “Neteyam! What is this for?” he asked, looking at the pie.

“I came to bring a peace offering,“ Neteyam answered seriously, his eyes on you.

Your father’s eyes darted between Neteyam and you, his forehead creasing. “A peace offering? For what?”

You took a sharp breath through your nose, your fingers clenching into the fabric of your loincloth. You absolutely hated having your father peek into your business, and you hated, absolutely detested, that Neteyam was staging this elaborate stunt right in front of your parents. You knew that he wasn't actually sorry, that this was a calculated humiliation, a way to trap you into accepting his apology because you wouldn't dare cause a scene in front of your father.

“It is between Y/N and I, sir, if you’ll excuse my refusal to divulge the matter,” Neteyam told him, his voice dripping with humility that you knew was entirely fabricated. He extended the bowl toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with deeply apologetic eyes. He was such a good actor.

Your father’s lips pushed forward, nodding at Neteyam as he shared a quiet laughter with your mother. “Alright, then. I guess this is one of your petty arguments again,“ he said, looking at you. “Daughter. You must remember: Not only is Neteyam much older than you for he is your older brother’s age, but you are also no longer a child.”

Your face burned with further humiliation. You cannot believe this. He has brought this upon you! Huffing a breath of pure fury through your nose, you forced your face into a tight, strained mask of a polite compliance.

You reached out and snatched the bowl from his hands. “Thank you, Neteyam. Your apology is accepted,” you said through gritted teeth.

“I am glad,” Neteyam murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips telling you exactly how much he was enjoying your frustration. He bowed to your parents once more and walked away.

Stupid boy. Stupid, arrogant, obnoxious boy.

“What happened at the river?” Your father asked the moment Neteyam was out of earshot.

“Nothing, Father,” you lied smoothly, keeping your voice level. “Just a small... disagreement. It is resolved.”

But you made sure to make your true statement when the dinner ended. As your family stood up to leave, you deliberately left the leaf basket sitting squarely in the middle of the empty table, completely untouched.

From across the pavilion, Neteyam watched your retreating back, his eyes falling on the abandoned pie. A heavy sigh escaped him. He should have known a simple pastry wouldn't melt your ice.

Beside him, Lo’ak snickered. “What did you do this time?” he asked.

Neteyam’s jaw locked as his lips formed a thin line. “Said something about her scowl.”

Lo’ak stared at him for a moment before the boy doubled over in a fit of laughter. “Skxawng,“ he said. “Girls do not like hearing about their facial expressions! The same way they don’t like hearing comments about their hair, like your crime the last time!”

Neteyam’s forehead creased. “I told her the side part suited her best!”

“Which is implying that the previous look looked bad on her. It was also in the delivery, you know? I noticed you seem cocky when you talk to her.” Lo’ak’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” Neteyam asked, bewildered.

Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Figure it out on your own, bro. You’re smart, it shouldn't be hard.”

His brother walked past, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Neteyam sighed heavily again. He felt as though the weight of Hometree was on his shoulder. He genuinely didn't know what to do with you anymore; you had always been aloof to him, so he tried talking to you and doing things for you, but you met that with coldness, and he lay awake at night wondering what he had done to deserve such an impenetrable wall.

The wall only grew taller during the training cycles. Neteyam tried to be helpful, but that only made your life miserable.

Whenever you practiced your marksmanship at the archery lines, he would happen to pass by and offer a quiet word of encouragement or adjust your stance. But you didn't want his help, especially because the other young huntresses were always watching.

“Look at her,” one of the older girls muttered from the drying racks, loud enough for the words to carry. “Must be nice being Sak’nur’s sister. Neteyam practically hands her the targets.”

“Exactly,” another chimed in, glaring at your back. “She only hits the bullseye because the future Olo'eyktan spends half his day fixing her form. If she didn't have them, she'd be nothing special.”

Hearing them credit all your hard work, your sweat, and your blistered fingers to the men in your life made your blood boil. You turned around to look at them, seeing their mocking expressions as they waited for what you’ll say or do.

“Does that make sense to your pea-sized brains?” you asked, smiling. “That I’m hitting all of those targets simply because someone is adjusting my form, or because I am someone’s sister?”

You nocked an arrow in your bow so fast you had already released it before they could even blink, hitting the feather hair ornament of the girl farthest from you. Your arrow pinned it squarely to the weapon rack behind her.

You tilted your head. “Did my brother fixed your ornament for you, Kur’na?”

A series of furious hisses echoed in the training grounds. “How dare you!” One of the older girls snarled.

They lunged at you, grabbing your braids and clawing at your skin. You fought back as ferociously as you could, grabbing braids, clawing, and punching. You heard heavy footsteps coming and suddenly, your feet are kicking in the air, even landing a hard kick on one of the girls.

You saw your brother and Lo’ak holding the girls back and bellowing for them to stop while you struggled against the strong arms wrapped around you. Your chest heaved as you breathe heavily, trying to calm yourself down.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sak’nur asked, his large steps eating up the space between you two.

Realizing who was holding you, you jerked back from the hold to stand on your feet properly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?! You shot Kur’na!” One of the girls said.

“Where?” you asked.

“There!“ she pointed at the fiber pinned on the rack with an arrow.

“See, I couldn’t have done that. I don’t possess such a marksmanship without my brother or Neteyam fixing my targets for me...” you lied, pushing your lips forward. “So the truth is... You all attacked me senselessly.”

“I’ll have your father hear of this, Sak’nur,” Lo’ak told your brother, moving to walk away just as the girls gasped, fearing that your father, the Olo’eyktan’s second-in-command, would punish them for this.

“No need, Lo’ak,” you said, looking at the girls. “This was just a small training grounds disagreement. Nothing that we can work out among ourselves. Right?“

The girls exchanged tense glances, their expressions twisting into a mix of fear and fury, before they nodded, muttering their silent agreement.

You smiled, “Why don’t you take your break? You’ve been here since the first light.”

They looked absolutely furious, their ears flattened against their heads but they walked away anyway, the sheer humiliation radiating off them in waves. You watched them retreat, your expression completely blank until they were out of earshot. The adrenaline was finally leaving your system, leaving your skin stinging where they had clawed at you.

“What really happend?”

You turned to see Neteyam stepping up beside Sak’nur and Lo'ak. He was the one who had been holding you back, his hands still hovering near his sides as if he wanted to reach out again to check your injuries. His golden eyes swept over the scratches on your arms and neck, his brow furrowed in deep frustration.

“It’s seven against one, bro,” Lo'ak answered for you, crossing his arms. “Did you actually shoot Kur’na, though? If so, that’s insane. Right through the hair piece.”

“It doesn't matter,” Sak’nur growled, looking down at you with a heavy, protective frown. “You shouldn't have provoked them, Y/N. If we didn’t come—”

“I had it under control,” you interrupted, your voice dropping to a cold tone making all three of them pause.

You looked at Sak’nur before letting your gaze lock onto Neteyam. The anger that had been simmering under your skin since the drying racks finally boiled over.

“Listen to me,” you said, stepping back so you could look at them clearly. “Never meddle in my business again.”

Neteyam blinked, looking taken aback. “Y/N, we were just trying to—”

“I don't care what you were trying to do,” you snapped, gesturing sharply toward the targets behind you. “Every piece of gossip on these grounds is about how I am only here because of you and Sak’nur. Every bullseye I hit, every hour I spend sweating under the sun, they credit to my brother or the future Olo’eyktan. And your constant help just proves them right.”

You picked up your bow from the ground, dusting off the dirt with a fierce, rough motion.

“If I am going to fight my battles, I am going to fight them alone. If I get clawed, that's my problem. If I put an arrow through someone's hair, that's my problem too,” you said, your eyes flashing as you looked directly at Neteyam, then back to Sak’nur. “Stay out of it. I don't need you protecting me, and I certainly don't need you fixing my form anymore. Let me handle my own life.”

Without waiting for a reply, you slung your quiver over your shoulder and marched away, leaving the three young hunters standing in silence on the training grounds.

“That doesn’t include me, right?” Lo’ak asked, raising both his hands in the air.

Just like that, three years bled into the passage of time, and the world changed.

It was the night of the Great Feast, celebrating the debut of several young women into adulthood, the age where they were officially recognized as ready to choose a mate.

You were one of them.

The ceremonial paint was fresh on your skin, and the warrior class had taken notice. You were widely regarded as one of the most prized debutantes of the season; your coldness had transformed into an aura of regal elegance, and your legendary skill with a bow only made you more desirable.

Near the roasting pits, a group of older, seasoned hunters were drinking fermented fruit spirits, their voices rising over the music.

“The daughter of the second-in-command has grown into a fine huntress,” one of them remarked, a proud, older warrior. He took a heavy swig from his cup, a dark, possessive grin spreading across his face. “If it were me, she’d be popping out babies every season. A woman like that would breed nothing but strong warriors.”

The men laughed, taking that remark as nothing but a jest, but Neteyam had been standing a few paces away, speaking with your brother and their friends. Every muscle in his massive frame locked tight. The easy-going warrior vanished, replaced instantly by a primal, terrifying rage.

He turned slowly, his golden eyes blown wide, locked entirely on the man. “What did you just say?” Neteyam’s voice was dangerously low but it carried to the group of warriors neaby.

The hunter, older and arrogant, scoffed. He didn't care that Neteyam was the Olo’eyktan’s son. “I said what I said, boy. It is the way of things.”

“Watch your foul mouth before I clip your tongue,” Neteyam snapped back darkly, a lethal rumble vibrating in his chest.

The man sneered, stepping up to match the younger warrior’s height, to no avail. “Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face, boy?”

Neteyam’s fangs bared. “You think I won't?!”

Neteyam handed his bowl of fermented wine to a friend before his large steps ate the space between him and the man.

Every warrior in the Omatikaya was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but Neteyam had been forged by Jake Sully himself. He was broader, taller, and infinitely faster. He had allowed the hunter a single punch before he slammed him into the dirt, his fists flying in a brutal, blinding blur, coming down smash after smash against the warrior’s face

Warriors rushed forward, their deep voices taking the attention of everyone that the drums stopped its rhythm. It took five grown men to finally throw their arms around Neteyam and pull him off. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with sweat and the blood of the man beneath him. But the moment the man tried to stumble to his feet to walk away, Neteyam violently threw the warriors off him, snarling as he lunged forward a second time, entirely unhinged by a rage no one had ever seen in him before.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Mo’at shouted, rushing into the clearing as the chaos finally settled. “Why are you fighting at a sacred feast?!”

Neteyam violently shrugged the remaining hands off his shoulders, his breathing ragged as he pointed a trembling, bloody finger toward the hunter. “He disrespected Y/N!” he roared, his voice echoing across the entire clearing.

A few paces away, completely clueless to the context, you stopped mid-sip, holding your cup to your lips as you blinked. Me...?

Your father, who had watched the entire sequence from where he’s talking with Jake, narrowed his eyes to slits. He had always suspected Neteyam held a certain fondness for you, but this? This was a declaration to evey young man in the clan, as if the years of protecting your name and being protective of you weren’t enough.

Neteyam aggressively wiped a streak of blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, completely uncaring of the stunned stares of the entire clan. You set your cup down and marched straight up to him when you saw him turn around to leave, your face a storm of confusion and irritation.

“What did you do?” you demanded, but your voice didn’t carry the edge it usually would.

Neteyam blinked, surprised by your sudden proximity. Slowly, the fury in his face began to melt, his shoulders dropping slightly as he looked down at you. “He... he was speaking inappropriately about you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Like how?”

“I refuse to repeat it,” he muttered, suddenly looking like a guilty child being chastised for using foul language.

“Like how, Neteyam?” you repeated, your voice soft, a tone he’d never heard from you before.

He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I do not want to repeat it, and I won’t. I am still seeing red, Y/N. If you make me repeat the words that came out of his mouth, I will go back over there, and I might actually tear him apart.”

You pursed your lips, studying the tight, rigid lines of his jaw. He looked genuinely sickened by whatever had been said. “It was that bad?”

He didn't answer, but his hard, pained expression spoke volumes. You looked at his split, bleeding lip, and then down at his knuckles, which were scraped raw and marred with crimson.

You let out a soft, defeated sigh. “I will go get herbs and a poultice for that,” you muttered, turning to leave.

“No need,” he said quickly, his voice rough. “I didn't do that so you would feel indebted to me.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back and grabbing him by the wrist. The sudden touch made him gasp softly. “I didn't even think that,” you said, pulling him out of the bright clearing and leading him onto a massive, quiet branch away from the pavilion lights. “Get some fresh air and reflect on what you just did.” You widened your eyes at him in a stern warning before walking away for the healing pavilion.

Neteyam stood on the darkened branch, watching your retreating form. He bit the inner flesh of his lower lip, desperately trying, and failing, to suppress the massive, foolish smile threatening to break across his face.

Minutes later, the soft patter of footsteps signaled your return. You carried two small clay jars filled with soothing green paste and woven cloths.

“Did you reflect?” you asked, stepping up to him.

He grimaced, his features twisting in a way that instantly reminded you of the young boy who hated sour fruit he would grimace every time he sees it. “I reflected,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And I think I would do it again if I could. With increasing pleasure every time.”

You shook your head, a faint huff of humor escaping you as you patted the bark of the branch. “You are stupid.”

“I suppose so...” he whispered. He lowered himself to sit on the branch, his eyes locking onto your face. Under the faint warm glow of the large fire inside, you looked so breathtakingly beautiful it made his chest ache.

You knelt before him, dipping your fingers into the cool healing paste. You gently brought your hand to his mouth, dabbing the medicine onto his split lip. “First time you have ever admitted it,” you murmured, raising a brow as your eyes snapped up to meet his. “Finally humble. I like that.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a dangerous, thrilling spark suddenly igniting in the depths of his eyes.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his gaze. You quickly recovered, “Only if you are truly humble. But you are not. You are arrogant and obnoxious.”

“Things can be changed,” he smirked, only to instantly hiss as the movement stretched the cut.

“See? Even your wound disagrees with you,” you teased, a genuine smirk playing on your own lips.

“I am saying—”

“Shh,” you interrupted, placing a gentle finger over his good lip.

Neteyam immediately clamped his mouth shut. He didn't say another word, completely content to just sit there, breathing in your scent, paralyzed by the gentle touch of your hands as you began wrapping his raw knuckles with the soft woven cloth. He held his hand perfectly still, refusing to move a single finger, treating your handiwork as if it were the most precious gift from Eywa herself.

A long, comfortable silence settled over the branch, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the music from the festival.

“You are a debutante now...” Neteyam said softly, breaking the quiet.

Your forehead creased in amusement, and a small, rare chuckle escaped your lips. “Uh, yeah? That was what the entire ceremony was about.”

Neteyam blinked in utter surprise, his heart skipping a beat. He stared at you, momentarily speechless. You laughed. You actually chuckled in his presence. It was a historic first.

Clearing his throat to find his voice, he leaned in just a fraction closer. “Have you... thought of suitors? Of mates?”

The lightheartedness instantly vanished from your face, replaced by a deep scowl. “Among the men of this clan?” you asked, shaking your head as you tied off the bandage. “No, thank you. Which is the better choice anyway? All of you get on my nerves.”

You stood up, picking up the empty clay jars and looking down at him one last time.

“I am bringing these back to the pavilion. Try counting to a hundred before you do something stupid again.”

You turned and walked back to the direction of the healing pavillion, your heart hammering against your ribs in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the physical fight you had just witnessed. Neteyam was left sitting alone on the branch, his bandaged hand pressed gently against his chest as he watched you go, his eyes filled with an undeniable, burning yearning.

You like no one in the clan. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. That was perfect. He could definitely work with that.

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

The council’s midday gathering at the longhouse carried the scent of leaf tea and crushed sweet grass. Inside, the sunlight dripping through the woven room flickering shadows over the faces of the elders, Jake Sully, Neytiri, and your father, who sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze steady.

Neteyam stood at the center of the room. At twenty one, he had completely grown into the man everyone knew he would be. Taller than most, broad-shouldered, and carries the undeniable, commanding presence of a future leader. But today, his jaw was clamped shut in a tight, defensive line.

The topic on the floor was one he had been dodging for years: his future mating with the daughter of the Anurai clan’s Olo'eyktan. An alliance meant to solidify the bonds between their people.

“Delay this until when, Neteyam?” Elder Katu asked, his weathered voice echoing off the woven walls. “You are twenty-one. You are of age, and the clan looks to its future.”

“Elder Katu, if you should be reminded, my grandfather mated late, too,” Neteyam reasoned smoothly, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “He was forty-three then. He and my grandmother were way past the age of when they first came to adulthood.”

“Are you saying that you want to make Ateya of the Anurai wait that long?” Another elder countered.

“No, I am not saying she should wait at all,” Neteyam replied, his tone firm, yet unyielding. “I am saying I do not want to mate this young. I want to further my training and my diplomatic skills before I settle down. I will be the one mating, this would be for life, and I believe this part of my life should be my call.”

Jake Sully watched his son with a mixture of pride and suspicion, but it was your father whose sharp eyes never left Neteyam’s face. He noticed the slight, restless flick of Neteyam’s tail. He knew the young warrior was a master of discipline, so why was he fighting this alliance so fiercely?

The answer arrived with a soft rustle of the entrance flap.

You stepped into the longhouse with your chin held high, your expression a perfectly crafted mask of a huntress known for her sharp tongue. You had been tasked with delivering the recent patrol briefing to Sa’rin, an elder female warrior sitting near the back.

“I cannot be a good mate if I—”

Neteyam’s head snapping toward the movement at the threshold was entirely instinctual, but when he saw the distinct, bright feathers of your long braids, he did a complete double-take, his golden eyes locking onto your form, his breath hitching just enough that his posture faltered.

“...am not ready...” He trailed as his eyes tracked the fluid, elegant movement of your stride.

You didn’t even look at him, your eyes were trained forward until you reached Sa’rin, whispering to her animatedly. None of the older elders noticed the sudden lapse in Neteyam’s always perfect composure, not even Jake and Neytiri who were too focused on what he was saying.

But your father saw it.

His eyes narrowed into assessing slits, watching Neteyam’s chest rise and fall heavily as the young man desperately tried to refocus on the conversation. It was all the confirmation he needed. Neteyam sees you more than he ought to.

“It is a perfect match, Neteyam, if only you would open your eyes to see. It is known that Ateya is a competent huntress at her age, and a great weaver as well,” one of the elder said, shaking his head.

For the first time, your eyes snapped to the gathered council, your ears twitching at what you heard. Unfortunately, Neteyam has already tore his eyes off of you, or he would have seen the way your face crumpled in what your father perceived as a distaste.

When the elders finally dismissed Neteyam with a warning to think deeply on his duties, the young warrior let out a long, ragged breath as he walked out into the sunlight. He knew everything he had just said to the council was utter bullshit. He was ready for leadership, ready for a mate, ready for the future... but only if that future was you. He would delay every alliance, fight every elder, and play the patient hunter until he finally got you.

But he doesn’t know how to get you.

In the past years, the air between you two had been significantly better than it used to be, but that was because he heeded what you said about not meddling in your business. He still tried to sneak in help every now and then, but not so much so as to piss you off.

He would hate to wake up the palulukan in you, so to speak.

Your father quietly watched him walk away before transferring his gaze to you once Neteyam was out of sight. Sa’rin was speaking, but you kept glancing at the entryway, your tail moving in agitated flicks behind you. He knew you. He knew that for all the ice and bitter fire you hurled at Neteyam, you were masking something deeper, far more profound. And Neteyam has never really tried to hide what he has for you. People are just really imperceptive.

You two needed a push.

The push came in the form of being assigned to the same hunting pack as each other. You didn’t think much of it, after all, Neteyam is one of the high-ranking hunters of the clan and you knew your rotation would have put you under him one way or another. As usual, you were out before sunrise, while the jungle was still choked with heavy, clinging mist.

This was simply a mid-sized hunting pack, with Neteyam leading the routine sweep of the southern borders. Your brother was currently leading the border patrol, which left you entirely under Neteyam’s command. You kept your distance during the initial trek, silent but cautious of your surroundings.

But Neteyam wouldn’t really be Neteyam if he didn’t know exactly where you were at any moment in time.

When the pack finally halted on a higher valley, Neteyam gathered the hunters. He moved with an easy, terrifyingly efficient confidence, mapping out the flanking routes with quick gestures of his large hands. As the other hunters dispersed to take their positions, you turned to slip toward the western ridge.

“Not so fast,” Neteyam’s voice cut through the air, smooth and low. He stepped into your path, his towering frame blocking the narrow trail. A slow, familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he tilted his head. “The western ridge is steep, and the morning dew has made the forest floor slick. We’ll take the east.”

You stopped and turned to him. “Whatt’s going on? Afraid of a little slip?” you asked. “I am taking the western flank. I have a cleaner angle, and I do not need a guide.”

Neteyam let out a low huff of laughter, stepping just an inch closer. The heat radiating off his chest was palpable in the cool morning air. He raised a single, amused eyebrow. “Prickly in the morning? I am not offering to guide you. I am telling you where the pack needs you. But if you really think I’m so afraid of a little slippery moss, you should hold my hand.”

Two years ago, your blood would have boiled. You would have hissed, thrown a cutting insult about his ego, and marched off in a fury.

But today? As your eyes locked onto his, tracking the dangerous, playful spark in his golden gaze and the infuriatingly curve of his smirk, your heart gave a sudden, treacherous thud against your ribs. The annoyance you usually relied on as a shield felt flimsy, dissolving into a strange, dizzying warmth.

You didn’t know where it began, but you no longer hate his arrogance. In fact, you realized with a sudden jolt of panic that you were entirely captivated by it.

“I think you can handle the moss perfectly fine, Neteyam," you countered, your voice clipped, though you couldn't quite stop the subtle twitch of your own lips. “Try not to get distracted out there. I would hate for my arrows to do all the work for your pack.”

“I'll try my best to keep up...” he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, private register that always seemed reserved exclusively for you.

He gave you one last, lingering look before turning to leap into the upper ground with effortless grace. You stood frozen for a second, catching your breath, before fiercely shaking your head. Get it together, you scolded yourself, though the flush on your neck had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the hunt.

He turned to you again, offering a hand. You scoffed, ignoring his hand and leaping on the higher ground yourself. The hunt went flawlessly with three clean kills, but the tension between the two of you only tightened during the trek back.

The pack stopped by a shallow stream to wash the sweat and dirt from their skin. You sat slightly apart from the group on a fallen log, running a whetstone down the edge of your hunting knife when a few paces away, you saw Ley’a, a huntress your age, approached Neteyam. Neteyam, being the dutiful and polite warrior that he was, leaned down slightly to listen, speaking to her with that effortless, smooth charm that came naturally to him.

You saw him smiled, gesturing toward the canopy as if he was explaining something.

You didn't even realize you were staring until the stone slipped against your blade with a sharp, harsh screech. You swallowed and aggressively rolled your eyes, your lips in a thin line as something hot and ugly twisted sharply in your gut. You didn't understand why it was there, but it blinded you.

When the trek resumed again, you walked ahead of everyone, your pace faster than usual and your chin tilted high. Your sharp eyes snapped to your side when you heard footsteps coming, and your brows furrowed immediately when you saw Neteyam’s smirk.

“Are you upset about something?” he asked, matching your pace effortlessly, his strides sure and confident.

You didn’t answer. You wanted to be left alone with your thoughts, but here he is again, taunting words out of you.

“You walk fast when you’re upset.” he added.

You finally turned to him, your eyes narrowed and before your mind could stop your tongue, you spoke, “You speak quite smoothly to girls for a man who is practically spoken for, Neteyam,” you said, your tone dripping with a cold, sarcastic bite.

He looked surprise for a moment, but the smirk returned to his face, though his eyes narrowed with a sudden, intense curiosity. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I am merely wondering what Ateya of the Anurai would say about it,” you scoffed. “Her future mate being a certified womanizer, smooth-talking and flashing his smiles at every huntress. Personally, I would hate to have such a weak-willed mate.”

Neteyam’s lips parted, lagging behind for a fraction of a minute, watching your large steps put a distance between you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he walked after you, his stride purposeful. You looked at him, somehow you’re bothered that he might be angry about what you said, but he didn't look angry; he looked absolutely thrilled by your bite, his cocky persona flaring to life.

“A womanizer?” Neteyam whispered, walking right beside you and leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. “What are you talking about, smooth-talking and flasing smiles at every huntress?” he asked, his hand itching to touch your forearm but he balled it into a fist.

You didn’t respond, you just continued walking and he kept matching your pace.

“Was it about Ley’a earlier?” he mumbled, his voice so quiet and intimate that it brought heat to your face. “I was just answering a question about a tracking trail,” he explained, his steps growing larger. He walked backward so he could look at you better, his head tilting at the silent ire on your face. “Do you care who I smile at, Y/N?”

Your face crumpled and he chuckled, “I do not care at all,” you snapped back quickly, your chest heaving as you glared up at him. “I am simply making an observation on your character. Or lack thereof.”

“Right. An observation,” he repeated as he raised a brow, his face so light and vibrant you could see the way his pupils were dilating. “Because for someone who claims to find me so arrogant and obnoxious, you seem to spend a remarkable amount of time keeping track of my betrothal status. Should I tell my father to cancel the council meetings, then? Since my future seems to weigh so heavily on your mind?”

Your face burned a deep, furious violet. You stopped abruptly, nearly knocking your shoulder into his chest as you pushed past him.

“Do whatever you want, Neteyam,” you hissed under your breath before marching ahead. “You are entirely insufferable.”

Neteyam didn't follow you right away, he stood by the stream and watched your rigid, angry retreat with a heavy, breathless exhale. His hand traced his jawline, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across his face as his tail flicked lazily behind him.

You looked jealous, absolutely furious, and you seemed very bothered by his betrothal status. He didn’t want to rejoice in the knowledge that you were upset about it, but he couldn’t help it. The heavy weight of the council’s impending arrangements suddenly felt a little lighter. He had a foothold now. And he wasn't going to let it go.

The days following the hunt felt entirely different. The invisible wall you had spent years building was actively crumbling, and the worst part was that you were no longer trying to patch it up.

Neteyam had taken what happened and run with it, his pursuit turning into a relentless, everyday occurrence. He seemed to possess an infuriating ability to materialize out of thin air whenever you were alone.

One afternoon, you were high up in the middle branches of Hometree, sitting on a secluded edge to practice your weaving skills on soft strips of fabric. Your fingers felt thick and clumsy as you tried to lace the soft strips together. You are useless in this for you had never really taken an interest in the domestic arts.

But now... You thought weaving would be a great skill to add to your repertoire.

It’s proving to be a great challenge, though, and staring at the frayed, knotted mess in your lap, you wanted to yank your own braids out for your sudden stupidity. Why had you never thought of ever learning this before? How are you supposed to even weave a loincloth for your future children if you cannot even cross two threads? A scowl deepened on your face.

The thought that you were thinking of children tore through your trance as a sudden, unauthorized image of a child with very familiar features came into your mind. You gasped sharply, your face burning a violent purple.

With a frustrated groan, you balled up the tangled mess of fabrics and threw it violently across the ledge. “Useless,” you hissed to the empty air.

“What is it that you’re upset about now?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Neteyam dropped gracefully from the thick branch above, landing silently on the ledge just a few feet away. He was leaning against the bark, his arms crossed over his chest, a wildly amused smirk playing on his lips. He had a way of appearing out of nowhere lately. At the river, near your training lanes, and now in your private sanctuary.

Your mask snapped back into place, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Do you make a habit of stalking me, Neteyam, or do you simply have nothing better to do with your time?”

His lips twisted. “I was actually on my way to the training grounds,” he lied smoothly, taking a slow, confident step closer. His eyes dropped to the tangled ball of fabric on the ledge, and then drifted back up to your flushed face. “But then I saw the fiercest huntress I know fighting a losing battle against some fabrics. I couldn't just walk away.”

“I am not fighting it,” you retorted.

“Right. You're just glaring at it until it weaves itself,” he teased, his voice dropping into that low, rumbling register. He walked over, picking up the discarded bundle. With agonizing slowness, his hands began to effortlessly untangle the knots you had spent an hour making. “You have too much tension in your hands, holding it like a throat you want to crush.”

You watched his fingers move. They were calloused from weapons, larger than yours, yet they handled the delicate threads with a startling, gentle precision. A strange warmth settled deep in your stomach. You were too hyper-aware of how close he was, of the scent of mint and rain on his skin, and the effortless way he commanded your space.

“There...” he mumbled, showing you a perfect line of two woven strips.

You glanced at him through the fringe of your lashes, seeing the small smile on his face. A faint shadow of fear bloomed in your chest and you looked down, “Where did you learn?”

“My mother,” he answered, glancing up at you with a bright smile before he looked back down on his work. “Well, sort of. She’d always tell us to be responsible of our own clothes if it gets a hole or a tear.”

“I didn’t know that...” you mumbled.

He smirked, but somehow it looked less cocky and more... wistful. “The same way I know you can’t weave.”

Your forehead creased. “How’d you know?” you asked, glaring at him but you both know it held nothing bad.

“I pay attention,” he shrugged. “Why are you suddenly taking an interest in this?”

You took the strips from him, your eyes playfully narrowed. “I thought you know things from observing?”

“I guess I'll need to observe more when you weave... So, I can form a guess,” he said.

You pushed your lips forward, wrapping the strips he made on your wrist. “I suck at this. There's no next time.”

“You don’t really need to learn weaving if you don’t want to, you know...” he said, sitting on the branch comfortably.

You thought of the Anurai... About how they are meticulous artisans and how some of the clan’s best tapestries used for certain ceremonies are their handiwork. You didn’t even know you were scowling at your own thoughts, and once again, before you could think properly, you spoke.

“Easy for you to say as someone who would be mating an Anurai,” you said in a clipped tone, gathering your stuff and standing up to leave him there.

His jaw dropped, watching your form retreat and jump a branch down. “What...?” he whispered in the air.

You kept climbing down, the soft soles of your feet gripping the bark as you practically fled from the raw confusion on his face. The weight of your irrational feelings and thoughts were a heavy, suffocating thing and it followed you for days.

You were down by the rivers, tucked away in the humid shade of the trees for another one of your group’s picnics. Over the past years, you had actually grown genuinely close to Lekya, Reti, and Kar’ek. They had ceased to be just annoying people tailing you around, they were now your good friends.

While the three of them babbled animatedly about the latest gossips, you were hunched over, your forehead creased in absolute, soul-crushing concentration. You were trying to recreate the exact interlocking loop Neteyam had shown you on the branch. Your tongue peeked out between your teeth as you fought a thick strand of reed.

“I am just saying,” Reti sighed, leaning back on a woven mat and fanning herself, “if Mar’tu looks at me like that during the next illumination feast, I might just have to let him carry my baskets. He has those shoulders, you know?”

“Oh, please,” Lekya scoffed, tossing a seed at her. “Mar’tu trips over his own feet. If you want shoulders, you look at the patrol leaders.”

Reti sighed, “And what do the patrol leaders even like? They won’t like someone like me. I’m a weaver, Lekya, for freak’s sake. If a mere hunter likes me, I can’t be choosey.”

You pushed your lips forward and glanced up at her, your forehead creased, “Rita. Don’t speak of yourself that way,” you reprimanded. “You’re an excellent weaver. Look at me, I can’t even weave to save my life.” You showed her your botched work. “Who cares about whether warriors and hunters like any of us? They are idiots.”

They bursted out laughing. “Well, I supposed we’ll take it from you. You’re the huntress,” Reti grinned.

“You never grew out of your annoyance for them,” Lekya said. “Where will you find romance if you don’t like any of them?”

You scowled and they laughed harder.

“Well, some of us don't have to look far for romance,” Kar’ek chimed in, leaning forward with a wicked grin. He was lounging on a pile of soft moss, his fingers idly twirling a blade of grass. “Some of us are having secret midnight swims by the eastern pools with a certain hunter whose name rhymes with Zdin’rey.”

Lekya and Reti gasped in unison, leaning in. “Kar’ek! You didn't!”

“But I did,” Kar’ek purred, tossing his braids over his shoulder. “And honey, it was mmaculate!”

Lekya pouted, “Weren’t you with Nakvu last moon?”

Kar’ek snorted, “Well, I realized, I can just take, and take, and take. There are plenty of choices and we must always test the auditonees.”

You chuckled and Kar’ek’s attention pinned on you. He shifted on the grass, grabbing a piece of pie and popping it into his mouth.

“Enough about my scandalous exploits. What about our resident huntress?”

Another two pairs of eyes suddenly locked onto you. You kept your gaze glued to your terrible weaving, though.

“What about me?” you asked coldly, trying to sound aloof.

“You are of age, Y/N. A fully decorated debutante,” Kar’ek pointed out.

Lekya nodded at you, “The warriors practically fall over their own feet trying to offer you meat at the communal fires, and you look at them like they are pile of viperwolf dung.”

“Maybe because they are annoying,” you muttered, shoving a fiber under another.

“Okay, true for some,” Lekya agreed. “But what about Tayrel? He’s still single. Or maybe someone from the older batches? What about Janu?”

Before you could voice your disgust, Kar’ek let out a loud, dramatic groan, slapping his forehead with a broad leaf. “Oh, by Eywa's grace, stop it! Please! You two are giving me a headache with these horrific suggestions.” He sat up, glaring at Lekya and Reti like they had lost their minds. “Why are you two suggesting so many names when there is a very obvious one right in front of her face?”

Your glanced up at him with furrowed brows, accidentally bending a fiber completely out of shape. “My face?”

Kar’ek rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “Girl, you’re blind,” he said before leaning in. “Neteyam!” he whisper-shouted.

“Oh...” Lekya’s face brightened. “But he’s... I mean, the council—”

“The council can eat dirt,” Kar’ek interrupted shamelessly, waving his hand dismissively. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes glittering with pure gossip-fueled joy. “Y/N, darling, look at me. Put that plant down.”

You slowly raised your head, keeping your face as blank as possible, though your ears were burning hot against your hair. “Neteyam is my brother's best friend. He is an extension of my family.”

“Honey, if my brother’s friend looked at me the way Neteyam looks at you, I would be pregnant by the next eclipse,” Kar’ek said flatly.

“Kar'ek!” you hissed, your face flushing a violent violet.

“I am serious!” Kar’ek leaned in, his voice dropping into an intense, dramatic whisper. “I am an observer of men, Y/N. It is my spiritual calling. And I am telling you, he is crazy about you. Utterly ruined by you.”

You shook your head, “You are crazy. That’s not possible,” you said. “He teases everyone."

“Oh, please. Remember when you accidentally dropped your dagger into the communal fire? Who burned his hand pulling it out before the blade gets ruined? Neteyam. And what about the time during the rainy season when your kelku’s roof had that massive tear? Your father was away on clan business and your brother on patrol, and suddenly Neteyam shows up with three layers of fresh thatch, claiming they ‘had extra’ and he just happened to be passing by. He spent four hours in a downpour fixing it, looking like a drowned, miserable banshee, just so you wouldn't get cold!”

“Shut up, Kar'ek,” you mumbled, your voice entirely stripped of its usual icy armor. You stared down at the messy, tangled weaving in your lap, knowing that the flutter in your chest wasn't from anger or defense.

“Oh, I am not shutting up, because you need to hear the rest of this,” Kar’ek insisted, practically vibrating with excitement as he leaned even closer, gesturing wildly with his hands. xLekya, Reti, back me up on this. We are making a list because this girl is living in a complete state of delusion.”

“Alright,” Reti agreed instantly, abandoning her fern leaf. “I remember that time when your mount got that nasty deep scratch from a nightwraith attack during patrol and he stayed up for two full nights helping you by gathering the herbs in the high cliffs, grinding the soothing paste and applying it on your ikran? At least, the healers got their sleep, but Neteyam definitely didn’t.”

Your lips twisted when you remembered. You were so scared for your ikran then, panicking and crying, but he took care of everything. He didn’t even like herbs, you thought. Nobody likes herbs but the healers... But he still took care of it.

“And he beat Kutri into a pulp at the Great Feast because of you,” Lekya said with a dreamy look on her face.

“Exactly!” Kar’ek clapped his hands together triumphantly. “The man is the future leader of our people, completely disciplined and perfect, until someone breathes too loud in your direction.”

You huffed a breath through your nose. Your chest was heaving, your skin tingling with a sudden, overwhelming rush of warmth. Kar’ek’s words were too overwhelming, painting a picture you had spent years denying. Neteyam... likes you. No, according to Kar’ek, he was entirely consumed by you.

“You have him on a leash, Y/N. You just refuse to pull it,” Kar’ek added, leaning back with a smug grin.

At the same time, Neteyam was standing in the heavy atmosphere of the council as the elders discussed how to maintain the strategic alliance with the Aranahe clan, casually receiving strays from elders who couldn’t undetermined his decision.

“The Aranahe look to solidify our treaties,” one of the senior elders spoke up, leaning forward. “Their Olo'eyktan has always expressed a desire for a match. Ateya isn’t his only child. His eldest son, a fierce hunter, is also open to find a mate from our finest bloodlines.”

Jake Sully sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “My daughter, Kiri, has no mind for things like this, Elder.”

“It needed not be Kiri, Jake,” the elder replied smoothly. He turned his gaze slowly across the circle, letting it rest squarely on your father. “Levakan... your daughter, Y/N. She has just come of age. She is fit to be paired with an Olo'eyktan’s heir. Proud, brave, beautiful, and strong.”

Across the room, Neteyam froze.

Every ounce of air left his lungs. His ears instantly pinned back flat against his head, his tail lashing behind him with a sudden, violent twitch. His golden eyes locked onto the elder with a glare so fiercely lethal it could have pierced through armor. How dare he suggest handing you over to an outsider?

Neteyam’s eyes flew to your father, his heart hammering in a frantic, terrifying panic. He waited for Levakan to refuse. He waited for him to protect his daughter from being shipped off to another clan.

Instead, your father remained perfectly calm. He tilted his head, pretending to weigh the option with a thoughtful expression.

“My daughter is dutiful, Elder,” your father said, his voice loud and clear. “She understands the weight of our family’s standing. I will talk to her and see what I can do, if she is open to it.”

Neteyam’s face completely crumpled, a suffocating pain twisting in his chest. His fist clenched so hard his wrapped knuckles turned white.

If she is open to it.

Neteyam remembered the night on the branch, your soft laughter, and the way you had scowled and said you liked none of the men in this clan because they all got on your nerves. A sickening wave of dread washed over him. If you hated all the boys here... that would mean you were open to choosing a man from the outside?

From across the fire, Levakan caught the look of utter, desperate panic written across Neteyam’s face. Your father hid a satisfied smirk behind his cup, knowing the game had officially begun, and Neteyam finally knew he couldn't afford to wait in the shadows any longer.

It’s not like both of you ever asked for a sign from Eywa, but the Great Mother still found it in herself to deliver an entire diplomatic circus to make both of your lives miserable. The Aranahe clan will be making a clan visit for the upcoming feast and the looming threat of the council’s political matchmaking bothered you both endlessly.

For you, the distress manifested as a tight, biting irritation. Every time someone mentioned Ateya’s name, your stomach twisted with something sharp and ugly. For Neteyam, it was a quiet, frantic desperation. He spent days trying to sense if your father had already presented the elder's suggestion about Tuvek, the Aranahe Olo’eyktan's firstborn son, to you, and more terrifyingly, if you actually thought it was a good idea.

When he caught you alone near the ikran ledges one afternoon, he looked entirely too relaxed for someone whose life was being rearranged by a council of old men. You were violently untangling a leather riding strap, your ears pinned back, when a shadow fell over you.

“Careful,” Neteyam’s voice purred. He was leaning casually against a pillar, one ankle crossed over the other, a lazy, infuriatingly handsome smirk playing on his lips. “You keep yanking it like that and you'll snap the hide. Though, I suppose it's impressive how much anger you can pack into such small hands.”

You snapped a sharp gaze on him. He looked like he is sleeping well, even more, like he was having the best days of his life anticipating the Aranahe. Your fingers aggressively knotted the leather, “Go away.”

He didn't take the hint, stepping right into your space until the heat of his chest was brushing your shoulder. He tilted his head, his golden eyes dancing with that familiar, cocky light. “I notice the second-in-command looking like he is in a very good mood these days, almost as if he is as waiting for a huge celebration. Care to share what it is about, sleepyhead?”

The strap snapped in your hands with a sharp crack.

Your head whipped around, your chest heaving with all the suffocating anxiety you’d been drowning in for days. “Perhaps it’s about your mating with Ateya of the Aranahe. Who knows? We could be celebrating that in time with the feast.”

Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction, his eyes narrowing in surprise at the sheer venom in your voice, but he recovered quickly, raising an amused brow. This again. If you didn’t look so mad, he’d think you want to cry.

“Let me worry about that,“ he said, waiting for another reaction.

Which he got when you glared up at him with yours eyes blazing. “Right. So stop asking me about my father when you could ask my brother about whatever. Worry about your own looming bond. Go flash your perfect smiles at Ateya once she arrives, and figure out how to be a dutiful mate to the Aranahe, since you're so excellent at playing the perfect future chief!“

You didn't wait for his response. You turned on your heel and stormed off down the path, your tail lashing violently behind you.

Behind you, Neteyam stood frozen, the broken strap clutched in his hand. The cocky smirk completely vanished from his face. He wanted a reaction, yes, but Great Mother, he only made you angrier than you already were.

Then, the night of the feast arrived.

The central clearing was ablaze with a roaring fire, but to you, the atmosphere felt cold. The Aranahe Olo’eyktan, his mate, and his two children were seated at the high dais alongside Jake and his family. Ateya was intentionally placed right next to Neteyam. From your seat at your family’s own dais, you couldn't even swallow your food. Every time Ateya leaned in to whisper something to him, every time Neteyam offered her a smile, the food in your mouth tasted like ash.

You hated what you were feeling. You wished with everything in you that you could go back to how things used to be, back when you could pretend you were just annoyed by him. But as you watched them, you were confronted with a bitter truth. There was never a time you didn't care. You had always noticed him. For years, you had stubbornly pretended you didn't understand why he did things for you.

Why he would risk to burn his hand to get you your favorite dagger, why he would get out of his way to help you even when you never been kind to him. You had been selfish, rude, and mean, using your sharp tongue as a shield. Looking at Ateya, someone sweet, gentle, and flawlessly poise, you felt a sinking, hollow ache in your chest. She is exactly the kind of woman he deserves.

When the dinner concluded, one of the senior elders brought you over to introduce you to Tuvek. Although you were in no mood for pleasantries, your own courtesy forced you to stay. When Tuvek politely asked about the fermented fruit wine, you forced your voice into a steady rhythm, spending nearly half an hour conversing with him about the local beverages, the traditional food, and the story of the tribe dances.

Yet, your eyes were constantly drifting back across the clearing, tracking Neteyam. You felt two feet small, as if you had been completely skinned and left exposed to the cold wind.

“The steps to the third dance are actually quite complex,” Tuvek was saying, leaning a fraction closer, his eyes fixed intently on your face. “I would be honored if you showed me the footwork, once it comes again, Y/N. A huntress of your skill must move beautifully on the mats.”

“She moves beautifully, alright,” A low, smooth purr chimed in and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

You turned to hjm with a sharp glare, your eyes tracking Ateya a few paces away, standing alone in the crowd; but when she saw you glance at her, she started moving. You snapped your gaze back to Neteyam and saw him flashing a sharp, dazzling smile at Tuvek, though his golden eyes remained completely cold, tracking the man like a target.

“Assuming you don't mind getting your toes flattened. Our fiercest huntress tends to dance exactly how she hunts. Zero mercy and absolutely no regard for those trying to keep up with her.”

Your jaw nearly dropped. You snapped your gaze to him, your ears pinning back instantly. You were just about to hiss a lethal retort when a soft, melodic voice cut through the tension.

“There you are, Neteyam,” Ateya said, smoothly gliding into the circle. She offered a polite nod to you and Tuvek. “You disappeared so suddenly. I was worried you had grown bored of my company, but I am glad you’ve already introduced yourself to my brother.”

Neteyam smiled at her, “Of course, Ateya.”

You felt a sharp, ugly coil in your chest, but you quickly masked it when Ateya glances at you.

She looked at Neteyam again. “Though, I wonder if it would be rude if I steal you away for a more private conversation,” she said.

A sweet smile cut across your face as you turned your full attention to Ateya, completely ignoring Neteyam as if he were nothing more than an inconveniently placed rock.

“Oh, do not worry, Ateya,” you said. “Neteyam is simply doing what he does best: inserting himself where he isn't invited. He is very eager to come with you.”

You pushed him subtly. Tuvek blinked, looking between you two, while Ateya’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. Neteyam, however, didn't look offended at all. Instead, his smirk widened, his golden eyes dancing with absolute delight as he leaned closer to you.

“Is that what I'm doing?” Neteyam asked, his tone laced with a lazy, teasing challenge. “I thought I was just protecting our esteemed guest from a dangerous dance partner.”

“Oh, please. The only danger here is your terrible habit of sleepwalking,” you said, turning to Ateya. “You must be patient with him, that habit could triggered by too much wine. Just last moon, his family had to drag him back because he tried to climb down the Hometree in his sleep, said he was chasing a viperwolf.”

Tuvek chuckled, thoroughly baffled by the image of the stoic Neteyam sleep-hunting. Ateya looked at Neteyam with a confused smile, while the man stared at you, entirely captivated by how fiercely you were trying to embarrass him.

“Is that right?” Neteyam asked. “I don't remember chasing a viperwolf, sleepyhead.”

“Of course you don't, you were asleep,” you shot back smoothly, turning back to Ateya with a pitying shake of your head. "It's tragic, really. He also snores like a dying banshee when it rains. It's a miracle his family gets any rest at all. I only tell you this so you know what you are getting into, should he ever be left without a mouth guard during a monsoon.”

Ateya looked genuinely startled by your bluntness, her eyes darting to Neteyam to see if his pride would flare. “Oh... I see,” she offered softly, trying to find her footing in the conversation. “I suppose everyone has their... quirks.”

“Oh, he is full of them,” you replied instantly, your smile tightening.

“Hm,” Neteyam huffed a laugh, stepping even closer into your space, completely unfazed by your trashing. If anything, your desperate attempt to ruin his reputation seemed to intoxicate him. He tilted his head, his voice dropping into a low, private purr meant only for you. “You seem to know an awful lot about my nighttime habits. One might think you spend your evenings watching over me.”

“Oh, no, it’s the talk of the village,” you waved a dismissive hand and rolled your eyes.

Just in time, the rhythm for the dance Tuvek was talking about sounded and Tuvek glances at you. “There’s the dance.”

You smiled. "I’ll honor you." You gave Tuvek your hand, and he accepted it with a polite, sweeping bow, guiding you onto the crowded dance floor.

As you moved with Tuvek, matching the rhythmic thrum of the drums, the adrenaline from your bickering with Neteyam began to bleed away, leaving behind a hollow ache of the previous days. Tuvek was a perfectly fine partner, his movements were precise, his manner exceptionally polite, but you felt entirely disconnected from your own body. You felt two feet small again, a fraud hiding behind a confident huntress.

During a synchronized turn, your eyes drifted toward the council’s dais. You caught the line of vision of several senior elders and how they were all watching Neteyam and Ateya in approval. You followed their gaze and saw Ateya who had a dreamy, captivated look on her face, her eyes fixed entirely on him as she spoke about something.

Your eyes slid to the figure beside her, your heart jumping to your throat when you saw him watching you with an intense focus. You swiftly looked away, pretending to enjoy the rhythm.

The moment the music swelled to a finish, you offered Tuvek a nod. “It was a great pleasure to be in your company, Tuvek, but you must forgive me. I want to excuse myself.”

Before he could offer to accompany you, you practically fled, slipping past the dancing bodies. You jumped a few branches down until you are out in the comfort of the surrounding forest. The heavy beat of the drums faded, replaced by the sharp cracks of leaves under your soles. But you barely had time to draw a ragged breath before the distinct, deliberate sound of footsteps echoed behind you.

You spun around, your arms instantly crossing tightly over your chest in defense. Through the glowing blue and magenta bioluminescence, you saw Neteyam tracking you, his long strides steady and unrelenting.

“Leave me alone,” you hissed, your voice clipping with vulnerability.

“No,” Neteyam said. As he stepped fully into the pale light of a glowing fern, your breath caught. He looked angry. It was a hard, clenching tight line of his jaw. A dangerous, fierce expression you had never once seen him direct at you.

Your eyes narrowed as you focused on him, your own temper flaring to mask the sudden sting of tears. “Are you angry?”

“I suppose I am,” he said, his voice a low, rough vibration.

“At me?” you asked, a bitter, defensive laugh bubbling up in your throat. Your chin lifted defiantly. “Mad at me for what? Because I disparaged your pristine image to your precious Ateya? Oh, don't worry, Neteyam, I don't think she cares at all! She was still looking at you with heart-shaped eyes the entire night!”

“You think I care about her?” Neteyam stepped sharply into your space, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his golden eyes blazing. “I couldn't care less what she thinks of me! But I certainly cared about watching you hand your palm over to her brother! I cared about watching him lean into your face, talking about how 'beautifully' you move!”

“He was just being polite!” you yelled, your voice cracking as the sheer pressure of the past week finally broke through your defenses. “And you should, too, I saw the council. They approved of you two—”

“I don't want Ateya!” Neteyam roared, grabbing your upper arms, his grip firm, unyielding, but entirely careful not to hurt you. “And I don't want you anywhere near him! It was driving me insane, Y/N. Watching him touch you, watching you smile at him, and knowing you’re somehow mad at me again for only Eywa knows what. Because unlike him, I can’t seem to do anything right by you!”

Your chest heaved. Your inner lip was caught between your teeth as a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion hit you. His words felt like a direct proof of the thoughts you had just harbored at the feast. He had shown you nothing but absolute, relentless kindness his entire life, and you had paid him back in nothing coldness and meanness.

You swallowed hard, quickly turning your head to hide the hot tears that were suddenly pooling in your eyes. But you weren't fast enough. Neteyam took a sharp, panicked breath the moment he saw the glint of moisture on your cheek.

“Fuck. Are you crying?” he rushed out, his long strides instantly eating away the remaining space between you. The anger was completely gone, replaced by pure panic. “I didn't mean for it to come across that way. Shit. I'm so sorry I said that. Please don't cry.”

You shook your head, the hot tears finally spilling over and tracking down your face. Before you could pull away, his large hands came up, firmly but gently grasping your upper arms to steady you.

“No? Then what is it? Was it Tuvek?” his body went instantly rigid, his ears flattening as a dangerous, protective growl vibrated in his throat. “Did he say something to you?”

“No,” you sniffled, your own hands automatically coming up to grip his forearms, feeling the hard, steady muscle beneath his skin. “You were right, Neteyam. You can't do anything right by me, but you are not to blame for that. I am. I am so mean to you. So needlessly cruel and defensive at times, when all you've ever wanted to do was help me, and protect me, and I—”

“Hey. Shh,” he hushed you softly, pulling you forward and wrapping his massive, warm arms around your trembling frame and tucking your head securely against his chest. “What are you even saying? You could never do anything to me that I do not let you do. Don’t think of me as some victim.”

“That’s the exact problem,” you mumbled against his bare chest, your voice muffled but fierce. “You are such an idiot. You would literally allow me to impale you with a hunter's spear if I told you I wanted to.”

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated against your cheek. Neteyam squeezed you a little tighter, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I definitely would,” he whispered quietly.

A profound, heavy silence fell over you both. Neteyam slowly pulled back just enough to look down at your face, his golden eyes filled with a softness that made your knees weak as he traced the glowing pattern of your bioluminescent freckles—the stars he saw every single time he closed his eyes.

“You like me...” you mumbled, the words feeling like a sacred, forbidden secret leaving your lips.

“Like?” Neteyam echoed, a small, breathless smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe... when I was a boy.” His gaze darkened, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “But I am a man grown now. And my feelings grew out of the 'like' territory a very long time ago.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to process the intensity in his eyes. Remembering the scandalous, late-night gossip sessions with Kar'ek and the girls, you blinked up at him innocently. “You... you lust for me?”

Neteyam snorted, a sharp burst of genuine laughter barking from his chest. His large frame shook against yours, his white teeth flashing in the dark. Your lips twisted into a pout, your face thoroughly confused, but a spark of warmth bloomed in your gut just watching his unbridled joy.

“I do,” he admitted freely, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze dropped to your mouth for a heavy, lingering second. “I definitely do. But what I mean is... I love you. I am completely, entirely in love with you. I have been for years, Y/N. There is no one else. There never has been. And never will be.”

You looked up at him, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it. You tried as hard as you could to hide the massive smile tugging at your lips, burying your face slightly back into his chest. “You are an idiot...” you mumbled.

Neteyam let out a sharp, breathless laugh, his ears pinning back in absolute, staggering relief. He didn’t back down. Instead, his hand slid up to the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling gently into your hair as he tilted your face up, demanding your full attention.

“For being crazy over and falling in love with the clan’s fiercest, most stubborn huntress?” he asked, his voice dropping to a rough, intense whisper. “Perhaps I am. I am a massive idiot.”

You playfully glared at him, your hand tracing the curve of his arm. But the vulnerability rushed back, and your gaze lowered to his chest, your forehead creasing as your lower lip gave a small, telling tremble. “I got... so jealous of Ateya tonight. I was so jealous, Neteyam, I wanted to cry during dinner.” You looked up, your eyes wide and searching. “ think she would do well. She seems like a good woman, a good huntress... and an even better weaver, from what everyone says.”

A deeply humored, incredibly smug look washed over his features, a familiar, cocky smirk returning to his lips. “Do well with what?”

“With you,” you said, poking his chest sharply.

His head tilted, his thumb caressing your jawline. “I rejected the match with her for years because I wanted someone else,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And now this someone else is crying because she thinks I’ll ever look at another woman and forget the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Your lips twisted. “I am not good to you,” you repeated softly.

Neteyam squeezed your hand, bringing his face so close your noses brushed. “I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t care if you don’t feel the same right now,” he said with an absolute, unyielding intensity. “I only wish for your happiness. So whatever it takes, I will do it. I will take whatever fire or ice you throw my way.”

“Me, too,” you whispered.

Neteyam froze, his eyes widening a fraction. “You do?”

Your eyes went wide as you realized what you had just admitted, your heart leaping into your throat. “I—I mean, I want you to be happy, too!” you stammered, biting your lip as your gaze helplessly dropped to his mouth.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a quick, desperate kiss to his lips. You tried to step back in a hurry, your old defensive instincts flaring, but Neteyam’s arm tightened like steel around your waist. He pulled you flush against his body, his other hand gathering your braids to hold your head steady as he tilted your face up and kissed you properly.

He kissed you deep, hard, and possessive, molding his lips to yours with all the pent-up hunger of a man who had waited a lifetime. A soft, breathless moan escaped your throat against his mouth, your fingers gripping tightly into the muscles of his shoulders. It felt good. Shockingly, terrifyingly good.

He finally pulled away just enough to let you breathe, his lips trailing hot, damp paths down your jawline while his large hand cupped your cheek. You angled your head, desperate to kiss him again, but the sudden, distinct rustle of heavy footsteps nearby cut through the haze.

You moved away from him faster than lightning, your heart leaping into your throat. You started walking back toward the clearing like a startled yerik caught in a hunter's sights, only to freeze when you spotted Sak'nur walking down the path not a few paces away.

“There you are,” Sak'nur said, stopping. “Father told me to find you. What are you doing out—” He broke off, his forehead creasing deeply as his eyes slid behind you. “Neteyam?”

Your entire frame jolted. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest. “We ran past each other near the clearing,“ you lied smoothly, your voice barely trembling. “... I was only out for some cold air and alone time.”

“And Neteyam?” your brother asked, his sharp eyes darting suspiciously between the two of you.

You turned to look at Neteyam, seeing that he still looked completely stupefied, his ears twitching as he pointed a thumb vaguely behind himself, his lips opening and closing as if his verbals skills had entirely failed him.

“He was out to make sure there are no dangers in the vicinity,” you covered for him, stepping closer to your brother. “What does father want?”

Sak'nur stared at you, clearly unsatisfied with the answers but unable to pinpoint why. “He wants to speak with you about an important matter, apparently.”

“Alright, I'm going,” you said, offering a tight smile before turning back toward Hometree.

The two warriors followed you back to the communal clearing. You walked up to your father, who immediately drew you aside to a quieter corner of the clearing, away from the roaring heat of the central fire.

“Daughter,” your father began, his voice dropping into the low tone he used when speaking of clan matters. “The elders have spoken with me. They believe a pairing between you and Tuvek would secure a vital line of trust between our hunters. He is a formidable warrior, and his father is a powerful ally.”

You stood before him, but you could hardly think straight. Your skin was still flushed and your lips were practically burning, still tingling from the possessive pressure of Neteyam's mouth. The contrast between your father's political gravity and the wild, illicit heat flooding your veins was dizzying. You had absolutely no intention of entertaining a single word of what the council wanted.

“He seems like a good man, Father,” you said, forcing your voice to sound entirely detached, though your heart was still hammering against your ribs. “But I have no interest in him. Or his clan's alliances.”

Your father nodded, taking a slow sip from his cup. “He is an Olo'eyktan's firstborn son, daughter. It is a match of great honor. Are you telling me your heart is already occupied elsewhere?”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly locked your jaw, “Father, I am not interested in being a wife at this age, to be honest. I want to... sharpen my skills, so to say. But if the elders want an alliance, we have other huntresses from good lineage they can trade.”

Your father hid another slow satisfied smirk behind his cup. He had seen the way Neteyam had practically bolted out of the clearing after you, and he could see the telltale flush on your cheeks now. If the fact that you’re both singing the same tune isn’t enough proof.

“Very well,” he murmured evenly, tapping your shoulder. “I will tell the elders you wish to weigh the gravity of the decision first, but we won’t speak of this again.”

Across the room, Neteyam was standing with Sak'nur, feigning interest in whatever your brother is saying, but his golden eyes were locked onto you. He watched your expression, knowing how dutiful you were to your family, silently praying that just this once, you would listen to nothing but your own heart.

The moment he saw you walk away from your father, Neteyam set his bowl of brew down and patted Sak'nur on the back. His eyes met yours from across the crowded, firelit room, and he gave a subtle jerk of his head toward the outer branches. You gave a barely perceptible nod, slipping out of the feast once more.

As you walked along the high pathway of the outer branches, a large, warm hand wrapped firmly around your elbow, gently pulling you back into the darkness of a massive trunk.

“Your father...?” Neteyam began, his voice tight with anxiety.

Your lips twisted as you tried to stifle a massive smile. “He told me about an arrangement with Tuvek,” you murmured, watching his grip tighten on your arm. “I told him I am not interested.”

Neteyam let out a long, shuddering huff of relief. You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tiptoeing to press your lips to his. He kissed you back instantly, a soft, purring rumble in his chest. “Good,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Good.”

You smiled against his lips, pulling back slightly. “Listen,” you whispered, your expression turning serious. “I don't want to hide this... but I don't know how to tell my brother. Or my father. Or anyone, for that matter. Do you understand?”

Neteyam looked deep into your eyes, his gaze overflowing with tenderness. “I'm not complaining,” he smiled, leaning down to press another soft kiss to your lips. “We’ll do whatever you want. At your pace, baby.”

“Y/N?”

You jumped away from Neteyam instantly, spinning toward the entryway of the clearing to see Kar’ek standing there. His sharp eyes immediately narrowed into suspicious slits as he watched Neteyam stepping back into the shadows.

“Kar'ek,” you greeted, trying to sound breathless from walking, not kissing.

“We were just looking for you. It is time for the dancing!” Kar’ek said, dynamically swaying his hips to the distant rhythm of the drums.

“Right! I'll be there with you guys soon,” you grinned.

“Oh-kay...” Kar’ek dragged out, his eyes narrowing further as a massive, knowing smirk spread across his face. He shot a heavily loaded look toward Neteyam's shadow before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

That night was only the beginning. What followed was a succession of secret, thrilling rendezvous that left your heart permanently racing. You two were practically compiling your own list of offenses: like hiding beneath the massive roots of Hometree, your muffled giggles pressed against his chest while a hunting patrol walked mere paces away; the midnight flights on your ikrans to the highest, mist-shrouded cliffs just to share a single, stolen blanket from Tuk to take a nap; the hidden moments behind the weapon racks where he would boldly press you against the wood as he kisses you, his hand anchoring your hip while your brother is looking for him in the training grounds; and the quiet dawn swims in the river, washing the dirt from your skin while his hands mapped the curves of your body beneath the water.

You felt like you were living out one of Kar’ek’s scandalous escapades, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud whenever you recounted your friend's wild gossip to Neteyam during your hidden hours.

“Who exactly are these anonymous hunters?” Neteyam asked one afternoon, sounding thoroughly scandalized but chuckling warmly as he adjusted you comfortably on his lap. You were hidden deep within the hollow of an ancient tree.

“I won’t give any names,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “But let’s just say he is definitely not running out of boys to play with.”

“May Eywa give those poor boys strength,” Neteyam laughed, his chest rumbled against your back. “The same way she giveas me strength...”

You smirked, shifting your weight and swinging your legs over his thighs to straddle his lap completely. “I think there is a very low supply...” you whispered, cupping his strong jaw and leaning down to press a deep, teasing kiss to his lips.

Neteyam let out a low groan, his hands immediately finding your hips. You pulled away just an inch, chuckling softly against his skin.

“See? Low supply.”

“You are entirely unfair,” he growled playfully. His large hand came up, clamping firmly around the nape of your neck to pull you down into a deeper, far more breathless kiss. His other hand caressed your waist up to your breast, fondling gently. You smiled against his lips, grinding your hips against him as the heat between you flared.

In the succeeding weeks, the atmosphere in the communal gathering was heavy with an entirely different kind of tension. Gossips from the younger bunch spread after the elders discussed the latest news from the upper branches: a young, unmated woman had been discovered to be carrying a child, and her lover was a hunter from an outside clan.

Apparently, the two had been sneaking out for moons without anyone knowing.

Instantly, a wave of territorial protectiveness rippled through the Omatikaya men. They thought it an offense that the hunter should do it that way when he could have courted the woman. Your brother, on the other hand, knowing how many of the young hunters harbored quiet infatuations with you, issued a cryptic, booming warning to the circle.

“If any man thinks he can disrespect my sister in the dark, sneaking around behind my back,” Sak’nur growled, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk, “he will lose a hand before he ever sees the dawn.”

A sudden, nervous silence fell over the younger hunters. Several of them shifted uncomfortably, their faces tightening with guilt that they looked as if they were the ones actively sneaking out with you. You couldn't help but look across the fire, your eyes instantly landing on Neteyam and finding that wasn't sweating at all.

In fact, he had a deeply humored, incredibly cocky smirk playing on his lips as he raised a single, challenging eyebrow at you. Your lips twisted, and you aggressively rolled your eyes at him, though your heart gave a violent, uncontrollable flutter against your ribs.

Later that afternoon, the heat of the day had finally begun to break. You had just finished instructing a group of younger hunters in advanced archery, watching them disperse before turning back to the targets to hone your own marksmanship. You drew an arrow back, the tension of the bowstring resting against your cheek, when the distinct, soft crunch of footsteps sounded behind you.

You let the arrow fly, hitting the exact center of the target with a sharp sound, and smiled before you even turned around.

Neteyam stepped into your space, his large hand instantly snaking around your waist from behind, pulling your back flush against his chest. He lowered his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Not done yet?” he murmured, his fingers giving your waist a firm, possessive squeeze.

“Done,“ you said, unstringing the bow. "I was just practicing my aim."

"So modest, my baby..." he scoffed softly, a lopsided smirk gracing his lips as he took the bow from your hands and set it aside against the weapon rack. "As if she weren't already one of the finest marksmen this clan has ever seen. Come on. I’ll meet you up at the roost."

Your lips twisted into a small smile. You gathered your things and climbed the rocky, winding paths up to the high ikran ledges, arriving just a few minutes before him. By the time Neteyam walked up, his own saddle in hand, the sky had already begun to bleed into a bruised violet, the forest below waking up with its first faint glimmers of bioluminescence.

You both mounted and took to the sky, diving off the cliff into the open, cool air. Up in the darkening heavens, the weight of the clan entirely disappeared. You raced each other, your ikrans dipping and diving, their wings nearly brushing as you performed dizzying aerial maneuvers, laughing like children as you pushed each other higher into the clouds.

Eventually, the sky turned darker, and you guided your ikran down onto a secluded, floating mountain, a mossy grotto you both had claimed as your own secret sanctuary.

The moment your ikrans found their footing on the stone, you slid off your mount and threw yourself into Neteyam's arms. He caught you seamlessly, his large hands immediately locking around your waist to pull you flush against him. Your head was thrown back as he captured your lips, kissing you with a fierce, burning intensity that left you utterly breathless.

Your arms found purchase around his broad, powerful shoulders, matching the desperate hunger of his mouth as he slowly guided you down onto the soft, glowing moss of the grotto floor.

You let out a soft chuckle against his lips as his mouth migrated down, trailing hot, damp paths down your jawline and into the sensitive crook of your neck. You caressed his shoulders, your fingers tracing the hard muscle of his back.

"Have you not given what my brother said a single thought?" you asked breathlessly, cradling his head against your neck.

Neteyam reared his head back, looking down at you with a lazy, lopsided smile that made your stomach flip. "I am not afraid of your brother," he murmured, his golden eyes turning dark, yet carrying a sudden, wistful depth. "The only thing I am afraid of... is you waking up one day and deciding you’re completely done with me."

Your forehead creased, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You reached up, cupping his sharp, tattooed jawline with both hands. "That would never happen," you said with absolute emphasis, locking your eyes with his. "I love you, Neteyam. I love you very much."

Neteyam froze. His golden eyes widened a fraction, and then, a brilliant, blinding smile lit up his face, an expression of pure, unadulterated joy you rarely see on his stoic face.

"I love you more, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down to devour your lips in a soft, deeply tender kiss. "I love you so much more."

You looked up at him, smiling at the faint, unshed tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Isn’t it quite funny?" you chuckled softly, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb. "You’ve kissed me everywhere, we've broken every rule... but I haven’t actually told you that I love you until tonight."

Neteyam let out a deep, booming laugh, burying his face back into your neck, hugging you so tightly your ribs ached, peppering your skin with hot kisses. "I should have told you moons ago," you murmured, angling your head to give him better access.

"It doesn't matter," he breathed against your skin, his hands sliding down your body. "You love me now, and that is more than enough for me."

You smiled, pulling him down by his neck for another deep kiss. With a practiced, heavy motion, Neteyam’s long fingers brushed the soft, woven petals of your top away from your chest. His lips trailed a path of fire down your throat, moving lower until you arched your back with a soft gasp, completely offering yourself to him.

He suckled deeply on one breast while his large hand fondled and squeezed the other, his thumb rubbing the sensitive peak until a ragged moan tore from your throat. You let your head fall back against the cool, damp earth, your fingers tangling in the moss as he kissed his way down the flat plane of your stomach.

Neteyam slid down, his hands firmly pressing your thighs apart. You instinctively lifted your hips, allowing him to untie the leather cords of your loincloth, pulling it free from your tail. Once you were fully bare beneath him, he lowered his head between your legs.

His tongue was relentless at licking, sucking, and swirling against your slick center, guided entirely by the needy, desperate sounds leaving your lips. He held your thighs pinned against his shoulders, driving you closer and closer to the edge until your body violently shuddered, a loud cry echoing through the quiet grotto as you came against his mouth.

As the tremors slowly faded, Neteyam rose, kneeling between your parted legs. The pale bioluminescence of the floating mountain washed over him, treating you to a breathtaking view of his heavily muscled frame, his broad chest heaving, his shoulders squared as he untied his own loincloth. His eyes were fixed on you with a dark, predatory intensity. He lowered his upper body down, pinning you beneath his weight as he kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

Wanting a change, you prepared to flip your positions, aiming to slide on top of him. With a sudden shift of your hips, you successfully rolled over, though Neteyam definitely helped guide your waist, letting out a low grunt as his back hit the mossy ground.

Your lips twisted into a dark, confident smirk as you straddle him. Reaching down, your fingers wrapped around his large, thick length, looking down at him with heavy, hooded eyes. Neteyam smiled lopsidedly, his hands resting loosely on your hips as he watched you gather your own wetness, deliberately lathering it along the shaft of his cock.

His hips gave an involuntary, desperate buck as a low whimper escaped his throat. You immediately pressed a firm hand against his tense abdomen. "Relax, baby..." you whispered.

In retaliation, his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers bruising your skin. You lined his head up against your velvety lips, slowly brushing the wide, sensitive tip against your wetness, intentionally pleasuring yourself first. Neteyam watched you, completely incapable of closing his eyes even as the sheer pleasure made his jaw clench.

Finally, you guided him to your opening, adjusting the angle of your thighs to accommodate his familiar, staggering girth. You bit your lower lip as the wide head began to slip inside, knowing it would take a conscious effort to take all of him in.

You began to lower yourself down with agonizing slowness. Neteyam’s hands were firm on your waist, keeping you steady, but your own impatience suddenly got the better of you. With a sharp exhale, you sank down in one sudden, heavy motion, completely impaling yourself on him as a loud, ragged cry tore from your throat.

"Shit," Neteyam groaned, his eyes snapping shut as his arms instantly flew up to gather your upper body, holding you tight as you weakly collapsed against his chest like a broken branch hanging to a tree for dear life. "Baby..."

He wrapped his massive arms around you, his hand tilting your chin up so he could kiss you, soothing the sudden, overwhelming fullness. You kissed him back deeply, your walls tightly squeezing and suffocating his girth. You stayed entirely still, kissing and breathing together until your body finally adjusted to him.

Once the ache turned into a thrumming heat, you pushed yourself up, beginning to move rhythmically on top of him. You pushed and pulled, your hips, grinding against his as you anchored one hand firmly against his chest. Neteyam’s hands returned to your waist, guiding your pace as the speed picked up.

Your breathless moans and his deep, guttural groans echoed off the stone walls of the little grotto. In the middle of a heavy upward stroke, Neteyam's thumb found your sensitive nub, rubbing it in perfect sync with your movements. The sudden, intense friction made your entire frame tremble.

“Shit...” you quivered and he applied pressure on your nub.

“Aww...” he mumbled mockingly, his other hand fondling your breast. “You feel so good, baby...”

He was incredibly talkative even in the heat of sex, whispering praise, groaning your name, telling you how good you felt, and you absolutely loved it.

Your internal muscles clamped down hard as a violent wave of completion took over, your body shaking as you came for the second time, hugging his neck tightly while he switched your positions and lay you back on the moss to continued pounding into you. He kissed the sweat-slicked skin of your shoulder as he thrusted, finally let out a low, roaring groan, spilling himself deep inside you.

The sheer exhaustion of the night finally caught up to you, and you passed out cold in his arms and when you finally blinked your eyes open, the cool violet of the night had been replaced by the bright, piercing light. You were still tucked securely against his side, your cheek resting comfortably against his broad chest.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Neteyam whispered, a soft chuckle vibrating against your ear. “I thought we were only staying for a few hours, but then... you slept straight through the night and half the morning.”

You huffed a quiet chuckle, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his chest. “Morning to you, too, handsome,” you mumbled, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Your long braids cascaded beautifully over your shoulders, framing your face in the bright daylight. You watched as Neteyam’s golden eyes instantly dilated at the sight. "I suppose I do love sleeping in," you teased.

"I love you sleeping in, too..." he whispered, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You look so innocent when you're asleep."

You grinned, a wicked light entering your eyes. "And when I’m awake?"

"When awake... you’re my naughty little huntress," he whispered hoarsely, leaning in to playfully nip at your earlobe. "But right now, the naughty is going to have to be reined in. We need to go home. Your family is definitely looking for you by now."

You pouted, shifting your weight. "I’m a big girl, Neteyam. My father won’t care about that anymore. Or... are you suddenly scared of Sak'nur?"

Neteyam scoffed, though a confident smile quickly broke across his face. "I can handle your brother."

You smirked, your hand slowly traveling down the flat plane of his stomach until your fingers wrapped around his length, which was already hardening at your touch. "So then we can definitely stay for one more."

He groaned, allowing you to take control. He sat up, kneeling on the moss and rounding you. On normal days, you would lie on your back, but this morning, you turned your back to him, dropping down onto your hands and knees, arching your spine invitingly.

Neteyam let out a low, guttural growl, his large hands clamping onto your hips. You looked back over your shoulder, catching sight of his chest heaving, his golden eyes blown wide and wild, looking exactly like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. The romance of the previous night was entirely gone, replaced by a wild, frantic, and primal morning coupling that left you both shivering.

By the time you both got ready and mounted your ikrans, it was already midday. You flew back toward Hometree, racing each other through the canopy and laughing like idiots, but the moment you neared the high roost, the laughter died in your throat.

Standing right at the edge of the ledge, arms crossed tightly over his chest, was Sak'nur.

You weren't necessarily scared of being found out, but the timing couldn't have been worse. The moment your ikran’s feet touched the branches, you slid off, quickly stepping in front of your brother and pressing a firm hand against his chest to force him back.

Sak'nur looked absolutely murderous, his eyes locked entirely on Neteyam, who landed smoothly a second later and descended from his saddle with a calm, steady grace.

“Were you with my sister the entire night? She didn’t come home,” Sak’nur demanded, his voice a low, lethal growl.

“Sak’nur, stop,” you pleaded, shoving against his chest.

"I was," Neteyam answered simply, his golden eyes unblinking as he stepped forward.

"Motherfucker," Sak’nur hissed, pouncing forward. You threw your entire weight into your brother to hold him back, but he was far too strong. He overpowered you, shoving you aside to get to his target.

Neteyam’s eyes widened at the sight of you being pushed. "Fucker!" he hissed, all restraint vanishing as he launched himself at your brother.

The two of them collided heavily, grappling and tearing into each other, throwing raw, heavy punches that echoed through the trees. They were fighting like you had never seen them fight before. Two elite warriors tearing the ground apart out of sheer, blinding rage.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Sak’nur roared, catching Neteyam by the throat and slamming him against a mossy root. "Out of all the men here who would go behind my back and disrespect my sister, I didn’t think it would be you! You sneak around in the dark like a coward! Are you toying with her?!"

Neteyam threw a vicious elbow, breaking Sak’nur’s grip and forcing him back a step. His chest was heaving, his face smeared with dirt and sweat, but his eyes were blazing with absolute, unyielding conviction.

"I am not toying with her!" Neteyam shouted back, his voice tearing raw. "I have loved Y/N my entire life! I’ve never been with anyone else, not a single soul, because of her! I love her more than my own breath, Sak’nur! And I knew that if she ever showed me even just a single drop of love, not even our friendship would be enough to keep me away from her!"

Neteyam wiped a smear of blood from his lip, stepping right back into Sak’nur’s face.

"And she does. She loves me. So I can't stay away, and I won't. I intend to mate with her before Eywa. I intend to make her my wife!"

Sak’nur stared at him, his ears pinning back in a mix of fury and sheer, stunned disbelief. "Make her your wife?! You say you honor her, yet you disrespect her by sneaking her out into the jungle for only Eywa knows what?!"

"I am a grown woman, Sak’nur!" you screamed, your chest heaving as you glared fiercely at your brother. "It is not your business where I go, or who I choose to lay with!"

Sak’nur looked at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, the protective fury in his eyes still burning but slightly wavering under your fierce defense.

Neteyam stepped up right behind you, his large hand coming down to rest firmly on your shoulder, anchoring you to his side. He looked at your brother, the raw anger in his face softening into something deeply earnest, yet entirely uncompromising.

"Sak'nur, look at me," Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a steady, intense rhythm. "What Y/N and I have... it is entirely separate from the brotherhood between us. You are my best friend. You are my brother in arms. But your sister and I... We love each other. I love her with everything I am, and nothing is going to change that. Not even you."

Your brother grappled with him again, they punched and tore into each other like wild animals. It was a brutal, bloody spectacle, but to your absolute, utter confusion, the raw violence slowly devolved into heavy panting, and then... a sharp burst of laughter.

You stood there, your jaw practically dropping as you watched them lie on the ground, bloody-faced and bruising, laughing like two boys who had just finished a friendly sparring match.

"Brother," Neteyam began, wiping a smear of blood from his lip as he sat up. "I do not mean to go behind your back... but like I said, what I have with Y/N is ours alone. No one knew about it until now. We were keeping it low... but I won’t apologize for loving her."

Sak'nur shook his head, a lingering, humored smirk on his face as he accepted Neteyam’s hand to pull himself up. "I don’t expect you to apologize," your brother said, wiping his own nose. "But I still expect you to be a better man. You will court my sister properly now... and the mating will be in a year."

"A year?!" you and Neteyam echoed in unison, your voices cracking.

Sak'nur scoffed, a teasing glint in his eye. "What, not man enough?"

"Fuck you," Neteyam replied smoothly, standing to his full height and casting a wicked, incredibly cocky wink in your direction. "All right. I will do all of that. I wanted to court her openly anyway. I want everybody in this jungle to know exactly who I belong to."

Your brother scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. I’m still her brother, and I’m still your best friend. If you don’t want me to kick you in the gut, you'll stop the sweet talk."

Neteyam rolled his eyes, offering him a playful shove. "Whatever."

The three of you walked back down the winding pathways toward your family’s kelku. Every single person you passed stared in utter bewilderment at the two elite, bloody warriors limping and holding their bruised sides. They had beaten each other to an absolute pulp, and it was honestly hilarious to witness.

Your father was standing just outside the entryway of the kelku when he spotted the procession.

"Y/N, where were you?!" he called out before his eyes landed on the two battered men. "Great Mother... what happened to you two?"

Sak'nur merely jerked his head toward Neteyam, a smug grin splitting his bruised face. "This asshole is going to court my sister."

Your father stopped. He looked at you, then at Neteyam's heavily bruised but triumphant face, and let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, well. Finally."

"Finally?" Sak'nur echoed, thoroughly confused.

"Son, you are completely blind," your father muttered, throwing a heavy hand over Sak'nur's shoulder and leading him inside the kelku to get treated.

Left alone on the path, you walked up to Neteyam, entirely uncaring of the remaining eyes watching from the clearing. "Oh, baby..." you murmured softly, your fingers gently rising to touch the massive, purpling bruise forming on his sharp cheekbone. He winced slightly at the contact. "Let’s deal with that inside."

"Hmm," Neteyam hummed, a lazy, victorious rumble vibrating in his chest. His large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side before he lowered his head, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, deeply public kiss.

Marco unbuckled his harness shortly after, following your lead and stepping out right behind you. “Y/N, please. Let's not start the ’Grace Augustine was an unappreciated prophet’ monologue again,” he groaned, scanning the immediate perimeter nervously. “Her data on the electrochemical transduction between the roots was purely theoretical. The RDA board members back at Bridgehead call it ’tree-hugger mysticism’ for a reason. There’s no hard evidence of a literal collective consciousness.”

“That’s because the RDA board members have the intellectual capacity of a wet sponge, Marco,” you snapped back playfully, already dropping to your knees in the dirt. You dug a trowel into a patch of violet ferns, unbothered by the dampness seeping into your avatar's uniform. “They want everything to be quantifiable in tons of unobtanium. They can't handle the fact that the grass beneath their boots has a higher IQ than their entire legal department.”

Dr. Danel stepped out of the helicopter last, looking down at you with a fond, albeit tired smile. “Now, Y/N, science requires skepticism. Dr. Augustine was brilliant, but mapping a planet-wide neural network through a handful of localized root samples is a massive statistical leap.”

“Oh, come on, Doc!” You looked up, a massive grin breaking across your blue face as your tail flicked with pure excitement. “Look at the signal delay when I do this.”

You tapped the handle of your trowel sharply against a thick, exposed root of a nearby tree. Instantly, a wave of faint cyan light pulsed through the moss, rippling outward into the dark underbelly of the forest like a fallen domino.

“See that?” you pointed, leaning in so close your nose almost touched the dirt. “That is not a localized reflex. That is a synapse firing! If Earth’s neurologists weren't so incredibly arrogant, if they just believed in something beyond what can be explained by their rigid Earth science, they could easily get a PhD in neurology just by studying the damn grass here!”

Marco snorted, shaking his head as he maneuvered his datapad. “Sure. A course about advanced synaptic botany, taught by a blade of grass, would be so loved by Ivy Leaguers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Who cares about what they love? We’re on Pandora!” you said. “And I'm serious!” you insisted, scooping a pristine sample of the glowing soil into a sterile jar. “Back on Earth, human neurologists spend decades slicing up organic brains, trying to figure out how a hundred billion neurons create a thought. Meanwhile, out here, Pandora just grew a giant, macroscopic brain and let us walk around inside it. You don't need a scalpel to study this mind, Marco. You just need an open mind.”

Dr. Danel chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “It’s a beautiful hypothesis, Y/N. But until we can map the exact neurotransmitter equivalents traveling through those roots, the military heads at Bridgehead are going to keep treating this world like a parking lot waiting to happen.”

“Then they're fools,” you muttered, sealing the jar as you looked at the back of a recombinant soldier. “Because you don't fight a brain this big. It’s going to outsmart them just as it did in the First Pandoran War with Jake Sully.”

Before Marco could counter your argument with another dry, skeptical remark, all of you grew silent as one of the recoms threw a fist in the air. Dr. Danel looked at them with a deeply worried frown. “Keep your weapons low, Corporal. We are here strictly for ecological sampling. If we trigger a political incident with the Omatikaya, the General will have our heads.”

“Relax, Doc,” the soldier smirked. “We’re just keeping our eyes peeled for the blues.”

Your head snapped to the side, your large, sensitive ears twitching violently backward, catching the unmistakeable sound of footsteps against the moss. The recom near a foliage clutched his heavy assault rifle and pointed it into a void before shooting in the air.

“Stop! What are you doing!” Dr. Danel shouted over the gunfire.

You heard another sound, sharp and cutting, and the next rhing you saw was a massive arrow tearing through the air, embedding itself directly into the chest of the soldier who fired the shots. He didn't even have time to scream before the sheer force threw his massive body backward into the dirt.

“Ambush!” The other recom roared, instantly raising his rifle and blind-firing into the dense thicket. The thunderous crack of gunfire shattered the peaceful morning.

“Get back in the chopper! Now!” Dr. Danel screamed, struggling to reach out from the open bay door, his blue hands outstretched toward you. “Y/N! Marco!”

Everything dissolved into a chaotic blur and from the branches above, massive shadows dropped with a swift, terrifying grace. You saw a massive Na'vi warrior collided with the uninjured recom, sending both of them crashing into the underbrush.

“Y/N!” Marco shrieked. He tried to jump out of the rising chopper to grab your arm, but he was hauled back when the pilot panicked and pulling the chopper upward to escape the hail of arrows. “No! Y/N!”

You scrambled backward on your hands and knees, your specimen jar shattering against a root. Before your brain could even choose between flight-or-fight, a massive, muscular arm strongly wrapped around your waist. You let out a high-pitched shriek as your body was effortlessly hauled up in the air, your feet kicking.

“Stop moving!” A harsh voice barked in your ear.

You blinked through your panic, looking around the clearing. The second soldier was dead, but the other was severely wounded on the ground, surrounded by three Na'vi warriors who had his arms pinned. And holding your by the arm now was a fiercely built Na'vi with striking golden eyes, a stern jawline, and a beautifully crafted bow slung over his shoulder.

“Okay, first of all, ouch!” you gasped, wiggling your arm against his iron grip. “Second of all, we were literally just collecting dirt! Do you see this? It's a trowel! It’s for digging, not for conquering! We are peaceful academics!”

The man narrowed his eyes at you before his head jerked to the nearest man. “Bind her. And secure the recom. We take them to my father.”

You understood that Na’vi and you panicked. “Bind me?! No need! I will go peacefully. I mean, my companions are gone and I might not survive alone here, honestly speaking,” you rambled. “Tell me, which people are you? See, I know a few clan names, just from what I’ve read, but the most famous one was the Omatikaya. Jake Sully’s clan. Oh, Jake Sully, my fellow. You know him? And Norm Spellman? I know them both. Parasocially, of course—”

The man yanked your arm, forcing you into a march. “Keep moving.”

“Ouch! Be careful with me!” you said, only to shriek again when you were hauled up by your waist and flopped down on the back of a huge direhorse. “Wow, you are so nice!”

The man mounted behind you, his hand gathering your hands so fast you haven’t even able to get a word out and your hands were bounded. You turned your head to look at the man with a glare.

“Oh, this was unnecessary!” you complained.

You felt his large hand on your head, forcing it to turn back to the path and you groaned in annoyance. The march back to the Omatikaya stronghold was an absolute nightmare, but mostly for Neteyam. Not you. For a captive who had just survived a lethal ambush, you possessed a completely infuriating trust and hope for your captors. Your legs were swinging on the direhorse as if it were just an ordinary ride and he had never met someone so talkative.

Once, during the ride, you leaned back toward his body and produced a very inappropriate sound. He suddenly regretted knowing your tongue, because it was torture. You even managed to speak in minimal Na’vi to make sure you were including his warriors to your pep talks.

“You know, you have an impressive wall of muscle. The muscular structure of your quadriceps is fascinating,” you chatted amiably, touching his thigh with your pointing finger and removing it before he could even swat your hand away. “You have a distinct body structure from the other dudes in general. Jesus, what are they feeding you? I bet you’re their strongest warrior. Like Achilles to the Greeks or something. And that stunt in the tree you did? Oh, my femurs would literally turn into chalk. Crack. Just dust.” You nodded at him. “By the way, my name is Y/N. What’s yours? You look like a... Nathan. Do you have a Na'vi equivalent for Nathan?”

He didn’t answer and he hated how curious he was. What’s a Nathan? He’d have to ask Jake about that.

“And you!” You pointed to another warriors. “Wow, the braids. Did you do those yourself or is there a designated hair-stylist in your clan? Because the symmetry is immaculate. Truly. I tried to braid my avatar’s hair three days ago and I looked like an electrocuted direhorse.”

Neteyam kicked his direhorse to a halt, stopping it dead in its tracks. The entire column of warriors halted behind him. You turned to him curiously.

“Uhm, why did we stop? Are we finally here—”

“You do not stop speaking,” Neteyam hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You are a prisoner of war. You should be weeping. You should be praying to your false gods.”

Your jaw dropped. He is speaking your tongue, and his voice is sexy. “Oh, you have a sexy English voice. Did you know that? Just deep and gravelly, so hot,” you flashed him a smile. “And honestly, crying burns calories, and I’m already hungry so—”

With a swift, fed-up motion, Neteyam snatched a thick strip of a woven strip from his satchel. Before you could move, his massive hand put the strip into your mouth, tying it securely behind your head.

“Mmph?!” you protested, your eyes widening.

“If you make another sound, I will tie you to my direhorse backwards,” Neteyam warned, his face inches from yours.

Oh, you are lucky to be so handsome right now, you groaned. You’d claw his face if you could! You rolled your eyes, giving a muffled, sassy huff through your nose, and sat properly.

“There,” he said in a low voice near your ear, sending a weird electricity throughout your body.

You felt a weird tingling between your thighs and looked down as if you could see the biological mechanisms of what’s happening in your avatar body. Your eyes narrowed and your jaw dropped. Oh, absolutely. You didn’t know that an avatar body could feel turned on, too, and that it has mechanisms at all for that. You wondered if it works just like a human body.

When the hunting party finally broke through the dense foliage, you were treated to a view of a massive tree. A hometree. “Whoa... This is your home?” you uttered in a muffled voice.

“What? Can’t understand you,” the man behind you said, and when you turned to him, you saw a satisfied smirk on his face.

You groaned, but the shift in the atmosphere already got your attention. The Hometree was massive, it was insane, and in front of its hollowed out entrance stood a large man whose physique differs from those around him. Your gasp was muffled, but you realized that tha was Jake Sully. Looking every bit the legendary, battle-hardened resistance leader he was painted to be in every news you’ve watched about him.

The man behind you dismounted, lifting you off the direhorse in a swift move just as the other warriors were shoving the wounded Recombinant to the ground.

“Sir. We found them near the eastern borders, accompanied by a Samson. One is dead, the others escaped, and we brought this one alive.”

Jake's eyes immediately locked onto the wounded Recombinant before looking at another warrioe. “Get him treated, we need him alive. He’s an asset.”

You, however, were completely ignoring the political drama. Your eyes had landed squarely on Norm Spellman. Your muffled “Mmmph!” becoming incredibly loud.

Norm, noticing your eyes on him, blinked. “Uh, Neteyam. What's up with that one?”

Neteyam sighed heavily. “She has a sickness of the mouth. She does not stop.” With an irritated jerk of his hand, Neteyam reached out and untied your gag.

The moment the leather cleared your lips, you took a deep breath and gasped, “Norm? Norm Spellman?”

Norm froze. “Uh... yeah?”

From the shadows of a nearby rock, you heard someone saying, “A Norm fan? Wow. That's a first for Pandora.” And when you whipped your heard, you saw a grown white man wearing only a loincloth.

You ignored him and looked back at Norm again. “I’ve read every single one of your published papers on the exoflora of the Western Frontier!” you blurted out, your tail swishing with genuine euphoria. “Your study on how Pandoran trees use electrical pulses to communicate with each other was foundational to my entire master's thesis! I can't believe it! You're a legend!”

Norm’s chest instantly puffed out. He looked over at Jake with a smug, self-satisfied grin. “Oh, a small thing. Wait, are you working for the RDA?”

“Not really working working for them, but I’m a scholar. I only really care about the flora and fauna, nothing else,“ you replied.

Norm shared a meaningful look with Jake who shifted his gaze to you. Before he could even speak, you jumped right at it again.

“And you! You’re like... the ultimate legendary villain back on Earth. They literally have a three-hour documentary about how you single-handedly ruined humanity’s chance for a brand new life in a brand new world. I am so incredibly honored to meet you,” you offered him your bounded hands.

He looked down at it, his hand politely holding your jutting out fingers and shaking it lightly before letting go.

“But honestly, I understand you. Humanity doesn’t really mean humanity, anyway, right? They won’t be transferring everyone. At least not the billions of humans on Earth. Only those who have billions. So, seriously, the battle of the Hallelujah Mountains? Masterclass.”

Jake was utterly dumbfounded. He looked at Neteyam, then back to you, completely unsure of how to process everything you’re saying. Neteyam placed a hand over his face, shaking his head.

“I apologize, Dad. I should have left her in the woods. I will put her in the upper cells.” The man beside you said, and your jaw dropped.

“Dad?!” you echoed, your head snapping to the man and looking at Jake. “You are Jake Sully’s son? No way! That’s why you’re built different, huh—”

“Get that man to the underground cells,” Neteyam’s deep voice cut your rambling off, and you saw the warriors drag the Recom by his shirt. “And you, if you don’t shut up, I will put you underground, too.”

“Is that a euphemism for burying alive? If so, then no, you don’t need to do that! I will shut up, now,” you nodded at him with a serious look on your face.

“Good,” he replied, his large hand wrapping at your forearm and started dragging you into the Hometree.

The hollowed-out trunk spans upwards and an intricate winding ramp was so beautiful, you couldn't wrap your head around the fact that it was definitely made by hands. The upper cells were situated three levels up and your cell was a naturally hollowed-out alcove with thick, curling wooden bars to close off the entrance.

Neteyam removed your bindings, his eyes narrowed as he watched you with deep suspicion, gently pushing you inside. To you, it didn't look like a jail cell. It looked like something out of a fairytale. There was even a window-like hole to let in air which also allows you to look at the surrounding verdant bush outside.

“This is gorgeous,” you muttered, running your fingers along the smooth, glowing moss on the root wall. “It’s like living inside a luxury treehouse. It reminds me of those storybook rabbits!”

You turned to him when you heard the door close. You put a hand on your hip, watching him secure it by a heavy leather latch on the outside. Your eyes narrowed.

“No need for that though, even if I wanted to run away, I wouldn’t have known how to go back to Bridgehead.” you said, sitting on the woven hammock, removing your boots.

He stood outside the bars, watching you do a yoga easy sit on the hammock.

“Neteyam, right?” you asked, putting your palms together. His eyes dropped to your hands, his forehead creasing. “Quick question. The Recombinant soldier. Is he going to live? Because from a scholarly standpoint, seeing how his synthetic Na’vi biology handles physical trauma under stress is a once-in-a-lifetime research opportunity for me—”

You were cut off when he simply turned on his heel and walked away into the shadows of the upper tunnels. Your lips parted, pointing a finger to where he disappeared. You stood up, walking to the bars.

“Wow! The nerve of this man!” you yelled after him, throwing your hands up. “A simple ‘I don't know,’ would have sufficed! Oh, you rude, rude man! Super rude!”

You turned around, letting out an annoyed sigh, and banged a closed fist against the wooden bars. The sounds of footsteps nearby reminded you that you weren't alone, though, because standing a few paces away were two young warriors assigned to guard duty. They were gripping their spears tightly, looking all fierce and imposing.

You smirked. Target acquired.

“Hey guys,” you said in Na’vi, sliding down the bars until you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at them through the gaps. “So, since you’re going to be my best friends for the foreseeable future, we might as well chat. I’m Y/N. What are your names?”

The guards exchanged a tense glance. The taller one muttered something in rapid Na'vi to his companion.

“Oh, I caught that! You don’t need to be afraid. Surely, they won’t punish you for talking? Unless the Olo’eyktan of Frown Town called Neteyam will get mad about that,” you said. Your accent was a little clunky, but your vocabulary was shockingly vast. “My grammar is bad, but I have a big heart. I’m going to tell you right here, right now that I do not like the RDA. They are... how do you say... greedy parasites who smell like burning gasoline?”

The shorter guard's mouth twitched. He quickly bit his lower lip to hide a smile.

“Seriously!” you pressed on, leaning your cheek against the wood. “I am a scholar! I do not support their violence and destruction of your world.”

A snort escaped the taller guard. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the dam had broken.

“You... speak our tongue,” the shorter one said, stepping a bit closer. “Though you sound like a seven-year-old who isn’t sure of her words.”

“I'm doing my best here,” you laughed, your tail flicking playfully behind you. “What's your name, short-and-judgmental?”

“I am Si’an,” he said, a reluctant grin breaking across his face. “And this is Aleto.”

You nodded. “Nice names. Does it mean anything?” you curiously asked and they moved closer to properly chat with you.

When it was time to sleep, you pulled the soft blanket Aleto had smuggled for you up to your chin. You closed your eyes, the bioluminescent glow of the walls fading into a flash of sterile, blinding white light. A harsh hiss echoed in your ears as the pressurized seal of the link pod broke, replacing the warm, rich air outside by the synthetic, recycled chill of Bridgehead’s tech-bay.

You coughed slightly as your throat adjusted to the atmosphere, holding onto something so you could sit up. There was a crowd of tech-assistants and scientists around you, at forefront being Dr. Danel and Marco, their faces pale. Behind them, standing like a dark cloud, was the military division head, General Ardmore's deputy, alongside a couple of armed security guards.

“Y/N! Shit! Oh, thank goodness,” Marco blurted out, helping you up. “We thought you were dead! The chopper pilot said the whole clearing was crawling with hostiles!”

“Where is your avatar?” Dr. Danel asked, his voice worried as he checked your vitals monitor. “Is the link stable? What happened?”

You swung your legs over the edge of the pod, looking around the crowded lab and taking a deep breath. You delivered the news with complete, deadpan gravity.

“I’m in jail.”

Their faces looked like a cluster of colorful balloons had just been violently popped. The entire room went dead silent.

“Jail?” Dr. Danel echoed, his jaw dropping. “The Na'vi have... a penal system?”

You shook your head. “No, no. It’s more of like a dungeon, honestly,” you lied, your eyes sliding over to the military official who was now pushing his way through the scientists.

The soldier leaned over your pod. “Where is Corporal Jeong? The Recom soldier who was taken with you.”

You immediately schooled your face into an expression of vacant, traumatized innocence. You shook your head slowly. “I don't know, sir. The moment the Na’vis dropped from the trees, everything went completely sideways. I was blindfolded almost immediately. I couldn't see a thing.”

“Did you catch on to who got you? Which clan? Where their base of operations is?” the commander pressed, his eyes narrowing

You glanced briefly at Dr. Danel before looking back at the officer, widening your eyes. “N-No. Like I said, I was blindfolded the entire time and the next thing I know, I’m at the bottom of a dark, wooden hole. I haven't seen a single tactical layout.”

The commander gave a tight, deeply unsatisfied nod. “If they bring you out for interrogation, or if you catch any geographical markers through the link, you notify us immediately. Understood? You are our eyes inside the enemy's perimeter.”

“Understood, sir,” you lied flawlessly.

The moment the military detail cleared out, Dr. Danel and Marco practically dragged you by your arms into the break room, giving you a bottle of water and a heated bowl of food.

“Alright, what’s really going on?” Marco hissed, handing you a cup of hot coffee now. “Was that true? You don’t know where you are?”

You took a slow sip of your coffee, keeping your mouth firmly shut. You had made a decision the moment Neteyam dragged you into that spectacular tree trunk. If the RDA found out you were sitting in the literal heart of the Pandoran resistance, they would turn your link pod into a military tracking beacon. They would use your eyes to map out a strike zone and to kill Jake Sully, once and for all.

You were a scientist of life, not an asset for a corporate war machine. Your sole purpose now was to earn the trust of the Omatikaya, to get them to open that wooden door so you could study the magnificent, interconnected mind of this world.

“It’s true,” you said quietly, looking Marco dead in the eye. “And if I know anything, I'm not telling the military a damn thing. I am here to continue my PhD. I am not a spy.”

Dr. Danel let out a long, heavy sigh, but to your surprise, a small, proud smile touched his lips. “Good. Keep it that way. If the General's office smells even a whiff, they will take over your life completely. Just like what they tried to do with Jake Sully.”

“Just be careful, Y/N,” Marco warned, though he looked relieved even as he rolled his eyes. “Wherever you are.”

Because of the immense pressure, you became incredibly strict with your schedule. You spent your human hours locked in the Bridgehead labs, meticulously analyzing the soil samples you had managed to bring back, utilizing the high-tech RDA equipment to catalog data before swiftly diving back into the link pod. You couldn't afford to waste time. Every hour your avatar slept was an hour you could be earning the trust of the Omatikaya.

The next morning, Si’an and Aleto were joined by another young hunter and by noon, you had taught them the universal, high-stakes psychological thriller known as Rock, Paper, Scissors.

“No, Aleto, listen,” you explained patiently, your face pressed against the gap in the wooden bars. “The stone smashes the scissors. The scissors cut the paper. The paper covers the stone. It is a cycle of inevitable destruction.”

“But why does paper defeat stone?” Tseru asked, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. “A stone can tear through a leaf easily.”

“It blankets the stone, Tseru! It smothers its power!” you argued dramatically, throwing your hands up. “Don’t question the ancient lore of Earth. Now, on three. Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!”

You thrust out a flat hand for paper. Aleto threw out two fingers for scissors. He let out a triumphant, booming warrior cry that echoed through the upper canopy of Hometree, thrusting his spear into the air. “I have cut your paper!”

“Ah, a worthy adversary,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You win this round. Now hand over that blue fruit you’re hiding behind your back.”

As Aleto happily passed the sweet treat through the bars, you felt a familiar cue at the back of your consciousness, the digital tether of the link gently pulling you back for a scheduled maintenance cycle.

“Alright, boys, the link is pulling me back for a bit,” you warned them, shifting back onto your woven hammock and pulling up a blanket to your chin. “Don't miss me too much. Practice your tactics.”

“We will guard your cell, Y/N,” Si'an promised solemnly, puffing out his chest.

You spent the rest of the day working in the lab, letting the military guards see you conscious in your human form to show them that there was indeed nothing you could do with your avatar confined in a dungeon somewhere none of you know. You keep up at this, living your double lives seamlessly.

By week two, your cell had ceased to be a prison. It had officially become the hottest social club at Hometree. Word of the many Terran games you were teaching your guards had spread through the adolescent hunter ranks like wildfire. One day, when you linked back into your avatar form, the cell was practically buzzing.

You opened your eyes not just to the usual thrre guards, but seven young warriors huddled outside your bars, arguing heatedly over their hand positions.

“No! Tseru is cheating! His hand was a stone, but then he changed it to paper when he saw my scissors!” Si'an shouted, his tail thrashing in high-stakes frustration.

“I did not! The stone simply unfolded due to the wind!” Tseru countered defensively.

You sat up on your hammock, stretching your long blue arms, a massive grin breaking across your face. “Well, well, well. Look at this. A regular tournament of champions.”

The warriors instantly turned to you, their faces lighting up. “Y/N! You are awake!” Aleto cheered, rushing to the bars. “Teach us another. The finger-game has caused three arguments and Tseru owes me his favorite hunting knife.”

“Alright, alright, settle down,” you laughed, sliding off the hammock and sitting cross-legged at the gate. “Since you guys like tactical competition, let me introduce you to a little thing called Charades.”

For the next two hours, the upper cells of Hometree became a theater of absolute, unadulterated chaos. You had fierce, deadly Omatikaya warriors, men who could take down a large Samson with a single arrow, frantically flailing their arms, hopping on one foot, and mimicking the movements of various forest creatures while the others screamed guesses at the top of their lungs.

“An ikran! No, a sturmbeest! Why are you shaking your hips like that, Aleto? Is it a sick direhorse?!”

“It is a viperwolf catching a bug!” Aleto yelled, exasperated, collapsing against the wooden bars while you wiped tears of laughter from your eyes.

“No, no, he was clearly a very dramatic prolemuris,” you corrected, leaning your head against the bars. “You guys are terrible at this. I love it.”

Si’an smiled warmly, handing you a beautifully carved wooden cup filled with sweet water. “The sky people must have a very strange world if this is how you spend your days. Do you not have forests to run through?”

Your smile softened, your tail giving a quiet, reflective twitch. “We used to, Si’an. Earth was a beautiful planet once. Green, vibrant, full of life. But humans... Well, humans thought a concrete jungle was better. We built too many metal boxes, burned too much black oil, and we choked Terran.”

And that’s what this world needed protection from. Humans don’t know when to stop.

The young warriors fell silent and you sighed, waving a dismissive hand, and telling them about reality television and explained the concept of a cat instead. You were completely unbothered by your captive status and was endlessly entertained by the warriors guarding your cell. They brought you the softest bedding, the sweetest fruits, and would literally sit in front of your cell to talk to you about Pandora and your life back on Earth.

Meanwhile, Neteyam has been having terrible days.

It started at the training grounds. He had been trying to instruct the younger hunters on aerial tracking maneuvers, only to find half of his squad huddled in a circle, giggling. When he demanded to know what was so amusing, one of them had blurted out, “Neteyam, did you know that on Terran, they have tiny glowing boxes where people pretend to be animals for currency?”

He had traced the source of this sudden intellectual corruption directly back to your cell.

Neteyam marched down pathways leading to the cells and as he rounded the corner, his lips parted. There were no less than eight warriors sitting in a semi-circle outside your bars. You were leading them in a clumsy, boisterous rendition of an unfamiliar song, conducting them with a piece of kindling wood.

“What is this gathering?”

The deep, gravelly, instantly recognizable voice cut through the warm atmosphere. The warriors froze. Slowly, every single head turned to find Neteyam standing a few paces away. You pressed your head against the bars, trying to see him. You saw him with his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest and his golden eyes were flashing with thunderous fury.

You blinked, totally unbothered, and offered him a cheery wave. “Hi, Commander! Perfect timing. Grab a spot on the floor, Aleto is up next and—”

“Everyone, OUT!” Neteyam roared.

The warriors scattered like wood-sprites caught in a flash of lightning. Spears were grabbed, apologies were muttered, and within three seconds, the corridor was empty, leaving only Neteyam standing outside the bars, his chest heaving with irritation.

You blew a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, leaning against the bars with a heavy pout as you looked up at him. “Wow. You really know how to kill a vibe, Neteyam. We were right at the chorus.”

“You are a plague,” Neteyam hissed, stepping right in front of you, his golden eyes blazing down at you. “You are a captive of the Omatikaya, yet you have turned my warriors into simpletons. They speak of stupid games and stupid animals—”

“Oi, communication bridges the gap between warring factions!” you argued, crossing your arms. “Besides, your warriors were stressed. A little cultural exchange is good for moral support. You should try it sometime. You look like you haven't smiled since the turn of the century.”

“Stop,” he commanded. “You will stop distracting them. You will sit in the dark, and you will be quiet. You are an enemy.”

You stared at him, your playful demeanor vanishing, replaced by a sharp, stubborn glint in your eyes. “An enemy? I haven't done a single thing to hurt your people. But fine. If you want a dangerous, silent prisoner so badly... you got it.”

You crossed your arm and hissed like a kitten, showing him your fangs before you turned your back on him. His head reared back a little, watching you lie on your sleeping mat in the furthest corner of the cell, and went completely still. His forehead creased at how his chest fluttered, making him almost smile for whatever reason.

But he caught himself immediately, pushing against the wooden bars and walking away.

For two full days, you did not say a single word. But that was simply because you didn’t link back that much to yout avatar so you won’t have to suffer. When Ateyo brought you fresh fish and roasted fruits, you didn't even turn back. You remained curled in a tight ball, staring blankly at the root wall. You didn't eat. You didn't drink. In your avatar form of course, because as a human, you were eating good.

Because of this, the warriors were in a state of absolute crisis. They were so dramatic about it at the training grounds, you’d think they’d lost their grandmother, but when Neteyam tried to eavesdropped, it was just them talking about how you look so weak and how you’re probably suffering from the fact that you’re not eating and socializing.

“The poor girl is fading,” one of them sighed.

“Is there something we can do to put a stop to Neteyam’s cruelty toward her?”

Cruelty? Neteyam protested in his mind. When he told you to stop talking to his warriors days ago, he didn’t expect you would go on a hunger strike! Now, his warriors are turning against him in silent protest for his cruelty toward you. You could literally create your own army of warriors who would do your bidding for you, and that’s what’s clear to him.

He went to your cell by nightfall, seeing you still curled up to your mat. “Hey,” he called out, waiting for you to move but you didn’t. His eyes narrowed, unfastening the lock.

He went inside, walking toward your mat and putting a hand over your arm to nudge you. Your dead weight surprised him, your body getting carried by his nudge. His heart fell to his stomach, his eyes widening a little as he gently shook you.

“Hey,“ he nudged but to no avail. “Fuck.” he whispered, squeezing your arm.

You’re warm and your flesh isn’t rigid, but what’s with the dead weight? He scooped you into his arms, walking out of the cell. Your warrior friends who saw him locked in right away when they saw you in his arms as he was walking down the pathway.

“Oh, Great Mother, what happened to her?” Aleto asked.

“I knew it, she’s going to die anytime soon because of this!” Si’an said with a shaky voice, both of them following Neteyam as he stepped up the winding ramp to the healing pavilion.

“What’s going on?” Another warrior asked when they passed by.

By the time they reached the pavillion, there were at least nine warriors tailing him, all of them worried. He turned to them before he went inside though, snarling, “Go back to your posts.”

They reluctantly scrambled away, but still looking back to see what they could before he entered the pavilion. Kiri looked up as soon as he did, her brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“She’s not... waking up. She refused to eat for days and now, she’s just... this,” he said, pulling your body closer to his body.

“Put her down there,“ she gestured on a mat. “Is she the avatar brought in weeks ago?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

Kiri checked your vitals. “You’ll have to call Dad, we’ll ask him,” she said.

Neteyam did. While Jake already knew that it was just a case of the driver not linking to the avatar, his son’s uncharacteristic panicking is suddenly too entertaining to not witness further. He stood in the pavillion, watching Kiri show him how dead you are.

Once Jake assured him that your avatar body was perfectly healthy but simply throwing a massive, stubborn tantrum, Neteyam took matters into his own hands. He brought in a tray of food in the pavilion and waited for you to wake up, if you will. And you did. Your eyes peeled open suddenly, your head swiveling until your eyes landed on the man sitting a few feet away.

“Great. She’s awake,” he says. “And the food’s still hot. Eat,” he ordered flatly.

“Whoa, he goes straight to business,” you mumbled but you didn’t move.

Neteyam crouched down, his shadow looming over your form. “Y/N. Stop this foolishness. Do not do this to punish me,” he said in a deep voice.

You rolled on your stomach. “I am not punishing you!” you said in a small voice, giggling.

Your face was noticeably pale, and your lips were dry, it was all starting to tug at Neteyam’s heartstrings until a wicked spark flared on your face. He threw his head back, knowing you’re about to say something crazy again.

“But do you feel punished?” you asked, smirking at him. “Is that why you came crawling back for me to forgive you?”

Neteyam clenched his jaw so hard a muscle leaped in his cheek. “I just don’t want your death on my hands,” he said.

You pouted. “You’re sooo concerned, it really flatters me,“ you teased, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, leaning dangerously close to his space.

Neteyam stood up so fast he nearly hit his head on the low ceiling root. “You are insufferable,” he growled, turning on his heel and storming out of the tent.

You burst into a loud, echoing laugh that followed him all the way to the pathways. He spinned on his heels again, barging back into the tent and seeing you dragging the tray to eat.

“Good. Eat, because I’m bringing you back to your cell,” he said.

You groaned, your feet kicking in protest. “This isn’t my new room? I could really get cozy in here!” your fingers grabbed a cut up roasted meat and brought it to your mouth.

“This is the healing pavilion,” he replied seriously, standing rigidly by the entrance.

“Can I request something?” you asked. “I seriously need an outfit change and a bath. You know, back on Earth, prisoners have rights. They get bath time and outfit changes—”

“I’ll take care of that,” he said before walking away.

You narrowed your eyes. “So rude,” you smirked, munching on the meat.

He returned just as you were cleaning your leaf off, carrying a bundle of soft, woven fabrics. His eyes tracked how you were reclining on the mat, your long legs stretched out and your upper body propped on one elbow. You licked your fingers off, smiling at him and his lips pulled back in what looked like a snarl before he dropped the fabrics on a nearby low table.

“Here.“

You moved to inspect it, blinking as you realized that they were going to complete your whole Na’vi experience. There was a yellow beaded top and a soft purple loincloth.

“You really made sure I will look like a stunner with my new outfit. I love these,” you smirked.

Neteyam let out a low, visceral groan of pure regret. “If you do not shut your mouth, I will throw you back to your cell without the bath.”

You moaned, standing up as you held the fabrics under your arm. “These threats are starting to sound like flirting to me, Commander, so maybe pipe down.” You widened your eyes at him.

He didn’t respond but you saw how his whole face protested against that, making you chuckle as he led you down the pathway toward the winding ramp. You waved a hand to the warriors you know, seeing them perk up knowing that you’re alright.

The walk to the lower root pools was a masterclass in psychological warfare. For Neteyam, at least. You were unbounded, walking freely beside him, and you did not let up for a single second.

“You know, for a high-ranking commander, you walk very stiffly,” you noted, tilting your head as you matched his long strides. “Are all Na’vi men this tense, or is it just the specialized training for the grumpy ones?”

Neteyam stared straight ahead. “I am tense because you are currently walking next to me instead of being in jail.”

“Ouch,” you gasped, placing a dramatic hand over your chest. “But seriously, look at the view! Everything is gorgeous today. Don’t you ever just want to stop and smell the flowers, Neteyam?”

“No. It’s my everyday view.”

“What about a song? Do you enjoy songs—”

“We’re getting closer to the pools,” he cut you off, his voice dropping an octave as he finally snapped his gaze toward you. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll change my mind and really bring you back to your cell without bath privileges.”

You grinned, entirely unfazed. “See? Look at us, communicating! Building a rapport! This is just great!” You raised both hands.

By the time you reached the secluded lower root pools, Neteyam looked like a man who had survived a war but wasn’t sure he’d survive the peace. The area was beautiful and the sunlight provides a dappled glow over a deep natural basin. Neteyam stopped at the edge of the clearing, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You have ten minutes. I will be standing right here. Face the other way, do your business, and do not make a sound.”

“Ten minutes? For a bath and an outfit change?” you scoffed. “I am an Earth girl, Neteyam. I need a longer time than that! Plus, I have to figure out how to put this loincloth on without accidentally flashing the entire clan.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched violently. He immediately turned his back to you, facing the pathway. “You have nine minutes now. Start scrubbing.”

You chuckled, stepping down into the warm, soothing water. The relief was instant, washing away the grime and stiffness of your avatar’s dramatic captive activity. You splashed around a bit, entirely on purpose, listening to the sharp, annoyed sigh that escaped Neteyam’s lips every time a droplet hit the bank near his feet.

“Neteyam...” you called out.

“What?” he grumbled, refusing to turn around.

“How do you guys get your hair so shiny? Is it a specific leaf? Give me the secrets.”

“I am not giving you hair care advice. Five minutes.”

“Boo. Selfish,” you teased, doing a thumbs down behind his back.

After thoroughly rinsing off and using the saps he gave you, you stepped out of the pool, shivering slightly as the cool breeze hit your damp skin. You grabbed the woven fabrics and began the highly ungraceful process of figuring it out.

The beaded top was simple enough, but the purple loincloth presented a serious problem. “Neteyam...” you called again. “We have a tactical error.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! But this loincloth did. Are there instructions for this? Because right now, if I tie this the way I think I'm supposed to, one strong gust of wind is going to ruin your day.”

Neteyam pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders dropping in sheer exhaustion. “It is a standard wrap.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve been wearing them your whole life! Come here and help me. I promise I won't bite. Unless you want me to...” You made him hear the clank of your teeth biting.

He spun around, a snarl ready on his lips, but as soon as he saw you, he froze. You were holding the fabric securely against your waist, looking thoroughly confused... and so adorable with the little pout that a hot flush creeped up the back of his neck.

Marching over to you with determined steps, he took the ends of the fabric from your hands. You grinned and clapped without a sound, while he focused entirely on the knot, trying to ignore the fact that he was so close to you that some droplets from your hair is on his arm.

“You’re actually really good at this,” you spoke, breaking the moment of tensed silence. “This should be your side hustle. Personal stylist to the prisoners.”

Neteyam pulled the knot tight, a little harder than necessary, making you huff. He stepped back instantly, his expression locking back into a stern mask, though his ears were still pointing out to the sides in clear fluster.

“It is done,” he said flatly, gesturing toward. “Now, back to the cell.”

You looked down at yourself. The yellow beads and vibrant purple looking surprisingly striking on you. You gave him a little twirl and he hated that he liked how you look like in a traditional Na’vi clothes a little too much.

“Honestly? 10 out of 10. I look fantastic,” you declared, confidently walking past him and taking the lead on the path back. “You can walk behind me now, Commander. I know you want to admire your handywork.”

Neteyam let out a sound that was half-growl, half-laugh, shaking his head as he followed you. “May Eywa give me strength,” he whispered.

“She won’t!” you called back cheerfully over your shoulder.

As you two walked up, you spotted Tseru from a distance and he immediately smiled at you. You raised your arm, making a huge wave of your hand, almost walking up to him until you felt Neteyam’s hand on your elbow.

“Another thing. From now on, the guard rotation is canceled. The warriors are completely forbidden from speaking to you. You distract them.”

You gasped dramatically, “You can’t just cut my social life off! Isolation can kill!“ you reasoned, but he already started walking. A slow, Cheshire-cat grin spread across your face as you jogged up behind him, playfully pointing a finger at his back. “But oh, I know this game!”

He stopped abruptly, making you jump. “What game?”

You laughed, your voice echoing in the cavern. “You want me all to yourself?”

He blinked. You saw his ears pin back against his head, like a cat backed in a corner, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve heard that my games are fun and you’re curious, and you—”

He sighed heavily, cutting you off. “Jail.”

He grabbed your wrist and marched down the pathway, bringing you back to your cell. You bounced on your heels, probably the happiest prisoner he’s ever going to see. He pulled the bars shut, and the absolute moment his back was turned and he was out of your sight, Neteyam closed his eyes, a breathless, helpless laugh bubbling up in his chest that he had to bite his own lip to suppress.

A seasoned Omatikaya warrior, not one of your minions, was standing a few paces away, guarding the main thoroughfare, looking at Neteyam with a highly raised eyebrow.

Neteyam instantly wiped the smile from his face, jerking his head toward the man with an authoritative air.

“Don't talk to her.”

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

The hum of the tech-bay at Bridgehead felt colder than usual as you slid out of the link pod. You didn't even have time to shake off your phantom tail before a shadow fell over your pod.

It was the same grumpy military official from before. He at least waited for you to sit on your swivel chair and drink water before he spoke. “Over a month in a hole and you’re telling me you still haven’t heard a single name? No geographical markers? No anything?”

You blinked up at him, your expression a masterclass in exhausted trauma. “Sir, with all due respect, I am a scientist, not a human GPS. They keep me underground. It’s dark. The only thing I hear is the occasional terrifying growl of whatever alien megafauna they have guarding the perimeter. I am already doing my best to keep a billion-dollar worth of avatar body alive.”

The commander sneered, clearly unsatisfied, but muttered a warning about “withholding operational data” before storming out of the tech-bay.

Once the doors hissed shut, Dr. Danel stepped forward, waving the rest of the lab staff away until it was just you, him, and Marco by the centrifuge station. “Kid. Look at me. You’re a brilliant scholar, but you are a terrible liar to people who actually know you. Where are you really?”

You glanced at the security cameras, then sighed, leaning against the steel counter. “The Omatikaya,” you mouthed subtly, letting out as little voice as possible.

Marco choked on his coffee. “That clan? As in Jake Sully’s clan? Jesus. If the military finds out—”

“They won’t,” you cut him off, your voice fierce and resolute. “Because I’m not telling them. Doc, you should see it. They live inside a massive, perfectly engineered ecosystem. We know they are intelligent, but the entire culture is a blueprint for planetary harmony. If I give the military even a hint of where I am, they’ll bring down Samsons and carpet-bomb the entire valley on the virtue of that useless Recom being held captive.”

Dr. Danel stared at you for a long, heavy moment. Slowly, the tension left his shoulders, and he placed a comforting hand on your arm. “I’m proud of you, kid,” he says. “We hold no loyalties to a corporate flag, our only loyalty is to life itself. I’ll see what I can do on the administrative side to push the investors to allow us to have an independent outpost. We need to get out from under the military’s thumb.”

You nodded, sighing heavily. When you linked back to your avatar the next day, you expected to wake up to the now boring and miserable jail with warriors who refuse to talk. Instead, your eyes cracked open to find the soft, dappled light of what looked like a longhouse.

Even more surprising? Norm Spellman was hovering over you, alongside Jake Sully, who was holding a piece of salvaged RDA technology—a damaged emulation device that had been recovered from a scouting raid.

“Finally,” Norm said, glancing at Jake before he looked down at you. “I’m wondering if you know this?”

You squinted, pushing yourself up into a sitting position on your mat. “An emulation device?” you answered.

“What kind? I mean, this was in a secured brief case. I know it is something very important, but this is a new-generation RDA tech, and we’ve been trying to figured it out. You’re the last resort.”

“That’s a new generation firmware emulator. They use these in the field to spoof localized military frequencies. Basically, it mimics the digital signature of a standard SecOps patrol chopper or armored vehicle so the automated perimeter turrets and scout drones don’t accidentally fire on them,” you said, your voice entirely devoid of any corporate loyalty.

​Norm’s jaw dropped. He exchanged a wide-eyed look with Jake. “This is great,” he whispered.

You nodded and yawned, “It is.”

“You know how this works?” Norm followed up and you shrugged.

“Well, you know, before I was thrown into this lovely root cell, I spent months sharing a workspace with the Bridgehead engineers. Let’s just say I know exactly how this new telemetry hardware works. In theory. The tech guys love to brag when they're bored. I know the whole architecture of this thing. If we can manipulate this, you could practically walk a strike team right past their automated scanners. It would be great for you.”

​Jake tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Can you crack it? Can you make it work for us?”

You yawned, “I’d love to but I’m in this cell and I don’t have any connection to the outside world, some people would have died—”

“I’ll decree your freedom,” Jake cut you off.

You looked at Norm, “Give me a stylus and I’ll look at the diagnostic layer, I can bypass the standard encryption using an open backdoor. The RDA is cheap. They never rewrite the core code on their hardware.”

​Within fifteen minutes of clicking, tapping, and completely exploiting a loophole, the datapad beeped, its interface cascading into a clean, unencrypted stream of decoded frequencies.

“We can work on this, Norm,” you said.

“And you’re free. You’re a guest of the Omatikaya now.”

​“I’m free?!” you gasped, a genuine grin breaking across your face.

By midday, you were officially allowed a free woman, given a small, cozy kelku, and granted permission to move about as free as a bird.

Which brought you to your favorite activity: teasing Neteyam.

You spotted him near the lower training ground, checking the tension on his bowstring. You practically bounded over to him, your tail swishing with obnoxious joy.

“Guess who’s a free woman, Commander!” you sang out, sliding into his peripheral vision and waving your hands excitedly. “I’m free! Officially released. No more jail time for this girl. Aren’t you just thrilled?”

Neteyam’s face locked into a deadpan mask. “Considering that I was the one who put you in jail, I couldn’t have been more thrilled,” he answered.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Neteyam,” you teased, leaning down to peer up into his golden eyes. “I know you’re secretly ecstatic that you don't have to break your own rule just to come see me anymore.”

He threw his head back, annoyed but still so handsome. “Do you not have chores to do? Surely, my father freed a high-risk prisoner for an important reason. Members of this clan work. They do not spend their days loitering and harassing warriors.”

“Nope, no chores yet. I’m still in my onboarding phase,” you chuckled, following him step for step as he tried to back away. “Besides, I think my new official job should be your personal shadow. You know, to make sure you don't miss me too much.”

He let out a sharp breath, but before he could snap back, Jake Sully walked by, seeing his son with you. He perked up, making his way to the two of you.

“Neteyam, son,” he clapped a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Y/N is going to be doing an important work with Norm and Max at the human facilities...“ Jake told him.

Neteyam was still looking at you as Jake speaks so you grinned at him. “Important work,” you mouthed, winking.

“...She doesn’t know her way there and we can’t trust that she will live when left unattended outside Hometree, so you’re on guard duty. Every day. You told me yourself that she has a habit of forming her own personal army, so I want an experienced commander keeping an eye on her.”

Neteyam’s ears pinned straight back. He looked at his father in absolute betrayal. “You can’t do this to me...”

“Get to work, son,“ Jake smirked, walking away.

You turned to Neteyam, flashing a brilliant, wide-eyed grin. “Looks like you’re my personal shadow instead. Do you see how me and Eywa are literally like this?” you intertwined your index and middle finger together in front of his face.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath out of his nose. The distant human research facility is located a few kilometers away through a dense jungle. While you’d like to think that you can actually traverse this alone, some company from a very grumpy warrior is a great thing for a menace like you.

Neteyam marched ahead, his posture so rigid you were convinced a single well-placed twig could snap his spine. His long tail gave tight, irritable twitches every time your bare feet loudly crunched a leaf behind him.

“Neteyam...” you called out and he snapped his head at you with a raised brow, not breaking his stride. “How can you walk like that?”

“Like what?“ he asked.

“I mean, you walk like you’re trying to avoid stepping on bugs,” you said cheerfully, jogging a few steps to catch up to his massive stride. “But it’s impressive! This specialized training is what made it possible for you guys to ambush us and that’s just great, you really showed those Recoms what they are missing—”

“Are you happy you got ambushed and now you’re here as a captive?” he asked.

“I guess so. Bridgehead isn’t really the best place for this,” you twirled. “I deserve this freedom, don’t you think? To plant my feet on this soil, to smell the flowers, to talk to the people, to smell this sweet air—”

“I get it the first time,” he cut you off. “You go back to your human body at Bridgehead, anyway, right?”

“Yes, but I didn’t tell them anything, I swear,” you told him, nodding. “They don’t know where I am.” You made a zipping motion on your lips.

His gaze dropped down on your mouth and his forehead creased. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

You beamed, “Well, err, there’s this thing humans call as zipper. It closes an opening,“ you told him. “So when someone does that, it means their mouth is zipped. They are never going to talk.”

His head tilted, “Well, can you do that? Zip?” he did the motion on his lips.

Your lips pursed, nodding and excited that he’s keeping up. “Yes,” you mouth.

His face visibly smooths over, pointing at the path. “Great. Now, let’s go.”

The daily walks to the human research facility quickly became the highlight of your double life. You link back to your avatar for the important work you do with Norm and Max, but you still spend a significant time in your human body to work on your own study and to ward off military suspicions.

At first, if Neteyam isn’t grumpy, he’s silent. But you were relentless. You ranted about the RDA, you asked him deep theological questions about Eywa, and you taught him incredibly bad Earth puns. Slowly, beautifully, the reverse Stockholm syndrome claimed its highest-ranking victim.

“You know, Neteyam,” you trotted backwards in front of him, looking up at his towering frame with a playful smirk. “I’ve noticed you haven't threatened to tie me to a direhorse backwards in like two weeks. Are you getting soft on me? Am I finally breaking through that thick, grumpy exterior?”

Neteyam stopped walking. The dappled sunlight hitting his sharp jawline and broad shoulders. “You think you are very clever, sky girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that deep, gravelly register that made a weird, exhilarating warmth rush straight to your thighs.

“Admit it. You like having me around. You think I’m delightful,” you shot back cheekily, stepping closer before your eyes got snagged by a nearby flower. “Look at that flower over there! Isn’t that called pxuyo? There was a similar plant back in my world—”

“If you touch it, it will shoot thousands of tiny hairs into your face. You will not see the Great Mother, but your eyes will swell shut and you won’t be able to see anything for days.”

“I know! I was saying there was something like that back in my world, and someone made the mistake of wiping their butt with it—”

“What?” His face crumpled in visible distess.

You stared at the beautiful flower, then back at him, nodding solemnly. “Yes,” you said. “But this one’s crazier, because it shoots people. Beautiful and deadly.”

“Like some people,” he murmured, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth giving him away.

“Oh, did you just smile?!” you cheered, bouncing on your heels in front of him.

As the weeks bled into a routine, the frosty wall between you has completely shattered. You were a walking encyclopedia of useless Earth trivia and hyper-fixated xenobiology facts, and Neteyam, to his own absolute horror, was actually starting to listen. You’d be dissecting the cellular structure of a glowing root, and he would chime in with the practical applications of its sap.

“And then, the humans just sit on a couch and scream at each other for money! It’s art, Neteyam, truly—”

Your foot hit a slick patch of moss. Your arms flailed, your tail whipped around seeking balance, and you went down hard, sliding flat on your butt into a pile of thick, squishy mud.

You sat there, looking utterly ridiculous.

Neteyam froze. He looked down at you. His chest heaved once. Twice. And then, a sound escaped him. A deep, booming laugh that echoed through the canopy. He threw his head back, his white teeth flashing, his entire face lighting up in a way that genuinely took your breath away.

“You’re laughing!” you shrieked pointing a muddy finger at him. “There’s no way! Someone write this down in the ancient lore!”

“Shut up,” he gasped, coughing to clear his throat as he tried to pull his stern commander mask back on, though his eyes were still dancing with pure amusement. He stepped down the slope and extended a hand to haul you out of the muck. “Look at you. You are a disaster.”

“I’m a xenobiologist, Neteyam, I’m all good with mud,” you huffed, deliberately wiping a streak of mud onto his forearm as he pulled you up.

“Well, now, you’re going to a field trip to the nearest river because you can’t go home like that,” he said and you squealed.

Your closeness have grown exponentially that instead of dumping you off at the facility as soon as he has successfully walked you there like he used to, Neteyam started to linger. He would come inside, to the surprise of Norm and Max who weren’t really used to him coming here as much as Lo’ak and Kiri who practically spent every waking day here with Spider.

Neteyam had always preferred spending his days training in his archery and flying on his ikran. Now, he’s sitting cross-legged on a metal crate watching you work with Norm and Max.

“Who is Lo’ak?” you asked when Max mentioned him in passing.

“My brother,” Neteyam answered from where he was sitting, carving on a wood.

“Your brother?! You have a brother I didn’t know about? Where is this man this entire time—”

“He’s mated,” he cut you off. “Not available.”

You choked on your own saliva, your tail giving a violent, shocked flaught. “Mated?! Already? Dang, the younger generation moves fast around here. What about you, big brother? You got a secret mate hidden in the trees that I should know about?”

He slowly raised his head, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, heavy intensity that made the playful words die in your throat.

“No,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that did wild things to your heart rate. “I do not.”

“I—I was just asking...” you smoothly looked away, suddenly finding the dirt under your fingernails fascinating. You cleared your throat, frantically trying to focus on your work, but your hands were shaking.

You could feel his gaze on you, heavy and lingering. Over the last moon and weeks, something had shifted. The way his hand lingered just a second too long when he helped you cross a puddle. The way his ears pointed directly toward you the moment you entered a room. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, not like a security risk, but like something fascinating he was trying to understand.

And it terrified you.

You looked down at your blue hands. This wasn't your real body. Your real flesh and blood was sitting in a metal city miles and miles away, owned by a corporate war machine that you were actively betraying. Your life was a ticking clock of lies, military interrogations, and double-dealing. You were a ghost inhabiting a fake body

Falling for Jake Sully’s son would be a catastrophic complication. But as you stole a glance at Neteyam, who had gone back to his carving with a small, quiet smile on his lips, you realized with a sinking feeling that your stupid, traitorous heart had already crossed the line.

To mask the deafening alarms blaring in your head, you did what you always did when a situation became entirely too real: you turned your internal volume up to a solid eleven.

On the walk back to Hometree, you practically performed a one-woman theater show. You jumped over roots with dramatic flairs, ranted about the nutritions of Pandoran berries, and attempted to teach Neteyam the entire baseline plot of The Matrix using wild arm movements. You didn’t know when it started, but this tension in the atmosphere between you two had only grown thicker and more charged day by day.

And you know that if you stayed silent, it would be awkward, so you talked over it like your life depended on it.

“And then the guy chooses the red pill, Neteyam! It’s an allegory for waking up from corporate brainwashing! Honestly, I think you’d really relate to the main guy—”

You whipped around to face him, walking backward to gauge his reaction, but yoy heel caught the edge of a slick, rain-soaked stone.

“Whoa—!”

Your arms flailed, preparing your body for another ungraceful landing in the mud, but it never came.

A heavy, calloused hand shot out, wrapping securely around your waist. Neteyam hauled you forward against his chest with dizzying force, his other hand anchoring firmly on your shoulder to steady you.

The forest around you seemed to hold its breath. A sudden, gentle breeze rustled the canopy above, sending a flock of fan lizards spiraling down into the clearing. They unfurled into brilliant, spinning wheels of bioluminescent purple and gold, casting an ethereal glow over both of your faces.

Your breath caught. You were pressed completely against him, his chest rising and falling in a rapid and uneven way. You swallowed hard. He’s so handsome. Neteyam’s eyes flickered down, his intense gaze dropping entirely to your lips. You were scrambling for a witty thing to say, beating him from what you know would be a reprimand on walking backward.

But a reprimand didn’t came.

Because he leaned down, and you felt his soft lips pressing against yours, catching your lips in a deep, sudden, breathless kiss.

Now, it would be a lie if you claimed you’ve never imagined kissing him in the past weeks, but you certainly only imagined a gentle, polite kiss. Knowing how he’s this proper and refined gentleman who won’t go up to you at a club and ask you to come home with him.

The kiss was possessive. It was hard and consuming, and made you feel that the hidden glances and accidental brushes of his fingers against yours mean more than what you thought they were. You felt the this is long overdue message he was sending through the kiss as you kissed him back, your hand tightening around his large bicep.

His grip on your waist also tightened, pulling you completely flush against his warmth, emboldened by the fact that you want it, too. When he finally pulled back, his breath was a warm puff against your cheek. Your eyes were wide, your lips parted and your mind was completely blank. He pulled you up to your feet and you had to run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to smooth down your mind.

But still, you couldn’t say a single word for the rest of the walk.

Your zipped-mouth rule was enacted without any request from outside parties, it was simply driven by pure, unadulterated shock for what happened. What you allowed to happen. But Neteyam? The universe apparently loved a comedy of roles, because the moment you shut up, a brilliant, smug smirk broke across his face, and he took it as his personal cue to become the talkative one.

“What’s wrong, sky girl?” he asked, his voice dripping with an insufferable amusement as he matched your stiff stride. “I don’t remember you from my stiff walking classes for the grumpy ones.”

You glared at the path ahead, your tail twitching stiffly behind you.

“You walk very fast when you are quiet,” he noted, jogging a step to lean into your peripheral vision, his ears perking in absolute victory. “I thought you wanted to smell the sweet air? To plant your feet in the soil?”

“Sh...” Shut up, you snarled. You face was already burning a violent shade of deep purple.

So when you two finally reached Hometree, you headed straight for the communal eating areas, desperately seeking refuge. Normally, you sat with your warrior friends, gossiping, playing Earth games, and being loud enough to be a little disturbing. You sat down on a woven mat, grabbing a leaf of roasted fish, hoping the crowd would buffer you.

But a heavy shadow fell over your mat and Neteyam sat right next to you, his long legs crossing comfortably as he reached for a piece of fruit, his arm circling around you instead of reaching in front of you, which made it feel like he was hugging you.

You looked at him, then at your friends who are awkwardly looking at their leaf plates. “What are you doing? Your spot is over there with your family.”

“It just seems more... interesting here,” he said smoothly, a wicked spark dancing in his eyes before he turned to your friends. “Why are we silent?”

You stammered out a clumsy, non-committal noise before shoving more food into your mouth as Aleto scrambled for something to say. It was infuriating. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain. He had completely adapted to your antics and was now weaponizing them against you. You tried to fight back with narrow glares and sharp elbows, but every time he chuckled, your traitorous heart did a pathetic little flip.

The next morning, the hum of the tech-bay at Bridgehead felt colder and more jarring than ever. You sat at your desk, staring blankly at a centrifuge of soil separation, completely distracted. You had been spinning the same vial for ten minutes without hitting start.

“Hey, little bird,” Marco’s voice cut through your daze. He leaned over your workstation, holding a data pad. “You’ve been staring at that soil like it owes you a worm. Dr. Danel asked for the mineral breakdown an hour ago. What’s going on with you?”

You let out a massive sigh, burying your face in your hands. “Marco. I have a problem. A huge, complicated, multi-layered problem.”

Marco pulled up a rolling stool, eyebrows raised. “Alright, spill. Is the military digging into your field logs again?”

“No, no. Let’s play a hypothetical game,” you said, spinning your swivel chair to face him. “Hypothetically, let’s say someone is in a foreign world. And hypothetically, there is this foreign person. He’s a local inhabitant of that world and... Well, he’s very handsome. But he happens to be, uhm,“ you cleared your throat. “Let’s just say there’s a Romeo and Juliet stuff going on.“

Marco’s brows rose. A slow, knowing grin began to spread across his face. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

“And hypothetically, this local inhabitant has spent weeks being an arrogant, grumpy jerk, but then he suddenly has a personality breakthrough, laughs like music, and then... hypothetically this Romeo kisses Juliet’s brains out under a cloud of glowing fan lizards. Very romantic, very tragic.” You groaned, dropping your head onto the metal desk. “What does Juliet do in this completely crazy scenario?”

Marco let out a low whistle, clapping his hands together. “Jesus, Y/N. Are you in love with Jake Sully’s kid?”

You lifted your head, “I didn't say it was me!”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Marco laughed, but his expression quickly sobered, turning gentle and cautious. “But look...  You know how messy this is, right? You can't... be with him. Even if we ignore the fact that his dad is public enemy number one to the corporate suits upstairs, you're an avatar driver. You live in a metal box. Your real body is here, you, a human. How does that even work long-term?”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “I know,” you whispered to the cold metal desk, the reality of his words heavy and suffocating. “I know it's complicated. I know that.”

The harsh reality of exactly how complicated it was arrived three days later, during a festival.

The main comnunal area of Hometree was alive with a vibrant, rhythmic energy. Drums boomed through the wooden pillars, and the tapestries glowed in deep red and orange. You were sitting near the back, nursing a cup of sweet water, looking for Neteyam’s familiar silhouette in the crowd.

You found him near the central hearth. But he wasn't alone.

A striking huntress was standing beside him. She was one of the warriors returning from a long journey trading with the southern clans, her posture proud and fierce. She laughed, a bright, clear sound, and playfully shoved Neteyam’s shoulder. Neteyam smiled back, a polite, warm smile, listening to her talk animatedly about something.

A cold, heavy knot twisted violently in your chest.

You nudged Si’an, who was sitting nearby stringing a bow. “Si’an. Who is that? The girl talking to Neteyam.”

Si’an looked over, his face instantly brightening. “Ah! That is Maneya! She has finally returned from Zeswa. She and Neteyam were batchmates. The elders have been speaking to the Olo’eyktan about their arrangement for a looong time. Everybody knows they are to be betrothed before the turning of the next season. They will definitely be mates.”

“Oh. I see. Good for him.”

But deep inside, the words felt like a physical blow, knocking the air clean out of your lungs.

Betrothed. Mate.

You stared at them across the firelit cavern. The woman was perfect. She belonged here. She didn't have a fake body, she didn't have a corporate countdown hanging over her head, and she didn't spend her days lying to a military division to keep the people alive because she is not the enemy. She was part of his world, entirely and without compromise.

A wave of bitter, stinging humiliation washed over you. You had actually let yourself believe that a kiss and some shared banter meant something in a world you were only visiting. He had a whole life mapped out, basically a fiancée waiting to walk down the aisle, and he had treated you like a fun, temporary distraction. Some sky girl to pass the time with.

You put your bowl down on the nearest table, your tail giving a sharp, defensive lash. You didn't stay for the rest of the music. You walked straight back to your kelku, your heart aching with a sudden, sharp clarity. You were a fool to think you could belong here.

You slept early. You shed your tears in your cold, metal room at Bridgehead, wiping your face, staring at the white ceiling, and deciding right then and there that nothing will come out of this.

This was what you actually loved about yourself. You were a masterclass at adaptability. You had a PhD in accepting things you cannot control. You didn’t let things trip you up for long because life kept moving, whether you were crying or not. Falling for Neteyam was a dead end. It would be an agonizing, impossible mess for both of you, and clearly, he wasn’t even looking in that direction anyway. He had a whole damn fiancée.

You had absolutely zero respect for lying men who went around kissing other women while being fully committed to someone else. You hated that despite being over a nine-foot-tall, majestic blue alien warrior, he was acting just like any trashy guy back on Earth. Nothing turns you off more than that. He’s a loser!

When you linked back into your avatar the next day, just in time for your work with Norm and Max, you took extra care braiding your hair. You made sure you looked sharp, and you felt like a brand-new person with a heavily reinforced wall.

The moment you stepped out of your kelkua and saw Neteyam already standing by the pathway, you almost frowned. See, you were a cool girl, but even the coolest girls needed a grace period after finding out they were accidentally the other woman.

“You’re finally awake,” he said, his voice almost breathless, his golden eyes instantly tracking your face. “You slept early. You left the feast.”

“Ah-ah, correction: I don’t sleep, I log out,” you said, your tone breezy, entirely devoid of yesterday's vulnerability. “I’m not a real Na’vi whatsoever. Remember when I was in my cell and I was just a limp, dead body on the floor? That’s what happens. Spooky, isn’t it?”

Without waiting for him, you started walking down the pathway.

He blinked, rushing a step to follow you. “I remember, and it is not spooky. My father told me that is just how it is with avatar bodies.”

“Yes, totally unnatural, because I’m basically like a remote-controlled toy,” you said, letting out a sharp chuckle. “And I needed to leave the feast early because I had to log out and live my real human life.”

“I tried to find you,” he said, his voice dropping into a lower, tighter tone.

You turned your head, flashing him a bright smile. “Well, I have a strict schedule to make sure my real body won't weaken and die, you know,” you replied casually. “Prolonged time in a link unit can literally kill a human. My real muscles will harden and weaken, I could die of dehydration... and I really need my human body to stay alive. She’s going to get married one day, have kids. She can’t do any of that if I keep stealing her consciousness to play avatar in the woods.”

You glanced at him and laughed, but he only looked visibly pale under the azure. He looked entirely struck dumb by the sudden bombardment of information.

He didn't know what to process first: the terrifying realization that your vulnerable human body was at constant risk of dying if you stayed with him too long, or the sudden, jarring mental image of you married to a human man, having human children, entirely out of his reach. That can’t be possible.

His mouth opened, then closed. He opened it again, clearly trying to find the words to ask you what the hell you meant by that, but the heavy hesitation caught in his throat. He closed it again.

Seeing the hesitation on his face was exactly the window you needed. You loudly clapped your hands together, instantly changing the subject.

“Anyway! Did Norm say if we’re processing the frequency modules today? Because I swear, if Max messed up again, I’m going to lose it.”

You kept up a relentless barrage of small talk, chattering about soil samples, weather patterns, and anything that wasn't personal, leaving him absolutely zero time to process his thoughts. It worked perfectly. Neteyam remained dead silent for the entire walk to the facility, his jaw set so tightly you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek.

You expected him to leave once you reached the shacks, but to your secret frustration, he still stayed. He sat on his usual metal crate, but he wasn't carving wood today. He just watched you with a dark, brooding intensity that made your skin prickle.

Right on the dot, the moment the digital clock on the lab wall clicked over to your designated departure time, Neteyam stood up.

“It is time,” he announced, his voice serious. “You cannot stay any longer. Your schedule.”

You couldn't help but chuckle. “Look at you, playing the schedule police,” you grinned, winking at Max who chuckled. “Alright, alright, keeping me alive. Good job, Commander.”

You were a complete chatterbox, too, on the way back, filling the jungle air with meaningless noise so the silence couldn't breathe. But as you approached Hometree, the welcoming view wasn't the only thing waiting for you.

Maneya was standing right at the entrance. The moment she spotted Neteyam, a bright, beautiful smile broke across her face. You made sure to stop yourself from feeling bitter about it. You need to be happy about this. Happy, happy, happy, you chanted in your mind

You stopped in your tracks for a fraction of a second, then turned to Neteyam with a slow, heavily teasing purse of your lips. He froze, looking at you with wide, panicked eyes, looking exactly like a little kid who had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“Well, it’s sleep time for me, and date time for you,” you teased, your voice dripping with artificial cheer as you showed him a closed fist. “Good luck, lover boy.”

“Y/N—”

You walked right past him, offering a polite, breezy smile to Maneya. Maneya’s smile faltered slightly, her eyes narrowing with a quiet calculation as she watched you pass.

You hated this. You absolutely loathed being caught in this kind of trashy dynamic. It felt like being a guy's ‘girl best friend’, the one he was definitely crossing physical lines with behind closed doors while maintaining a perfect, public relationship with his girlfriend. It was cheap, it was messy, and you wanted absolutely no part in this anymore.

The next morning, when it was time to head to the human facility, Neteyam wasn’t outside the kelku. You were told he was caught up in an early council meeting but asks for you to wait for him. You won’t do that, considering he’s still not here and you were going to be late, and you love being punctual. You walked straight up to Tseru instead.

“Hey, Tseru, do me a favor and walk me to the lab today? Commander Grumpy is busy, and I’ve got a lot of data to run,” you said, your voice clipping with fake authority before you laughed it off.

But still, Tseru blinked, looking around nervously. “Uh... Neteyam said no one else is allowed to—”

“Neteyam is busy with his actual life,” you said, your tail lashing behind you. “Let's go.”

Reluctantly, Tseru escorted you. When you arrived at the facility, you threw yourself into your work with a terrifying, hyper-focused vengeance. You ran data with Norm and Max all day, completely ignoring the passage of time, yet you kept glancing at the windows anyway. So, he’s not only late, he wouldn’t have come if you waited for him.

“Whoa, slow down, Einstein,” Norm laughed, watching you aggressively type into a console. “You’re gonna burn out the processors.” he said, biting on his sandwich.

You chuckled, “Sorry. I’m just that way when my mind’s working fast.”

He shrugs, his human body leaning against a table. “Hey, Max and I were actually talking... have you thought about staying out here permanently? I mean, you can’t go back to Bridgehead. We could really use your brain out here full-time.”

You paused, your shoulders dropping as a wave of exhaustion hit you. You’ve though of that many times, and many times, you have been disappointed to know that it’s just not possible.

“Logistically, Norm, I can’t. My human body is sitting in a high-security sector back at Bridgehead. The link pods are massive, heavily monitored corporate property. I can’t exactly pack it into a backpack and walk out.”

“Do you have any friends on the inside who could help smuggle it out?” Max asked.

“No,” you chuckled. “No one with that kind of clearance. It’s just not possible. I’d have to give up one if I want to stay here, you know? Escape Bridgehead as a human, which is also high risk, because the military is hot on me. I lied to them about where this avatar is, remember? And if I escape as a human, I will lose the link unit, and this avatar will be useless.”

Norm closed his eyes and shook his head, defeated, while Max sighed heavily. All the brightest minds on Pandora had no solution to your problem and it just makes it all feel worse.

What you didn't know, however, was that back at Bridgehead, Dr. Danel had been silently moving mountains. Armed with the truth you had trusted him with, he had spent the last weeks aggressively lobbying the main corporate investors, convincing them that your research was too valuable to be compromised by the ongoing political tension with the military.

Now, he had managed to get the ultimate green light: a covert relocation authorization to establish an independent outpost deep within the Hallelujah Mountains. Out of the military’s eyes.

That night, emotionally exhausted from everything and physically drained from your research, you decided not to return to Hometree. You curled up on a cot in the human facility and let your consciousness fade, pulling your mind back to your human body to assist Dr. Danel with what you thought was just standard lab data cataloging.

You had no idea of the sheer, unmitigated chaos you had left behind at Hometree, though.

The moment the council meeting was over, Neteyam had stormed into the human facility, but when he arrived, he found your avatar completely out on the cot. He had tried to shake you, to wake you, but he knew you were entirely gone. He hated that the council took too long, that it had taken so much of the day, and now he wasn’t even able to talk to you about all the things he arranged in his mind last night.

And then, you didn't wake up the next day. Or the day after that.

For nearly three full days, your avatar remained a completely unresponsive shell. Back at Bridgehead, Dr. Danel had initiated a sudden relocation of the link pods. The physical logistics of disconnecting your human pods, loading them onto independent transport, and flying them deep into the floating mountains took many agonizing hours. Because of the system reboots and physical transit, you were forced to stay out of your avatar.

To Neteyam, it was a three-day nightmare. He had spent those three days in a state of absolute, paralyzed terror. Now, he’s sure you had died. But Norm, in his desire to console him, reasoned that the avatar is not dead, but that there is definitely something wrong with you, the human. They mentioned that the military was hot on you for withholding secrets about where the avatar really is, that they have probably learned you were lying about it.

It had taken Norm begging on his knees to stop him from the suicide mission of going to Bridgehead and see for himself what’s really going on. He had hovered over your sleeping avatar body, refusing to go on patrol, his heart crumpling every time he thinks of his absolute foolishness. He should have talked to you. It's only that he didn’t know if you were on the same page with him.

He likes you very much. Probably even more than that. You are an amazing woman who can get anything, anyone, you want, and he refuses to believe that you will settle for someone... like him. He wants you and he had never been more sure of anything in his entire life, but he didn’t know if you would ever entertain that.

He kissed you, and you kissed him back, but does that mean anything to you like it did for him? You have a whole life outside of this avatar. Heck, you have your own world, and this was just what he has. When you said you were going to marry and have a family in your human form, you couldn’t have made it clearer that you do not see your future locked up in this body.

And now, he could lose any chance he could have had because he was too scared to take a risk. So what if you happen not to like him the way he wants you to? It doesn’t matter.

On the afternoon of the third day, you linked back to your avatar as soon as the outpost systems in the Hallelujah Mountains were settled. The cold, sterile air of the facility rushed into your lungs, but before you could even adjust to the light, a heavy, trembling force slammed into you.

Two massive, muscular blue arms wrapped around your shoulders, hauling you upright from the cot and pulling you fiercely against a broad, solid chest. You gasped, blinking in shock as you smelled the distinct scent of mint.

It was Neteyam. He was disheveled, his breathing ragged, holding onto you with a terrifying, desperate strength as if he were trying to fuse your body into his own.

Norm and Max rushed into the room, looking exhausted but small smiles were written on their faces. “Kid, what happened to you?” Max asked. “Got trouble with the military? I almost got war flashbacks, you know. With Jake and all.”

You were grinning at them. “No, no, quite the opposite. It was a long story,” you said, bringing your hands up to push against Neteyam’s chest so he would release his grip.

“What happened to you?” he asked when he finally pulled away.

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heartstrings. It’s not something you’ve ever heard from him and it broke away at the wall you tried to put up. Norm glanced at Neteyam and smirked at you knowingly.

“Just to let you know, he has been here for a record-breaking duration of three days and a half,” he said.

Your brows furrowed, rearing your head back to look at him. “You didn’t go home?”

Like a chastised child, he threw you a sharp look through the fringe of his lashes. “You were not waking up.”

“And you know that’s simply me not linking to my avatar,” you pressed your palm against his shoulder.

He caught your hand and didn't let go. “And what of your human self? Are you alright, were you hurt, were you barred from linking to this body?” he asked, his voice hard and heated.

You blinked, your panicking eyes flitting to Max and Norm who are slowly backing away. “Uh, yes, she’s alright. Not hurt. And no, not barred from linking,” you said.

His face smoothed over, looking calmer than ever. “Then why...?”

You pushed your lips forward, stopping yourself from flashing a menacing smile. “I was on a date and then I got married—”

“What?” he asked, his voice rising. “You got married?”

You pursed your lips, looking at his face fall like you just told him he didn’t pass a test. “I’m just kidding,“ you said with a deadpan face. “We did a major relocation. Dr. Danel managed to snag a life-changing opportunity—”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence when his lips came crashing down on yours. His large hand was clamped at your nape, too, deepening the kiss. You closed your eyes and kissed him back for what felt like forever, just savoring the fact that you are kissing again, and then you remembered.

You pushed against his chest, moving away from him. “No, no, no,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “You cannot do this. To me and that huntress who would be your mate. I don’t know if there’s a concept of being a playboy in this world, but that’s you. You can't just kiss me whenever you feel like it—”

“Huntress who would be my mate?” he echoed. “Maneya? She is not going to be my mate—”

“I didn’t strike you for a liar, but I guess you also are—”

His large hands held either of your upper arms to make you face him properly before he looked in you in the eyes, dead serious. “I'm not. I am not betrothed to Maneya. The council wants that; the council wants her to be my mate, but I don't. I never did, and I honestly never knew what I wanted in that area of my life, but I know now. In fact, I have a ten-year plan that involves this avatar that only links back to her body when she feels like it. I never knew Eywa to be this cruel, but to have me fall in love with someone I can't have is a cruel thing to play at.”

You blinked twice and then thrice. For the second time in your life, and because of the same person, you couldn’t find your words, and you are acting the way you never want to: stupid. You watched his face go from emotionally charged and deeply romantic to that of acceptance.

He nodded once, looking down at your hand, linking his lips wet. “I know you don’t see me that way, but I wanted to get that out,” his eyes snapped up to you. “I don’t want to be just friends with you and I want you to know that.”

Your heart felt like it had stopped beating, then jumpstarted only for it to feel like you’ve ran a marathon. “Was it... necessary to say all that looking extremely handsome... Or?” You drew a circle on your face in the air using your pointing finger.

It was his time to look like he couldn't find the words. “I...I don’t—I don’t know...” he stammered, bringing a hand up to touch his side braid.

You smiled at him, raising a hand to cup his jaw and cheek. “I appreciate that, Neteyam...” you mumbled, hating that you had to wipe off the hope on his face. “But it’s... It’s complicated—”

“Because you’re not like me? I don’t care—”

“Yes, and more. I’m living a double life. I’m a human and this is not me. This is not the real me—”

“So what? This,” he motioned at your body. “is just a vessel. Who you are is whatever you have shown me, shown us. There’s a human version and I like her, too, because that’s still you. It doesn’t matter to me, Y/N.”

“It matters to me,” you said, emphasizing your point. “It matters to me that you will be in trouble for being with me. It matters to me that you will find it hard to live a normal life because you’re with me. It’s not as easy as you think it will be. What you feel for me—”

“It’s not going away. I know myself. It will happen only once and I will never feel this way again,” he vowed. “All of those things you were saying, I can live with that. Don’t worry about me. I’ll worry about us. I’ll handle my people.”

You bit your lip, you gaze dropping down. “I... I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll help you.” he said.

Your eyes snapped up, your brows furrowed. “Help me how?”

He looked at you seriously. “Think.”

By helping you think, it means an unyielding, high-frequency presence. He walks you back and forth from Hometree to the facility, he materializes in front of you whenever you so much as need a heavy crate of stabilizers moved, already lifting it before you could reach for a hoist. If you were sitting in front of a terminal to analyze data, he would be sitting in a corner, sharpening his tools, but still having his eyes locked onto you with a steady, quiet intensity that made it completely impossible to focus on a single string of code.

Eventually, you needed to do something about that. Which is why you pulled Norm and Max for a talk one afternoon, explaining the massive administrative change Dr. Danel had pulled off, the relocation authorization that had successfully shifted your human pods entirely out from under military surveillance and into the hidden sanctuary of the Hallelujah Mountains.

Norm scratched the back of his head, a stunned look passing over his features. “Boy, if this isn't familiar. It's like history repeating itself with better hardware. So, you’re staying here... for real?”

“If you’ll have me,” you nodded firmly, crossing your arms. “I need you to talk to Jake, Norm. I want to stay based at this facility permanently instead of trekking back to Hometree. It’ll save me time every single day, and I can just dive straight into work once I link back to this body.”

You didn't mention the real reason, but you were secretly hoping the distance would act as a natural deterrent. If you weren't at Hometree, maybe Neteyam’s intense focus would naturally drift back to his actual duties.

“Done,” Norm nodded, clapping you on the arm. “I'll clear it with Jake. He'll understand.”

But your master plan failed spectacularly. The distance wasn't a deterrent at all; if anything, it only made Neteyam more deliberate. He was a man of his word and entirely a man of action. The moment he learned you were staying at the facility, he simply adjusted his patrol rotations. He began showing up during the exact blocks of time he knew you’d be in your avatar to work with Norm, silently stepping in to assist with manual labor, his quiet devotion remaining completely unbothered by the miles of jungle between you.

The internal conflict grew so loud that it bled right into your human shifts. Back at the newly settled outpost in your real body, Dr. Danel noticed your distraction. You were aggressively cataloging plates with a tense, exhausted look on your face.

“Why don’t you sit and rest for a moment, Y/N?” Dr. Danel’s leveled voice said behind you. “You seem distracted. Are you doing too much work in your avatar?”

You shook your head. “No, not really. It’s nothing I can handle, Doc. It’s something...” you fell back on a rolling chair, sighing as I looked at the pink pads of your fingers.

“Jake Sully’s son...” he trailed, making you snap your eyes up at him. He had a humored look on his face, “Marco had a slip-up.”

You glared at Marco’s link unit, knowing he’s there because you saw his avatar making his way out earlier. “Oh, I don’t believe that! He snitched on purpose!”

He laughed, still busy working in the bay area. “I wouldn’t have repeated it to another soul, kid.”

You sighed, propping your cheek on your palm. “It’s just that... Doc, have you ever thought of falling in love... here? I know what you’re going to tell me. It’s complicated, it’s hard to make it happen, but... He likes me. And he’s really showing me that he wants me. It would have been better if he didn’t, you know? That it’s just me harboring an unusual class on a very handsome blue alien, but no...”

He listened to you rant the entire saga. You told him everything. How Neteyam sent you to jail, how he became your grumpy, jerk bodyguard, how he softened over time, the kiss under the fan lizards, the weight of your double life, the fiancée that isn’t really a fiancée, and how absolutely terrified you were that you were in deep, irreversible trouble with Jake Sully’s oldest son.

Dr. Danel listened quietly, letting out a soft, amused chuckle as he leaned against a sterile lab counter. “What is there to be scared about, kid? It’s love. I’ll actually give you some credit for thinking this through so thoroughly, because heaven knows Jake Sully didn't think for a single second when he crossed that line.”

You pushed your lips forward into a pout, staring down at your human hands.

“You are incredibly lucky to find something like that here, Y/N,” he said gently, his expression softening. “When we left Earth, we know what left behind. The opportunity to just... be human. We gave up everything in pursuit of science. To find love, hope, and real life, something completely separate from what is strictly necessary for survival on another planet, is an incredible stroke of luck.”

You looked up at him and slowly nodding as the truth of it settled into your chest.

“You are a scientist, Y/N, and I know it is your job to analyze and think,” he added, giving you a reassuring smile. “But try not thinking when it comes to this.”

That was the exact, final push you needed to leap straight off the cliff.

Neteyam had absolutely no idea, but your choice was made.

Later that afternoon, back in your avatar, you asked to him to go down the nearby river under the guise of collecting aquatic plant specimens, which you won’t really need that much on the work you’re doing with Norm and Max, but you could study on it separately.

Now, you’re watching the water rushed softly over the smooth river stones, casting dancing reflections of light against the canopy. You sat on the riverbank, watching him walk over to stand directly in front of you.

A familiar, wicked smirk tugged at your lips, your tail swaying mischievously behind you that his eyes dropped down there as you were reaching out, you caught his large hand and pulled him firmly toward you until his massive torso was securely caged between your thighs.

Before he could even ask what you were doing, you leaned up and caught his lips in a deep, deliberate kiss.

You could tell it completely caught him off guard. Neteyam’s ears twitched in surprise, his head rearing back slightly as the kiss broke so he could look down into your eyes. The sudden, brilliant flare of pure happiness in his golden gaze made your heart soar. You leaned right back in, kissing him a second time, but he was far too wise to let you off that easily. He held his position, withholding the full force of his response, his hands anchoring gently on your waist.

“Tell me you are giving me a chance, and we will kiss more,” he whispered, his voice thick, gravelly, and intense.

“I am giving you a chance,” you whispered back, your fingers tangling in the beads of his braids. “In fact, it’s a really huge chance. Whatever you’re thinking about, Neteyam, I’m right beside you.”

He let out a shuddering breath of pure relief, his shoulders visibly dropping as he grounded himself in your words. Both of his large hands slid up to cradle your face, and he kissed you. Hard, deep, and possessively, before pulling back just enough to stare directly into your eyes.

“You will never regret that. I will not let you.”

You smiled at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him back down. There was an understanding.

Or so you thought. Because there was an obvious cultural barrier at play here, because to you, you two were officially in a relationship now. Dating, plain and simple. But to him, he was still technically in the formal phase of courting you.

The very next day, you stepped out of the facility, stretching your arms and fully prepared for work, and to seeing your new boyfriend by midday, once he comes after his patrol, only to find Neteyam already standing by the path holding a giant, freshly killed hexapede. It was slung over his broad shoulders while his other hand was holding a basket of something.

You stopped dead in your tracks. You blinked once. Twice.

“Uh... good morning to you, too, hunting god,” you stammered, pointing a finger at everything. “Are we... having a very aggressive breakfast, or did you bring me a giant, heavy prop for our walk?”

Neteyam walked forward, his expression deadpan but his ears held exceptionally high. He dropped the carcass right at your feet.

“I have brought you the first kill of my current rotation,” he said, his voice deep. “It’s what we do to show our intended that we can provide. I will provide for you from now on.”

You stared at the dead animal, then up at him, your lips twitching as you tried to process the cuteness of this all.

“Neteyam, sweetheart... I live in a metal shack now with a microwave and a bunch of scientists who eat synthetic protein bars,” you said slowly, peering up at him through your lashes. “But... I guess I can force them to eat what I do with this. Or we could bring this back to the cooks back at Hometree?” you bit your lip, your eyes snagging to the basket full of fruits. “Oh, this, however! I would very much love to keep.”

“Bring back to Hometree? This is traditional. A warrior brings a tribute to the woman he courts to show he can sustain her,” his ears pinned back against his head.

“Courts?” You echoed, stepping right into his space and boldly grabbing his face, pulling him down into a quick, smacking kiss on the lips that entirely shattered his stern warrior posture. His eyes went wide as you pulled back, grinning like a menace. “Baby, we kissed really crazy under a cloud of glowing bugs and I told you I'm riding shotgun on your future plans. The trial period is over. You passed. We’re dating!”

“Dating?” he echoed, the human word sounding completely foreign on his tongue. His forehead creased in confusion. “What is day-ting? Is it a human ritual where you do not accept food?”

“It means you don't have to carry a hundred-pound carcass through the jungle just to prove you're a catch,” you chuckled, reaching up to playfully tug on one of his ears, making it twitch. “It means we are together. It means instead of giving me dead meat, you can just do this.”

You leaned in again, your hands sliding up his chest before wrapping around his neck, pulling him into a long, slow, dizzying kiss that had his hands dropping the basket he had been holding. He melted instantly, his large hands clamping onto your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

When you finally broke away, you were both breathing a little heavier. You winked at him, tapping his nose with your finger.

“See? Way less heavy than a yerik, and arguably much better for morale,” you teased. You patted his muscled chest, “I’m keeping the fruits and the yerik goes to Hometree communal kitchen. I’m eating dinner there tonight so I’m still eating what you hunted for. That okay with you, lover boy?”

You pursed your lips and watched him bite his lower lip. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Okay. I’m going to work! I have data to run, and my boyfriend is making me late!”

Neteyam stood in the middle of the path, looking between the dead animal on the ground and your retreating form, his face a spectacular mix of utter bewilderment and absolute, smitten defeat.

“Humans make no sense,” he muttered loudly, though a massive, helpless smile was finally breaking across his face as he hauled the kill back up.

Since you have already made him understood the concept of dating, you have instituted an intense making-out policy that definitely shouldn't have been part of the official manual, but you casually told him you were merely ‘exploring your avatar body's sensory responses to external stimuli,’ and giving him an absolute green light to do whatever he wanted.

But of course, the pretense didn’t mean anything at all, now that you were deep in the woods, sitting directly on his lap, straddling his waist and devouring his mouth. His large hands were everywhere, squeezing your waist with a firm, desperate grip before sliding up to fondle your breasts, while your hands locked around his neck, pulling him closer. You were kissing like you wanted to completely consume each other, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

You shifted your hips against him, a loud, breathless moan spilling from your throat as the solid, heavy ridge of his arousal pressed firmly against your softness through the thin fabric of your loincloth. You have known that being in your avatar and experiencing this kind of sheer intensity from a physical friction makes your body react exactly as you would have as a human, and it was incredible.

“Yawne...” he groaned deeply, allowing you to hump against him, but the sheer stimulation obviously weakened him.

Neteyam leaned his back heavily against the trunk of the tree, throwing his head back as his eyes closed in pure bliss. He kept his mouth glued to yours, but his entire focus had zeroed in on the spot where his hardness is repeatedly meeting your soft mound.

You pulled your mouth away to catch your breath, and a low, needy moan escaped his lips. You smiled, sliding your mouth down to kiss his sharp jawline, nipping at the exposed skin of his neck, and enjoying the way he’s whimpering. You shifted your hips again and again, a sudden, shivering wave of a climax ripping straight through you. You hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his shoulder as your kisses against his neck became wet and sloppy.

He held you firmly, his grip tightening as he maneuvered your body down onto the soft grass. Your sight spun for a moment as you looked up at the canopy, your breath hitching as Neteyam leaned down to kiss and suck hungrily at your breasts. You reached up to grab his shoulders, but he caught your hands, intertwining his long fingers securely with yours, using his other hand to firmly slide your loincloth aside.

The cool air made direct contact with your slick wetness, causing you to shiver, but the chill vanished instantly as you felt his warm mouth press directly against your center.

“Oh!” you moaned aloud, bringing your free hand up to bite down on your knuckles as his tongue began to rhythmically lick and suck at your sensitive flesh.

Your chest heaved rapidly, your mind completely spinning as he continued to pleasurably devour you. The sensation was so intense you were literally shaking, your hips bucking instinctively against his mouth. Neteyam squeezed your thighs tightly, holding you perfectly in place, refusing to let you pull away until it left you completely limp and breathless.

He slowly kissed his way back up your body, hovering over you with a soft, triumphant smile as he caught your lips in a gentle kiss.

“Come back to Hometree with me tonight,” he whispered against your mouth, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

You blinked up at him lazily, your tail twitching as shivers ran down your spine. “What are they cooking tonight?” you asked, your voice a breathless rasp.

When he told you they were roasting the exact sweet-root and river fish dish you had obsessed over the week before, your resolve crumbled instantly. You smoothed down your hair, adjusted your feathered top, and walked back to Hometree right beside him.

When you arrived, the communal area was already humming with its usual evening life. Over the last moon, the people of the clan had slowly gotten used to the sight of you walking side-by-side with Neteyam. At first, the warriors had kept their distance, watching with guarded eyes, knowing how Neteyam is with you. But seeing how you still have your relentless, bright energy with you, and that Neteyam isn’t really barring any of them from speaking to you, your friendship with them became more permanent.

That didn't mean the council was happy, though.

As you and Neteyam walked toward your seats, you could feel the heavy glares radiating from their circles. You know from the warriors that Maneya’s parents deeply disapproved of this. For generations, traditional arrangements kept the clan’s bloodlines strong and predictable. The elders had been aggressively pushing for Maneya to be his mate before the next season turned. To them, an avatar, a dreamwalker who isn’t even real, was an insult to their customs.

And let’s not talk about the fact that their Olo’eyktan was once a dreamwalker himself.

Neteyam felt the weight of those stares, but his jaw only set firmer. He guided you to the table of warriors he knew would defend you when he’s not around, ensuring you got the best cut of the roasted river fish before he excused himself, noting that his father had signaled for him near the upper dais.

Neytiri sat beside Jake, her sharp eyes tracing the silhouette of her eldest son as he approached.

“Neteyam,” Jake said, his voice quiet but carrying the heavy weight of a man who had just spent two hours listening to old men complain. “The council is still talking. Maneya’s family is pushing hard for the betrothal announcement. They want a firm answer before the next hunt.”

Neytiri stepped forward, her hand resting gently on her son’s shoulder, her gaze searching his face. “Son... are you entirely sure of this? The path you are choosing is not walked on smooth stones. She is... She does not belong with us—”

“Like Dad used to not belong?” Neteyam asked.

Neytiri tilted her head. “That is different,” she replied.

“Mother, it’s not,” he looked down at his mother, his expression softening but remaining completely unyielding. “And I am sure of her,” he added, his deep, gravelly voice carrying a profound certainty that made both of his parents still. “My whole life, I have done exactly what was expected of me. I trained until my fingers bled, I flew the sky lines and led the patrols before I was a boy of thirteen years. I was willing to follow everything you, the council, and the elders told me to do because I thought that was what a leader must be.”

He paused, his eyes drifting across to where you were sitting. You were currently mid-sentence, aggressively gesturing with a piece of sweet-root while your friends laughed loudly at whatever ridiculous story you were telling. A soft, breathless warmth passed over Neteyam’s features.

“But until her, I never chose anything for myself,” he continued, turning back to his parents. “I realized that if I allow people who do not understand my heart to decide my future, I will never be the leader this clan needs. I cannot lead a people with a hollowed being. She is what makes my heart happy. She is who I see in my future, and even if it is difficult, even if it is a mess of two worlds... I would not have it any other way. I want her, and I will keep her. I already have her, and I will not let anyone take her away from me.”

Jake let out a low breath, a small smirk of pure pride cutting through his mouth. He clapped a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. He recognized that exact, stubborn reckless look. He had worn it himself years ago. Neytiri herself had a streak of it years ago.

Neytiri watched her son, her ears twitching slightly. She looked at the determination in his posture, the fierce fire in his eyes, and despite the lingering complications, her own heart swelled with an undeniable pride. He’s no longer a boy. He was a man taking his destiny by the throat. He was a true leader.

“Go to her, then,” Neytiri murmured softly, the corner of her lips pulling into a gentle smile.

Neteyam nodded respectfully to his parents and turned, walking back down toward your table. The moment he stepped back into your peripheral vision, you looked up from your meal, flashing him a smile so bright, so full of life, that his heart did a violent, fluttering flip against his ribs.

From the dais, Jake reached out and took Neytiri’s hand in his own. Neytiri turned her head to look at her husband, squeezing his hand as an understanding smile passed between them. Her son had made his choice, and she believed in her son.

Neteyam slid onto the mat right next to you, his long arm immediately circling around your waist to pull you tightly against his side, entirely indifferent to the whispering elders above.

“Miss me, lover boy?” you teased, nudging his ribs with your elbow.

“Always,” he murmured against your ear, his grip tightening as he stole a piece of your sweet-root, his heart completely at peace.

After the feast, while you were contentedly wiping your hands, Neteyam stood up and smoothly announced, “I am walking her back to the facilities.”

He did walk you. But along the way, his hand tightened around yours, and the path you were taking led to a different one.

“Remember when you asked me about... the collective consciousness of our people?” he asked, but you were already too mesmerized by the bioluminescent weeping willow glowing purple from the distance.

“Yes,” you breathed. “That is the Tree of Souls, right?”

He held your hand and pulled you closer until you two were under its tendrils. “The collective consciousness you were talking about... I don’t understand the technicality, but it is true. Everything we are, everything we know... is in this tree,” he touched a tendril. “Our ancestors and our dead, they are here and they are never gone. They live with us in every plant and every leaf. This tree has witnessed every moment in our lives since we were born and it will keep them in this world long after we are gone.”

A soft smile cut through your lips as hot tears pricked your eyes. “That is beautiful, Neteyam... Dr. Augustine was right. She was right about everything,” you breathed, touching a glowing tendril before you turned to him.

Neteyam stepped closer, the pulsing light from the hanging tendrils illuminating the profound, worshipful softness in his eyes. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the stray tear that escaped your lashes.

“I brought you here because I want Eywa to know I am grateful that she heard me,” he whispered, carrying a solemn weight that made your breath catch. “I want my ancestors to know that my heart belongs to you. No council, no tradition, not even who you are will change that.”

Your face crumpled as your heart swelled with raw emotion, his words completely shattering whatever remaining inhibitions you had. You smiled through the tears, gathering him in your arms and wrapping them tightly around him. “My heart belongs to you, too, Neteyam. This heart and the human heart,” you chuckled, making him smile.

You leaned up and caught his lips in a deep kiss. Neteyam let out a low, gravelly rumble, his hands instantly locking onto your waist and lifting you up slightly, pinning your back flat against the massive, smooth root of the glowing tree.

“Oh,” you gasped, a wicked little smirk flashing on your face despite your breath hitching. “Look at you. Someone’s getting aggressive...”

He groaned as his head dipped, his lips abandoning your mouth to trail a path of hot, heavy kisses down your jawline and into the dip of your neck. He nipped playfully at your skin, making you shiver and giggle all at once.

His hands slid from your face, down your shoulders, his long, deft fingers untying the bindings of your top, making you raise a brow. The soft fabric fell away, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his incredibly dark, hungry gaze.

“Okay,” you whispered as his mouth closed over one peak, suckling hungrily. You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his thick braids, pulling him closer. “Okay...”

He pulled back, his golden eyes burning. “Tell me what you want, my love,” he commanded gently. “Tell me how you want it.”

“I want to feel all of you inside me,” you breathed.

He smirked, standing up straighter and reaching behind him. You blinked and swallowed, watching the pink tendrils of his kuru dance as he held it up. His head tilted.

“Not happening without this,” he murmured.

You looked at him with wide eyes. “The bond... We will be—”

“Mates. I will be yours, for life,” he licks his lips. “and you will be mine. For life.” This time, his eyes darkened significantly.

A soft smile cut through your lips, reaching behind you to grab the thick plait of braid and bring it between you. “I think I want that...”

He swallowed and nodded, but he looked like he was going to melt. He held your hand and pulled you down, and once you were both kneeling under the purple glow of the Tree of Souls, he brought his kuru to bind with yours, sending an instantaneous jolt of electricity down your spine that spread through your limbs.

You have never made a bond with any creature on Pandora. You didn’t know what your kuru could do or give you if you connected it to any living being, but the rush of emotions through the bond is an unexplainable phenomenon that not even a scientist like you could come up with words for. You were feeling the absolute weight of his devotion, how you now his entire world, anchored to his soul forever.

You stared up at Neteyam and watched the gold of his eyes got nearly swallowed by the black. You smiled as the warmth of the memory of the first time he ever saw you surged through the bond, his secret admiration, and the quiet moments he spent hoping for this exact night.

This is insane, you thought. This is more than what any human would ever experience. You moved closer to him, reaching for his face and he leaned down to kiss you, wrapping his arm around you while his other hand fumbled with the ties of your loincloth around your tail. Once it’s off and you’re naked as the day you were successfully-made-and-put-in-an-amnio-tank, he lowered you down on the grass.

With a primal glint in his gaze, Neteyam pushed himself up over you, and you were treated to the view of the broad expanse of his shoulder and chest. You bit your lip as you watched him strip his own loincloth away. Your eyes snapped down when his cock sprang free, a powerful and thick column of dark indigo, engorged, and pulsing with heavy life.

Your jaw literally dropped as you stared down, your brain temporarily short-circuiting at the sheer scale of it. “Oh, sweet Lord,” you blurted out, your eyes widening as his large hand grabbed your thigh. “Hold on, timeout!” He stopped and looked at you. You bit your lip, “We need to slow down. Neteyam, honey, this body is technically a virgin and she has not trained to take an absolute monster like that! Are you trying to split her in half?”

Neteyam blinked, a sudden, hilariously confused expression fracturing his fierce look. “A... monster?” He looked down at himself, then back at you, his ears twitching in genuine bewilderment. “Yawne, it is... normal. I am normal.”

“For a nine-foot-tall, maybe!” you chuckled, though you were already biting your lip, your tail thumping against the grass excitedly as you spread your legs for him, “Alright. Go big or go home!”

He let out a breathless laugh, the sweet, adoring man returning for a fraction of a second as he gently pushed you back onto the soft grass. He hovered over you, positioning himself between your legs, his cock brushing against your slick folds and making you gasp.

“Look at me, baby,” he rough-whispered. Slowly, he began to push.

The thick head found your opening, and he pressed with a gentle, patient insistence. You whimpered, your hips arching instinctively to meet him as his shaft slowly stretched you inch by inch until he was buried completely to the hilt.

You trembled, a deep, incredibly satisfying fullness making your head spin. He paused, letting you adjust, his eyes never leaving yours as his large hands tenderly cradled your face.

“Good?” he murmured, kissing you softly.

“Yes,” you panted against his lips, your nails digging into his muscular shoulders.

He began to move with slow, deliberate thrusts, pulling almost entirely out before plunging back in. Your hips rose rhythmically to meet his, his hand locked around one of your thighs to spread you wider.

“Oh, baby,” you commanded, your voice raw. “Faster.”

He obeyed instantly. His thrusts gained a powerful, forceful momentum, his hips slamming against yours. Your breathless moans mingled with his deep, guttural grunts of pleasure. He picked up the pace, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his entire body straining with the sweet effort of pleasing you.

“I’m going to come,” you cried out, your vision blurring with white sparks.

Neteyam smiled, a primal, satisfied grin breaking across his face. He pulled back just enough to torment you, then drove back in with a powerful, precise angle that hit your sweetest spot dead-on. A loud whimper tore from your throat as your body completely seized. A violent orgasm ripped through you, your walls clenching tightly around his cock, milking him fiercely. You bucked and writhed beneath him, completely undone.

Holding you tight, Neteyam rode you over the wave of your climax, his own release building rapidly. With a final, guttural roar, he emptied his heavy warmth deep inside you, his body shuddering violently as he collapsed gently onto you, his chest heaving, his heart hammering wildly against your own.

You lay there for a long time, completely breathless, the scent of the jungle and sex heavy in the air. His cock, still buried inside you, pulsed gently as you felt the warm wetness of his seed filling you.

You let out a weak, shaky giggle, your fingers weakly patting his arm. “Okay... experiment concluded. Avatar structural integrity successfully maintained. Ten out of ten, Commander.”

Neteyam let out a soft, exhausted chuckle against your neck, kissing his way up to your lips to give you a tender, deeply sweet kiss. “Glad to hear that,” he mumbled. “I love you so much.

You stared up at him with bright eyes, grinning at him. “I love you, Neteyam.”

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

The link unit let out a loud, sharp hiss as soon as you are back in your body. You breathed in the slightly metallic air, your heart beating rhythmically against your ribs as you let what just happened sink in. You mated with Neteyam. You are bounded to him forever, and you know it.

Before you could even fully stretch your cramped limbs, you heard the heavy footsteps of what you know belong to the military. You rolled your eyes when three soldiers, clad in full tactical gear, appeared near your link unit.

“Jesus... do you guys ever knock? Or do they just teach you how to kick down doors at Bridgehead basic training?”

The soldier in the center stepped right up to the edge of the link bed. “You've been under for fourteen hours straight, brainiac. For someone who claims to be locked up in a dungeon by the local savages, we've noticed you log into your avatar for an awful lot of hours. Day in, day out. The data logs from this shack are lighting up the grid like a Christmas tree.”

You pulled yourself to sit up, looking at him and letting your face twist into an expression of sheer, unadulterated exhaustion. A mask you had perfected over the last months.

“Yeah, Miller, it's called survival,” you snapped, your voice raspy as you reached for a bottle of water on the side table. “I'm trying to keep the avatar alive. Those people are still feeding the damn thing, alright? They haven't chopped its head off yet because they think it's a harmless and pathetic. If I don't log back in there regularly, if I don't keep up the act of being their perfect captive, it's going to die. And then this multi-billion-dollar asset becomes completely useless to the company. Do you want to explain that loss to the board?”

Miller narrowed his eyes, leaning down until his exopack hissed near your face. “Then why the need for this relocation? If you're not hiding anything, why did you insist on moving your entire setup out to the mountains? This shack used to be within standard radius. Now you're out here in the fog.”

“Because your surveillance is loud, stupid, and they do nothing but intimidate the ones who are actually working to advance what Earth knows about this world,” you replied.

Miller sneered, but before he could step any closer, Dr. Danel stepped forward, his sharp, weathered face set in a furious glare as he planted herself directly between the soldiers and your link unit.

“That is enough, Corporal!” he said. “πou have no right to come into this facility and strong-arm us. The research division is not under the jurisdiction of General Ardmore's immediate military arm. We operate under a separate corporate charter, and I am reminding you,right now, that we are here to research, not submit to your paranoia!”

The two soldiers behind Miller shifted their weight, but Danel didn't back down an inch. He pointed a finger directly at Miller’s chest.

“Other scientists have also requested independent outposts precisely because of this toxic, suffocating surveillance from the military,” Danel continued, her chest heaving. “You are disrupting research critical for the corporation. Now, back off.”

You took the cue, leaning forward and putting on a sad face. “And that recom you guys keep talking about? He's probably dead. I've never heard of him again. In fact, the last time I saw the Na’vis pass through the lower cells, they were carrying his gear. He was shot by a heavy arrow directly to the chest. He definitely couldn't have survived that.” You let your voice crack, squeezing your eyes shut as if the memory was too painful to bear. “My avatar is surviving in a hard, cold, dark, and lonely place, Miller. You don't know what it's like for me right now. Every time I open my eyes in that body, I am surrounded by nine-foot-tall killers. I'm doing my job. What are you doing besides giving me a headache?”

From the corner of the lab, Marco immediately stepped up, patting your back with massive, exaggerated sweeps of his hand, nodding at Miller with an expression of deep, solemn sympathy. “Yeah, man. Leave her alone. Cut her some slack.”

Miller stared at you before finally letting out a harsh breath through his nose and took a step back.

“We'll be back to check the logs again next week,” Miller said, his voice dropping into a low threat. “If we find out you're doing anything other than counting leaves out here, General Ardmore will have you back in a brig at Bridgehead before sunset. Let's move out.”

The soldiers turned on their heels, exiting the shack with the same aggressive energy they had entered with. The heavy metal door slammed shut, the lock clicking into place with.

Marco immediately dropped his hands from your shoulders, letting out a massive breath. “Holy shit... that was an insane clutch, Y/N. Seriously, my heart was in my throat,” he said. “What took you so long out there? You know you can't keep this lie up for long, right? They're going to cross-reference the log feeds eventually.”

You dropped your head into your hands, your messy hair falling over your face. A deep, heavy sigh racked your small frame. “I know, Marco. I know, and... and... and...“

Dr. Danel adjusted his glasses, his eyes sharp as he looked down at your confused face. “What's going on, kid? You look like you're about to throw up.”

You bit your dry lip, slowly raising your head to look at them sheepishly. Your face felt hot, a deep flush spreading across your cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the link. “I... I mated with Neteyam.”

You watched their faces at the silence stretched

Marco blinked, then his jaw dropped low. “Jake Sully’s son is named Neteyam?!” he yelped.

“Jesus, what?” Dr. Danel said at the exact same time.

“Yes, his name’s Neteyam,” you told Marco, your voice squeaking slightly as you tried to look anywhere but at Dr. Danel’s gaze.

Marco burst into a sudden, loud chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s probably a Na’vi version of Nathan—”

“Right?!” you laughed, the sheer absurdity of the situation breaking through your panic. “I told him once that he looks like a Nathan! And his brother’s named Lo’ak. That's like Luke or—”

“Kid, listen to me,” Dr. Danel interrupted, his voice cutting through the laughter you were sharing with Marco, and he didn't look amused. In fact, his face had gone completely pale. “You mated with Jake Sully’s son? The firstborn?”

“Yes...” you said, your voice dropping into a small, sheepish whisper. You rubbed the back of your neck. “We... we made the bond. Under the Tree of Souls.”

Dr. Danel took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a look of profound gravity. “We can't stay here,” he said flatly.

“W-why?” you asked. “We're safe out here in the ridge, aren't we? The military barely wants to fly through the vortex fields.“

“Y/N, the Na’vi mate for life. You are his wife,” Dr. Danel said, looking at you with an intensity that made you realize the full weight of what you had done. “You cannot be his wife for only half a day and be here in a tin can for the other half. The military is out on your tail. One day soon, they will find out where you really are. And when they realize who you are to the Omatikaya now? They will use you. Or they will kill you to get to them. And that boy will not give you up.”

You bit your lip. “I really brought him trouble.”

“It could be the other way around, too. That boy has given the military a huge headache since we got back here,” he said. “He will bring them trouble. Because of you.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, your cheeks burning a violent, deep pink as the memory of Neteyam's heavy warmth and the sheer mind-melting intensity of the bond flashed through your mind. He’s so hot.

Marco narrowed his eyes at you, a teasing smirk spreading across his face as he noticed your furious blushing. He opened his mouth to make a horribly inappropriate joke about Na’vi anatomy, but he caught the look on Dr. Danel's face and remembered the severity of the situation.

“Doc, what do you mean about not staying here?” Marco asked, his tone turning serious. “Where are we supposed to go? We have tons of delicate equipment in this shack.”

“Right. Does that mean you want us to relocate directly to the Omatikaya?” you asked, your heart hammering

“Yes,” Dr. Danel answered without a single shred of hesitation. “Because you chose your life, Y/N, and we’re going to make it easy for you. We are your team. We aren't going to let the RDA turn you into a political prisoner.”

The sheer, unconditional protection in his voice brought a sudden, fierce prickle of tears to your eyes. You swallowed hard, looking at the two scientists who had become your real family on this moon.

“We need to get out of the military’s eyes altogether,” Dr. Danel continued, pacing the small width of the lab. "Disappear. I don’t see why we can’t work with Norm and Max if they'll have us. Besides, this needs to be done before the military sets their foot on our necks and keeps you hostage, which I bet will turn into something unimaginable.”

“But how?” you reasoned, gesturing around the space. “The link units are here. Our labs are here. We need everything inside this shack, we can't just leave it behind. If we disconnect the main trunk, the data will corrupt.”

“We can... we can have it airlifted,” Marco suggested, snapping his fingers. “I can ask a favor from Jason. He flies a Samson. I can bribe him with some of that real coffee we smuggled in.”

“No, we can't do that,” Dr. Danel countered immediately. “The RDA radar grid around Bridgehead tracks every single aviation signature. If a Samson flies into Omatikaya territory, they’ll trace the flight path instantly. They'll follow it right to our new doorstep.”

“Well, we can't lift a these reinforced steel container on our own, Doc,” Marco muttered, throwing his hands up. “Unless you've grown some super-strength over the weekend.“

“Wait,” you said, raising a hand, a sudden spark of an idea lighting up your brain. “I... I can talk to Neteyam. Norm and Max were already asking me to stay permanently at the human facilities. I think they'd like more brains there anyway.”

By the morrow, you’re back lying down onto the soft gel pad of the link unit and the smell of sweet, crushed moss of the forest rushed into your lungs. You opened your eyes to the sight of the crystal-like long tendrils of the Tree of Souls gently swaying above you. You felt insanely warm, feeling the heavy arm wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against a broad, smooth chest that rumbled with every slow, deep breath.

Neteyam was still asleep, his nose buried deep in the crook of your neck. His tail was loosely coiled around your thigh, a subconscious anchor that held you tight even in his dreams. You shifted slightly, a breathless sigh escaping your lips as the movement instantly woke him.

Neteyam’s ears twitched, rising slowly as his golden eyes blinked open, dark and heavy with sleep. The moment he realized you were awake, a soft, incredibly tender smile broke across his beautiful features. He didn't say a word at first; he just tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you so close that there wasn't a single inch of air between your bodies. He dipped his head, pressing a warm kiss directly against your jawline.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated straight through your skin. Through the bond, you could feel the huge ball of warmth in his chest as he hugged you closer, but he also felt the sharp prick of your anxiety. He pushed himself up on his elbow to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You turned around in his arms so you could look at him. You reached up, your long finger gently tracing the strong line of his jaw. “The— the soldiers. They came to the shack... They are uspicious over the time I'm spending in this body.”

His eyes darkened instantly, the sleepy softness vanishing, replaced by a fierce, cold steel. He sat up, his back muscles flexing. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, no,” you quickly reassured him, pulling him back down by his neck until his forehead rested against yours. “Dr. Danel and Marco stopped them. But Dr. Danel is right... we can't stay there anymore. If we stay, they'll find out I'm with you. They'll use me to get to you.”

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “I will not let them touch you. They can’t just do that, they can’t threaten you like that anytime they want. We will relocate your outpost near here.”

“That's the problem,” you sighed, your tail twitching nervously against the grass. “If we relocate, we can't use a human helicopter. The military will track the flight path.”

His head tilted, an amused smirk on his lips. “A Samson is not the only thing that can lift a metal box, yawne.”

You blinked, your own head tilting in question.

“Toruk,” Neteyam said simply. “We must talk to Norm.”

So almost an hour of walk later, you were back at the human facilities with Neteyam standing behind you as you talk to Norm.

“The military just raided our outpost last night. They saw my log-in hours and apparently, it doesn’t look like the log-in hours of someone locked up in a dungeon,” you told him. “Dr. Danel wants to pull the plug and relocate us... here. But we have no way to transport the link shacks without the RDA tracking the Samson’s flight path..“

Norm’s expression shifted from tired to completely alert in a split second. “I knew Ardmore was going to tighten the leash. If they catch you—”

“They won’t,” Neteyam cut in. “We have a way to move their shacks.”

“But, Norm, I need to know if you have space for two more scientists... Danel and Marco are coming with me.”

“The demon we had the day Y/N came in was dead. He did not survive his wound. But the soldiers will use his ghost to hunt my mate. We must bring her people into the safety of our lands."

Your brows furrowed when Norm’s jaw dropped, his eyes darting between you and Neteyam. “Did... did he just say mate?” Norm sputtered. “Y/N... you are mated with Neteyam?”

Neteyam’s hand snaked around your waist. “Yes. She is my mate,” he confirmed.

Norm let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. Holy shit, Jake is going to have a stroke... wait, no, Jake actually predicted this, didn't he? Alright, all the more reason you need to be relocated immediately and you can be relocated here. I’ll talk to Jake.”

You let out a massive sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry for all the trouble, Norm...”

“There is no trouble to forgive, kid,” Norm said, his expression softening into something genuinely protective. “You’ve been part of this family since you got those neural emulation codes working. Now that the tech is almost replicated, we’ve tested it for defensive patrols and it’s brilliant. You are as much a part of this resistance as any of us. And I bet you got some sweet new tech at that outpost?”

You grinned, your tail swishing with a sudden spark of pride. “Oh, we do, Norm. A whole shack of it. State-of-the-art RDA research tech we ‘forgot’ to catalog during the evacuation.”

“Perfect,” Norm grinned back. “Get your people ready. I'm going to find Jake.”

The longhouse of the Omatikaya council was an intimidating place.

When you and Neteyam entered, the atmosphere was already thick with tension. Jake Sully stood at the center, while Neytiri stood just behind him, her arms crossed over her chest. The clan elders, including Maneya's father, were gathered in a semi-circle, their faces hard and unyielding.

Norm had already briefed Jake, and the Olo’eyktan didn't waste any time.

“Y/N’s people are coming here,“ Jake announced, his eyes sweeping across the elders. “She provided us with critical intelligence, and their new technology will help us protect our borders even further. We are going to move their shacks near the human facilities.”

Instantly, an older, scarred warrior named Elder Karin stood up, his tail lashing with anger. “Toruk Makto... you allow too much sky people presence in this clan! First your dreamwalker friends, then this one who wanders our camp like a pet. Now you wish to bring more of their metal boxes into our grounds? It will put our people in jeopardy should these sky people decide to betray us to their soldiers!”

You took a step forward, the urge to defend your people fiercer than your fear. “We won’t do that, Elder Karin. We resent the military—”

“And who allowed you to speak here, dreamwalker?” a harsh voice boomed from the side of the circle. It was Maneya’s father, a warrior whose chest was covered in scars. He glared down at you as if you were an insect. “You have no voice here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Neteyam stepped in front of you, his entire posture shifted, his broad shoulders blocking you from the warrior's view with his towering height.

“She is allowed to speak,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a calm, gravelly register. He looked directly at Maneya’s father, his eyes flashing. “Y/N is my mate.”

Several elders gasped, their ears twitching violently in shock. Maneya's father stiffened, his hands clenching into fists as a low, furious hiss started in his throat. You turned your head slightly, your eyes widening in sheer panic as you stared up at Neteyam. You hadn't expected him to drop the bomb right now, in front of the entire governing body of the clan.

“I will vouch for her and her people,” Neteyam continued, his voice ringing through the cavernous space with absolute authority. “If she or they happen to betray the clan... you’ll have my head.”

“Neteyam!” both you and Neytiri shouted at the exact same time.

Your hand shot out, pressing flat against his warm chest, your fingers trembling. “Neteyam, stop, don't say that—”

He kept his eyes locked on the elders, though, his chest expanding under your palm as he took a deep breath. “I’m going to put it out there, and I mean it,” he said, his voice softening just enough for them to hear the absolute, unyielding devotion behind it. “I am not an idiot who made my choice based on petty reasons. I know who I mated with, and I will stand by my decision. Even if it costs me my life.”

Your shoulder slumped as you let out a shuddering breath. You hated the fact that your presence, your identity as a dreamwalker, was bringing this much turmoil to the man you loved. You felt like an anchor dragging him down into the mud of clan politics.

But before you could spiral into your own head, a hand covered yours where it rested on Neteyam’s chest.

You looked up, startled and saw Neytiri’s eyes on you. She squeezed your hand against her son's chest, making your heart leap into your throat. She looked back up at the council, her spine straightening as she stood by her son.

Jake Sully looked at the council. “My son made his choice.”

Jake’s decision and order were rock solid, and a few hours later, you were already riding behind Neteyam on his ikran, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso. But as you broke through the cloud cover, a massive, towering shadow loomed over the entire valley.

You looked up and saw the massive, red-and-orange beast flying through the mist, its wingspan wide enough to shadow an entire valley. Perched atop it was Jake Sully. Toruk had lifted heavy equipment before, back when the clan evacuated to High Camp years ago, and Jake knew exactly how to rig the cargo straps to the container's reinforced corner castings.

Neteyam landed his ikran smoothly on the cliff edge outside your shack. The moment his feet touched the ground, the door to the outpost opened, and Dr. Danel and Marco stepped out, both wearing their exopacks. Dr  Danel stopped dead in his tracks, his lips parting slightly as he looked up at the massive form of Toruk settling onto the ridge above them. “My God... I read the reports, but seeing that thing in person... it's terrifying,” he whispered, completely starstruck.

Marco, meanwhile, was looking at you. He walked up to you, a massive grin on his face. “Oh, thank God, your avatar’s really safe," he said, reaching out to give you a huge hug. “You talk to us every day from the box, but seeing the blue version of you here is great!”

Before he could reach you, though, a large hand gently but firmly pulled you back by your elbow by just half an inch. You looked at Neteyam and saw his ears tilted slightly back, his eyes tracking Marco with a quiet, possessive intensity.

You burst out laughing, holding Neteyam’s hand. “He’s one of the scientists I’m working with. He’s like Norm,” you told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

Neteyam’s ears came back up, though his hand is now firmly anchored to your waist. He nodded once to Marco. “I am Neteyam.”

Marco looked up at the nine-foot-tall warrior, his eyes tracking from Neteyam’s broad chest down to where his hand was squeezing your waist. “N-Nice to meet you, man. I’m Marco.”

“We need to move quickly,” Jake called. Dr. Danel was already talking to him and the warriors who were in company.

They all worked together to tie the heavy cables around the container's main chassis, while you stepped inside the shack log out of your avatar, laying down on your designated bed and closing your eyes as Marco initiated the remote sleep sequence. Within minutes, the world faded to black.

A sharp hiss echoed in the shack as it depressures and you opened your eyes to Marco pulling the neural cap off your smaller head. You moved your fingers and toes, pulling yourself up. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a dark monitor screen. Your hair was a mess and your skin looked slightly pale from the lack of sunlight.

“Marco,” you muttered, fixing your top. “Do I look okay? Or do I look like a swamp monster that's been living in a basement for three weeks?”

Marco rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might clip into the back of his skull. “I don't think that man out there is going to care about your split ends, Y/N. The guy is completely head over heels for you.”

“Yeah, he's head over heels for the avatar,” you sighed, finger-combing your hair before wearing your own exopack. “He hasn't seen this version. The human who needs a plastic bubble just to breathe his air.”

“Oh, please. If he survived your personality in the blue body, he can handle your hair in this one,” Marco scoffed, punching the final release valve on the container's seals. “Let's go. They're waiting.”

The heavy metal door hissed open, and you stepped, the wind whipping around your hair as you clutched the straps of your exopack. Dr. Danel and Marco were already walking toward the two Omatikaya warriors who had volunteered to carry them on their ikrans. Neteyam, however, was standing right near the edge, finishing a quiet conversation with his father.

But the moment the door shut behind you, his eyes were on you. You stopped walking for a moment, feeling small standing there in your human clothes and the clear plastic mask covering your face. You raised your hand and gave him a little wave as you grinned mischievously.

Neteyam didn't move for a long moment, just standing there, his eyes wide, his gaze trained entirely on your face even as you walked up to him. He looked like he had just been dropped into a trance, peering down through the dark fringe of his long lashes, his eyes scanning every single detail of your features.

You cleared your throat. “Look at that height difference. It's ridiculous. Are you going to need a magnifying glass just to talk to me now, Commander?”

Jake Sully let out a loud laugh as he adjusted Toruk's harness. “That we can agree on. The height difference is a killer. Thankfully, my time only lasted like three seconds.”

Dr. Danel called out your name, waving you over to where the other warriors were preparing for takeoff. He and Jake walked toward the edge to supervise the final cable tension, leaving you and Neteyam alone on the platform.

“Why are you so silent?” you whispered, looking up at him. “Is it weird?”

Neteyam blinked, as if finally snapping out of whatever spell he was under. He shook his head, his ears tilting forward. “It is not weird,” he whispered, his deep voice carrying a soft, breathy reverence that made your stomach do a violent flip. “It is just... y-you are so beautiful, Y/N. In this body, too.”

A massive smirk broke through your face. “Will it be too cocky of me to say I already know that?” you whispered back.

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, a familiar, beautiful warmth returning to his expression. “Since when did you ever care about not being cocky, my love?”

You giggled, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his hand. He pulled you gently toward where his ikran was waiting, the large mountain banshee tracking your small movement with its sharp, intelligent eyes.

“Wow... everything out here is just so incredibly big,” you muttered, looking up at the towering wings of the banshee, then up at Toruk hovering above. Then, your head snapped back to Neteyam. “didn't specifically mean you, by the way! But... I mean, you're included in that observation.”

Neteyam let out a low, gravelly chuckle, and before you could even register what he was doing, his massive hands spanned your waist. With a single, effortless lift, he plopped you right on top of the ikran’s leather saddle.

“Oh, no! Neteyam, wait!” you shrieked, your hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth leather. “What if he decides to fly off with just me?!”

“I am right here,” he murmured, mounting behind you as he made the bond. He leaned forward, his massive chest pressing flush against your back, completely enveloping your smaller body in his warmth.

Above you, Toruk shook the rocks beneath the ridge with a massive sweep of its wings, surging upward into the fog, effortlessly lifting the metal shack into the air like it was a children's toy.

Neteyam’s ikran leaped off the ridge, plunging straight into the open sky. Your hands clamped onto Neteyam's thick, muscular forearm as it wrapped around you like a seatbelt.

“Is it tight enough?” he whispered, his deep, gravelly voice buzzing directly against your ear.

You felt a sudden, hot shiver run straight down your spine. Your mind instantly went somewhere incredibly inappropriate, remembering the way that exact same voice had sounded against your skin under the Tree of Souls the night before. You internally scolded yourself, but it didn't change the fact that your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with gravity.

“Y-yes...” you muttered, leaning back into his massive chest.

He pulled your significantly smaller body completely against his torso, shielding you from the crosswinds. The flight into the territories of the Omatikaya was fortunately uneventful, with Toruk delivering the link shacks safely into the deep part of the forest, right adjacent to the human facilities.

The moment you arrived, Norm and a handful of other scientists were waiting on the reinforced catwalks. Dr. Danel immediately stepped off his warrior's ikran to greet Norm. The two of them had worked in parallel branches of the RDA research sector years and years ago, and within five minutes, they were already animatedly talking about what could be done to hasten the project you were currently working on with them.

While they were talking, you walked toward the entrance of the newly placed container shack to prepare for your log-in. Neteyam followed you, his large hand never letting go of yours as you guided him through the narrow, heavy steel door of the shack.

“This is where I live whenever I'm back in my human body. It's not exactly Hometree, but it has good air conditioning,” you grinned, gesturing around the cramped, highly advanced laboratory space.

You showed him the primary link unit, pointing to the soft gel mattress where your human body spent hours every day. You reached up, unbuckling your human exopack and handing him a recon breather mask just in case he needed to breathe his own air. He held the it with immense curiosity, his large fingers turning it over like a puzzle, telling you he really wasn’t one to spend a lot of time in the human facilities.

Neteyam walked around the small lab, his long tail sweeping carefully behind him to avoid knocking over any glass beakers or computer monitors. He was fascinated by everything, his golden eyes wide as you excitedly rambled on about your job.

“Alright, let me show you how I link back to my avatar,” you grinned, taking a step toward the link bed.

But before your foot could even touch the frame, Neteyam’s hand caught your elbow. With a gentle, effortless tug, he pulled you back toward him. He leaned against the heavy metal workbench, his massive form still towering over you even while semi-reclined.

“Don't link back yet,” he whispered, his voice dropping into that quiet, possessive register that always made your knees weak. He looked down at your small human hands, his long blue fingers gently weaving through yours. “Besides... isn't this the time allotted for your human body? The time you must rest?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him. “Yeah... it is. I just thought... well, I thought it would be better if I logged back in so I could be almost as tall as you again.” you rolled your eyes.

Neteyam let out a soft, low chuckle. His large hands moved from your fingers to your waist, his grip warm as he pulled you directly between his long legs. You stood there, completely bracketed by him.

“It does not matter,” he said softly. “I really like this version, too. You are... very cute.”

“Cute?!” you gasped, your eyes as you let out a defensive chuckle. “Excuse me, Commander, I am not a puppy! You just don't know, but for humans? I'm actually considered really hot. Like, premium tier.”

Neteyam’s playful smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darkening. “I can see that...” he mumbled, his voice turning hoarse as his hand on your waist caressed your curve against the fabric of your tank top. “Did... did any man back at Bridgehead tried?”

“No,” you whispered, looking directly into his intense gaze. “I'm not really fond of soldiers.”

His brow raised, his head tilting slightly in question. “No?”

You pushed your lips forward into a little pout, your small human hands pressing flat against his hard, heavily muscled abdomen. “No. But... I find I have a massive thing for nine-foot-tall blue warriors who can hit a bull's eye with a longbow even with his eyes closed. Which is so much cooler than being a trigger-happy moron with a rifle.”

Neteyam’s chest rumbled with a deep purr. You leaned your head all the way back, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss him, and he lowered his massive head instantly, his lips crashing down onto yours with an explosive, hungry heat. He pulled you flush against his frame, his large hands anchoring you to his hips as the kiss deepened, your small human mouth completely consumed by his.

Suddenly, the heavy pneumatic door of the shack hissed open with a loud rush of air.

“Hey, Y/N, we need to calibrate the secondary—” Norm’s voice cut off instantly.

He and Dr. Danel stood in the doorway, both freezing mid-step. You immediately pushed against Neteyam’s chest, breaking the kiss and stumbling back a step, immediately starting to talk about the project. Neteyam just stood there, entirely unbothered, a smug, deeply satisfied smirk gracing his lips as he looked over your head at the two older scientists.

They had definitely seen everything they needed to see.

For the next two weeks, the human facilities became a furnace of pure, collaborative energy.

You lived with Neteyam in the hut you two share as a mated couple, slowly integrating as a member of the clan now. You sleep wrapped in his arms every single night on the soft woven mats, but during the days, you, Dr. Danel, and Marco worked tirelessly between the link shacks and the main human labs.

You stretched, waking up slowly to the sight of golden light filtering through the kelku, dappling inside the room. Neteyam's chest vibrated against your shoulders. He was holding you tightly, his arms locked around your waist, his long tail resting over your hip.

You craned your neck, pressing a soft kiss to his chin as your own tail gently curled around his thigh. “Wake up, lover boy...”

Neteyam buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he pressed a kiss against your soft skin. He pulled himself up, pulling you in for a deep kiss. “I’ll walk you to the shack.”

You pushed your lips forward, “You have morning patrol,” you reminded him.

“Which wouldn’t be for an hour,” he reasoned, grabbing your loincloth near you and pulling the soft covers off your naked body. “Do we have time?” he asked, dipping his head low to start kissing your jaw.

“No, Commander. No, we don’t,” you said sweetly, kissing his cheek as you grabbed your top.

He groaned, pressing his nose against your neck as he hugged you. “If they want me out there, they’ll need to perfume the air with your smell because I’ve been needing a day with just this,” he drawled, kissing your neck.

“Other things can be done, you know...” you whispered, pushing yourself up on your elbow and gathering your hair.

He lifted his head up, his hot gaze dropping down to you licking your lips.

An hour later, you were standing in the lab with Dr. Danel, Norm, Max, and the other scientists. Jake Sully came the moment Norm called him to see the finish product of what you all have worked on in the past months. Jake held up a small, heavily modified metallic strip between his fingers.

“Alright. I understand that the emulator we brought Y/N months ago will help us hide our tracks during raids... This will do that?”

Norm nodded, “Yes. We managed to reverse-engineer the emulation codes. The raiding party could wear these tags, and when they hit the weapon’s transports, the sensor perimeters would send out a false-positive loop back to Bridgehead. To their automated automated tracking systems, we will be friends, not foes.”

Jake nodded. “This is a game changer, Norm, Y/N, Max,” he said. “We’ll try this in the next raid.”

“Jake, there isn’t a hundred-percent guarantee that it would work but we have tried running tests,” Max told him.

Jake shrugs, “It could make a difference or it could not. Besides, we’ve been doing the raids without this for so long, but if it works, it will be great.”

The rest of that day and the following one were spent in a whirlwind of intense preparation. The war party was mobilizing for a massive raid on an RDA weapons railcar, while Neteyam stayed back at the lab with you that evening to finalize the deployment coordinates. With Dr. Danel and Marco asleep in their own modules, you two spent the night tangled together in your avatar’s cot.

Your avatar was back at Hometree though. It’s you in your human form that he’s holding with an incredible, fragile tenderness, his massive hands mapping every curve of your smaller body as you made out in the quiet dark.

You pressed your palm against his solid chest, moaning as he deepened the kiss, sucking at your tongue. You caressed the braids on his nape, caressing his soft skin as you moved your hips against him. You two eventually fell asleep, you with your head nestled perfectly into the crook of his collarbone and him with his arms wrapped around you tightly.

The next morning, you woke up with your hair completely messy and wild. Neteyam sat up beside you, looking down at your birds-nest hair and bursting into a sudden, booming laugh.

“Oh, shut up!” you huffed, throwing a pillow at his chest. “I did ask you for a haircare secret and you didn't give me anything! You just naturally look like a supermodel while I look like a troll!”

Neteyam laughed even harder, his massive arms reaching out to scoop your body back against his chest. He buried his large face into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing warm, heavy kisses against your skin as he held you tight. “You are beautiful,” he mumbled happily. “Always.”

You prepared for the day, sitting on the soft gel of your link unit and leaning up to kiss him. “See you at Hometree, Commander,” you murmured.

“See you there, my love,” he replied.

You lay back down onto the link unit, pulling the neural cap over your head and sliding into the dark.

When your avatar opened its eyes back at Hometree, your ears picked up on the buzzing sound from the lower branches humming with intense energy. Before you could even stretched, someone suddenly bounded into the kelku, and when you looked up, you saw Tuk with her tail swishing with frantic excitement as she grabbed your large hand.

“Y/N! Come on! Come on! The war party is assembling downstairs! You have to be there!”

“Why should I be there, Tuk?” you mused with a grin, letting the young girl drag you down the winding root pathways of the tree. “I'm just the tech support.”

“Because!” she beamed, pulling you right into the center of the clearing.

The moment you stepped into the communal clearing, you saw the warriors sharpening their arrows, checking the straps on their bowstrings, and preparing their war paint. Your eyes caught Neteyam who just entered the clearing, too, his knife sheath secured in his chest and his longbow strapped across his back. The second he saw you, he walked straight through the crowd, ignoring the lingering stares of the elders. He caught your waist, pulling you tightly against him, and dipped his head to kiss you hard and deep.

Tuk giggled loudly, running up beside you two with two small clay bowls filled with thick yellow and turquoise paint. “Here! His war paint!”

You chuckled, taking the bowls from her. Neteyam pulled you into a quiet, shaded corner of the clearing, sitting down on a low ledge. You dipped your fingers into the cool, turquoise paste, carefully drawing the sharp, traditional lines across his high cheekbones and down the powerful expanse of his chest.

Neteyam watched you the entire time, his golden eyes filled with an intense, quiet devotion. As you finished the last line on his shoulder, he reached down, pressing your hand into the bright yellow paint. His eyes locked onto yours as he pressed your painted palm directly over the center of his chest, leaving a perfect yellow print of your five-fingered hand on his skin.

“My heart is your,“ he whispered.

Your chuckled, you ought to tease him for being too cheesy, but your throat tightened with emotion. You leaned up and kissed him hard. “Come home to me safe, Neteyam.”

Turns out, the raid was an absolute success.

The RFID tags worked perfectly, completely blinding the RDA’s automated sensors as the war party swooped down on the railcar, securing several crates of advanced weaponry and medical supplies without a single casualty.

That evening, the celebration at Hometree was wild and loud. Fire blazed in the center of the clearing and the sound of drums and laughter echoed through the canopy. Even Dr. Danel and Marco had come up from the labs, wearing their exopacks and socializing with the other scientists and warriors.

You danced and drank with Kiri and your friends, laughing until your sides ached, completely lost in the joy of the victory.

Suddenly, a large hand slid around your waist from behind, stealing you away from the group, his arm pulling you into a slow, rhythmic sway near the edge of the firelight. You looked up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you moved together to the beat of the drums.

“Aren't you going to police my schedule, Commander?” you whispered teasingly, your eyes sparkling. xAren't you going to talk about how I've been in the avatar for too many hours and need to log out now?”

“No,” Neteyam mumbled, his head dipping down until his lips brushed against your ear. “Because we are still having fun... and I want to hold my wife.”

You smirked, a wicked, playful thought lighting up your brain. You leaned up, your tongue darting out to lick at your lips. “Except... we could also have a different kind of fun back at the shack, Neteyam... with my human body.”

Neteyam’s head reared back instantly. His golden eyes widened, a sudden, intense heat flashing across his face as his ears twitched violently. “What... what are you talking about?” he mumbled, his voice dropping an entire octave.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, raising a brow. “What, you've never thought about it? Doing it while I'm in my real skin...”

“I... I did, but—... but— but I—" Neteyam stammered, his usual cool, commanding demeanor completely fracturing. He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “No. Y/N... you are so small. I—I would not want to hurt you.”

You pulled him closer, leaning up to let your lips brush teasingly against his jaw. “Oh, we are so going to the shack right now.”

You squeezed his shoulder, brushing your fingers down his arm before intertwining your fingers with his. You pulled him toward the exit, chuckling softly when he let himself be dragged without a single shred of resistance.

You two walked down the winding wooden ramp that led down to the forest floor, and you were about to start the trek toward the human facilities on foot when  Neteyam gently steered you in a different direction toward the direhorse stables.

“Wow, someone's excited,” you teased, your tail swinging in wicked loops as he swiftly freed his direhorse out from the tether.

Before you could even finish the sentence, his large hands clamped onto your waist and plopped you effortlessly onto the back of the beast, making you shriek in surprise. He then mounted the direhorse behind you, his powerful chest locking you into place as he made the bond. With a sharp command, the direhorse surged into the jungle, sprinting toward the human facilities.

When you arrived, you went into the shack and he tailed behind you. He helped you initiate the log out by depressurizing the link unit. The moment your human eyes opened, you pushed the neural cap off and sat up. Neteyam was already standing right beside the link unit, his massive, nine-foot-tall frame making the small room feel even smaller.

You grinned up at him, sliding off the gel mattress. “Oh, I can see those gears turning in your head...” you teased, stepping closer to him. Your smaller hand reached out, sliding down the smooth skin of his muscled abdomen, tracing the line down toward the lower part of his waist.

Neteyam’s hand shot out like lightning though, his large hand gently but firmly catching your wrist, stopping it. “No...” he rough-whispered, his chest heaving. “It won’t be involved, Y/N,” he widened his eyes. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Boo! Coward,” you teased, leaning your head all the way up.

Neteyam immediately leaned down even as he was still chuckling, his lips crashing onto yours with a fierce, burning intensity. He wrapped his massive arms around your back and hauled your small body clean off the unit. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs tightly around his massive, muscular torso, your fingers tangling in his thick braids as the kiss deepened, turning hard and desperately hungry.

He started walking blindly toward your curtained nook in the back of the shack, his eyes closed as he consumed your mouth. A loud noise echoed as Neteyam’s head hit the corner of a storage cupboard. He winced, letting out a sharp grunt as his ears pinned back in irritation as he lowered you down onto your mattress.

You broke the kiss, your brows furrowed in worry as you caressed his head. “Are you okay?” you asked, looking at the cupboard. “Be careful, baby...” you leaned up to press soft kisses on the side of his lips. “Hm?”

His groan vibrated in his chest as he hovered over you, his massive frame blocking out the light for you as his head dipped back down. He kissed your jawline, his lips trailing down to nip playfully at the soft skin of your neck, making you squeal and squirm beneath him.

You two kissed and kissed, the heat between you rising rapidly. You reached down, catching his massive hand from where it rested on your waist, and guided it upward, placing his large palm directly over your breast.

“When are you going to touch them?” you mumbled against his lips.

Neteyam let out a deep, guttural groan. His massive hand, which easily covered your entire breast, cupped the ample curve through your tank top. He squeezed it with a careful pressure and a moan escaped your throat, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you kissed him harder.

Suddenly, he pulled his head back, his eyes wide with genuine awe as he kneaded your chest. “It... it is so soft,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. He brought his other hand up, carefully cupping and kneading both of your breasts through the fabric. “Your skin...is like silk.”

You smiled, your hips arching slightly as you reached down, pulling the hem of your tank top up and sliding it over your head, tossing it onto the floor. You heard Neteyam take in a ragged breath, his eyes locking onto your chest before he kissed the swell of it

“Come on!” you whisper-shouted. “You didn't even appreciate my lace bra! I wore the fancy one!”

Neteyam blinked, his head tilting in complete confusion. “Your... what?”

You pushed his massive chest back gently, sitting up slightly and arched your back. A hungry, predatory look were on his eyes as his gaze caressed your body.

“This is the equivalent of a really banging top right now. It’s really sexy,” you mumbled.

A low, dark chuckle escaped his lips. You reached for the latch in the center of your chest, unclasping it and freeing your breasts completely. You watched him lick his lips wet, his ears pinning flat against his head. He lowered his massive head, his warm mouth enveloping one peak as his large fingers gently fondled and squeezed the other.

An intense, scorching rush of liquid heat gushed out between your thighs as he suckled and fondled on them, making you let out a breathless whimper, your hands cradling his head as he enjoyed you.

After what seemed like hours, he left your breasts with their pebbled tips swollen and red, his lips trailing down your abdomen. You reached down, your thumbs hooking on your sweatpants and underwear to roll it off your hips. Following your lead, he pulled it further down and you kicked it off your legs. Neteyam shifted, his massive hand coming down to grip your thigh, his calloused fingers firmly spreading your legs wide on the bed.

You saw him lick his lips as he looked down at your pussy, his hand reaching down to gently caress your velvety, slick folds with his thumb. His golden eyes peered up at you through his lashes, burning with an unadulterated, primal hunger. You bit your lip, nodding to him. Neteyam then leaned down, his mouth pressing directly against your pussy.

You took in a sharp breath, your fingers clutching the bedsheets as his tongue began to lick and kiss you with an incredible devotion he’s already showed you in your avatar body. He ate you out like you were his absolute favorite meal, his deep groans vibrating directly against your core as he licked and suckled at your soft nub. Slowly, carefully, he slid one finger inside you, testing your slick warmth.

“Neteyam...” you panted, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth. “More...”

He added a second finger, his mouth and hands working together in a flawless perfect rhythm until your legs were shaking violently and your entire body seized in a shattering orgasm. You bucked against his hand, completely undone.

Once the waves settled, he hovered back over you, his chest heaving. Your hand shot out, reaching down between his legs to palm his hardened cock. He let out a loud groan, his knees buckling slightly against the frame of the bed.

“Take it out, baby...” you mumbled, your voice thick with desire. “I'll take care of it.”

You reached behind him, helping him untie the bindings of his loincloth. The moment he shed the fabric, his cock sprang free. An impossibly long and thick column of azure, engorged and already licking at the tip. You swallowed hard, pushing yourself up on your elbows. You leaned forward, placing the wide head of his shaft against your lips. You peered up at him through your lashes as you began to lick the sweet essence from the tip, your small hand working the incredible length of his shaft as far down as you could reach.

You tilted your head, moving your mouth to take more of him in, but you could barely get half of it past your lips before your mouth felt completely stuffed. Neteyam let out a loud moan, his hand coming up to grip your hair gently as he carefully moved his hips against your mouth, dragging his length in ths slick warmth of it before gently pulling it out.

His breath was ragged as he started pumping himself with his hand, his other hand firmly keeping your thighs spread wide on the mattress.

He grunted, his body trembling. You reached up, wrapping your small hand around his heavily muscled forearm.

“Put it inside me, Neteyam...” you whispered, your eyes locked onto his. “Please...”

Neteyam bit his lip, his expression fracturing with conflict. He looked terrified of breaking you, but the burning desire to be inside you was written across every inch of his face. You squeezed his forearm when he lowered his hips carefully between your legs.

“Hips up, beautiful...” he said in a low command, his large hand sliding under you to lift your hips off the bed.

You bit your lip as the massive, wide head of his shaft began to nudge against your sensitive, aching folds. You knew there was absolutely no mathematical way his entire length would fit inside you, but you didn't care. You whimpered as the head pushed past your opening, stretching you incredibly wide, while Neteyam let out a deep, guttural grunt as the intense warmth and tightness of your walls embraced him.

You looked down, watching in sheer pleasure as his thick blue cock spread your pussy lips so wide that a huge amount of your own wetness was coating him. His calloused thumb reached down to softly rub your clit as he gently eased himself. His other hand kneaded your soft breast before lowering his head to kiss you deeply.

He stopped pushing in just right, knowing your body's limit. Then, he began to move, dragging his cock in and out of you in a careful, agonizingly slow pace. You kept your back arched, offering your breasts to his mouth. He caught one peak between his lips, suckling hungrily as his hips thrust rhythmically against yours.

“You are... so tight...” he groaned against your skin, his bites turning hard and nipping at the flesh of your breast. “So fucking good, baby.”

“You're just... so big...” you whimpered, tears of sheer pleasure pricking your eyes as you felt every single ridge and vein of his cock molded perfectly against your soft walls.

The intense friction was too much for him to withstand in your tight core that within a few more deliberate thrusts, he let out a loud, primal grunt, his entire body shuddering violently as he spilled his heavy, warm release deep inside you. He carefully pulled out, gripping his throbbing shaft tight as he shivered, painting your pussy with the warmth of his release.

You lay there panting, your fingers caressing his lower abdomen before you u reached down to scoop a dollop of the warm, thick fluid onto your fingers and bring it up to your mouth, licking it off with a playful smirk.

Neteyam let out a low purr, his large hand reaching out to give your breast a squeeze as he smiled down at you. He lowered his head, catching your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he groaned happily.

Suddenly, your eyes snapped wide open. You gasped, aggressively pushing his massive chest away.

Neteyam blinked, looking entirely confused as he sat back on his heels. “What? What is it, my love?”

You scrambled across the bed, your hands frantically grabbing the calendar pad off your nightstand. You stared at the glowing green matrix on the screen, your face turning completely pale.

“What?” Neteyam asked again, his ears tilting forward in concern.

“I'm fertile,” you mumbled in English, blinking up at him with wide, bewildered eyes.

Neteyam’s brow furrowed, his head tilting in confusion. “Fertile? As in good soil?”

“No, me. I’n fertile. I could get pregnant," you said, your face a mix of pure shock and panic. “Like... baby pregnant.”

Neteyam’s head reared back instantly, his ears pinning completely flat against his head. A look of genuine alarm flashed across his face, and he immediately pressed his massive hand flat against your soft belly, as if protecting it. “Baby... no. You won't survive it.”

“I know, oh my goodness,” you said, biting your lip, but as the panic subsided, a sudden realization began to click in your brain. You let out a small, breathless chuckle, patting his massive hand. “But wait... don't worry. It's actually highly impossible for it to happen.”

Neteyam blinked, his ears perking up slightly. “Impossible? Why?”

“Because science,” you nodded at him. “My human immune system will immediately recognize your biological material as a foreign, alien pathogen. The moment it enters my system, my white blood cells are going to launch an assault and attack it. Your little soldiers don't stand a chance against my white blood cells.”

Neteyam stared at you for a long three seconds, processing the complex jargon, before a look of profound, worshipful adoration washed over his beautiful features. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, leaning down to press a deep, tender kiss right where your forehead met your messy hair.

“You are such a genius, baby,” he murmured against your skin.

You pursed your lips, grinning up at him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Small thing, Commander. That's exactly what brought me to this world in the first place.”

Neteyam smiled, his large arms wrapping completely around your small frame, pulling you close against his chest as the rain began to patter softly against the reinforced steel roof of the shack. “I love your brain,” he whispered adoringly, his golden eyes shining in the dark. “I love you. I love you very much, Y/N.”

He had barely just registered the clicking sound through the budge, but before he could even unsheath his knife, he was already seeing multiple strange creatures lunging for him. They were fast, with segmented limbs and jaws meant for crushing bone. They were the creatures who could swallow an adult Na’vi whole that his father’s scouts had warned them about.

Neteyam cursed under his breath. Unarmed save for his hunting knife, he ducked beneath a snapping jaw, grabbed a fallen, heavy branch and swung with all the force he could muster. The wood hit the creature with a crack, sending it flying yards away into the underbrush. But three more took its place, circling him, eyes gleaming with hunger.

Then, a familiar sound sliced through the chaos. An arrow pierced the eye of the creature, making it collapse instantly.

Neteyam blinked, snapping his head toward the ridge. Emerging from the mist was a rider on a direhorse, shrouded in a dark, heavy cloak. The figure moved with a fluid grace, guiding the mount while drawing another arrow. Two more of the beasts dropped.

When the remaining creatures swarmed, the rider drove the direhorse straight into the fray. As the animal leapt on a fallen log, the rider leaned off the side, pulling a blade and in one seamless motion, they sliced the throat of a leaping beast before landing perfectly back on the mount.

Neteyam stood frozen, a rare awe washing over him. The archery was flawless, the knife-work lethal, and the horsemanship... he had never seen anyone, not even the finest Omatikaya hunters, shoot a moving target from a galloping direhorse with that kind of precision.

The last of the beasts scattered into the jungle and he heard an anguished sound escape the rider. He immediately stepped forward, raising a hand in peace, his eyes locked on the rider’s back. “Warrior,” he began, his voice deep and breathless. “Thank you. I have never seen—”

“Do not thank me,” a voice hissed from beneath the hood. It was sharp, fierce, and distinctly female. “Do not wander around these lands again.”

Before Neteyam could even speak again, she wheeled her direhorse around and with a sharp kick, the beast galloped into the thick fog, leaving Neteyam standing by the waterfall, completely captivated by the ghost who had just saved his life.

As he watched the silhouette of the direhorse fade, the urge to give chase came both suddenly and too late. He wished he had brought his direhorse with him when he wandered... He tilted his head. Why? What will you do? he asked himself. He knew the answer. He would have followed her.

You took a sharp turn, pulling your direhorse’s reins to a full stop before you quickly dismounted. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs from what you thought would be an uneventful patrol. You had wounded and killed many creatures, though deadly and ferocious, they were still creations of the Great Mother.

You couldn’t help but look at the path leading back to where it happened, remembering how the man had called you warrior. It felt like a title stolen from a forbidden dream. No woman in your clan had ever been called one, for no woman was allowed to be. Your people placed a great belief in their men, taking pride in the fact that your clan had only ever produced male warriors and hunters, and how they protected the people from the horrors of the forest.

The wet leaves brushed against your shins as you led your direhorse to a hidden clearing, the silence of the forest doing little to calm your racing thoughts. If your father or mother ever discovered what you had done today, that you had picked up a bow or spilled blood, you didn't know what would happen to you.

In your clan, women were only ever allowed to be healers, cooks, weavers, wives, and mothers. These were sacred duties, and the elders firmly believed that such roles should never be tainted by blood and violence. You sighed heavily, quickly shoving your longbow and quiver into a hollowed-out tree trunk, covering it with ferns. You were pulling at the hood of your cloak when you heard leaves cracking behind you.

“You're late,” a voice sounded urgently.

You spun around to see Tarkul stepping out from the shadows. Your best friend, the clan’s youngest marksman and the only man who looked at you and saw a peer instead of a prize, looked pale. His eyes were wide with anxiety.

“Tarkul? What is it? I just did a patrol—”

“You need to leave. Right now,” Tarkul interrupted, grabbing your shoulders. “Your father... I overheard them. The Omatikaya are coming today—”

“I know that. Father told us to prepare,” you said.

“Yes, yes, they will come, but it wasn’t just for a regular treaty between alliances. Y/N, he has pledged you.”

Your head tilted back in surprise. “Pledged how?”

“He offered you to the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. That Neteyam,” Tarkul spat the name, his grip tightening. “An alliance sealed on your sacrifice. Your father is giving you away like property to ensure the Omatikaya’s loyalty. Your father’s warriors are already looking for you to prepare you for the arrival.”

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your chest. Your father had spent your entire life treating you and your sisters like a curse. A disappointment because you weren't sons to carry on his warrior lineage. And now, he was using you as a political pawn, reducing you to a broodmare for a strong alliance.

“No,” you whispered, fury igniting in your veins. “No! I will not let him do this. I am not a prize to be traded!”

“Then we run,” Tarkul said, stepping back and whistling for his direhorse. “We’ll go east. They won't find us.”

You scrambled onto your direhorse, your mind a blur of rebellion and fear. You tore through the underbrush with Tarkul right beside you, heading for the boundary line. Freedom was just past the tree line when a familiar sound sliced through the thick morning air.

A whistle of an arrow and Tarkul cried out as a blunt-tipped slammed into his shoulder, knocking him clean off his mount.

“Tarkul!” you screamed, pulling back hard on the reins.

Before you could dismount, four of your father’s elite warriors emerged from the canopy, their spears leveled at you. Their faces were grim, devoid of sympathy.

“The Olo'eyktan demands your presence,” the lead warrior said coldly. “Do not make this more dishonorable than you already have.”

You were dragged back to the village in tears, screaming at them to leave Tarkul alone. In the communal longhouse, your father stood like a statue of stone. He had never looked at you with wamrth, but the stern disappointment on his face as he lectured you about duty, the survival of the clan, and honor still felt like whips on your skin. To him, your tears were just a childish tantrum.

The transition between his scolding to your mother and her ladies moving around you in a flurry of hushed, anxious whispers felt like a nightmare blurring into reality. They bathed you in heavy, floral-scented water that smelled of sweet orchids. They brushed out your long hair, braiding the sides intricately but leaving the rest to fall in a sleek, beautiful half-up ponytail.

They dressed you in the finest loincloth and a matching top made of delicate beads. You felt exposed. Naked. Stripped of the cloak and weapons that made you feel safe.

“He is a great warrior, daughter,” your mother murmured, trying to soothe you as she adjusted the choker around your throat. “They say this Neteyam helped his parents take down the sky people when he was just a boy. He is disciplined. Respectful.”

You kept your gaze locked on the floor, your jaw clenched. You didn't care about his prowess. You hated him on principle.

“And his mother,” one of elder women whispered in awe. “Neytiri. She is a warror who rode into battle alongside her mate, Toruk Makto.”

That detail struck a chord deep inside you. A female warrior. A woman allowed to bleed and fight for her people, recognized by Toruk Makto himself as an equal. A bitter spark of hope flared in your chest, only to be crushed by the reality of your own situation.

“What an accomplished family, then,” your eyes snapped up to your mother. “You’re expecting a man raised by Toruk Makto and his warrior wife to look at our clan, a clan that doesn’t even allow its women to hold a knife; to look at me... and see a mate? Father said he has rejected every other chieftain's daughter before this.”

Your mother’s eyes hardened at the same time the older women around her froze at your boldness. “You are a proficient healer and weaver, daughter. Do not underestimate our clan,” she said in a hiss.

So, not his equal, your brow raised in a protest you chose not to voice out.

A horn blew at the entrance of the village, signalling that the guests had arrived.

Your mother took your trembling hands, her eyes pleading. “Smile, my daughter. Walk with dignity.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slowly. You stepped out of the tent, walking a few paces behind your father as he went to greet the legendary Jake Sully.

As the Omatikaya delegation walked into the central clearing, your eyes scanned the crowd. There was Toruk Makto, and beside him, his fierce mate, Neytiri. And right behind them walked their eldest son.

Your breath hitched.

The initial shock threatened to paralyze you. Your fingers dug into your palm, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. It was him. The reckless, broad-shouldered warrior who had nearly been swallowed whole by the forest's demons. His long braids and cummerbund were now flawless, as though he had not faced a grave morning.

As the Omatikaya delegation drew closer, you forced your features into a mask of perfect, passive composure. You lowered your chin, casting your gaze downward just as the women of your clan were taught to do. You were sure he didn’t see your face, because if he recognized you, everything would be forfeit. You are not certain what they would have done to Tarkul, the person who taught you everything you know.

Neteyam’s eyes swept over the welcoming committee, lingering on you. Jake had told him beforehand that the Olo’eyktan of this clan had also pledged his daughter to him, and although he’d had enough of all these unnecessary offerings of maiden daughters simply for alliances, he found himself thinking that he might actually entertain this outdated idea if this was the lady.

He waited for you to lift your eyes up, but your head remained bowed, the image of a delicate, heavily beaded prize meant to seal a treaty. A faint feeling of disappointment flickered across his regal face, and he fell into step behind his parents, his posture rigid and distant as they walked past to finally greet your father and mother.

Finally, you lifted your head a little, only to train your sharp eyes on his broad back. Good, you thought triumphantly. Be disappointed.

The welcoming feast in the communal longhouse was a suffocating affair. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet root brews, and the underlying tension of two vastly different cultures trying to find common ground.

You sat precisely where your father had commanded: a step below him, off to the side, acting as the perfect daughter. You kept your shoulders hunched, your hands folded neatly in your lap, and your eyes trained strictly on the woven mat beneath you. You played the part of the timid, submissive maiden to perfection. You wanted to ick him. You wanted this celebrated warrior to find you so utterly dull, so hopelessly meek, that he would do what he had done to every other chieftain's daughter before you: refuse the match.

Across the fire, Neteyam sat beside his mother, Neytiri. He was polite, offering respectful nods to your father’s boasts, but his energy was entirely checked out. During a lull in the drumming, you allowed yourself a single, brief moment of weakness. You peered through the thick fringe of your lashes, tracking the movement of his hands.

Neteyam was lifting a carved cup of brew to his lips. But he wasn't looking at his drink. His intense gaze was locked entirely on you. A heavy, consuming stare of a hunter tracking each and every move the prey does. It was a man’s look, raw and focused, and to your utter fury, you didn't feel degraded by it. Instead, a sudden, treacherous spark of excitement flared deep in your belly, the thrilling realization that despite your best efforts to be as dull as you could, you had his undivided attention.

Annoyed at yourself, your perfect act slipped.

Your jaw clenched and you leveled a sharp glare straight at him, smoothly rolling your eyes before snapping your gaze back down to your untouched food. Across the fire, Neteyam choked slightly on his brew. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, a sudden smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the realization that timid little ikran still had talons after all. He put his cup of brew down as he watched you slip back into your perfectly meek facade.

The traditional flutes began to play, signaling a time for the young people to mingle. You moved to stand up, and your eyes snapped up in front of when you saw the large figure moving to stand up, too. Your eyes locked with his, and for some reason, you couldn't take your eyes off as he rounded the fire to get to you.

You blinked when he was standing just a few feet away, coming to a sudden awareness of how large and tall he actually was. His hand reached out, his expression a maddening mix of formal politeness and hidden amusement. You clenched your teeth, feining a tremor before you looked fearfully at your father, who was already watching breathlessly. He gave you a firm, approving nod, and you placed your hand in Neteyam's.

As he led you to the edge of the clearing where the other youth were swaying, you purposely stumbled, letting your steps be clumsy and uncoordinated. “I apologize, formal dances are... not my strength,” you whispered, pitching your voice to sound soft and fragile.

“It is quite alright,” Neteyam said, his grip on your waist firm and steady, easily correcting your forced clumsiness. “The feast is grand. Your people make a strong brew. Though, I find the forest outside your walls far more interesting.”

You stiffened slightly. “Oh?”

“Yes. It is full of... strange, ferocious creatures,” Neteyam continued, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone as he maneuvered you through the crowd. “I ran into a pack of them near the waterfalls this morning. Miserable things. Many legs. Very fast.”

You couldn't help yourself. The hunter in you took the bait before your mind could stop it. “Those were Agtik,” you said, your voice losing its timid edge as your wide eyes looked up at his. “They don't hunt in packs unless their head is wounded. And they are apex predators. If you hit them in the hide, your arrow will just bounce off. You have to strike the eyes, or beneath the throat where the thick plates separate.”

Neteyam stopped dancing. He stared down at you, his golden eyes burning with an intense focus, and you froze, realizing you had spoken far too much.

“Is that so?” he murmured, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as his fingers caressed the calluses on your fingers. “You seem to know a great deal about killing them...”

You quickly tore your hand from his, dropping your head back down. “I... I only know what the hunters say,” you lied breathlessly, stepping back into the crowd before he could press further.

The next morning, your mother burst into your sleeping alcove, her face flushed with excitement before the morning light even showed it. “Daughter... A betrothal has been struck. Neteyam has accepted the union. He wishes for you to return to the Omatikaya with them.”

You sat up in your woven sleeping mat, stunned. “What?!” you snapped carelessly, surprising your mother. You calmed down immediately. “That’s great...” you forced yourself to smile.

“I think he liked you last night, daughter. You were so prim and proper, a true woman of our lineage. You make me and your father proud, sweetheart,” she caressed your cheek.

You swallowed the dryness of your throat. You don't know what the man’s plan was... But he definitely didn’t like you because you were prim and proper. You looked down at your hands, hiding the calluses born from years of archery practice. Your initial shock had now faded, and a cold, calculating wave of relief washed over you. The Omatikaya. You’ve heard of their ways. In their clan, women were warriors. Neytiri rode into battle. If you went with them, you wouldn't have to hide in the shadows at dawn anymore. You could wield your bow. You could finally exist as more than what you were raised to be.

With newfound urgency, you helped your mother and sisters pack your things. When your mother turned her back, you swiftly retrieved your hidden longbow and quiver from where you had smuggled them into the yurt. You bound them tightly within your dark, heavy cloak, burying them at the absolute bottom of your deep leather travel box beneath layers of woven garments.

“I need to see Tarkul before we leave,” you muttered, heading for the exit.

“You are not permitted near the holding area,” your younger sister sneered, stepping into the yurt with her arms crossed, her eyes flashing with venom. “You should stop trying to see your lover. You are betrothed to the son of Toruk Makto now.”

“Tarkul is not my lover!” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

“Please. You were going to run away with him yesterday,” she mocked, stepping closer. “If you hate this arrangement so much, why don't you just tell Father and back out? I can always replace you. I would gladly take your place beside Neteyam.”

“Armem, hold your tongue!” your mother’s voice barked from the entrance, sharp and commanding. “Neteyam agreed to this alliance because of Y/N. He would not accept a replacement if she backed out, and your father’s treaty would fall to ash.”

Armem huffed disdainfully, crossing her arms tighter. “Fine. But she was still ready to flee with another man. Who is to say she is even pure anymore? The Omatikaya might find they are receiving spoiled goods—”

“Armem!” your mother snapped, glaring at your sister.

“Do not speak of such nonsense,” you said coldly, staring your sister down. “Tarkul is a good friend of mine and I would not have you taint our friendship with your dirty mind.”

At dawn the next day, the Omatikaya delegation prepared to depart. You were allowed to ride your direhorse, your leather box secured to the pack beast behind you. Your parents stood at the gates of the village, offering stiff, formal nods of farewell, promising they would come for final mating ceremonies.

You didn't look back. You are leaving this clan, and those who believe in its sick ways can have the scraps that are left behind. You nudged your direhorse forward, and as the procession moved into the deep forest, a shadow fell alongside your mount. You looked up to see Neteyam riding his own direhorse beside yours. He looked at you, then down at the bulky, heavily wrapped leather box trailing behind you, a faint, amused glint in his golden eyes.

“Nice mount,“ he said jn a voice low enough so the others couldn't hear. “A lot of luggage, too, for a healer.”

You kept your eyes locked on the trail ahead, a small, defiant smirk playing on your lips. “A good healer always brings her most valuable tools, warrior.”

The journey to the Omatikaya territory took two days at most, a winding trek through ancient, massive trees that grew taller and wider than any you had ever seen in your home forest. When the delegation finally stopped in front of the largest tree you had laid your eyes on, you could barely breathe. Your lips parted as you looked up to its vast canopy.

“This is beautiful...” you murmured, craning your head to see all the huts perched on its thick branches.

“Do you have a fear of heights?” you heard a deep baritone speak and your head snapped to look at Neteyam.

He had already dismounted his direhorse and was now looking at you, his hand lazily holding his chest knife sheath. His head tilted as his eyes scanned your form on your mount before they settled on the beast. In the eyes of an outsider, like Jake and Neytiri who were now watching their son look at you as if you were the most interesting person in the bunch, this was just Neteyam staring.

But to you, it felt like he was trying to figure out where he had seen this beast. You quickly dismounted your direhorse, caressing its back as you cooed at it. “Are you excited to rest, boy? It was a long trek, I know, and you’ve gotten to rest some, but you’ve never travelled as far, haven’t you?”

Neteyam's head tilted slightly lower, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he watched your interaction with the beast. “He looks sturdy enough,” he noted, his deep voice laced with amusement. “You didn't answer my question. Are you afraid of heights? Hometree is a long way up.”

“I think I can manage,” you replied softly, peering up at him through your lashes with a quick glance.

Before Neteyam could press further, Jake and Neytiri approached. Jake’s sharp eyes darted between you and the direhorse, before he gave you a welcoming nod.

“Welcome to the Omatikaya,” Jake said, his voice grounded. “It has been a long journey. Your mount will be tended to and Neteyam will show you where you can rest.”

Neytiri stayed silent, but her piercing gaze lingered on you, evaluating the way you carried yourself. She was not one to doubt her children’s decisions, especially those of her eldest son’s, but she believed that Neteyam was deciding too prematurely on this union. There were previous matches made that suited her son better... The daughters whose parents had fought alongside them during the Great War, and daughters of clans with excellent reputations.

She didn’t want to judge you based on your parents or your clan, but she thought it a bold proposition when your father pledged a daughter to her son. In all honesty, your father was at the losing end of this alliance. Your clan was the one that needed allies against aggressive clans who might challenge your strength, and your people had very little military power, given that your clan only trains men to be warriors and hunters.

She had never expected her son to agree to this, and though she saw great beauty in you, she did not think that was reason enough for him to make such a choice.

Neytiri’s scrutiny did not escape you. You have felt it even on the night of the feast, have seen it in her eyes whenever she watches you... And the weight of it felt heavy enough to compress the air in your lungs. Now that she was looking again, you offered a respectful dip of your head, but Neytiri merely nod her head slightly before turning her shoulder, her long woven cloak swaying behind her as she stepped up onto the massive roots of Hometree.

“Do not let my mother's stare unnerve you,” Neteyam murmured, stepping into your personal space so seamlessly that his tail brushed lightly against your hip.

“What stare, warrior?” you mumbled, looking at him with a schooled face.

You do not wish to acknowledge Neytiri’s apparent dislike of you. You are going to earn your place even if she looks at you as if I have already failed a test. You know you haven’t really failed yet, because if she truly disapproved, you wouldn't even be standing here right now.

Neteyam shook his head, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “Come, then. Let’s see what you can manage.”

You pushed your lips forward, matching his pace as everyone began the long, winding ascent into the heart of the great tree. Up ahead, Jake paused on a wide branch platform, looking back down at the two of you with a knowing understanding. He, better than anyone, knew what it was like to be an outsider standing under the heavy judgment of the people.

As you rounded the final bend of the spiral pathway, the quiet atmosphere of the lower trunks gave way to sudden burst of light and noise. Your lips parted as your eyes wandered around the surrounding kelku structures and the sheer scale of the place took your breath away again. It was vast, so open and vibrant that it was a staggering contrast to the dim, claustrophobic atmosphere of your birth clan.

Dozens of people paused in their daily routines, their eyes instantly locking onto you. A heavy murmur rippled through the crowd and it was obvious that they know what you came here for.

“Neteyam!” a high-pitched voice squealed.

Before you could fully process everything you are seeing, a blur of energy came hurtling down a nearby woven walkway. A little girl crashed straight into Neteyam’s side, wrapping her small arms around his waist. “You're back!” the girl cheered, her bright eyes quickly darting up to look at you with unabashed curiosity. “Is this her? Did you finally choose a wife?!”

Neteyam’s ears twitched with slight embarrassment as he gently pried his little sister off his hip, placing a grounding hand on her shoulder. “Tuk, mind your manners. She is our guest.”

He introduced you to the little girl who had a bright smile for you, and suddenly, you felt the welcoming warmth you didn’t know you were looking for. Tuk walked with you two when Neteyam led you to the small kelku you were assigned, it was tucked into a quiet, upper tier of the village.

As you settled in over the next few days, you quickly realized that your new betrothed was an incredibly important figure here. Neteyam, as the Olo'eyktan's firstborn, was also his father's second-in-command, deeply involved in the daily strategy, security, and leadership of the clan.

Honestly, you secretly celebrated this fact. You figured his high status meant he would be far too busy to pay much attention to you, leaving you plenty of free time to slip away, unpack your hidden longbow, and explore the surrounding wilderness on your own.

You were wrong.

Before the sun had even fully risen on your third morning, you pulled back the woven flap to find Neteyam standing there, the early dawn light catching the beads in his long braids.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you... doing here?” you started your question hard, but catching yourself, you quickly softened your voice.

“I came to show you around,” he told you, his voice low and his eyes holding that same perceptive, curious glint from the feast, causing your cheeks to burn unbidden.

The crease on your forehead deepened, once again annoyed at your reaction to him. You couldn't find a reason to say no, and frankly, you were eager to see the layout of the village. As he led you through the pathways, he dutifully showed you the areas where the weavers worked their intricate looms, the communal hearths where the cooks prepared the daily catch, and the shaded pavillions of the healers. You played your part, nodding submissively and murmuring soft, polite words of appreciation.

But your true nature betrayed you when he led you past the training grounds.

You froze, your eyes widening in absolute awe. In the center of the clearing, young girls were standing in neat rows, laughing and competing as they drew bows and aimed at distant targets. Further back, older women warriors, some scarred from battle, were casually conversing with male hunters, checking their gear as equals before setting out on a scout.

You stared, your breath catching in your throat. It was a sight stolen directly from your wildest, forbidden dreams.

Neteyam paused, watching your face carefully. He didn't miss the way your jaw slackened, or how your fingers twitched at your side, instinctively mimicking the grip of a bowstring. His head tilted, a quiet, knowing smile tugged at his lips, but he said nothing, and when you turned to him, your talons subtly showed with your furrowed brows and sharp gaze, pretending you were not that amazed to the reality of a world where women were allowed to fight.

The days bled into one another until the day of the mating ceremony arrived. True to their word, your parents and a small entourage from your clan arrived, their faces proud and grim, and somehow, you felt ashamed at this. You know, that for the Omatikaya, this match felt less like a joining of two proud people and more like a political rescue mission. Neteyam was a prize, the future Olo'eyktan of a legendary clan who fought and defeated the demons who tried to seize Eywa’eveng for themselves.

And your father merely offered you up to secure a shield of Omatikaya warriors for his vulnerable borders. It was a cause of wonder why Neteyam agreed at all. Even you don’t understand.

The ceremony took place deep within the glow of the Tree of Souls. Even their sacred tree was breathtaking, its luminous, cascading tendrils rivaling the ancient, holy tree of your own homeland. The Omatikaya people gathered in a massive circle, their voices rising in a powerful, harmonic chant alongside the drums and flutes.

You were dressed in the finest Omatikaya fibers, your torso adorned with a stunning, intricately beaded top made of iridescent beads. Your long hair had been styled into a complex array of braids that cascaded down your back. As the chanting reached its peak, you and Neteyam knelt together beneath the glowing tendrils of the tree.

Neteyam turned to you. His large, warm hand reached out to gently cup your jawline. He leaned in, his forehead pressing firmly against yours in a quiet act of intimacy that seemed to shut out the noise around you two. His other hand reached for his kuru, bringing it forward and you did the same. He didn't waste another second to intertwine your kuru with his, as though he had no hesitation at all. Your entire body jolted. A sudden, overwhelming surge of raw energy and emotion flooded your consciousness as your body, mind, and soul  locked into a deep, profound bond.

It was a sensory overload. There were visions, feelings, and memories rushing between you like a bursting dam.

Through the bond, you caught a sudden glimpse of his past. You felt the crushing weight of his responsibilities, the fierce love he had for his family, and the desperate, bloody battles against the sky demons. But then, a sharp, cold spike of terror and pain ripped through the connection.

You saw a flash of yellow light, heard the deafening screams of Neytiri, and felt the agonizing sensation of a bullet tearing through his chest.

He had nearly died.

Your eyes snapped open, your breath escaping you in a sharp, panicked huff. Blinded by a sudden, fierce protectiveness you didn't fully understand, your hand flew to his bare chest, your palm pressing flat against the scar on the left part of his chest.

Neteyam's eyes opened, burning darkly as he gazed down at your hand on his chest. He felt the sudden spike of your fear through the bond and somehow, he had forgotten what he felt during that moment. The only feeling that mattered was your fear for him and the surge of strength you sent him. Without a word, he tilted your head up, his lips catching yours in a deep kiss.

Your heart hammered as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding up the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone up to his broad shoulder, letting him deepen the kiss and consume you. When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his golden eyes were dark with an intense, possessive heat that made your breath hitch. The intimacy of the moment was so heavy, so entirely real, that you simply pressed your forehead back against his, trying to steady your racing pulse.

Neteyam leaned in and kissed you again, harder this time, causing your head to tilt back.

Slightly breathless, you pressed your palm firmly against his chest, gently pushing him back. “My parents are watching...” you reminded him in a hushed whisper, your cheeks flushing as you glanced toward the audience.

The Omatikaya had broken out into loud cheering and rhythmic clapping, celebrating the union. At the edge of the clearing, you caught sight of your father, his face tightly masked, while your mother looked on with a rigid smile.

The celebration back at Hometree was a raucous affair. Mo’at blessed the two of you with sacred oils, the healers chanting long prayers for fertility and strength before the feast and dancing truly began. You and Neteyam danced the mandatory mating dance, circled by couples who had been married for a very long time.

During a quiet moment in the festivities, your mother walked up to you and Neteyam to greet, but the purpose for it showed when she tried to excuse and pull you aside. Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightened, though, pulling you back to him. His eyes searched yours, and you didn't know where the sudden complete understanding of his subtle looks came from.

It was as if you have known him for so long now, you could practically read his mind. You squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile to let him know it’s okay, allowing your mother to pull you aside near the edge of the structure. “You must remember everything I taught you, daughter,” she murmured, her hands smoothing over your beaded top. “Serve him. Everything he wants to do, you will do. Tonight... You will submit to him. Do not anger a warrior of his status.”

You bit your lip, and before you could think of anything to reply, your father stepped up behind her, his posture imposing and cold. “You belong to a powerful line now. You must do with him as best as you can. Do not bring shame to my name by failing in your duties as a wife.”

You swallowed the bitter retort rising in your throat, lowering your eyes to play the part one last time. “I understand, Father.”

When you finally excused yourself to rejoin Neteyam, you found him standing near a pillar, carefully watching the interaction from afar. Your eyes snapped to Armem who was currently standing beside him, talking about something. As you approached, Armem looked at you, flashing a sly smile before she slipped away. You got distracted when you felt Neteyam’s hand reach out, his large fingers catching yours. You let him pull you to him, looking up into his face as his arms locked around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes alert on your face.

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

His eyes were snagged behind you one last time, and you had to force yourself to not look back, knowing you’ll see your parents. Your head snapped to the dais when you heard a beautiful rhythm of the laid gongs being played. The youth who had been dancing stopped, parting into two rows to clear a path directly toward you and Neteyam, their faces splitting into knowing, mischievous grins.

“What is that?” you asked, turning back to your husband, completely bewildered by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Neteyam glanced at you, and for the first time since you had met him, he looked entirely caught off guard. His hand came up to his face, his fingers scratching his temple awkwardly as a dark flush crept across his cheeks.

“Uh, it’s... it’s for the blessing of our kelku,” he mumbled, clearing his throat and refusing to meet your eyes for a split second.

You blinked, but before you could question his sudden bashfulness, some elder women bumped at your side and on his side were elder men. Your eyes tried to scan the crowd, but you only saw Jake Sully and Neytiri still sitting on the dais, laughing at the sight, and it was so rare it took some of your inhibitions away.

They chanted prayers for fertility and the realization hit you like a splash of cold water.

In your clan, this part was usually a cold, transactional event where the newly mated woman was practically marched to her husband's tent like a prize. But here, the Omatikaya made it a celebration of life and passion. The drumming and the crowd’s chants faded as you walked up a series of woven pathways leading to a cozy, elevated hut. Mo’at and a few elder women led the blessing of the small space.

When you two were finally left alone, your eyes snapped up to Neteyam who immediately moved to light the central hanging firepot. The kelku was modest, slightly larger than the one that had been your sanctuary in the past weeks. This was beautifully structured, just large enough for a newly married couple.

“If you have any preferences for how it should look, or if you need specific tapestries and mats,” Neteyam said, looking around, “we will go to the weavers tomorrow to get whatever you like.”

A huge smile cut through your lips, nodding. “Thank you. I would like that.”

Neteyam went quiet for a moment, his gaze turning intense as he stepped closer to you. The playful, amused glint from the feast was gone, replaced by something much deeper.

“I don’t know if you wanted me to know this... but when we did the bond...” His eyes locked onto yours, completely unblinking. “I felt it, Y/N. I felt your strong emotions against your parents... Your people. Your home. The anger you held.”

You blinked. He felt it. The same way you had seen his memories and felt all his emotions. Through the bond, both of your shields had dropped entirely. You wondered exactly how much he had seen.

“I understand why you might not have liked it there,” Neteyam continued quietly, taking a thoughtful step back. “But I thought... well, perhaps I was wrong—”

“What is it that you thought?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you stepped toward him, desperate to know what he had deduced.

Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hands before raising his head with a resolute expression. “It does not matter now. This is your home. My people are your people. My family is your family. Do you understand that? You do not have to think about everything you left behind.”

You tilted your head, studying the sincerity in his face, and gave a silent, genuine nod.

“And besides,” Neteyam mumbled, a sudden, boyish smirk breaking through his serious demeanor. “I have something for you.”

He turned and walked toward the shadowed back corner of the kelku, reaching behind a stack of woven mats. When he stepped back into the light, your lips parted in utter shock. In his hands, he held a beautifully crafted longbow, complete with a leather quiver full of freshly fletched arrows.

“I got it... just in case you wanted to learn how,” Neteyam said, his smile widening as he raised the bow, his eyes twinkling with a brilliant, knowing light. “And... I saw a flash of it in your memory during the bond. You were practicing this when you were young. You were doing it in secret.”

His conclusion depended solely on the emotions he felt through the bond, but he was right about that and a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion overcame you. The sheer weight of your past, all the hiding and the fear of your father's wrath, shattered completely against the simple kindness of the man standing before you. He didn't want a submissive, silent maid. He saw your fire, and he was handing you the fuel.

Tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the sight of him. Giving up on every single act of restraint you had practiced since meeting him, you ate up the small distance between you and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

Neteyam let out a soft, surprised breath before his large arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hand moved up, his fingers gently caressing your long hair as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you sobbed softly into his shoulder, a genuine, radiant happiness blooming in your chest for the first time in your life. “Thank you, Neteyam...”

He held you tighter as he stroke your hair, his deep voice vibrating against your collarbone as he whispered, “I’ll be the one to teach you. We can start tomorrow.”

You bit your lip and nodded. You didn’t know how to tell him that you already know how to use this so you resolved to just tell him some other time. “Tomorrow?“ you chirped as you pulled back, your hands sliding down his arms until your fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the longbow still resting in his grip.

Gently, you took it from him and set it carefully beside your travel box, placing the weapon that symbolized your future next to the secrets of your past.

When you turned back to him, a soft, determined smile was on your face. The initial rush of your relief had quieted, leaving a heavy awareness of the space between you. The fire was casting a long, amber shadow across Neteyam’s broad shoulders and the sharp angles of his face, and your cheeks burned at how handsome he really was.

No man in your clan could have rivaled against him even if they tried. You stepped closer and his eyes dropped to the delicate river beads covering your chest, a sudden flicker of hesitation crossed his features. He remembered what he’d seen and felt through the bond. Your strong emotions against your parents and your people, the harsh words and suffocating rules. The rigid command that you must submit.

Neteyam reached out, his large hands gently catching yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. His eyes searched your face with an intense, fierce earnestness.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his deep baritone dropping to a rough whisper. “Listen to me. We do not need to do this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any night soon if you are not ready.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned by his restraint.

“Your parents no longer have a say on what you must do,” Neteyam continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “So, whatever yout mother told you or your father expects of you, none of that matters now. I want you to be comfortable here.”

A profound warmth bloomed in your heart, making your limbs all the way to your fingertips feel like it's made of jelly. The last lingering remnants of your defenses crumbled. This warrior, who had every right by your clan's rules to demand your compliance, was stepping back to give you a choice.

“Neteyam,” you spoke softly, your voice steady and entirely devoid of the timid persona you had faked for weeks.

You stepped into his space, breaking the distance he had purposefully created to give you room. You raised your hands, your palms pressing flat against his cheeks, your fingers sliding into the soft skin just beneath his ears. You tilted your head up, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, before moving to press another, softer kiss directly to his lips.

“I am not pressured,” you whispered against his mouth. You looked straight into his eyes, letting him see the fierce, unyielding certainty burning in your gaze. “And I am comfortable. I want to do this, Neteyam. I want you.”

A low, rumbling hum vibrated deep in his chest at your words. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. The carefully maintained restraint of a disciplined warrior giving way to the raw, possessive hunger of a man who had been captivated by you since the moment he saw you.

His hands moved to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulled you flush against his heat, his lips crashing down on yours in a deep, consuming kiss. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his long braids, the beads clicking softly. Slowly, he reached for the ties of your intricately beaded top and with a gentle pull, the garment loosened, and he caressed it off you, letting the beads click softly against the floor.

Neteyam’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened as his gaze swept over your naked upper body, tracking the elegant curve of your waist and the steady rise and fall of your chest. The raw worship in his stare made you feel powerful, completely untamed, and so excited.

His large hands slid up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the sides of your chest as he leaned down to press hot, branding kisses along your collarbone, making you gasp softly. Your hands scrambled for his own gear, your fingers working through the fastens of his intricate cummerbund. You pushed the heavy gear away, your palms immediately finding the broad, smooth expanse of his chest, tracing the jagged ridge of his scar once more before bringing your lips to his.

He gathered you into his arms, his mouth never leaving yours as his hands worked on the ties of your loincloth around your tail. He pushed the fabric off your hips, caressing your soft skin before fluidly guiding you down onto the thick, soft layers of the woven sleeping mat. The cool fiber of the mat met your back, but you barely felt it beneath the crushing, intoxicating weight of his body settling over yours.

You bit your your lip as he hovered over you, his thighs bracketing your hips. You pressed your palm against his muscled abdomen and when he took in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, you smiled at him, moving your hand down to tug at the rim lf his loincloth.

His head tilted, “You want it off?” he asked, tugging at your hand when you nodded unabashed. “Take it off, then.”

You bit your lip before pulling yourself up, coming face to face with his chest as you did. You kissed the soft skin at the center of it before your hand circled to untie his loincloth. He lowered his head down, both of his hands cupping your face as he pressed a hard kiss on your lips.

His loincloth came off with a hiss and he gently pushed you back down on the soft mat, deepening the kiss. His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your head, gently wrapping around the thick braid of your kuru. He pulled away from the kiss to meet your eyes, bringing it between you before he grabbed his own, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

You moved his hands to bring the tendrils together, and the moment the tsaheylu sparked to life, a gasp caught in your throat. The overwhelming flood of energy from the Tree of Souls was replaced by something soft, intimate, and profoundly deep, like a warm wave lulling both of your consciousness into a singular, shared heartbeat.

Through the bond, you felt his absolute adoration for you. The radiant warm was so tangible you could almost touch it, and to see it reflected in his golden eyes made your eyes sting with hot tears. Neteyam let out a low growl of satisfaction through the bond, his lips catching yours again. The kiss was deeper now, amplified by the bond, every brush of his tongue and every stroke of his hands on your body echoing straight through your mind.

You kissed him back with equal fervor. His hand firmly pushed your thighs apart, fitting himself between them as his kisses trailed down your jaw and neck. You chuckled to hide a moan when his tongue traced a long stroke over the soft skin of your neck. He hummed against your skin and repeated the motion, making you arch your neck with a giggle.

He pulled back a little, his humored eyes staring into yours. “You're ticklish here...” he murmured, dipping his head to softly suck on that skin.

“Neteyam...” you pushed his head back and he chuckled, moving further down, kissing the side flesh of your breast.

You took in a sharp breath, arching your back and he enveloped its peak with the warmth of his mouth, earning him a loud moan from you. He squeezed your waist as he hummed, sucking at your flesh as he fondled the other one.

“You’re so soft, fuck...” he grunted as his lips nipped at your pebbled tip, licking his way to the other peak to give it the same attention.

You felt a warm liquid gush out of you, making you squirm under him. His hand moved from your waist to your center and the tickle caught you off guard that you bucked against his fingers. He groaned against your breast, his fingers caressing your velvety folds languidly.

“So wet...” he said in a low, gravelly voice, propping himself on one arm to hover over you again.

His knee pushed one of your thighs to the side to spread you wider as his fingers parted your folds exposing your slick heat to his gaze. He looked down at you, his gold of his eyes swallowed almost entirely by desire that made your pulse race. His face heated up when he stared down at your flush face and found your wide, trusting eyes looking back up at him. You could literally feel the heavy pulsing in the bond, telling you that he was feeling so much it was physically overwhelming him.

He bent his head, kissing you softly at fit, but it soon turned deep and hard. His mouth consumed yours, and under the cover of that distracting heat, he slid a single, long finger into your tight entrance. You gasped against his mouth, your body tightening, startled by the sudden penetration. Neteyam instantly stalled his hand. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face with fierce intensity, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort.

Instead of shrinking away, you leaned up and kissed him, your tongue boldly sliding against his to show him you were alright. A low growl vibrated in his throat, slipping a second finger into you. The sudden stretch made you bite his lower lip in a tight grip and he grunted, kissing you hard in retaliation as his fingers began to move in a slow, deep rhythm inside your slick heat.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and his other arm pulled your body completely flush against his muscled frame. The world narrowed down to the heavy friction in you and the overwhelming rush of his emotions pouring through the bond. Your kisses got sloppy and breathless as his fingers worked faster, making your hips tilt upward instinctively, your thighs quivering as the tension built.

Suddenly, Neteyam pulled his fingers away.

You let out a soft, frustrated whine, your hands immediately dropping to his wrist to pull his arm back down. “Neteyam...”

“I’ll give you something better,” he mumbled against your jaw, his breath hitching as he kissed his way down to your neck. You could feel his thick, rigid shaft resting heavily against your inner thigh, twitching with his own restrained need. He pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. “Are you sure about this, paskalin?”

You nodded quickly, reaching up to pull his head back down for a kiss, but Neteyam refused to budge. He held his ground, his face shifting into a deeply serious expression.

“I need your words,” he mumbled, his golden eyes locking onto yours.

You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, your gaze turning just as serious, completely stripped of any games. “I am sure. I want to do this with you, Neteyam.”

The tension in his jaw broke, replaced by a dark satisfaction. He pressed a hard, bruising kiss on your lips, before his hands hooked firmly under your knees. He slowly pulled away, shifting his weight until he was kneeling directly between your spread legs.

Left exposed in the glow of the fire, you bit your lip, your eyes shamelessly tracing the powerful lines of his body. You reached a hand out, your palm sliding over his muscled abdomen again, feeling it contract beneath your fingertips. But you grew serious as soon as you felt the broad, blunt head of his shaft nudge against your warmth. You took a deep breath as he began to ease himself into you.

His thumb found the sensitive, swollen nub beneath your folds, softly and rhythmically caressing it to help him distact you. When your eyes rolled back and you helplessly bucked your hips upward to chase his thumb, Neteyam took the perfect opportunity to sink himself fully into you in one deep thrust.

A loud moan tore from your throat at the immense stretch of it, and at the exact same time, Neteyam let out a harsh, strained grunt through gritted teeth as your walls fiercely clamped and squeezed around him, resisting against his girth. He lowered his body down, desperate to soothe you with a kiss, but you were breathing in ragged, panicked breaths, your fingers digging tightly into the flesh of his back.

“Shh... baby, look at me. Breathe,” he hushed. Feeling how tightly you were gripping him, he made a slight movement to pull himself back out to give you relief, but you instantly wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place. You hugged him closer, burying your face in his neck.

“You’re so big...” you mumbled.

Neteyam groaned, the sound vibrating against your chest as he wrapped his massive arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “Sorry...” he whispered roughly, entirely sincere.

A wet chuckle escaped your lips despite the ache. “Are you really saying sorry because you have a big di—”

“Only because it’s making you uncomfortable,” he cut you off, his voice thick with embarrassment as he pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand tenderly wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead.

“Nonsense,” you huffed, a small, defiant smirk returning to your face. “I remembered I will be pushing out babies anyway, you know? I can handle the father.”

Neteyam’s dark eyes instantly lit up, coupled with a soft smile cutting through his lips, and at the exact same moment, a massive, explosive jolt of pure, euphoric warmth shot straight through the bond, nearly making your head spin. The sheer joy of hearing you speak of a future with him, of carrying his children, completely broke the last of his restraint.

You smiled, welcoming the deep, possessive kiss he crashed down onto your lips. He began to move as he kissed you, pulling back almost entirely, before driving back into you with a firm intensity. You moaned against his lips, meeting him at his pace and welcoming every single hard, bruising thrust.

The pace grew frantic and the glow of the fire casted your joined shadows against the woven walls of your new home. His large shadow has completely enclosed you, your legs in the hair as he gripped the back of your knees tightly, pushing them up to angle you perfectly, driving deeper and deeper until he was bottoming out against your core.

The kelku was filled with slaps of your skin meeting, your ragged moans, and his deep, animalistic grunts. Through the bond, a sudden, blinding wave of heat erupted from him. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his muscles locking up hard as he let out a loud, guttural roar against your neck. He buried himself to the absolute hilt as he came deep inside you, the thick, hot rush of his seed filling your core.

Your head fell back, crying out as your own release crashed over you in violent waves, your walls squeezing him tightly. Neteyam collapsed softly over you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. Your own exhaustion lulled you to sleep just as Neteyam lifted his head to kiss you, making him huff in adoration as his eyes caressed your soft features.

“Out like a light,” he mumbled as he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “You’re so damn cute.”

The next day, the heavy, content silence of the morning was the first thing you registered, followed by the feeling of Neteyam’s large, muscular arm slung securely around your waist, pulling your body into a solid wall of heat that was his chest.

You shifted slightly and the gentle drag of your hair against his chin caused him to stir. Because the tsaheylu had remained connected through the night, the moment your consciousness cleared, a sudden, bright flare of pure excitement pulsed from his mind into yours. His eyes opened instantly.

“Good morning,” Neteyam murmured, his voice deep and rough from sleep. He pressed a warm kiss into your temple, his arm tightening around you. “How does your body feel?”

You took a long, dramatic breath and stretched your limbs, letting out a soft yawn that made his chest rumble with an adored chuckle. “A little sore,” you admitted, turning in his embrace to face him, a small, defiant spark in your eyes. “But I am still ready for the day. You promised me archery training.”

Neteyam smiled, his eyes sweeping over your face as he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. “Archery can wait. The forest isn't going anywhere. Let's just stay here today.”

“We can't,” you laughed softly. Right on cue, the ring of the communal bells echoed through the upper branches of Hometree. “See? We have to go.”

“They will understand if we are late,” Neteyam mumbled against your skin, his hands lazily tracing the curve of your waist. “We are newly married. Everyone knows we were... occupied.”

Your cheeks instantly burned hot. “Neteyam!” You reached down and pinched his arm, hard enough to make him grunt. “That is all the more reason we must show up on time! I have a reputation to build here, and I will not have everyone looking at me knowing why we slept in.”

“Baby, I hate to break it to you,” he chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow, his long finger caressing the base of your throat, “but they are going to know anyway.”

Your fingers touched your neck, your eyes snapping up to him in question. “What?”

His finger trailed down to your bare chest and you gazed down, finding a distinctly tender purpling spot right above the swell on your left breast. You glared up at him, your hand raising to pinch him again, but Neteyam quickly raised his hands in retreat, a boyish, unrepentant smirk on his lips. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It’s just that... you’re so soft—”

“Well, it looks like a bug bite,” you pushed your lips forward, touching the marks and examining it, before peering up at him. “By a big bug.”

He chuckled, pulling you back to him. “Do we have an issue with big stuff?” he mumbled, his lips brushing your neck.

You shrink away from the ticklishness of his lips, moving to get your top instead. Despite his teasing, Neteyam helped you prepare by grabbing your loincloth and helping you with it. At your stubborn behest, the two of you walked down to the communal clearing for breakfast. Neteyam carried his heavy warrior's bow, but slung over his other shoulder was the beautifully crafted longbow he had gifted you, along with both of your quivers

You thought walking into the clearing would make you feel embarrassed, especially with how the youth started nudging each other and how the older hunters gave Neteyam teasing looks, but you felt nothing but pride as he held your hand as he led you to the high dais where his family sits. Tuk grinned and waved at you, while Kiri offered a teasing a smile.

You pursed your lips and kept your gaze low in front of your parents who are now conversing quietly with Jake and Neytiri, looking entirely out of place in the vibrant, loud atmosphere. Once breakfast concluded, you paid respects to both sets of parents, and you startled a little when Neytiri gently squeezed your hand, making you snap your eyes up to her.

She smiled, “You looked radiant, daughter.”

You blinked, throwing a quick sharp glance at Neteyam who chuckled before seriously nodding at Neytiri. “Thank you...” you mumbled.

As you stand there, your father’s sharp eyes instantly dropped to the two bows slung over Neteyam’s shoulder, then to the quiver of arrows resting against your hip. His expression hardened into a mask of pure, rigid distaste.

“Neteyam,” your father spoke, his voice carrying a heavy weight as he pointed at the weapons. “I hope you are not teaching my daughter that. Weapons do not belong in the hands of a chief's daughter.”

The air around the dais seemed to drop in temperature. Your mother looked at you with the same piercing gaze your sister was giving you, as though you were doing something so embarrassing, while Neytiri’s side eye dropped a temperature as it locked onto your father. Meanwhile, Jake sat back comfortably in his seat, waiting to see how his son would handle this.

You felt a familiar, cold instinct to shrink back, but before the fear could even take root, Neteyam stepped slightly in front of you, offering your father a calm, polite smile.

“That is exactly what I intend to do, Olo'eyktan,” Neteyam replied, his tone grounded yet carrying the absolute firmness of a future leader. “My wife is now the woman of an Omatikaya warrior. She is Omatikaya as much as I am. And in this clan, our women are trained in archery much like the next guy.“

Your father’s face went entirely pale, but his jaw eventually tightened, utterly paralyzed by the younger warrior's sheer insolence. In your birth clan, no young man would ever dare speak to the Olo’eyktan this way, but here, Neteyam answered only to Toruk Makto. You pursed your lips as you felt warmth spread in your chest, making you squeeze Neteyam’s hand.

Seeing her husband silenced, your mother stepped in, “And you, daughter? Do you agree to this? Is this what you want?”

You looked at your mother, then at your father, and for the first time in your life, you didn't feel the need to lie. You took a step forward, aligning your shoulder perfectly with Neteyam’s.

“I am a wife of the Omatikaya now, Mother,” you said as softly as you could, it sounded like a mock in your own ears, but your parents won’t know that. “I will listen to the will of my husband, and I will do my absolute best to learn under him.”

You chose your words wisely, ensuring that the very obedience they had drilled into you since childhood was what’s staring back at them now. Your parents were left speechless, knowing they would sound like hypocrites to command you otherwise. You are a mated woman now, and in their eyes, your husband’s words hold more sway than their own.

Neteyam didn't give them a chance to recover. He gave a respectful, brief nod to his own parents, ignoring the faint, amused smirk playing on Jake Sully's lips. “If there is nothing else, we will take our leave.”

As he turned and led you away from the dais, his large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side as you walked down the winding ramp.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered sensually, “You did well, baby. And there is indeed a lot of training under me.”

You blinked, your cheeks burning when you remembered last night. Once you were down the Hometree, Neteyam led you deep into a secluded clearing a mile away from Hometree, a training ground he had clearly set up just for you. At the far end of the clearing, several woven targets hung on trees.

“Alright,” Neteyam said, handing you your new bow. “Let me see your basics, baby.” He stepped behind you, his chest pressing against your back as his large hands guided your arms up.

You swallowed hard. This was the dangerous part. You had to play the part of a beginner. You had to act like you didn't know how to balance your weight, or how to gauge the wind. You pulled an arrow from your quiver, deliberately letting your fingers fumble slightly with the notch. You pulled the string back, purposely letting your left elbow sag, trying to remember what it was like when you were just learning.

“Like this?” you asked.

Neteyam didn't answer right away, his hands moving from your arms down to your waist, his thumbs tracing the alignment of your hips before he corrected your left elbow. “Yes. Try shooting,”

You gritted your teeth and pulled from your chest, keeping your elbow low again before shooting. Your arrow found its mark on the third tree, exactly as you intended. Neteyam’s hands tightened on your waist, lazily caressing.

“You know how to do this,” he whispered, low and entirely certain.

Your heart violently jumped into your throat, your hand gripping the bow tighter. He has a keen eye and it was your fault that you underestimated that. “I trained,” you mumbled.

“You’re not a beginner,” he replied, his head dipping low so his breath fanned across your neck, right over a dark mark he had left there.

Your lips twisted. “No, I’m not,” you said in a low voice, your head turning to him.

His eyes darkened as it looks through yours. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him. “Look at the target... and show me who you really are.”

You held his dark, intense gaze for a second before turning back to the targets. With a fluid, practiced motion, you reached into your quiver and nocked a fresh arrow, planting you feet firmly into the ground. You aligned your shoulders and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one smooth motion.

The arrow flew like a bolt of lightning across the clearing, passing the first two targets and striking the farthest one dead in the center. The woven target shuddered under the sheer force of the impact. Behind you, Neteyam watched with fascinated, wide eyes, a sudden rush of heat flooding his chest. You looked incredibly hot standing there, your posture unyielding and graceful.

He had always known you had fire in you. He had found you beautiful from the moment he first laid eyes on you, but seeing you like this, unapologetically in your element, made a massive swell of pride erupt through him. He had witnessed first hand what your parents were like, what your clan was like, and though he had initially thought that you were their perfect, submissive daughter, even then, he’d felt this spark in you.

It was only when you’d become one through the bond that he’d known the staggering depth of your resentment and anger toward your parents and your people. He had been determined to free you from their shackles and teach you whatever you wanted to know, but with this marksmanship you’re showing, you were already better than him and half the hunters in his clan, because you had achieved this excellence while being completely barred from it.

“Where did you learn?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer, suddenly realizing that a skill this sharp meant someone had to have taught you.

You turned to him, a genuine, fond smile breaking across your face. “My friend. Tarluk.”

The moment the name left your lips, Neteyam’s swelling heart staggered. A sharp, blinding spike of jealousy flared in his chest. Your sister had mentioned that name when she tried to corner him last night, but he was so worried about you, he’d paid little attention to it. Neteyam was never a jealous man, mostly because he had never been a lover before, and he had certainly never cared for anyone as fiercely as he cared for you. So, this sudden, possessive green monster rearing its head in his mind felt completely bizarre and unsettling.

“Tarluk...” he echoed, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Yes. He is a warrior back in my clan,” you said, your voice softening, turning mellow and tinged with a heavy layer of guilt. “He taught me everything he knows. And he is... imprisoned right now. That is how I repaid every bit of help he gave me.”

Some of his jealousy instantly evaporated, replaced by immediate concern. He smoothed his features, calming his racing heart. “Imprisoned why?”

“He tried to help me escape... on the very day the Omatikaya arrived,” you mumbled, looking down at your bow. “I didn't know my father was going to pledge me to you. In my clan, we have no say in who we mate with. My friends are alright with that life... but I was terrified. I tried to run away.” You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat before looking up at him with soulful, vulnerable eyes.

Neteyam stared down at you, his heart beating incredibly fast against his ribs as he traced the absolute trust written across your features. “And... are you still scared?”

You smiled softly, the warmth in your eyes answering him before you even shook your head. “No... I am not scared.”

A heavy, breathless huff of relief left his lungs. The tension completely drained from his body as he melted into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. He leaned down, pressing a deep, fiercely reassuring kiss to your lips. “You have nothing to be scared of, baby. Not here, and not as long as I am drawing breath. I will protect you from them. From everything.”

You smiled against his mouth, nodding against his chest. “There is something I want to show you once we are back home.”

You spent the next couple of hours in the clearing, completely shedding your facade. You showed him the extent of what you know, so he could gauge exactly what else he can teach you. By the time you walked back to Hometree, you were holding his hand, literally skipping cutely along the forest path, your old worries entirely forgotten. Neteyam watched you, a soft, lovesick smile on his face. Just as the two of you were about to break through the thick brush leading into the main clearing of Hometree, he caught your waist, pulling you back into the shadows for one more loving, deep kiss.

High above, standing on an empty platform, Neytiri stood beside Jake. She watched the two of you, a rare, incredibly soft smile touching her lips as she leaned into her husband's side, happy to see her eldest son so completely besotted.

Once you and Neteyam slipped back into the privacy of your kelku, you walked over to your leather travel box. You reached inside and pulled out the old longbow and the weathered quivers you had brought from your home clan, the ones you had kept hidden away.

Neteyam walked over, but the moment his golden eyes landed on the unique, intricate fletching of the arrows inside the quiver, he froze. His mind flashed back to the waterfalls near your clan’s lands, to the cloaked woman who had saved his life from an Agtik pack before disappearing into the mist just as he was gathering his wit.

He thought he was simply being irrational. He thought of the cloaked lady several times over the past moon, but his mind kept giving the lady your face. Even when he first saw you, he had a strong feeling that he knew whom he was looking at... It had surprised him, just as it had surprised his parents, when he decided to agree on your father’s plea for a betrothal before he had even heard the terms.

He was never one to decide on anything without thinking it through, but on this one, he had felt so certain it startled him.

“I knew it,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper of absolute awe. “It was you.” He looked from the arrows to your face, his eyes wide. “The cloaked lady from the waterfalls... it was you.”

You offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You knew how?”

Neteyam let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I was being imaginative, perhaps. But whenever I remember the lady at the waterfalls, I see your face. I thought it was just my mind reminding me that I am betrothed, but I almost felt certain it was you.”

You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to tell you... But I don’t want to hide anything from you,” you pushed your lips forward.

He felt like he was being allowed to walk through a secret passage leading into a room full of wonders. He had met you, had been saved by you, before he even officially knew your name. “Thank you for telling me,” he mumbled, pulling you to press a kiss on your temple.

Lo’ak had long found a mate among the Metkayina of Awa’atlu, and Neteyam had always wondered how easy it had been for him, that it had taken only one look. But now he understands. He understands what Jake and Lo’ak were talking about. You will see her and you will know. Thanking Eywa for the sheer providence and the incredible luck of hand she had given him would never be enough.

You were everything he had waited for.

A few days later, you watched your parents, your sister, and their rigid entourage finally prepare to leave the Omatikaya and was surprised to feel absolutely no sadness. Standing beside Neteyam as their direhorses turned back toward the woods, the only thing filling your chest was a profound, liberating sense of relief. You could hardly wait for the dust of their departure to settle.

As the days and weeks melted into moons, you and Neteyam fell into a beautiful, seamless routine.

Every morning, he would wake up before the dawn, his stolen kisses on your skin occasionally waking up up, but most times, he could successfully slip out for early border patrols without waking you up. And then, he would return hours later, waking you up with soft kisses before you both headed down for the communal breakfast.

Afterward, the two of you would escape to your private training ground. Because your archery and horsemanship were already flawless, Neteyam decided to teach you hand-to-hand combat skills instead. This was unknown to you. The Na’vis rarely fight using their bodies in close combats, but he explained that they were necessary skills taught by his father.

You took to it with a fierce, untamed focus, loving the feel of your body dodging his heavy frames, laughing whenever he used his weight to pin you to the soft grass, only to kiss you breathless as a penalty for losing.

By midday, when Neteyam had to report for scouting duties with his father, you spend your afternoons with Kiri and Mo'at, sitting in the quiet healing pavilion, learning the properties of healing roots, orchid poultices, and the spiritual songs of the Omatikaya. You found learning here much easier than learning under the rigid, highly paternalistic guidance of your mother.

Best of all, Mo’at listens to the healing knowledge and spiritual routines unique to your clan. These peaceful afternoons of study would bleed into quiet evenings that makes you feel that you were finally doing things to belong and not to conform.

When the next dawn broke, the rhythmic chirping outside filtered into the kelku, but you were already stirred by the familiar sensation of warm, soft lips pressing against your shoulder. A slow, lazy smile spread across your face, keeping your eyes closed.

When he sensed the shift in your consciousness, he lifted his head, his golden eyes dark and hooded with adoration. You felt his lips against yours and you kissed him back eagerly, your fingers tangling in the braids at the nape of his neck, pulling him flush against you. His large arm wrapped around you, almost lifting you to him as he deepened the kiss.

You broke away from the kiss to breathe, so his lips found the the sensitive column of your neck, trailing down over the slope of your breasts, lingering on your stomach, and finally, dipping lower. The past few moons had revealed this side of him, an obsession with your pleasure that bordered on reverent. In the beginning, you had been shy, overwhelmed by the fact that he would dare put his mouth there and the raw, uninhibited way he does so, but you had learned to love it.

Thus, you spread your legs, arching your back off the sleeping mat as he lapped at you like a man starved. His tongue and lips found your sensitive nub, sucking and licking until you couldn't help your moans, a sound that started low in your throat and grew sharper as the rhythm took you. You were biting your lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible, especially when he presses his tongue flat on you.

When you finally came, the release was a shuddering wave that made you gasp, and he licked every lingering essence as if this were the desert and you were a well of water. You lay there, sweaty and weak, your breath coming in ragged hitches as he moved back up your body, his mouth settling on the pebbled tips of your breasts, suckling with a possessive intensity. He finally pulled away to press a loving kiss to your forehead, his eyes searching yours.

Your hand instinctively dropped, grabbing at the heavy ridge of his crotch, feeling the sheer hardness of him. You let out a soft, mewling sound, squeezing him, and he let out a harsh, guttural grunt, closing his eyes for a moment to fight for control.

“I'll save this reward for later, baby,” he growled, his voice gravelly. “If I start now, I'll never make it to patrol.”

True to his word, he left for patrol, and you managed to drift back into a light, contented sleep. You only woke again when the sun dappled through the kelku, with the rustle of his footsteps coming in not long after. You looked up and smiled at him, pulling the covers off you and he groaned at the sight of you still naked.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said as he lowered himself down, leaning over you.

You pressed a hand against his chest, caressing his skin damp with the morning's efforts. You craned your neck to kiss him, and his hand slid over your waist. “I’ve been sleeping in too much lately. I need to train myself to wake up early again,” you mumbled against his lips.

“I’ll ask Mo’at for spice tea,” he responded, his head rearing back a little, his eyes fixed on yours seriously. “But you could always just sleep in. You’ve been working so hard with the healers...”

You chuckled, “You’re so serious,” you nuzzled your nose against his. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just adjusting.” You pulled him down for a kiss.

He let you kiss him, but he pulled back again, “But do tell me if it persists—”

“Yes, yes, I will. Now, kiss...” you cut him off, pulling him close again and he kissed you with more intent now.

Just as the heat grew heavier, the bells for the communal meal echoed through Hometree. Neteyam groaned, dropping his forehead against your collarbone, his frustration vibrating through his chest. You laughed, a bright sound that made his heart flutter. You pushed against his shoulders, and he knew better than to argue when it came to your reputation, he knew how much you valued being seen as a proper member of the clan and appearances during meals were your top priority.

You pouted at him, “It’s because you talk too much,” you said, grabbing your top.

His head dramatically fell back on the soft mat and you chuckled, your eyes dropping to his hard-on tenting at his crotch, clearly ready to burst but he knows it would have to wait. Almost immediately after the meal, you both headed to your the training grounds.

Moons of practice had transformed your hand-to-hand combat skills, proving to him just how fast you learn. But today, the training was secondary. You sat between his legs by a large root, finding a comfortable patch of moss to sit on. He broke open some sweet, nectar-filled fruits, sharing them as you talked about your childhoods: the lonely, quiet years of your past versus the vibrant, chaotic, and loud upbringing he had experienced with his siblings.

“Lo'ak was a menace,” Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head as he bit into a yovo. “When he was no bigger than Tuk is now, he decided he wanted to ride a syaksyuk. He climbed all the way to the highest branch of a tall tree, got stuck, and started crying because a mama syaksyuk started throwing sour berries at his head. I had to climb up and drag him down by his loincloth while Dad watched from below, just laughing.”

You laughed loudly, remembering the photo you saw of them as children. It allowed you to imagine a tiny, stubborn Lo'ak and an annoyed little Neteyam playing vividly in your mind. “You must have been such a serious little boy.”

“I had to be,” he smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “With Lo'ak trying to drown himself in puddles and Kiri talking to the plants, someone had to keep them alive. Kiri used to bury my daggers in the dirt because she said it ‘wanted to sleep.’ I spent half my childhood digging up the forest floor looking for my weapons.”

Your smile turned a bit wistful, a faint pang of envy twisting in your chest. “It sounds beautiful.” Your eyes dropped to the fruit in your hands, thinking of his youngest sister. “I feel a little bad for little Tuk, though. She didn't get to experience all of that chaos with you guys being so small together.”

“She makes up for it by being twice as loud,” Neteyam reasoned, his hand caressing a stray hair off your face.

You sighed softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the woven basket. “My sister... She was so much like my mother. I can’t remember a time we were ever... close,” you shrugged.

Armem is just one of the many women in your clan who think that everything about what is taught is right. The rules, the silence, the way women are expected to bend. She excelled at obeying everything and she knew you were just pretending, she just didn't know how to catch you in the act.

Neteyam’s arm pulled you tightly against him, his chest on your back rumbling with a deep, protective hum, his fingers sprawling over your hip.

“The night of our mating feast, moons ago,” he began softly, his voice dropping into a serious register, “I heard of Tarluk before you ever told me his name. Your sister told me about him when you were off talking to your parents.”

You froze, tilting your head up to look at him. “She did?”

“Yes,” Neteyam murmured, his jaw tightening at the memory. “She told me that you had run away with a warrior before the Omatikaya arrived. She told me Tarluk was your lover, and that you were coming to my bed dishonored.”

A heavy, mellow sadness settled over you. You rose slightly, propping your palm against his muscled chest to look directly into his eyes. “I can't believe she would tell you about it that way... Neteyam, Tarluk is not my lover.”

His large hand cupped your jaw with immense gentleness. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, his gaze steady and unyielding.

“I know, baby,” he whispered fiercely. “I believe you. I did not believe her one bit. I told her she should have been more loyal to you.”

You let out a long sigh, the final ghost of your past clan fading into the forest air. You pressed your palm flat against the heavy beat of his heart. “I never want to go back to my clan again... I never want to see that forest again.”

A slow, devastatingly handsome smirk grew on his face. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you a fraction closer. “You can't go nowhere without me now, baby,” he whispered. “You'll never go back there. This is your home. You belong to the Omatikaya. You belong to me.”

Your heart swelled so painfully with love that you had to look away to catch your breath. You smiled, deliberately breaking the heavy romantic tension by lifting a piece of the sweet fruit to your mouth, just as he was leaning in to kiss you.

Neteyam groaned, his eyes narrowing in playful frustration with that block you did. You chuckled at his reaction, turning the piece of fruit and pressing it against his lips instead. He paused, watching you with an intense, heated gaze, before he bit into it, chewing slowly without ever breaking eye contact.

You raised a brow, completely untamed and bold under his stare. Leaning forward, you darted your tongue out, catching a single drop of sweet juice that was rolling down his chin. His breath hitched, his hands instantly gripping your waist as a dark, possessive hunger flared in his eyes.

“You are testing me today,” he growled softly, his hands moving to your hips to maneuver you on his lap.

You caught his hand. “I have a question,” you asked as you pressed your back against his chest.

“Hm?” He buried his face on your neck.

“Why do you like doing...” you trailed, gesturing vaguely between your legs, your voice teasing.

“Doing?” he asked, his hand going where you gestured.

Your hips bucked, grabbing his hand. “I mean, your mouth. On there.”

Neteyam paused, angling his head to look at you with a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Is that really a question?” he asked as if it sounded like a joke.

“It’s an observation,” you barked but softly, cutely showing him your fangs. “It seems a bit... obsessive.”

He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made your skin tingle. “It’s like asking me if I love eating my favorite fruit,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips. “It’s what I crave. It’s what sustains me.”

“That’s dramatic. It’s not food,” you frowned.

His hug around you tightened as if he were suddenly getting cuteness aggression. “I love it, anyway. And think of my cock. You said you wanted to do things with it, right?“

You nodded, your pulse quickening a sudden, visceral thrill run through you at the thought of finally exploring that part of him.

“Suppose I want you to kiss it,” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, challenging hum. “Would you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, licking your lips.

He raised a brow, reaching into the basket and pulling out an utumauti. He peeled it, the sweet, earthy scent filling the air, and held it out to you. You stared at it, and instinctively, you moved your head to bite into it, but he gently moved it away, laughing at your eagerness.

“No,” he said softly, his voice thick. “Put it in your mouth.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. You looked from the fruit to his eyes, then nodded, opening your mouth wide. You took the fruit between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the sweet nectar before you wrapped your mouth around it, mimicking the depth he’d asked for.

He groaned, the sound raw and pained, as he watched you.

“Would you do that to me?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours for hesitation.

You pulled back, your heart hammering against your ribs. You looked at his loincloth, imagining the warmth and the power of him, and a desperate, hungry desire to give him that same level of pleasure he gave you bloomed in you

“I want to,” you breathed. Your tail, usually calm, began to wag behind you, a soft thump against the moss.

Neteyam let out a shaky breath, his expression softening into one of tender love. He leaned forward and kissed you, his hands trembling slightly as they went to the ties of his loincloth, stripping it away completely. Your breath caught in your throat. You had felt the sheer, heavy mold of him a hundred times over in the past moons, the thick, rigid heat that had driven you mad against your thighs and deep within your core, but seeing him completely bare in the daylight was breathtaking.

You pulled yourself up onto your knees between his legs, your hand reaching out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wrapped them around the base of his thick length. Neteyam drew in a harsh, ragged gasp as your thumb stroked up the underside of his shaft.

“Baby...” he choked out, his fists clenching into the dirt at his sides.

You looked up at him through your lashes, completely captivated by the power you held over such a powerful warrior. Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you pressed a soft, wet kiss to the very tip of him, catching the sweet, clear bead of his arousal on your tongue.

Neteyam let out a low, guttural roar that echoed into the canopy, his hips instinctively jerking forward at the agonizingly perfect warmth. You smiled against his hot skin, opening your mouth wider, and began to show him exactly how much you wanted to pleasure him.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of his pleasure, sliding your lips along the thick length of his shaft. Every dip of your head earned you a ragged, breathless praise from Neteyam, his fingers lightly tangling in your hair as he guided your pace. By the time your mouth filled with the hot, heavy rush of his release, his chest was heaving as a broken groan ripped from his throat. He pulled you up into a tight, crushing hug immediately after, holding you against his racing heart.

“Fuck...” he mumbled as he let out a broken chuckle. “You can’t do that again... I came so fast it’s embarrassing.”

You glared at him, but a naughty smile still cut through your lips. “But what if it’s my favorite now, too?”

The peaceful moons that followed seemed to blur into a soft, golden dream. You have now settled comfortably in the Omatikaya, especially among the children, that you spend some afternoons in the shade of the lower branches, watching Tuk and a few other children.

Tuk was in the middle of chasing a friend when she suddenly spun around, her tail swishing with sudden curiosity. “Y/N, are you pregnant?” she asked out of nowhere, her big eyes wide with innocent hope.

You blinked, a fierce blush instantly crawling up your neck. “No, Tuk, I am not.”

“Aww,” she pouted, kicking a soft patch of moss. “I thought you were. Leera’s mom is pregnant. She’ll have a playmate very soon!”

You watched her sprint away, but her words lingered in your mind like a persistent echo. You weren't exactly worried, but as the days passed, you couldn't help but wonder. It wasn't for a lack of trying; you and Neteyam were at it every single day, his possessive hunger never waning, yet your body remained unchanged.

To soothe your restless thoughts, you took up weaving again, a craft you deeply missed and hadn't practiced much since leaving your clan. Sitting alone in the kelku, your fingers worked mechanically, interlacing thick, soft fibers into a structured, sturdy pattern.

You were just finishing a section when the woven flap rustled. Neteyam stepped inside, his shoulders tight with a lingering trace of stress from a long council meeting. The moment his golden eyes landed on you, however, the tension visibly melted from his face.

Seeing the lingering exhaustion in his posture, you immediately dropped the what you were doing and stood up, reaching out to guide him down to the sleeping mat. Your fingers firmly moved on the tight knots in his shoulders, applying a soothing pressure to calm him down.

Neteyam let out a long, shuddering sigh, tilting his head back against your stomach. “What were you weaving, baby?”

“I am trying to weave a baby wrap,” you murmured softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But do not get too excited yet. I am not with child. I am just... preparing.”

A soft, boyish smile cut through his tired features, and his lips pushed forward, pressing a tender kiss into your temple.

“What is wrong?” you asked, your fingers slowing their movement on his shoulders. “You look heavy.”

“Nothing you need to worry about, baby,” he responded smoothly, reaching up to squeeze your hand. “Just a tense council meeting. Some border disputes. It is fine.”

In the weeks that followed, however, you realized it wasn't entirely fine. The reality of clan infighting across Eywa’eveng was beginning to seep into the edges of the Omatikaya. Yet, the Omatikaya were almost too chill about it, confident in their strength. You only noticed the subtle shifts: the increased frequency of hunters and warriors moving in and out of the boundaries, and the way Neteyam constantly seemed on edge.

The breaking point arrived on a stormy afternoon.

Shouts echoed from the lower canopy, frantic and laced with a terror you had never heard from the Omatikaya before. You rushed down to the lower platforms, your breath catching in your throat as a party of warriors moved through the crowd. They were carrying several severely wounded hunters.

And in the center of the frantic group, carried on a human-made stretcher, was Neteyam.

He was barely conscious, his skin a pale, sickly blue, his chest heavily stained with a thick, dark smear of blood. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as a suffocating, icy fear instantly seized your heart, dragging your mind back to the terrifying vision you had seen in his memory. Jake and Neytiri pushed through the crowd, their faces pale with panic. But as the healers began to move Neteyam toward the human biolab for emergency treatment, Neytiri suddenly stopped. Her fierce, golden eyes snapped to you standing in the crowd.

Before you could move, she lunged forward, her hand clamping onto your forearm in a brutal, iron grip.

“Did you know about this?” she demanded, her voice shaking, cold with an explosive anger.

“What?” your voice shook, your eyes wide with shock and confusion.

“Your people betrayed us!” Neytiri hissed, her fangs fully bared, her face inches from yours. “Your father shot Neteyam! He ambushed our patrol at the border! I knew this alliance would bring nothing good. My son dove into this headfirst, not even thinking, for whatever petty reason—!”

“Mama! Don't get mad at Y/N, please!“ Tuk screamed, sprinting through the crowd and throwing her small arms around Neytiri’s hips, crying.

Jake came rushing back out of the biolab doors, his eyes wide as he realized Neytiri hadn't followed the stretcher inside.

“Neytiri,” Jake called, his voice booming as he grabbed her elbow, pulling her away from you. He looked at your pale, trembling form, his expression turning into one of profound alarm. “Jesus, baby, what did you tell her?”

Neytiri let out a sharp, ragged breath, her chest heaving as she finally ripped her gaze from yours, staggering on her steps before walking away and going into the biolab.

Jake turned to you, his voice urgent but grounded. “Go inside, Y/N. Go see him. He’s alright, but you need to be in there.” He looked down at his youngest daughter. “Tuk, stay with her.”

You couldn't move. Your legs felt like lead, your ears ringing with the horrific revelation. Your father had shot him. The treaty of alliance, the marriage, the peace, it had all been a calculated deception to lower the Omatikaya's guard against other clans who wished to bring it down.

Tuk buried her face into your stomach, her little shoulders shaking with violent sobs. The sight of her grief broke the paralysis holding you. You slowly knelt on the damp wooden platform, pulling the little girl into a tight embrace, murmuring soft, comforting words against her hair until her crying began to slow into quiet whimpers.

Once she quieted down, you pulled back slightly, cupping her small face in your hands. You forced your voice to sound steady, invoking the very strength Neteyam always saw in you.

“Tuk, listen to me,” you said, your eyes locking onto hers with absolute seriousness. “Your braveness is needed right now. The Omatikaya is in chaos, and your brother needs a warrior to guard him. I need you to stay right here, by the laboratory doors, and make sure no one enters who shouldn't. Can you do that for me?”

Tuk sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, her small jaw tightening with a sudden, fierce determination. She nodded firmly. “I will guard him, Y/N.”

“Good girl,” you whispered, kissing her forehead.

You stood up, turning away from the laboratory. You didn't walk inside. Instead, you turned on your heel and moved swiftly, back up the winding ramps toward your kelku. The moment you stepped past the woven flap, the dam broke. Tears of unadulterated fear, pain, and burning rage spilled over your cheeks, hot and furious. You couldn’t even sob or wail. You wanted to be there for Neteyam.

Hold his hand and give him strength. But what you were about to do cannot wait. You moved with a cold, terrifying precision born of a lifetime of faking compliance.

You walked straight to the weapon rack. You gripped the smooth, dark wood of your old longbow and slung the weathered quiver over your shoulder, checking the heavy, sharp fletching of your arrows. Your father thought he had traded away a submissive pawn to buy himself time. He thought you were a weak, compliant girl who would weep in a corner while his treachery tore a clan apart.

He was going to find out exactly who you were.

You rushed down the hidden, less-traveled pathways of Hometree, bypassing the frantic crowds entirely. Breaking into the dark, rain-slicked undergrowth of the forest, you raised your hand to your lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle.

Within moments, the heavy thud of hooves echoed through the brush, and your direhorse broke through the foliage. You vaulted onto its back, your fingers grabbing your kuru and connecting it to his in one swift motion. With a fierce tap to its flanks, you turned the direhorse toward the borders, tearing into the black, stormy night.

You were going back to your clan. And you were going to kill your father.

The wind screamed in your ears, tearing through your hair as the direhorse threw its powerful weight forward, kicking up wet earth and leaves. For hours, you rode through the stormy night without a single pause. The rain-drenched trees of the Omatikaya territory gradually gave way to the dark, clouded woods of the suffocating borders of your birth clan.

Your body ached, your muscles tightly coiled with exhaustion and a cold, lethal focus. By the time the distant glow of your old clan's cooking fires pierced the dark, the storm had settled into a heavy mist. You didn’t slow down to hide or sneak through the brush like a frightened girl. You rode straight into the heart of the main clearing, the heavy thud of your direhorse's hooves drawing the immediate, sharp attention of the night guards.

Several warriors stepped forward, bows raised, but they froze when the light allowed for a better view of you, drenched in rain and covered in mud. From the largest tent, a tall, imposing figure stepped out, a heavy mantle around his shoulders.

Your father’s sharp eyes locked onto you, but you could see in his eyes that he was not threatened. You gave that to him. But that will change. He stepped closer, stopping a few paces away, completely unbothered by the heavy bow in your hand. To him, you were still the girl who always had her head down, the girl who bent to her mother's rigid will.

“Is he dead? Is that what this visit is for?” your father taunted, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face as he looked up at you. “If so, then that is good news for our council. Job well done, and you can finally come home, daughter.”

You remained mounted on your direhorse, your posture regal, unyielding, and completely still. Your eyes, normally soft and trusting, were now as cold and sharp as blade.

“I feel sorry that I had to sacrifice you...” he continued, his voice dripping with a sickening condescension. “Let you be defiled and used over and over again by that disgusting half-blood. I am glad to see that you're not pregnant... that is great. We can wipe away that stain, remarry you to a real warrior, and—”

“What a loud noise,” you interrupted quietly.

Your father paused, his brows snapping together in sudden fury at your insolence. “What did you just say to me?” He looked at the old longbow in your hand again, a mocking chuckle vibrating in his chest. “You dare bring a weapon into my presence? You think you can make an aim on me after your pitiful training sessions with that demon? The one I personally shot?”

“For the record, dear father,” you said, your voice entirely devoid of fear, a slow smile tilting the corners of your lips. “Neteyam didn’t teach me archery... I learned this from under your nose.”

In the blink of an eye, faster than any warrior in the clearing could even register, your hand blurred. You drew an arrow from your quiver, nocked it, and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion.

Your father's eyes widened a fraction, his breath catching in his throat as he realized, too late, the absolute precision of your stance.

“Look,” you whispered.

You let go of the string and the heavy arrow flew with blinding speed, striking your father dead in the left side of his chest. The exact, precise spot where he had shot Neteyam.

He let out a sharp, agonized gasp, staggering backward as his hand flew to the shaft buried deep in his flesh. His eyes bulged, filled with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of anger and shock. He opened his mouth to scream for his warriors, his foot stepping forward to lunge at you.

Before his foot could even plant into the dirt, another arrow tore through the air, piercing straight through his foot and pinning it deeply into the muddy ground. He shrieked, a raw, pained sound, his balance entirely stolen from him as he began to fall. Desperate, his hand flew down to the knife strapped to his thigh, trying to draw it.

A third arrow struck his wrist, completely shattering the bone and before he could even touch the hilt.

You looked down at him from the height of your direhorse, your expression completely detached as he writhed in the mud beneath you.

“My husband is not dead, but you will be.”

Without a single hint of hesitation, you nocked one final arrow and released the string. The final arrow struck cleanly between his eyes, causing his body to slump back into the dirt, his blank gaze staring up at the stormy sky.

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

When the heavy sedation finally wore off, Neteyam opened his eyes to the harsh, sterile white light of the human biolab. His vision blurred, then sharpened, focusing on the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. The sun of midday was already dawning through the windows.

His first thought was entirely instinctual. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the one face that always brought him peace.

“Y/N...” he grogged, his voice barely a gravelly whisper.

The lab doors hissed open, and Jake stepped inside, his expression deeply lined with fatigue. Behind him, Neytiri stood, her usual fierce posture replaced by a rare, heavy layer of visible guilt. Little Tuk was curled up on a chair in the corner, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

“Dad,” Neteyam breathed, trying to push himself up on his elbows. His hand flew to his chest, feeling the thick, white bandages binding his skin. “My wife?”

A heavy silence blanketed the room. Everyone had spent the last several hours frantically combing through every tier of Hometree after Jake had ordered a full-scale search, desperate to find you before his eldest son woke up, but no one had seen a trace of you. Even Neytiri, now that her blinding panic had subsided and her mind was clear, realized the catastrophic mistake she had made by cornering you and implicating you in the ambush.

For the past several weeks, the Omatikaya council had had intelligence about a brewing conflict. Your birth clan apparently part of a larger, aggressive faction of clans seeking to destabilize Toruk Makto’s influence, viewing his family as “half-bloods” who didn't belong with the true people of Eywa. Throughout those tense council meetings, Neteyam had staunchly, fiercely defended you.

When the elders and even his own mother suggested that your betrothal was a calculated set-up to make him vulnerable, Neteyam had never wavered. He knew your heart. He knew that you knew absolutely nothing about your clan’s movements, and he had begged his family to let him handle it, to protect you from the clan's suspicion.

But Neytiri's explosive grief at seeing her firstborn bleeding had shattered that protection.

“Neteyam,” Neytiri stepped forward, her voice trembling in a way he had never heard before. “The night you were brought in... I lost my mind,” Neytiri confessed. “I confronted her. I told her that her father shot you, and I... I accused her. Tuk said she left not long after. We think... maybe she went to find them. Maybe she'll come back...”

“Left?” Neteyam echoed, the word ripping out of his throat like a physical wound. The monitor beside his bed began to beep in a frantic, erratic rhythm. He tore the IV lines straight out of his arm, ignoring the sharp sting of blood.

“Neteyam, lay back down!” Jake barked, rushing forward to plant his heavy hands on his son's shoulders.

“No! She doesn't want to go back there! She told me she never wanted to see that place again!” Neteyam roared, fighting his father's grip with a desperate, wild strength, despite the pull on his stitched flesh. “I have to find her—”

“I’ve already sent out scouting teams to track her trail,” Jake argued, his voice laced with helplessness. “But the storm washed away the tracks. Some came back empty-handed. We don't know where to look, son.”

Neteyam’s chest tightened, a suffocating mixture of physical pain and raw, blinding panic making his head spin. He was hoping against hope that you hadn't gone back to your birth clan. He knew how much you hated it.

Just as he was stepping off the bed, the lab doors hissed open again. One of the clan's seasoned tracking warriors stepped into the room, drenched in mud and breathing heavily.

“Olo'eyktan,” Navem reported, bowing his head to Jake but looking directly at Neteyam. “Word has just come from the western border. Korto... is dead. He was assassinated in the dead of night inside his own camp. They said it was his eldest daughter.”

The warrior glanced at Neteyam. He felt the air completely knocked out of his lungs. He staggered, his knees buckling slightly as he stared at the warrior in absolute, stunned disbelief. His mind reeled, completely torn between two overwhelming realities: the terrifying fact that you had ridden alone into enemy territory in the middle of a storm, and the realization that you had executed a flawless assassination entirely on your own.

Neytiri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

It was Jake who broke the stunned silence, his tactical mind instantly kicking into gear. “Looks like we have a lead,” he said, his voice grim but focused. “Tell the aerial teams to scour every border between here and the plains. We need to get ahold of her before her father's loyalists do.”

Neteyam didn't wait for his father to finish. Ignoring the burning agony in his chest, he bolted out of the biolab. Jake and Neytiri chased after him as he sprinted up the winding pathways toward the ikran roost.

“Neteyam,” Jake called, throwing the comms through the air. Neteyam caught it with his good hand. “Wait for the scouts to give you an update!”

“Thanks, dad,” Neteyam yelled back, his voice raw.

“Come home safely. Both of you...” Neytiri begged from the platform below, her voice cracking.

Neteyam leaped onto his Ikran, his bond snapping into place with frantic urgency.

The flight was a blur of agonizing waiting. Neteyam cursed himself for choosing his Ikran over a direhorse, realizing too late that the thick canopy made it nearly impossible to spot a single figure from the air. For thirty agonizing minutes, he flew in erratic patterns, his heart hammering against his ribs, until the comms clicked to life.

“Neteyam, we have a visual. She’s at the rocky creek near the old boundary. We are moving to secure her—”

“No!” Neteyam barked into the mic, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Do not approach her. Give me the coordinates. I will deal with my wife on my own.”

Receiving the location, he drove his ikran into a steep dive, landing the beast in a clearing a short distance from the water. He threw himself off the saddle, his long strides breaking through the damp ferns as he sprinted toward the sound of rushing water.

And there you were.

You were sitting on a wet stone by the edge of the creek, looking incredibly small, pale, and exhausted. Your eyes were heavily swollen and puffy from a night of what seemed like endless crying. Your old longbow lay on the moss beside you. You were crouched low, scooping cold water into your palms to wash your mouth, when the rustle of leaves caught your attention.

Your eyes snapped up, locking onto his towering figure across the shallow water. You gasped, instinctively flinching and rearing back.

New, hot tears instantly swelled in your eyes as your gaze landed on the thick white bandages wrapping his torso, and the dark red spot of blood seeping through his chest. A wave of profound, crushing shame washed over you. Your father had done that. Your bloodline had brought that violence to his family. It didn't matter that you had killed the monster; the stain of the betrayal felt permanent.

“Don't come near me,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you held up a trembling hand when he stepped straight into the freezing, ankle-deep water, his gaze brazen and unyielding.

“Why?” he asked stubbornly.

“It's just... you shouldn't be with me,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around your own torso as if trying to hold yourself together.

He tilted his head, his expression softening into something intensely possessive. “Too bad. I want to be with you.”

“Neteyam, please,” you cried, shaking your head violently as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. “It is a disgrace! My people are traitors. My father wounded you, he almost took your life! My blood is that of a traitor’s... and I am so scared... I am so terrified that this life inside of me will take after my blood—”

“What?” Neteyam stopped dead in the middle of the creek.

The word hit him like a physical blow. You were rambling, your words pouring out so fast that his head began to spin, a sudden, loud ringing filling his ears. His golden eyes slowly dropped from your face, tracking down the length of your body until they rested on your flat abdomen. He closed his eyes for a single, heavy second, drawing in a long, deep breath through his nose to steady his racing mind.

The gravity of what you had just done crashed over him. You had traveled a distance that should have taken days in a matter of hours. You had risked your life, riding alone into a hostile camp, carrying out a flawless execution under the noses of an entire warrior council. You could have been captured. You could have been killed.

And through all of that terrifying danger, you were carrying his child.

“You are pregnant?” he asked, his voice dropping into a small, breathless whisper as his eyes snapped open again.

“I... I didn't know,” you whimpered, your fingers wrangling together in a fit of nervousness. “I just learned it now. I threw up so much... I don't know, I can feel it...”

“You are pregnant,” he repeated, a massive, overwhelming whoosh of air rushing out of his lips.

That's it. He lunged across the remaining stretch of the shallow creek, his powerful legs churning through the water until he reached your side. Before you could even take another step back, his large, good arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward until your body slammed directly into the solid wall that was his body.

He pulled back just enough to cup your jaw with his fingers, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. It was a deep, fiercely possessive, and desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his relief and love into your lips.

“Baby,” he breathed against your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved. “You are amazing. And you are lethal. You have always been. But I need you to never, ever do something like this again.” He let out a breathless, emotional laugh. “A bullet and an arrow haven't killed me yet, but you doing this might actually finish me off.”

You buried your face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably as the immense weight of the last hours finally collapsed. “I wanted to be there last night,” you wept, your hands carefully gripping his shoulders, mindful of his injury. “I wanted to hold your hand so much... but I needed to catch my father at the very height of what he thought was his victory. I had to end it.”

Neteyam wrapped his arm tighter around you, burying his face into your hair, his own tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I love you,” he mumbled fiercely into your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

You pulled your head back, looking up into his golden eyes, your own twinkling with a mixture of exhaustion and profound love. You pushed up on your tiptoes, capturing his lips again, deepening the kiss as you mumbled, “I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much.”

When the kiss finally broke, Neteyam gently wiped the stray tears from your cheeks. “Do you want to go back home now?”

You nodded instantly, the word home finally feeling absolute.

“Are you... are you mad at my mother?” he asked softly, watching your expression carefully.

You shook your head, a soft, understanding smile touching your lips. “Mad? Why? I understood her anger, and I understood her reaction. She was simply a mother who was terrified of losing her firstborn child. I would have done the same.”

Neteyam’s chest swelled with an intense, overwhelming pride. The sheer capacity of your heart, after everything you had endured, left him entirely awed. He held you tightly against his good side as he guided you back toward his ikran. Your direhorse was left to be brought back by the Omatikaya warriors who had been tracking you from a distance.

When the ikran finally landed on the high platforms of Hometree, Jake, Neytiri, and Tuk were already waiting at the roost.

The moment the beast settled, Neytiri stepped forward, her face tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she prepared to offer a formal, deeply humbled apology to you, but Neteyam didn't give her the chance. The moment he dismounted, his large frame moved directly in front of you, shielding your body from his family's view.

“I need to take her straight to Mo'at,” he announced, his voice firm, carrying the absolute authority of a mate protecting his own. “She needs to be checked immediately. Especially given her... sensitive case right now.”

Tuk tilted her head, her big eyes darting around Neteyam’s torso to look at you. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

You smiled warmly, stepping out from behind your husband's protective shoulder to look down at the little girl. “I am okay, Tuk. And I have some very great news for a brave warrior who guarded her brother so well.”

The family followed in a quiet, tense procession as Neteyam led you straight to the quiet upper tiers where Mo'at sat by the hearth. She didn't even need to touch you. The moment her wise eyes landed on your posture, and the subtle, protective way Neteyam’s hand was resting against the small of your back, a knowing, radiant smile broke across her weathered face.

“You are here to confirm a pregnancy? I had been waiting to be asked for moons.”

Tuk instantly let out a joyous shriek, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “A playmate! I knew it!” she cheered, her laughter echoing through the quiet pavilion.

But while Tuk celebrated, the confirmation only made Neytiri’s chest tighten with a deeper, agonizing wave of guilt. She realized that your ride into danger had been undertaken at such a vulnerable state. Later that evening, as the stars began to blanket the skies, Neytiri found you sitting alone on the edge of the healing platform. She approached silently, her ears pressed back in true humility.

“Y/N,” Neytiri began, her powerful voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. “I have no words to excuse my behavior. I allowed my fear for my son to blind me and I am... deeply sorry for the pain I caused you.”

Your expression was entirely peaceful as you reached out, placing your hand over hers. “There is nothing to apologize for, Neytiri. We both had the exact same interest at heart. His safety amd protection. You reacted out of love for your son, and I reacted out of love for my husband. If I were in your position, I would have done far worse.”

Neytiri stared at you for a long moment, a profound respect cementing between the two of you as she squeezed your hand in return. “I have no doubt, daughter. I have no doubt.”

The rest of your pregnancy was a beautiful journey. Your bond with Neytiri had grown deeper as moons passed by, replacing the cold, rigid relationship you had with your mother. Although, there were times you missed her, there was no one in that clan you still wanted to see except for Tarluk.

The last of Neteyam’s intelligence reports regarding Tarluk said that he had escaped after your father’s assassination and the short period of anarchy that followed it. Neteyam assured you that he had sent word to allied clans to give him notice should a lone man wander near their borders.

You had refused to stress yourself further as your pregnancy progressed though. Not when Neteyam has became utterly insufferable in his doting. He refused to let you carry anything heavier than a piece of fruit and  followed you to every single healing lesson with Mo'at.

“You are leaning too far forward,” Neteyam murmured, his deep baritone vibrating right against your ear. His large hand reached around your waist, gently but firmly pulling your torso back against his solid chest. “Mo'at said you need to keep your spine straight so the weight doesn't strain your lower back.”

You let out a soft huff, a small smile tugging at your lips even as you tried to maintain your serious expression. “Neteyam, I am grinding roots, not fighting an ikran. My spine is perfectly fine.”

“I am just making sure,” he replied smoothly, completely unbothered by your teasing. He took the heavy stone pestle right out of your fingers. “Here. Let me do the heavy grinding. You shouldn't be straining your wrists.”

And he did not miss an evening without pressing his face against your growing belly, whispering long stories to the life moving inside you.

“Pea is quiet tonight,“ he whispered, his voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he used with the hunters. He flattened his large palm over your skin, his eyes closing as he felt the steady, rhythmic pulse of the life inside you.

“This little seed was kicking all afternoon while you were at the border,”  you murmured, your fingers gently tangling into the dark braids at the nape of his neck. “I think Pea misses the sound of your voice.”

Neteyam’s lips tilted into a proud, boyish smile against your skin. He nuzzled his nose against your stomach, clearing his throat quietly.

“Listen closely, little one,” he began, speaking directly to your belly. “Today, Papa flew high into the floating mountains. The wind was fierce, the kind that tries to steal your breath. I brought with me Mama’s longbow, and when you are big enough, I am going to show you the clearing where your mother showed me how fiercely she can shoot. She struck the farthest target dead in the center, the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.”

You felt a sudden, familiar flutter beneath his palm. A distinct, sharp little thump from the inside.

Neteyam’s eyes snapped open, his golden gaze lighting up with absolute, pure wonder. “Did you feel that? Pea heard me."

“As always,“ you whispered, your heart aching with a love so profound it felt heavy.

He leaned up, shifting his weight so he was hovering over you, his eyes dark with an intense, unyielding adoration. He pressed his lips to yours, a slow, deeply reassuring kiss that tasted of the sweet fruit you had shared earlier.

“You are everything,” he murmured against your mouth, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. “Both of you.”

When your labor finally arrived several moons later, he had completely lost his cool. He was so frantic, so entirely out of his element, pacing the pavilion and checking your vitals every two seconds, that Mo'at and Kiri eventually had to physically shove him out of the tent because his chaotic energy was stressing you out more than the contractions.

But when the final moments came, he was right there beside you. He held your hand with a trembling grip, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute reverence as you gave one final, powerful push.

A sharp, clear cry echoed through the kelku, cutting through the warm night air.

Mo'at smiled, carefully lifting the tiny, squirming bundle and wiping her down before placing her directly onto your chest. Neteyam leaned over you, his hot tears spilling onto your shoulder as he looked down at his newborn daughter. She was perfectly made, a beautiful little girl with your delicate features, but he can see how she got his defined stripes.

With a chorus of breathless giggles and stomping feet, Lo’ak and Kiri came bursting through the kelku, colliding with the space, bringing the chaotic, wild energy of the rainforest inside with them. Behind them tumbled Spider, his smaller human frame practically skidding across the smooth wood before he unceremoniously dumped himself onto a pile of sleeping mats, making himself comfortable as if he owned the place.

Neteyam’s head were immediately up the moment they bounded into the hut, a habit natural to an older brother with siblings who always get into trouble. He drew the whetstone down the edge of the obsidian one last time before he fully gave the bunch his attention, but as he did,  his gaze caught on something, or someone, standing just at the entryway, framed by the morning light filtering through the giant branches of Hometree.

You looked hesitant, just hovering at the entrace, looking entirely awkward as you swift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands nervously tucked behind your back. Yet, to a twelve-year-old boy who had spent the last two years looking only at targets and hunting trails, you were unexpectedly, captivatingly breathtaking.

Neteyam’s hand froze on his arrow.

He had never seen you around. He reasoned, with a sudden and strange analytical focus, that you must live in the higher branches, among the families that don’t have a single warrior in them, and thus needed the protection of height. You were from the quiet parts of the clan. And because Neteyam had traded his childhood games for training drills, your paths had simply never crossed.

Until now.

Spider, sprawling out on the mats, raised a hand lazily toward the entrance. “Come inside, Y/N! It’s just Neteyam,” he said in passing, his voice cracking slightly with age. But Spider didn't care to elaborate, or to even properly introduce the two of you, because he was already turning his head toward Kiri, who was aggressively digging through a woven basket. “Did you check behind the sleeping furs?”

Neteyam’s mind repeated the syllables of your name. The name felt light, it sounded like bells... And it suits your face well. His eyes locked onto you, tracing the way a few stray leaves were bounded into your slightly messy, tangled hair. You had clearly been running through the brush, wild and unbothered by the state of your hair.

An unfamiliar prickle of annoyance flared deep in Neteyam’s chest. He didn't like how his chest felt. He didn't like how his eyes refused to move away from you, glued to the soft curve of your jaw and the nervous way your eyes are looking anywhere but him. He was a warrior in training; he was supposed to be hyper-aware of his surroundings, yet right now, the entire world had shrunk to the perimeter of the doorway where you stood. He felt a sudden, fierce need to know what was going on, to regain control of his own senses, but he couldn't even bring himself to look at his siblings to demand answers.

“What’s going on?” Neteyam asked aloud. His voice was transitioning, cracking slightly but holding the firm, steady cadence he practiced to sound like his father.

As he spoke, he forcibly turned his head toward the alcove where Kiri and Lo’ak were currently tossing mats around. But even as his head turned, his eyes lagged behind, stubbornly remaining on you for a second longer.

And because he spoke, you finally looked in his direction.

Your gaze widened slightly, startled by the intense, unblinking focus of the boy in front of you. To you, it felt like an interrogation. Because he had been looking directly at you when the words left his mouth, you felt the sudden heat of his attention, even as he hastily looked away toward his siblings.

“We're going to the river!” Lo’ak announced loudly, emerging from a pile of tapestries with a triumphant grin. In his hand, he brandished a pair of old, scratched human goggles. “We decided to swim, and I told Y/N she has to try the goggles. It makes things way clearer underwater. You can see the fish before they bite your toes.”

“And we found them! Let's go, let's go, she hasn't seen the deep pools yet!” Kiri cheered, already darting past you out into the branches.

Lo’ak didn't wait either. He grabbed Spider by the arm, dragging the boy up, and the three of them rushed back out of the kelku in a whirlwind of laughter. You gave Neteyam one last, lingering, bewildered look before turning on your heel to sprint after them.

Neteyam didn't think. He dropped the whetstone. The arrow clattered against the floor as he stood up, drawn to the edge of the platform by a magnetic pull he couldn't comprehend.

He stepped out onto the wide branch of the kelku, his hand gripping the guide rope tightly as his eyes tracked the group. You are all moving fast, navigating the massive, winding branches of the Hometree with the ease of children who spent their days laughing.

But Neteyam’s eyes only tracked one person.

He watched as you suddenly accelerated, a wild, unbridled smile breaking across your face. With a burst of chaotic energy that rivaled Lo'ak's, you threw your weight forward, bodyslamming into Lo’ak’s shoulder just enough to knock him off balance. He let out a dramatic yell as you used the momentum to leap, catching a dangling vine and swinging yourself over a gap in the branches, sticking the landing perfectly and leaving Lo'ak eating your dust.

“See that dust? Eat it!” your voice chimed and Neteyam tilted his head.

Look at that, he thought. You were so shy earlier, and now, your laughter is  echoing back up through the trees, bright and untamed.

Standing high above, his brows furrowed deeply. A strange, tight sensation bloomed in his chest, hot and demanding. He looked down at his calloused hands, hands that were being trained to hold a heavy bow, to kill, to lead.

For the first time in two years, as he watched you disappear into the green expanse of the jungle, Neteyam didn't want to be a warrior. Suddenly, desperately, he just wanted to play. The feeling felt foreign, yet it pulled at him too hard that he ended up turning back inside to rush through the final inspection of his arrows with uncharacteristic speed. He shoved them into his quiver, dropped his whetstone, and practically bounded down the massive, spiraling branches of Hometree. For the first time in years, he wasn't running toward the training ground or a hunting lesson. He was running toward the sound of laughter.

He almost made it.

“Neteyam.”

The melodious voice of his mother followed him as he ran and Neteyam skidded to a halt on a wide moss-covered branch, his tail twitching in sudden disappointment, knowing the fun would have to wait. Neytiri stepped out from a shaded walkway, her eyes assessing his hurried stance.

“Get Lo’ak and Kiri. Mo’at requires them for the midday ritual. Do not let Lo'ak wander off,” Neytiri ordered, her hand gently patting Neteyam’s head.

His shoulders slowly sank, the warrior's mask locking back over his features. “Yes, Mother.”

By the time he tracked them down to the shallow banks of the river, the fun was in full swing. The water was crystalline, kicking up sparkling droplets as Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider splashed each other. You were right in the center of it, Jake’s old, scratched human goggles pushed up onto your forehead, your face lit up with a brilliant, breathless grin that made him sigh.

Neteyam stepped out onto a low-hanging root over the water, his hands on his waist. He hated the role he had to play. He hated being the one who always brought the shadow of responsibility over their sunlit days.

“Guys,” he called out, his voice carrying the firm weight of an elder brother. “Mother said we have to go back. Tsahik is waiting for the ritual.”

A collective groan echoed from the water. Lo’ak threw his arms up, splashing the surface in frustration. “Are you serious, Neteyam? We just got here!” Kiri rolled her eyes, muttering something about how he was always ruining things.

Usually, Neteyam wouldn't give a damn about their complaints. Duty was duty. But then his eyes shifted to you.

Your brilliant smile vanished. Your lips pulled down into a small, disappointed pout, and a soft, genuine aww slipped from your mouth. In an instant, Neteyam felt about two feet tall. A hot wave of embarrassment and fierce regret rushed down his neck that he actually found his shoulders hunching slightly under your gaze, desperately wishing he hadn't been the one to snuff out that wild spark in your eyes.

“Look,” Neteyam cleared his throat, offering an uncharacteristic concession. “I can give you half an hour more. I'll tell Mother I had trouble finding you.”

Lo’ak stopped his splashing, glaring up at him with a deep frown. “You're being weirdly lenient today, bro, but it's annoying to play when you know you have an ultimatum ticking down. Let's just go.”

The walk back to Hometree was a somber affair. Lo’ak and Kiri marched ahead, still dripping wet and grumbling under their breath. Because they were unified in their annoyance, Kiri suddenly draped a comforting arm around your shoulders, and Lo’ak did the same from your other side, pulling you into their tight-knit circle of rebellion.

Spider walked right alongside them, jumping to wrap an arm on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Wow, thanks guys! Leave the alien out, it's fine!”

Neteyam walked a few paces behind the group, watching all of you tightly grouped together. Talk about it... he thought bitterly to himself, his ears pressing flat against his hair. Spider felt left out for mere seconds, while he was literally outside the circle. He was the guard, the soldier walking behind the captives, totally isolated from the warmth of the friendship you shared with his siblings.

And then, for some reason, you looked back.

It was just a quick glance over your shoulder like you were checking on him. Your wide eyes locked onto his solemn face, as if you suddenly remembered there was a quiet, looming presence trailing behind the group. The moment your eyes met his, you flustered and immediately snapped your head back around, staring straight ahead. But that tiny, fleeting acknowledgment broke the ice in Neteyam’s chest. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You knew he was there.

He didn’t know then, but he will eventually understood that this day would make him understand what his father meant about love at first sight.

Years bled into one another. Over time, you became a permanent fixture in the Sully kelku, as natural and expected as Spider. You were the sister Kiri never knew she needed, and Lo’ak’s closest confidante. And while Neteyam was off becoming a prodigy of the hunt, he always knew when you were around. He’s somehow always home when you’re hanging out with his siblings, despite the grueling demands of being an aspiring warrior.

You had grown into your own path, too. No one in your family was a fearsome warrior or a great weaver, but you had found your purpose in the rhythm of the clan's ceremonies, aspiring to be one of the dancers.

Today would be your first ever ceremony, but you don’t feel as excited as you thought you would have been in this situation. Today was the unilatron, the Dream Hunt for several aspiring young warriors, including Neteyam. The central communal area was a beautiful mess of energy, pulsing with drums and the chatter of nervous families. Dancers were weaving through the crowds, hands stained with ceremonial dyes.

You were adjusting the woven band of your iridescent arm wings when a tall shadow fell over you. You turned, expecting Lo’ak to steal your prop feathers, but instead, you froze at the sight of Neteyam. He had grown staggeringly tall over the past few years, his shoulders broad and corded with lean muscle, his skin bearing the faint, proud scars of his trainings.

He already looked like an accomplished warrior, a man, in your clan’s sgandards. And looking up at him, you suddenly felt like that awkward ten-year-old kid in the doorway again.

You had grown closer over the years, sure. You talked when you were both stranded in the kelku by heavy rains, or when Kiri forced everyone to sit together. But you still couldn't shake the deep shyness that hits you whenever he looked at you. Half the girls in the higher branches spent their days begging you to introduce them to him, but how could you tell them that you barely knew how to look him in the eye yourself?

In his large, calloused hands, he held a small wooden bowl filled with thick white paint.

“Sorry to bother,” Neteyam mumbled, his voice deep, vibrating in a way that made your skin prickle. He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I just need—”

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, and accepted the bowl from him with a quick smile. “Sure,” you agreed easily.

You tried to ignore the fact that his golden eyes were suddenly darting anywhere but at your face. He was usually so poised, so perfectly calm, but right now, his ears were twitching nervously.

“You... you’re part of the performances?” he asked, his voice stammering slightly as your fingers dipped into the smooth paint.

As you stepped closer, closing the gap between you, you reached up and let your fingertips glide across his collarbone, leaving a bright white streak behind. Neteyam’s breath hitched. He tried so hard not to stammer, trying to keep his chest from heaving, but the sensation of your soft fingers tracing patterns across his warm skin felt like raw electricity.

“Yes, I’m included this time,” you boasted, trying to distract yourself from the closeness. You chuckled, shaking your head. “I would have debuted in the festival last great moon, but I got injured.” You added, and then you paused, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “Sorry. That sounded like one of Lo’ak’s excuses.”

You laughed, but as you kept your eyes trained on his chest, mapping out the ritual lines, you didn't notice how his smile suddenly faded.

Neteyam’s jaw tightened slightly. It was always like this. Whenever you two spoke, whenever you were alone, the ghosts of Kiri and Lo’ak were dragged into the space between you. He didn't know why, but lately, hearing his brother's name fly so easily from your lips was starting to get on his nerves. He wanted you to look at him. Just him.

“Now... your face,” you said casually, wiping your hands on a leaf before dipping two fingers back into the bowl.

Neteyam didn't say a word. He simply lowered his head, bending his knees slightly so you wouldn't have to strain to reach him.

The shift in proximity was sudden and overwhelming. Now, you were almost face-to-face. You could feel the soft whisper of his breath against your skin, and you could smell the mint herbs that always clung to him. A sudden rush of heat flooded your cheeks that your fingers trembled slightly as you began to paint the intricate, swirling lines across his cheekbones.

You were doing fine, holding your breath, until your fingers glided gently down the curve of his nose, brushing close to his lips. At the exact second your fingers glided on his lips, your eyes snapped up to his and your eyes locked.

The intensity in his gaze made your heart leap straight into your throat. The drums around the clearing seemed to fade into a distant, muffled thumping, completely drowned out by the roar of blood in your ears.

“G-Good luck,” you stammered, quickly smirking to cover up the sudden crack in your voice. “Try not to die.”

Neteyam huffed a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wow, thanks. For you, I’ll think about that.”

“Seriously...” you murmured, your playful facade slipping away as you narrowed your eyes at him in genuine concern.

The unilatron was terrifying. It was a deadly rite of passage, even for grown men, involving venom, vivid hallucinations, and spiritual trials that some never woke up from. Neteyam was the youngest among all the aspirants this year, even with the council delaying his schedule too many times because he was too young for the venom, he was still so young right now.

Seeing the real, raw worry in your eyes, Neteyam’s expression softened. The tension in his shoulders melted away. “Serious. I’ll come out alive,” he mumbled softly.

He reached out, his large, warm hand gently gripping your forearm. He gave it a slow, reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing against your skin. It was a gesture meant to comfort, but it felt so heavy, so deeply intimate and private amidst the busy crowd, that your cheeks burned all over again. You ended up just nodding, praying he couldn't hear the frantic drumming of your heart.

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

“Bro, I saw that!” Spider smacked your hand away when you made a cheating move when you he wasn’t looking.

You bursted into a booming laughter, putting your piece back on its original place. “If you’d just pay full attention instead of looking at Kiri...”

Kiri groaned. “What?!” she bayed. “That’s it! I’m quitting, I’m getting us some food!”

You watched her stand up, her tail swaying calmly despite her outburst. Spider followed closely behind her, as per usual. The years that had rolled by had treated you all kindly, shedding the remnants of awkward lankiness in favor of firm, lean frames.

You sat cross-legged on a woven mat, meticulously arranging the wooden carved tokens on the board. Your hangouts are not as frequent now as it was before, with Kiri being occupied with the heavy responsibilities of her training as a Tsakarem and Spider glued to her side.

Beside you, Lo’ak sighed for the nth time since he sat down to play. He was uncharacteristically silent, staring at the game board with a heavy, distant frown. Your brows furrowed, your elbow pushing Lo’ak’s propped arm off his knee, causing him to lose hold of his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, your head angling a little and saw him rolling his eyes.

“Nothing,” he muttered, his tail flicking defensively as he knocked over a wooden token with his finger.

“Said by the Olo’eyktan of Nofun clan,” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You haven’t made a single smart-ass comment in twenty minutes. It’s creepy.”

Lo’ak let out a long, defeated sigh, his broad shoulders slouching. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes filled with a raw, brewing frustration. “I overheard some of the hunters near the lower pens today,” he murmured, his voice tight. “They were talking... Comparing my tracking drills to Neteyam’s. Saying I’m still struggling to master maneuvers that Neteyam could do asleep when he was ten.”

You sighed, feeling a surge of deep sympathy for him. You knew exactly how heavy that comparison weighed on him. Lo’ak was sixteen, and the fact that he hadn't earned his cummerbund yet was a constant source of gossip among the council and the older warriors. It meant Lo’ak, even at his more matured age, had no match to a younger Neteyam who passed his iknimaya and unilatron with flying colors.

What made it so much worse, and so much harder for Lo’ak to process, was that Neteyam wasn't an arrogant bloke who rubbed his success in his brother's face. In fact, Neteyam was maddeningly kind. He routinely covered for Lo’ak’s mishaps, taking the blame or smoothing things over before Jake could even find out. Neteyam was a shield for his brother, too understanding and graceful, which only made Lo’ak feel smaller. He couldn’t even hate his brother for being perfect.

“Well... for what it's worth, I think they are all losing their minds for expecting you to be just like him,” you said firmly, picking up a fallen game piece. “Or even half of him. I mean, let’s be real, that man trains like he knows the demons are going to drop from the sky tomorrow. No one can measure up to him, and they know that.”

You pursed your lips when you saw Lo’ak look as if you had rubbed salt to the wound.

“I mean... if you want to at least be half of him, you should probably start training more,” you nudged his foot with yours, offering a soft, teasing smile. “At the moment, you have more fun than the literal toddlers in this clan. That’s something Neteyam had to entirely give up at an early age to get to where he is now. That’s exactly why he’s... well, no fun and ever so serious!” you whispered the last part conspiratorially, casting a playful glance toward the empty entrance.

A genuine crack of laughter broke through Lo’ak’s somber expression. He shook his head, the tension leaving his jaw. “Yeah. I suppose I need to train better.”

You shrugged, a fond smile breaking across your face. “Yeah. So you can finally go through your unilatron without your mother worrying whether you’ll survive the venom or just die.”

“Hey, I’d survive,” Lo’ak protested, rolling his eyes even though a bit of his usual bravado had returned. Then, his smile softened into something deeply grateful. He looked at you, leaning back on his hands. “I guess it's alright, too, that I’m not as good as him. At least there’s something I have that he doesn’t.”

“Which is a sense of fun,” you chuckled.

“No, you, skxawng,” he clarified. “Think about it. Ninety-nine percent of the young girls in this clan have a massive, pathetic crush on him. He is their perfect, mighty, can-do-no-wrong handsome prince. Every time he walks past the weaving circles, they practically trip over their own looms. And you belong in the glorious one percent who don’t give a damn about him. Thankfully.”

Your fingers, which had been manipulating a carved wooden token on the board, faltered. You quickly looked away with a nervous laugh, staring intently at the game as a sudden, traitorous image flashed in your mind. Neteyam, his intense golden eyes locking onto yours. You didn’t even know when that memory happened.

As Lo’ak’s partner-in-crime, you’ve always found Neteyam’s eyes on you. You knew that it was because he needed to make sure that you two are behaving the way you should so he wouldn’t have any trouble to cover up for... But he had only grown more devastatingly handsome as years passed by, possessing a quiet, mysterious depth that made your heart do backflips whenever he chanced to look your way.

“Right...” you laughed nervously, your voice tight as you forced a casual shrug. “But I think your brother wouldn't want to have me anyhow, so that’s not a very good consolation prize for you. You should still train. Seriously.”

Before Lo’ak could question your sudden blush, the woven curtain rustled. Kiri and Spider are back, carrying a wooden platter laden with dried fruit and sweet roots. Just in time, the main entrance of the kelku darkened and your eyes snapped upward. Your heart practically leaped straight into your throat when you saw Neteyam step inside.

He unslung his heavy bow, placing it meticulously in the weapon rack. He was breathtaking. He had the sharp, striking features of his mother and the towering, commanding presence of his father. He was already a man grown, a skilled warrior, yet he carried an air of quiet mystery that made him entirely captivating. And the absolute worst part? His golden eyes were already fixed directly on you the moment he crossed the threshold.

You felt the 99% of the clan's girls entirely in that single, breathless second. You get them. You sighed. So sorry, Lo’ak...

You bit your lip, smoothly tearing your eyes away as you felt your cheeks burn. He let a soft huff of breath through his nose when you looked away, feeling disappointed that you had to break the contact. You knew none of it, but the space in his chest had long since ceased to belong to the hunt because his quiet attraction had only deepened into something consuming, something permanent, as the years bled by.

He had never spoken of it, bound by his duties and his own fierce restraint, but his heart had stubbornly molded itself to the exact shape of you. To him, the girls in the weaving circles or the training grounds didn't exist. There was only the girl who would body-slam his brother for the the piece of pie... The girl whose laugh sounded like the wild wind.

“Neteyam!” Kiri greeted, setting the food down. “You’re just in time. Come sit, join the game. Lo’ak is actually losing for once.”

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on your face, tracking the faint, lingering flush on your cheeks before he nodded. “I will,” he said, his deep voice sending a familiar prickle of electricity down your spine. He gestured vaguely toward the back of the hut. “Just wait a moment. I need to wash the trail dust off.”

“Bro, it’s just us! Who cares if you’re dusty. Your fan club isn’t here!” Spider’s bellow followed after him.

“Neteyam doesn’t care about the girls who like him,” Lo’ak pointed out.

Spider blew air out of his pursed lips, sending it vibrating. “Right. So, why is he always washing up for whatever whenever we’re here. Trust me, he’ll come back smelling so good—”

“Stop it, you two!” Kiri said and your eyes snapped up to look at her, seeing her purse her lip just as she was looking away from you.

Neteyam did come back, smelling like a mix of strong mint and faint floral. Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak when Neteyam plopped down beside you, the haired tip of his tail curling dangerously close to your thighs, tickling you a little. Your breath hitched a little and Neteyam, too aware of you, immediately pulled his tail away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and you nodded without looking at him.

Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak again, but everything happened too fast at once that it all flew over his head. Meanwhile, you were staring down at the board, your mind a complete blur, completely unaware that the boy beside was currently taking a deep breath of his own, his heart hammering against his ribs just from being near you.

One moon bled into the next, and before any of you could truly grasp how fast the seasons were turning, more than a year had swept through Hometree.

Time really had a way of bringing change and a proof of it was currently taking place at the center of the communal grounds. Lo’ak had finally, fortunately, survived his unilatron. He was a warrior of the clan now, a man recognized under the eyes of Eywa, and the entire clan was pulsing with a fierce celebration.

Wrapped in shimmering, iridescent feathers mimicking the majestic span of a beautiful ikran, you were right in the heart of the performance, spending the evening leaping, spinning, and losing yourself to the booming rhythm of the drums. But the moment the ceremonial fires settled into embers, you broke away from the dancers to join the familiar circle of your friends.

You slid onto a woven mat beside Kiri and Spider, but the scene unfolding before you immediately made your brows furrow.

Because it was Lo’ak’s day, Neteyam, in a rare, uncharacteristic display of brotherly indulgence, had actually agreed to a competition. A match to see who could drink more of the heavy, fermented brew and hold their alcohol better.

By the time you sat down, the damage was already done. Neteyam looked incredibly flushed, his skin carrying a dark, warm violet tint beneath his lingering paint. His jaw was clenched, his broad shoulders tense as he forced himself to down another small wooden shot-glass, looking like a man marching into a battle he was drastically losing. Lo’ak, on the other hand, just grinned, looking completely at ease. You knew for a fact that Lo’ak could handle his alcohol remarkably well from his secret late-night escapades with the lower-branch boys, while Neteyam was someone who practically never drank for fun.

When Lo'ak reached for the pitcher to pour another round, you finally had enough. You slammed your hand over the wooden cup in front of Neteyam, effectively intervening.

“That's enough,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the chaos.

The moment you intervened, Neteyam nodded completely, not even speaking to argue. But as he tried to shift his weight away from the drink, his heavy torso swayed violently, his balance entirely lost. He could barely keep himself upright. With a startled breath, you quickly slid closer, letting him lean heavily against your side, your shoulder and arm propping up his massive, muscular frame.

You snapped your head up, glaring across the mat. “What would your mother say if she saw Neteyam like this, Lo'ak?” you scolded sharply.

Lo’ak lazily waved a hand, his grin splitting wide. “It's not always Neteyam gets in trouble, so don't worry, he won't be scolded. We're all celebrating anyway!" He leaned across the table, pointing a proud finger at his older brother. "Besides, I just learned that there's something I’m better than Neteyam at!”

“Yeah, and it's in drinking, which is literally the most annoying vice anyone could ever have,” you hissed back at him, tightening your grip around Neteyam’s arm as he let out a soft, heavy groan against your temple.

“Oh, come on, bro,” Lo’ak snorted, rolling his eyes. “I know your dad’s a drunk, but a competition like this won’t make us drunks.”

The atmosphere instantly cooled. Spider’s jaw dropped, and he aggressively smacked Lo’ak’s arm. “Lo’ak,” Spider warned, his voice low and sharp. “Skxawng.”

“That’s enough, Lo’ak. Don’t be stupid,” Kiri followed, her eyes narrowing into a dangerous, protective glare.

Lo’ak’s cocky grin vanished as the weight of his own words hit him. He looked at your tensed shoulders, his eyes softening with immediate regret. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly small. “Seriously, Y/N. I didn't mean it like that.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a breath as you kept your focus on the heavy warrior leaning against you. “I wasn't offended. It’s true anyway,” you said quietly. “I’m bringing Neteyam back to your hut.”

Kiri nodded immediately, her expression shifting to one of deep sympathy. “I’ll go with you.”

Getting Neteyam out of the celebration grounds was a feat in itself. Surprisingly, he could still walk, though it was an incredibly zigzaggy, clumsy endeavor. You and Kiri each held one of his large arms, steering him through the winding, illuminated paths of Hometree.

Along the way, the alcohol seemed to unlock a completely hidden side of Neteyam. He began to yap about the most ridiculous things, slurring out complaints about a stubborn direhorse that wouldn't cooperate during his hunt, and how the younger hunters didn't coil their ropes correctly. It was so entirely petty and unlike his perfect persona that you couldn't help but burst into a soft laughter.

As your laughter echoed through the quiet walkway, Neteyam’s slurred rambling tripped to a sudden halt. He stopped walking, forcing you and Kiri to stop with him. With heavily drooped eyes, he pointed a shaking, clumsy finger toward the distance, where the nearby bioluminescent river could be seen like a ribbon of liquid starlight.

“That... that looks so beautiful,” he slurred in a thick, gibberish tone, his head lolling to the side, his glassy eyes zeroing in on you. "It’s... it’s just like you."

Your heart gave a violent, sudden thud. You quickly looked away, your cheeks instantly bursting into a furious heat. He is completely wasted, you reasoned frantically, refusing to let yourself believe he actually meant you.

But as you kept walking, a sharp, bitter prick of annoyance bloomed in your chest. You thought about the sheer possibility of him having that smooth side in him. Did he say unprompted, poetic lines like that to the pretty huntresses in the training grounds when no one was looking? The sudden, burning wave of jealousy was so intense that you felt a wild urge to just push him right off the branch.

When you finally reached their family kelku, the hut was entirely dark and empty, the rest of the family still down at the feast. Kiri quietly led the way to the back, pulling open the woven curtain of Neteyam’s sleeping alcove. The space immediately enveloped you, smelling richly of the distinct, comforting scent of him.

Together, you and Kiri guided him down onto his soft sleeping mat where he plopped down heavily, entirely deadweight, a stupid, lazy laugh bubbling out of his chest as he hit the furs.

Kiri quietly moved across the alcove, lighting a hanging firepot to cast a warm, flickering amber glow over the room. She returned with a small wooden bowl of water and a soft, woven cloth, handing it to you. “Help me wipe his war paint off before it stains the bedding.”

You nodded, kneeling beside Neteyam. As you dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out, Neteyam blinked heavily, his eyes struggling to focus against the firelight. Slowly, his gaze zeroed in on your form. For a while, he was just blinking.

And then you saw his pupils dilate significantly the moment he realized it was you. Before you could even press the damp cloth to his skin, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist.

“Hi...” he slurred, a slow, incredibly lazy smile spreading across his lips.

You blinked a few times, your breath catching in your throat as you found yourself completely distracted by how breathtakingly handsome he looked in the dim light. “Uh... hello?” you hesitated, your voice a breathless whisper.

Neteyam’s golden eyes widened just a fraction, a spark of pure awe cutting through his drunken haze. “And she speaks...” his smile stretched into a genuine, radiant grin. He let go of your wrist, his hand traveling upward, his thick fingers clumsily reaching out to touch the iridescent feathers woven into your hair. “Damn, it’s so real.”

You looked up at Kiri in confusion, and her head tilted to the side as she hid a stifled a smile.

“Well... I am real,” you muttered back to him, turning your attention back to his face.

“Yeah, right. Could have fooled me,” Neteyam murmured, rolling his eyes away, muttering about some ‘then why isn’t she talking about Lo’ak, Lo’ak, Lo’ak now?’

Your head tilted. “What?“ you mumbled and you saw him roll his eyes again, moving his face away in a sulking act. “Neteyam...” you called softly, bringing the cool, damp cloth to his cheek.

His face snapped right back to you, his gaze back on your face, anchoring himself to your touch. “A year ago...” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying a sudden, raw gravity that didn't sound drunken at all. He reached up, his finger gently curling around a stray strand of your dark hair, twirling it softly. “You said... you said that you don't think I'd want to have you anyhow...”

Your hand froze against his cheek, your lungs completely locked as your widened eyes stare at him. He heard that...

“And you couldn't have been more wrong,” Neteyam murmured, his voice dropping into a soulful, intense register as his golden eyes burned into yours. “Because I want you...” He closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing it like he was wishing for something. “Fuck, I want to have you. Will you let me have you? I promise... I promise I will take care of you. So good...”

He let out a soft, breathless huff, his lazy smile returning as his strong, heavy arm suddenly snaked around your waist. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he pulled you closer to, his eyes drooping heavily under the weight of the alcohol.

“I’ve never wanted anything in my life... as much as I wanted you, Y/N...” he mumbled against your hair.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with absolute shock, your entire body trembling as his uttered your name. Behind him, Kiri looked completely flabbergasted, her jaw slightly slack as she witnessed her stoic, fiercely guarded older brother completely unraveling his soul.

Neteyam closed his eyes for a few minutes, his breathing heavy as you forced your trembling hands to finish wiping the paint from his face. But just when you thought he had passed out, his eyelids peeled open again, staring up at you through the dim firelight.

“You are so beautiful...” he murmured with that same stupid smile. He let out a contented sigh, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction as sleep finally claimed him. “I’ll pray to the Great Mother...” he slurred. “I mean... I prayed. So she might just give... To me... If I begged her right...”

A few moments later, his arm went entirely limp, and his deep, even breathing filled the quiet alcove.

You sat frozen on the mat, the damp cloth clutched tightly in your fist. You didn't know what to think. Your heart was pounding so violently against your ribs that your chest physically ached, and your face was burning with a fierce, suffocating flush. You wanted to cry. You desperately wanted to believe he was just talking out of his mind because of the brew... but his eyes had been so sincere. So deeply truthful. It felt as though he had been holding that heavy, consuming confession inside of his chest for far too many years, and the seal had finally broken.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at his sister.

Kiri was staring at her sleeping brother, and then her wide, stunned eyes slowly shifted to you.

“What...” she whispered. “What just happened?”

“He is out of his mind,” you choked out, your voice trembling as you frantically pulled your hand back, though your cheeks were still burning a furious, violent crimson. “He’s completely wasted. He probably thinks I’m a tree sprite or a... an I don’t know. He’s just bullshitting because of the brew.”

Kiri narrowed her eyes, completely unconvinced. She crossed her arms, her head tilting with that sharp, analytical look she inherited from their mother. “Girl, he literally said your name. He didn't say oh, pretty tree sprite. He said your name.”

“Probably because I am sitting right in front of him!” you argued, your voice rising in a panicked hiss before you quickly clamped a hand over your own mouth, glancing down at Neteyam’s rising and falling chest. “He opened his eyes, saw my face, and his brain just grabbed the nearest name it recognized. You know how he is. He’s always tracking us to make sure we don't break our necks. My name is probably permanently etched into his subconscious as a hazard.”

Kiri stared at you for a long, quiet moment. The hanging firepot cast dancing shadows across her face. She wasn't fooled for a second, but seeing the genuine, absolute panic radiating from your posture, she sighed and let her shoulders drop. “Fine. If that is what you need to tell yourself to sleep tonight.”

You didn't stay long after that. You hurriedly finished wiping the last traces of the blue and yellow paint from his jaw, refusing to look at his lips again, and practically fled the Sully kelku.

The walk back to your own family’s hut was a blur. The jungle was alive with its usual nocturnal symphony, but all you could hear was the deep, soulful register of Neteyam’s voice echoing in your ears: “Because I want you... Fuck, I want to have you.”

In the dark safety of your family’s hut, staring up at the thatched ceiling, your mind spun in vicious circles. You tried so hard to dismiss it, but as you lay there, you started to remember things. The way his eyes always seemed to find yours across a crowded pavilion. The way he would suddenly appear to help you carry heavy bundles of river reeds, only to leave without a word once the task was done.

The way he listens to you and does all your requests faster than a leaf could land when it falls, or whenever he relents to whatever trouble Lo’ak is planning to do once you start pouting about it. The way he had held your arm so tightly during his unilatron preparation. You groaned. How could you have been so blind?

You understood. Or, at least, you thought you did. Your heart ached with a terrifying, sweet realization. You liked Neteyam. Of course you did. He was the golden heir of the Omatikaya. Strong, fiercely loyal, and devastatingly handsome. But what did he mean by all of it? What were you supposed to do with a confession whispered in the dark by a boy drowned in alcohol?

The answer, it turned out, was to run.

In the days that followed, you became an expert at avoiding him. It wasn't entirely difficult; he had duties with the scouts, and you had your dance practices. But Neteyam was a master tracker, and you should have known you couldn't hide forever.

He cornered you on a quiet walkway leading down to the lower branches. He started smooth, his expression perfectly calm, though his ears were pulled back slightly in an uncharacteristic show of nerves He called your name and stepped into your path. You froze, your basket of herbs you volunteered to gather held tightly against your chest as you prepared to speak with him, properly this time.

“Kiri told me... well, she told me how wasted I was the night of the festival. She said I was completely out of it and that I should have controlled myself better,” he rubbed the back of his neck, his golden eyes looking genuinely apologetic. “I wanted to ask you... did I say or do anything to make you uncomfortable? If I did, I am truly sorry. I really can't remember anything after the eleventh cup, and Kiri keeps cryptically telling me I have a loose mouth when I drink. I didn’t mean anything I said.”

You blinked, standing there as you felt your heart drop. Oh. You nodded, feeling as if he had forcefully shoved a giant boulder down your throat. Perhaps, you were right that he was simply just drunk. Like how your father promise things when he’s drunk and then forget it by the morrow. Your head tilted for a moment, surprised with how a very little thing got you aligning Neteyam with your good-for-nothing father.

“Uh,” you managed, forcing a tight, hollow smile onto your face though your chest felt like it just got fractured. You swallowed past the massive lump in your throat. “No, it’s all cool. You didn't say anything important or bad, Neteyam. You were just yapping about a stubborn direhorse... Don't worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, stepping a fraction closer, his eyes searching your face.

You stepped back instinctively, making him stop. “Completely. I have to go, Kiri is waiting,” you lied smoothly, quickly darting past him before he could speak again.

That night, in the quiet darkness of your sleeping alcove, you actually cried in frustration. You felt so incredibly stupid for overthinking his words, for letting yourself daydream about what would happen if you talked sober. About the future. But then he was just drunk. It was just that stupid brew talking. It was so unimportant that he didn’t even remember it.

You groaned and sat up on your mat, forcefully rubbing your face and promising yourself that you won’t trust whatever comes out of his mouth about anything regarding what he wants.

More years passed, bleeding into a steady, familiar rhythm. And by familiar, that includes Neteyam who stayed exactly the same. His intense gaze that you once thought meant something still followed you everywhere. He watched you like you had personally hung the stars in sky, as if you were the absolute center of his universe.

Whenever you needed something done, he was there. Whenever you needed anything at all, you already have it. Whenever a stray leaf caught your hair, his hands were already reaching out. But you dared not read into it anymore. You had learned your lesson. In fact, you grew defensive, occasionally ignoring his quiet presence or sharply dismissing his help. “I can carry it myself, Neteyam,” you would say, and he would simply nod, his eyes darkening with a quiet, patient glint before he stepped back.

Now that you were fully of age, the older women of the clan was beginning to look at the youth with matchmaking eyes. Specifically, they were looking at you and Lo’ak.

One afternoon, a group of elders stood near the communal hearth, watching as you sit on a woven mat, aggressively swatting Lo’ak’s hand away as he repeatedly tried to pull a loose thread from the blanket you were weaving. You two were laughing, bickering like the chaotic children you had always been. Neytiri sat nearby, calmly rocking Tuk in her arms.

Neteyam was standing a few paces behind his mother, cleaning his bow, when one of the elder women gestured toward you and Lo'ak.

“Look at them,” one of the women murmured to Neytiri, a fond smile on her face. “Usually, friendships between girls and boys gradually fade with adulthood but those two have only grown even closer.”

They chuckled and another woman spoke, “A man and a woman cannot truly stay as just friends forever. Eventually, they will see each other for what they truly are. See, this will make a beautiful love story. The two troublemakers finally settling down together.”

Behind them, Neteyam’s entire body went rigid.

A sudden mental image of you and his brother ending up together and building a family flashed in his mind. Little kids with Lo’ak’s eyes wearing little loinclothes that you made yourself. He closed his eyes as a fierce, blinding fury erupted in his chest, so hot it nearly choked him. His grip tightened on his bow until his knuckles turned a lighter shade of blue. He hated hearing it. He absolutely loathed the images that popped in his mind unbidden.

He had spent years patiently growing into the man he believed you deserved. He didn’t want to impulsively decide on things that would ruin things for you, he didn’t want a fleeting, immature romance that could break, he was thinking about the future where he could already provide for you, protect you, and offer you everything before he spoke for you under the Great Mother.

He had a whole timeline mapped out in his head. He wanted it to be endgame.

But he had taken Lo’ak’s presence for granted, knowing you two were strictly platonic, but hearing the elders start to babble this nonsense made his blood boil. If you or Lo'ak heard this gossip, it might give you two silly ideas or coerce you into romance that was not real.

Neteyam stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over the elders. “Respectfully, elders,” he began, his tone smooth but carrying an edge that made the old women blink in surprise. “The two of them have a bond of siblings. Pushing such expectations onto them will only ruin a good friendship. It is wiser to let them both find their own paths without the pressure of the imagination. Let them be.”

Neytiri glanced up at her eldest son, a knowing, quietly amused spark lingering in her eyes, though she remained silent. She adjusted Tuk in her arms, her sharp eyes sliding from the bickering pair in the clearing directly to her eldest son. She had always known. It was not her wild, reckless second-born who held a silent devotion for you, but her disciplined, fiercely guarded firstborn.

Neteyam ignored his mother’s perceptive stare, turning his gaze back to the clearing, watching you finally launch a small fruit at Lo’ak’s forehead. His jaw relaxed, his heart swelling with that same, consuming vow he had kept for years. He would wait, and when the time was right, he would make sure everyone knew exactly whose heart you belonged to.

Then came the festival of the New Moons.

The communal grounds were a brilliant, swirling chaos of heat, smoke, and pounding drums. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and sweet herbs. You were in the center of the performance circle, your body moving with a fluid, mesmerizing grace, letting yourself sway like a piece of cloth caught in a wild wind. The iridescent feathers of your costume caught the firelight, casting shimmering fractures of light across the crowd.

As you spun, dipping low to the rhythm of the drums, your eyes instinctively swept over the crowd, and caught on a shadow.

Neteyam was standing beside a thick column, a wooden cup held loosely in his large hand. His head was slightly bowed, but he wasn’t looking at the floor. His eyes were peering up at you through the fringe of his lashes, and the sheer, raw intensity of his stare nearly made your heart jump straight into your throat.

The tension in the air between you instantly became palpable, thick and suffocatingly hot. He wasn't even blinking, his eyes tracking your every move, tracing the curve of your waist as you bent, the sweep of your arms, the flash of your bare skin under the firelight. There was a profound, unbridled awe in his expression, but beneath it burned something much darker, a hungry, possessive edge that made your skin prickle with raw heat. For a breathless second, the rest of the clan vanished. The roaring drums became nothing more than the frantic beat of your own pulse.

You nearly missed your next step, your breath hitching as you forced yourself to spin away, breaking the heavy spell of his gaze.

Once the performance finally concluded, the tension dissipated back into the chaotic energy of the crowd. You made your rounds through the clearing, socializing with your friends from the higher branches, laughing at their endless conversations about the warriors, and grabbing small bites of food. By the time the night began to wind down, you made your way toward the back alcoves to get a refreshing drink of sweet water, but you came face-to-face with Neteyam.

He was leaning heavily against a carved wooden pillar, his chest bare, his skin flushed with a warm violet under the remnants of his festival paint. You could tell by the slight glaze in his eyes and the relaxed slump of his usually rigid shoulders that he was drunk.

Of course, you thought bitterly, a familiar wall of defense slamming up inside your chest. You ought to just ignore him. You didn't want a repeat of years ago. You didn't want to swallow another boulder.

You gripped your wooden cup tightly, ducking your head to smoothly walk right past him. But before you could clear his shadow, his large, warm hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your elbow.

He murmured your name, his deep voice thick and slightly slurred, but carrying a desperate, heavy weight. “Wait. Please.”

You froze, your back tense. “Neteyam, you're drunk. Go sleep it off.”

“Can we talk?” he pressed, his thumb brushing against the skin of your arm in a slow, pleading motion. “Just for a moment. Away from the noise.”

You closed your eyes, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. You shouldn't. You knew you shouldn't. But the raw vulnerability in his tone pulled at you, dangerous and magnetic. “Fine,” you muttered, pulling your elbow from his grasp.

You led him out of the chaos of the communal space, stepping onto a thick, quiet branch that overlooked the bioluminescence of the forest down below. The cool night air hit your face, but it did nothing to cool the burning frustration in your veins.

Neteyam followed you, stopping a few paces away, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome that you had to look away. He took a slow breath, his posture suddenly shifting, shedding the clumsy weight of the alcohol as he looked down at you.

When he spoke, his voice went incredibly smooth, completely devoid of his usual restraint.

“I have wanted to tell you this for so long,” he began, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. “But... I didn’t want to go through it prematurely... I wanted to make sure that I am a man worthy of you... Because it has always been you, the Great Mother knows. Since the day you stood in our doorway with leaves in your hair, it had been you, and if you’ll... If you’ll have me, I want to... court you.”

You stared up at him, but the romantic rush you might have felt years ago didn't come. Instead, a cold, bitter wave of disbelief washed over you. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sharp, sarcastic huff of a laugh as you stepped back, shaking your head.

“You are unbelievable,” you spat, your voice dripping with sudden, defensive anger. “You really think you can just stand there and say whatever you like to me, don't you?”

Neteyam blinked, looking genuinely caught off guard. “I am serious—”

“No, you're not!” you cut him off, your fingers curling into tight fists at your sides. “You can tell me whatever pretty, cruel lies you want to say right now, Neteyam, because it doesn't matter. You’ll just forget it all by morning anyway.”

A lump rose in your throat, hot and painful, but you forced the words out, determined to finally empty the heavy chest of secrets you had carried alone for years. If he was going to forget, then you could finally be honest.

“You want to know something funny?” you scoffed, a bitter tear threatening to spill over. “I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things. I spent days overthinking it, thinking about all the things I want to say to you, only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”

Neteyam’s jaw slackened, his eyes widening in horrified shock as the slurred fog in his brain desperately tried to process what you were saying. “What... what do you mean?”

“It doesn't matter,” you said fiercely, taking a deep breath to hold your tears back. You looked at his beautiful, flushed face one last time, knowing that by tomorrow, his temporary memory loss brought by the alcohol would wipe his slate completely clean again. He wouldn't remember your confession.

“Good night, Neteyam,” you said quietly.

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel and walked away. Neteyam stood frozen on the thick branch, the cool night breeze rustling the leaves around him, but he couldn't feel it. The heavy warmth of the fermented brew vanished from his veins in a single, terrifying heartbeat, replaced by a cold, hollow dread that settled deep in his chest.

He stared at the empty space where you had just been standing.

The echo of your voice, cracked and furious, rang in his ears like the strike of a drum.

“I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things... Only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”

His hand slowly dropped to his side. His fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist. He didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he was entirely paralyzed by a past action he couldn't even recall. The last time he had allowed himself to get horribly drunk was years ago, on the night of Lo’ak’s unilatron. He remembered waking up the next morning with a pounding skull, only for Kiri to look at him with a disappointed, cryptic glare and warn him that he had a loose mouth when he drank.

He had been terrified. He had seen how you avoided him in the days that followed, how your shoulders tensed whenever he walked by. He had genuinely believed he must have said something horrible, something reckless or possibly creepy that had scared you away. So, when he finally cornered you on that walkway, his only instinct had been damage control. He had desperately wanted to smooth things over, to ensure you didn't think he was a threat, blindly blurting out that he “didn’t mean anything he said.”

A choked, bitter sound escaped Neteyam’s throat. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, dragging them down his face in pure, unadulterated frustration. He wanted to beat himself up. He wanted to find a solid stone wall and bump his head onto it repeatedly.

He hadn't scared you. He had broken you. He had coaxed a confession out of your heart, left you to mourn it alone for days, and then unceremoniously forced you to swallow a boulder by telling you his words were meaningless. And because your father was a man who drowned his life in a cup and spun empty promises by the campfire, you had aligned Neteyam right alongside him.

Neteyam turned and marched back into the clearing, his steps purposeful, hunting down his sister. He found Kiri at the back of a giant root, quietly sipping on a bowl of sweetened brew. She didn't even look when his heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, though her ears twitched.

“Kiri,” Neteyam called out, his voice raw, completely stripping away his usual stoic composure. “At the night of the unilatron festival... Years ago. What did I really say to Y/N?”

Kiri paused, “When you got really drunk?”

Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment before nodding, “Yes, when I got really drunk.”

She slowly turned her head, her sharp eyes taking in his flushed face, his panicked stance, and the sheer desperation radiating from his posture. “I think you already know,” she said quietly.

“Yes, she just told me,” Neteyam blurted out, the words tumbling out of him in a nonstop, uncharacteristic babble. He stepped closer, his hands gesturing wildly. “She just... Kiri, I didn't know what I said. She told me that I basically confessed to her that night. And if I said I loved her, if I said I wanted her to be mine, that was true, believe me. Every word of it was true, but I was so drunk, I didn't remember. And because you were so cryptic to me, because you told me I had a loose mouth, I thought I said something bad. I thought I insulted her and it will ruin whatever we had, so I told her that whatever I said, I really didn’t mean it.”

Kiri stared at her older brother, her jaw slightly slack. She had never seen Neteyam, the golden, perfect son, so completely unravel like this.

“Oh,” Kiri managed to say after his breathless rant. She blinked. “Is it my fault?”

“No!” Neteyam snapped softly, his tone hard but small, his ears pinning back in remorse. “No, it is not your fault. It is my fault. It is entirely my fault. But I need to know exactly what I said, Kiri. Tell me. I need to know so I can affirm it, tell her none of it was a lie, so I can make it up to her.”

Kiri let out a long, heavy sigh, putting her hand holding the bowl down. She looked at him with a mixture of pity and exasperation before she began to recount the night. She told him, in a dramatic recounting, how he had pulled you down by your waist, how he had twirled your hair, and how he had slurred out that he would beg the Great Mother to give you to him if he only prayed right.

As Kiri spoke, Neteyam let out a low groan, burying his face in his large hands. His shoulders shook with a silent, frustrated curse. He was so corny! But at least, he had been sincere. All of it were true, even though he cannot remember them at all.

“Fuck it, Kiri,” he muttered into his palms, his voice muffled. “I am a loose mouth when I’m drunk. I... damn. This is all going so wrong.” He dropped his hands, staring blankly at the wall, his chest heaving. “I wasn't planning for it to unfold this way. I was thinking... I was thinking that there should be a timeline to things, you know? That when I finally told her about what my heart really wanted, we would be grown. I wanted to be better. So I could provide for her. I wanted to have my own status, to make sure things would go perfectly from there, and that—”

“Neteyam,” Kiri called out calmly, cutting through his spiral.

He stopped, looking at her with wide, inquiring eyes.

“I think I know exactly where things went wrong,” she said, her voice dropping into that grounded, old-soul tone she often carried. “It’s when you allowed your micromanaging self to take over your heart. There isn’t a timeline for love, brother. And what you want, or how you think things should perfectly line up, isn't the only thing that's important here.”

Neteyam felt the words hit him like a physical blow. The absolute certainty he had carried for years. His meticulous plan to be your “endgame” suddenly felt incredibly selfish, incredibly foolish. He had fumbled. He had fumbled big time, and he had absolutely no map for the uncharted territory he had stranded himself in.

He thought about you. He thought about how you had admitted, with tears in your eyes, that you had liked him too. You had been looking forward to discussing your feelings with him. You had been ready to step into his arms, and he had blindly, stupidly ruined it before you could even speak.

“Bother,” Kiri called stepping forward to place a comforting hand on his rigid shoulder. “Just as a sisterly advice. The next time you try to speak with her, don't drink. Her father is a drunk, Neteyam. Her first experience with you being stupid was you being drowned in brew. I think you need to start from there.”

Neteyam's breath hitched. Her father. The comparison made a sickening wave of guilt roll through his stomach. He was doing everything wrong. He had strived his entire life to be the perfect son and the perfect warrior, but to the one person who mattered most, he had been nothing but a source of unpredictable, forgotten promises.

Neteyam did not sleep that night. He spent the remaining hours of the darkness washing his face with freezing river water, scrubbing the festival paint from his skin until it burned, and shedding every single ounce of his carefully constructed restraint.

The timeline was dead. It had done nothing but ruin everything, so if he were in a situation he didn’t know how to navigate, the only thing he could do is to fight. If he had to tear down the high canopy of Hometree to prove himself to you, he would do it sober, completely awake, and with a ferocity that would leave no room for doubt.

He had served you quietly before, but he will make sure everybody will not mistake his actions for anything but devotion for an intended mate now. He started the very next day, and you woke up that morning to find massive stacks of perfectly cut firewood that could provide warm for your family for the succeeding moons neatly piled outside your family’s hut, bound with a flawless hunter's knot.

“Who could have possibly left this here?” Your mother asked, her hand clutching at your arm.

You gritted your teeth as your eyes narrowed. “I don’t know...” But you do know. You have a hunch, at least.

“Should we get it inside... Or should we leave it there? In case someone mistakenly put it there?” She angled her head to look at you, but both of your attentions were snagged by your father walking on the branch leading to the hut.

Drunk. And walking remarkably straight enough to keep himself alive.

“Wondering where they came from, eh? I saw the Olo’eyktan’s eldest boy put them there. I’d say it was a tough task, getting all those piles of heavy wood up here,” he slurred before his eyes snapped to you. “That boy owed you?”

You closed your eyes to hide you eyes rolling, but before you could speak, he spoke again.

“Or is that boy courting you?”

“Vatu, what nonsense?! Neteyam is the Olo’eyktan’s heir. He will be paired with a strong and fierce huntress one day soon, or with a chief’s daughter from a different clan. Are you sure you didn’t mistake Lo’ak in your drunken haze?” your mother clarified, stepping outside.

You bit the insides of your lower lip, feeling a slight pinch in your chest at the words your mother uttered about Neteyam’s possible pair. She didn’t say anything wrong, and you knew that her words are completely true, but the fact still felt suffocating.

“No, I can tell those two apart. The taller one was definitely the one who brought these here... I’d ask him next time he does this, so I can be sure.” he walked past your mother and you, walking into the hut to sleep.

“There will be no next time,” you mumbled. You’ll put an end to this. Now.

But when you went to the communal clearing to gather breakfast to bring up to the high branches for your mother, you found a wooden tray with bowls of porridge, a leaf of honeyed hexapede, and the sweetest, rarest deep-forest berries still glistening with morning dew already resting on your usual place during communal meals.

“I can help bring it up, if you’d like,” a deep baritone sounded behind you, almost making you jump.

You knew exactly who it was.

You spunned around with sharp eyes. “What are these for?” you asked, your voice cold.

“Breakfast?”

Your lips pulled back to bare your fangs quietly and he looked at you as if you were a baby nantang showing its fangs for the first time. “I mean, why is this here? And were you the one who left firewood by our hut? Why are you doing this?”

He smiled, “One question at a time, beautiful. I’ll answer that all later, but I think we should really get that tray up before the food gets cold.”

Your eyes narrowed when he leaned forward to gather the tray, and you swat his hand. “I’ll do it. And get all the firewood back!” you groaned and lifted the tray up.

“I can’t,” he said and your head snapped at him.

“What do you mean you can’t?” you frowned.

He stretched his muscled arms with a little drama. “Because my arms are sore from getting them up there. I can’t get them all down anymore,” he pouted.

You hissed, “Stop doing all of these. I don’t need your charity.”

Neteyam didn't flinch at your hiss, neither did he give you that patient, sorrowful nod he used to give. Instead, he smoothly stepped directly into your personal space to take the tray from you. The sheer size of him cast a shadow over you, but his eyes were terrifyingly clear, burning with a fierce intensity.

“It is not charity,” he said, his deep voice smooth. “But you need to get used to it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You stepped back, your heart hammering against your ribs as you watched him walk with your tray of food. You followed him immediately at the winding ramps leading to the higher branches though, determined to get your tray back.

“I can do that on my own. Give me that,” you pressed as you blocked him on the ramp, reaching for the tray but he kept it away.

“It’s heavy even for me, Y/N. There’s no way I’ll let you take this,” he said, his eyes serious on you. “Let me, okay?”

You blinked, feeling the urge to push him away because you suddenly realized how close his face was, but you know it was you who needed to move because you're blocking the path. He was quick to move, reaching the higher branches in no time, telling you that his excuse about his arms were a lie.

“Daughter?“

Your mother stood completely frozen by the entryway, behind her, the flap was shoved aside, and your father emerged, squinting against the bright morning light.

He rubbed his eyes, letting out a rough, gravelly grunt as he looked at Neteyam, and the tray he was holding. “I told you,” Vatu muttered knowingly. “It was Neteyam I saw.”

Katrey quickly snapped her head toward her husband, her eyes flashing with a warning glare, but Vatu ignored her. He stepped closer, leaning his heavy frame against the doorpost as his glassy eyes zeroed in on the warrior standing in front of their hut.

“Boy, are you courting my daughter?” Vatu asked bluntly, his voice carrying the rough edge of a man who didn't care for formalities.

“Vatu, be quiet!” your mother hissed, her face flushing with immediate embarrassment. She quickly stepped between them, offering Neteyam a deeply apologetic, polite nod. “Please ignore him, Neteyam. Thank you for the breakfast. I apologize for my husband's boldness to ask you things he knows nothing about. He is still out of his mind from the brew he drank.”

“It is nothing, Katrey,” Neteyam replied smoothly.

He didn't step back, nor did he look embarrassed by your father’s blunt interrogation. Instead, he straightened his broad shoulders, his towering frame carrying an unshakeable dignity as his golden eyes shifted from your mother directly to your father.

“And I do intend to win your daughter’s heart,” Neteyam said, his deep baritone ringing clear and steady in the morning air. He dipped his head in a respectful, formal gesture. “This is me asking for your permission, Vatu, Katrey.”

Your mother’s jaw went completely slack. Her eyes snapped up to you in a sudden panic, her breath catching in her throat. Neteyam politely extended his hands, smoothly transferring the weight of the heavy tray into your father’s grip. The sharp, piercing look your mother gave you told you everything. She wanted a full explanation.

Realizing the situation was spiraling entirely out of your control, you quickly grabbed Neteyam by his elbow, firmly pulling him away from the entrance of your hut and leading him down the walkway.

“Thank you, Neteyam...” your mother called out weakly behind you, her voice full of stunned disbelief as she retreated inside.

The moment your parents were safely out of view behind the woven fkap, you rounded on him, your hand dropping from his arm as you hissed fiercely, “What are you saying?!”

“Which part?” Neteyam asked, a boyish, devastatingly handsome smile flashing across his lips. His ears gave a playful, teasing flick. “I said quite a lot.”

You widened your eyes at him, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You know exactly what I am talking about!”

Neteyam bit his lower lip, his playful demeanor instantly softening. His golden eyes began to roam across your face, slow and deliberate, as if he were completely feasting on your features. Beneath his skin, a bright violet flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks, so intense that he had to look away toward the canopy for a brief second to catch his breath.

When he looked back down at you, the boyish charm was gone, replaced by a raw sincerity.

“Well, I meant what I told your mother,” he said softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate tone. “I am going to win your heart. You told me you liked me once... but now, you don’t, because I was stupid. I know I ruined it. But I will work very hard to turn it all back around. If you’ll allow me...” He paused, his gaze turning deeply pleading as he took a half-step closer. “But please, allow me.”

You let out a long, heavy sigh, the defensive anger in your chest suddenly feeling exhausting. You looked away from him, staring down at your feet so you wouldn't have to see his face fall. “I don’t know, Neteyam... it’s really not a good idea.”

A sharp, sudden edge cut through his tone. “Why? Because of Lo’ak?”

“No!” you whisper-shouted, your head snapping back up to glare at him. “I do not care for Lo’ak that way, and you know it! It’s only that... you are you,  and I am me. You are destined for great things, Neteyam. The clan expects it. The right woman—”

“—is you,” Neteyam interrupted fiercely, his voice rising with a sudden, hot flash of anger that made your breath hitch. He stepped directly into your path, his shadow completely enveloping you as his jaw clenched. “Never speak that way about yourself. You are you, and you are the only woman I have always held close in my heart. If the clan knew how long I have burned for you, they would think it a no-brainer that I should chase after you now until you tire of running away from me.”

He caught himself, realizing his intensity was surprising you. He took a slow breath, his expression softening into something deeply tender as he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from your cheek, desperately wanting to touch you but restraining himself.

“You are what I want, Y/N. You are what I have always wanted,” he said, each word perfectly clear, perfectly sober. “And I am saying this to you now, sober and clear of mind, and I will never forget it again, even if Eywa strikes me down.”

Your lips pressed together into a tight line, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that it physically ached. You let out a slow, trembling breath, your eyes drifting toward the vast, emerald forest stretching out beyond Hometree.

“Yeah... maybe don’t be that dramatic,” you mumbled quietly, your voice losing all of its biting ice.

Neteyam bit his lip again, his eyes tracking the subtle softenings of your expression. A quiet spark of triumph flared in his chest. It wasn't a no. You weren't yelling, and you weren't as angry as you had been. He was a skilled hunter, he knew exactly when to press an advantage, and he knew exactly when to slip away before his quarry recovered their senses and put up another wall.

“I have to join the morning patrol,” he said softly, backing away a single step while keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “I will see you later.”

Before you could gather your thoughts to give him a proper rebuttal, he turned on his heel and moved down the winding ramp, disappearing into the lower branches with a fluid, effortless grace.

You stood alone on the walkway for a long moment, your face burning with a fierce heat. Finally, you forced your legs to move and walked back to your family's hut. The moment your hand touched the woven entrance, the flap flew open, and your mother pulled you inside, her face tight with intense curiosity.

“What is going on between you two?” Katrey demanded immediately, “What did he mean by that?”

From the back of the hut, your father let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms as he walked back toward the hearth. “Didn’t you hear her, Katrey? The boy said he’s burned for your daughter for so long—”

“Couldn’t you have said that more properly?!” your mother snapped, throwing her hands up in utter exasperation.

“What, that's exactly what he said!” Vatu defended himself, completely unfazed as he collapsed back onto his sleeping mat.

You groaned loudly, burying your burning face in your hands as the chaotic bickering of your parents echoed around the small hut. Neteyam had completely broken down your defenses in less than ten minutes, and based on the look in his eyes, he was only just getting started.

In the next days, everywhere you went, Neteyam was there.

If you were planning to go down to the riverbanks to gather fibers for your costumes, you would turn to find a basket already filled with the finest, smoothest iridescent fibers from the deep forest. If a sudden midday downpour caught you near the low-hanging nurseries, a thick, dry woven cloak would materialize over you, smelling faintly of sweet mint and rain, before the first drop of water could touch your skin.

The clan, naturally, did not miss a single beat. The Omatikaya thrived on the shared breath of the community, and the sight of Toruk Makto’s eldest son carrying out manual chores for a single family’s hut became the premier spectacle of the high branches. The firewood had just been the beginning, he had also took it upon himself to check the structural sinews of your family's shelter after a heavy wind, climbing the high bark with his knife between his teeth, completely oblivious to the lingering stares of the elders below.

“He is stubborn,” your mother noted one evening as she watched Neteyam from the small triangle of the tent's opening. He was sitting cross-legged on the common walkway outside, thoroughly cleaning your family’s blades with fine sand and oil. “He has the Neytiri’s blood in that way. When they choose a direction, they do not turn around.”

“We will see,” you mumbled, twisting a fiber thread between your fingers.