aves

“Eywa,” she breathed, eyes wide as she dropped into a seat at a distant table where Aonung, Rotxo, and Tsireya had been waiting. “Did your parents tell you about this part?”

Aonung only shrugged. “Probably,” he admitted, lifting an unfamiliar-looking dish and scrutinizing it carefully. “I don’t remember anything they said.”

She turned to Tsireya, eyebrows raised expectantly, only to be met with a matching shrug.

“I only talked to my mom about it,” Tsireya said, her voice raised over the live music echoing through the amphitheater. Around the instruments, Na’vi from across the world danced with a grace and joy [Y/N] had only ever heard stories about. “And we all know Ronal doesn’t really… have time for things like this.”

At Tsireya’s brutal honesty, her three companions couldn’t hold back their laughter. She was absolutely right, [Y/N] knew, and she couldn’t help imagining how surprised Ronal must’ve been at their first summit. “No wonder she didn’t want to come back!”

Time didn’t feel real there. One moment they were eating food—which was painfully delicious, so much so that [Y/N] found herself begging, “Aonung, if Tonowari doesn’t step down before next year, please convince him to let us come again. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” to which Aonung only laughed and said he could make no promises—and the next moment, [Y/N] was dancing with Tsireya.

The music was loud, powerful, and achingly beautiful. By the time they pushed closer to the center of the crowd, [Y/N]’s head was foggy with drink, her body loose and unguarded. Tsireya bounced beside her, the bangles around her ankles chiming in time with the drums, and [Y/N] threw her head back and laughed. It was a type of laughter she hadn’t felt in years.

As the two girls got lost in the rhythm, their eyes wide with exhilaration, lungs heaving for air, and skin sticky with sweat, they’d hardly noticed their friends joining them. For a moment, Rotxo began dancing with them before he was, inevitably, swept up in the crowd and lost behind Na’vi bodies. Aonung stood with them too, far less animated than Rotxo had been, though he couldn’t hide the joy that glowed behind his eyes.

Eventually, their small group expanded by one more member as Lo’ak barreled into the edge of the crowd, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Oh, hey guys!” he greeted, cheesing like a total idiot. While Tsireya laughed, her hand finding his quickly, [Y/N] and Aonung immediately rolled their eyes.

“Don’t make us suffer,” [Y/N] yelled at the two of them over the music, and when they each turned to her with puzzled looks, she gestured to their hands. “Just get out of here. Be lovebirds somewhere else!” And, although she said it with faux irritation, the smiles on Lo’ak and Tsireya’s faces as he dragged her out of that crowd and toward the distant forest… they were enough to make even the grumpiest Na’vi grin.

Except for Aonung, of course.

“You’re kidding,” he huffed, arms crossed over his chest. “We’ve barely spent an afternoon here and the two already need to sneak off—”

[Y/N] cut him off quickly. “Oh, hush, you loveless crab!” she groaned, rolling her eyes—if she hadn’t been feeling the drinks before, she sure was now. “Some people actually enjoy romance, y’know.”

Aonung looked at her with a raised brow. “That feels a little hypocritical, doesn’t it?” he teased, and when her face scrunched with confusion, he added, “I mean, I just don’t know if you’re the right person to be preaching romance, considering you keep avoiding—”

Just before he could finish his sentence, a third body joined—or really, rejoined—the two of them, stumbling straight into Aonung. Rotxo, completely off balance, held three drinks in his hands, although one of them was already half-empty. “Here!” He held one out to each of them.

As [Y/N] took hers, eyes dancing in amusement, Aonung stabilized his friend before he could crumble. “Oh, this is not good,” Aonung groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, he turned to [Y/N], his face painted in distress. “I have to take care of him, don’t I?”

[Y/N] shrugged, taking a sip of the fermented nectar—dangerously delicious, she decided. “I took care of him last time,” she recalled, thinking of a few months ago when the Tulkun had returned, resulting in one of Awa’atlu’s biggest parties of the year. Rotxo had always made an impressive effort to drink until he couldn’t walk anymore. 

“So, yes?” Aonung cringed, pulling Rotxo back when he attempted to wander off into the crowd again.

“Yup!”

As Aonung disappeared back into the crowd, Rotxo half-dragged behind him, [Y/N] lingered where she was, rolling the cool cup between her palms. The music still pounded around her, laughter rising and falling like waves—but suddenly, it all felt too loud.

She took a slow breath, trying to ground herself. Just the drinks, she told herself. Just the noise. To ease herself, her eyes wandered without intention—and then stopped.

Across the clearing, partially obscured by dancing bodies and flickering firelight, someone stood still. Watching.

Her chest tightened.

She knew that posture. That stillness.

Even after three years, her body remembered him before her mind would allow it.

Almost immediately, the crowd around her no longer felt freeing—it felt suffocating. The music was no longer beautiful; it was deafening. The jewelry around her wrists, her ankles, her neck—suddenly it all felt like chains.

She began to move quickly, pushing through bodies and muttering rushed apologies as she went, until she finally broke free of the crowd. The air hit her at once, fresh and cool, but she was so wrapped up in herself that she barely registered Aonung and Rotxo standing a few feet away, Aonung pleading, “Just drink some water, for Eywa’s sake!”

When she emerged, Aonung looked up immediately, his face creasing with concern. “Stay here, you skxawng,” he muttered, taking a step toward her before turning back to jab a stern finger at Rotxo. “I mean it.”

[Y/N] was still fighting for breath when he reached her. The moment his hand settled gently on her arm, she startled, snapping her gaze up to him. He pulled back at once, eyes widening.

“Shit—sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

For a moment, she just stared, words lodged painfully in her throat. Finally, she managed, “It’s okay.” Her voice came out quiet and rough, scraping against her dry throat. She swallowed hard. “I—I think I’m gonna head out for a second.” She gestured vaguely toward the bioluminescent forest just beyond the amphitheater. “I just need some air.”

She didn’t wait for his response before she started walking.

[Y/N] pushed through the crowd once again, holding her breath until she broke through and was faced with the Omatikayan forest on the other side. The brilliant blue and purple glow hit her instantly—she could feel it across her face, across her arms, painting her in a sort of beauty that she'd never quite felt.

She didn’t remember choosing a direction—only that suddenly the noise was behind her. The forest swallowed her whole, and she stumbled to a stop, bracing herself against the trunk of a tree as she dragged in a shaky breath.

Her hands pressed against the rough bark, letting the texture bite into her hand like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. But, try as she might, the emotions were almost always more powerful than any attempt to stop them.

Suddenly, her shoulders tense. Her jaw tightens. And then the tears spill over, sliding down her cheeks in hot, soundless streaks she doesn’t bother to wipe away.

But, she should’ve known. She should’ve known that, if he was watching her in there, then he surely didn’t stop as soon as she walked away, trying to escape him.

“[Y/N]?”

Eywa. Just his voice alone was enough to make her freeze, to make her body seize, her heart jump into her throat, her fingers lose feeling. And worse? These feelings—they weren’t just anxiety or panic. They were also, inevitably, love and lust.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She pretended—stupidly—that if she didn’t turn around, if she didn’t acknowledge him, he would disappear. Like a ghost exposed to light. Like a memory she could will away.

“[Y/N],” he said again, quieter this time, but she could also feel him closer. Somehow, even after all these years, there was a magnetic pull between them.

She swallowed, throat burning, and forced her feet to move. One step. Then another. Away from him. Away from everything he represented. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t.

Leaves crunched softly beneath her feet as she walked deeper into the forest, her pace uneven, breath still catching in her chest. She wiped at her face angrily, smearing tears and paint across her cheeks, furious at herself for letting him see her like this—for letting him have this power over her, even now.

“Please,” Neteyam called, closer now. Too close. “Please—just wait.”

She didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to turn around. But the sound of him stumbling—his foot catching on a root, the sharp inhale that followed—made something twist painfully in her chest.

And somehow, her body betrayed her once again. She slowed.

Don’t, she told herself.

She looked anyway.

Bioluminescence glowed through the trees, catching on his skin, outlining the familiar curve of his shoulders, the shape of a face she had memorized in dreams and nightmares alike. He looked older. Broader. Tired in a way she recognized far too well.

It was far different than he’d looked that morning. Almost like, even now, Neteyam let himself just be vulnerable around [Y/N]—and that pissed her off to a whole new degree.

“Please, [Y/N],” he said again, his voice cracking just enough to hurt. “Just—just talk to me.”

Despite everything inside her screaming to ignore him, to keep walking… she stopped. Didn’t turn around right away. Didn’t trust herself to.

When she finally did, she didn’t bother wiping her tears. She let them sit there, hot and humiliating, as she faced him with her arms crossed tight over her chest like armor.

“What?” The question was sharp, bitter. The tears mixed with her words, and she fought the urge to let a sob shoot through her body. He has made me cry enough for a lifetime, she thought bitterly.

He hesitated—just for a moment—and that hesitation alone made something ugly flare in her chest.

“Why,” he started quietly, “are you avoiding me?”

The question wasn’t what she expected. Why was she avoiding him?

A short, broken, tired laugh tore out of her before she could stop it. “Neteyam,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “I have spent the last three years angry at you. I’ve thought you cruel. I’ve thought you rash. I’ve thought you selfish.” Her voice trembled despite herself, and she hated that too. “But I have never,” she continued, eyes burning as she looked at him, “thought you stupid. So tell me—why the hell do you think?”

He swallowed, and despite the way his body seemed to flinch at her words, he took a step closer. “I want to hear you say it.” Neteyam’s voice was calm, almost curious.

Her breath stuttered.

“Say… what?” she whispered, disbelief bleeding into her voice. The tears surged back, heavier this time, blurring the forest into streaks of light. “You want to hear me scream? You want to hear me cry?” Her chest tightened, words spilling out faster now, sharper. “You want to hear me say I’m avoiding you because you left me?”

She laughed again, the sound cracking straight down the middle. “Fine,” she snapped. “I’m avoiding you because you fucking left me, Neteyam. You left me, and—” she paused, a pain shooting through her chest as she looked right into his gaze, “and you broke my heart.”

The moment the words left her mouth, emotion took over. Instantly, [Y/N] broke down into tears, sobs racking her shoulders as she pressed desperate hands to her mouth, trying her damned hardest to contain it—to keep it secret. To not give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he had hurt her, how much he still hurt her.

Her heart screamed as she stared at him—just standing there, clueless. His shoulders had dropped, his face dumbfounded, his mouth agape like he didn’t know what to say. And then she saw it. Through her own cloudy vision, she watched a single tear slip down his cheek. And then another.

The sight made her heart stop, the world freezing around her. Inside her chest, a thousand emotions—all untraceable, unnameable—exploded, and she had to turn away to stop herself from crying out in anguish, from screaming at him, from throwing up.

But the moment she turned—the moment her gaze shifted in the opposite direction—his hand closed around her arm. Gentle, but firm. Grounding, almost, in the same way she had been grounding herself earlier. Only this time, she wasn’t trying to keep herself from getting lost in her emotions—he was.

As his fingers wrapped around her bicep, as warm and familiar as she remembered (and just as aggravating), her breath caught. Instinctively, she turned back, eyes locking onto his in an instant, and she was met with a gaze that transported her straight back to that night in the cove.

Around them, the world seemed to fall silent. Even the celebration only yards away faded into a dull thrum in the background—until all that was left was… them.

And then—then Neteyam swallowed, another tear trailing down his face, before he whispered the sentence she had only ever dreamed of.

“[Y/N],” he began, voice soft, almost careful, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. “[Y/N], I am so sorry.”

Her knees nearly buckled at the words, shock filling her core as he practically unraveled any progress—although there really wasn’t much—that she’d made over the past three years. Her chest ached, confusingly empty yet full at the same time, as if he’d reminded her simultaneously what love felt like—true love—and the fact that their love was what had drained her in the first place.

Quietly, her tears stopped, and she opened her mouth, words feeling distant as she clawed for something—anything—to say. Her statement came without thinking, “‘Sorry’ doesn’t undo this, Neteyam.”

She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected such unbridled bravery, not with the way her head and heart seemed to have formed into one over the past ten minutes.

And, just as surprisingly, Neteyam’s head drops, quiet as he whispers, “I know.”

For once, the silence doesn’t feel wrong or prolonged or uncomfortable—for once, silence feels like the only correct response. Like there really are no words [Y/N] can say, no demands for explanations or demands for him to leave her be. And for once, [Y/N] starts to realize… Neteyam hasn’t just been haunting her.

She’d been haunting him.

All this time, she’d thought Neteyam had the upper hand, the power. She’d thought she was the victim, the only one suffering, but now, as she looked at him, his shoulders trembling quietly, she knew that, regardless of how it had ended, neither of them came out unscathed.

“Neteyam?” she whispered, voice hush as she wiped another tear from her cheek. [Y/N] had thought, just a moment ago, she was going to leave it be. But now, it felt as though her tongue was not flying by her brain’s guide, nor her heart’s—it was flying by the guide of instinct. “Neteyam, when you… left me Awa’atlu, I couldn’t help but wonder, if it was so easy to let me go, were you ever… were you ever really planning on spending your life with me?”

Her words were soft, almost bordering on kind. An hour ago, she would’ve spat these words at him with uncensored cruelty, with unbridled anger, but now, despite her devastation, she also simply wanted answers. Real answers.

He let the silence sit for a while, bringing his head up to look her in the eyes once again. Then, with a shaky breath, he explained, “I was—I thought I was.” He swallowed, and he looked down to his trembling hands for a moment, avoiding eye contact. But, she could see through his internal fight, and a second later, he lifted his head again and forced himself to look at [Y/N].

“I thought I was, and then when it came down to it, when I had to… choose between the life I wanted and the life that was expected of me, I—I chose, and I chose wrong. I know now I chose wrong, [Y/N]—hell, every female my parents have thrown my way… I can’t help but turn them down. Now because I don’t like that—they are beautiful and respectable and good leaders—but they… they are not you.”

The honesty struck her in her core, deep within the essence of her being. They are not you, she repeated the words, and warmth spread throughout her body. A warmth she hadn’t felt since the nights spent in the cove, a warmth she’d forgotten about. Without even thinking, his name passed through her lips, barely above a whisper, “Neteyam…”

He sniffled once before taking a step forward—not too much, not enough to convince her to step away. Then, he asks gently, “And what about you?” It isn’t so much a tone of curiosity as it is cautious, as if he’s scared of the answer. “Do you have a mate, all these years later? Did your parents ever win?”

She lets the question hang in the air, feeling every urge now to cower beneath herself. To look away, to hide, to pretend none of this ever happened. But, he was brave, so she would be brave. “It’s funny,” she started, voice soft. “I wanted someone. Badly. I wanted you badly, I suppose, but when you left, I was desperate to find someone to replace you. To distract me. But,” she shook her head, lip trembling, “somehow, I still think of you. When some boy kisses me, I close my eyes and pray that, when I open them, you will be there. When I run my hands down some guy’s back, I imagine it’s your muscles I feel, not his.” She sniffled, wiping her nose and turning away, her eyes catching sight of a tree she hadn’t even noticed before that moment, bright and beautiful, and powerful. “I don’t know why—I could have… I could have a stable life with one of these warriors. A safe life. But you… Neteyam, you have haunted me. For three years, you have haunted me, and I am so.. tired of it.”

She turned to look at him again, and she realized how they mirrored each other so perfectly, nearly identical looks of devastation plastered on each of their faces. “I don’t know what else to do,” she admitted, voice small as she fought back a sob. “I have tried everything, and even now, when I look at you, it’s like my body remembers. Remembers us. And I just, I don’t know how—”

Before she could even finish—before she could say I don’t know how to move on—his hands were on her. They found her waist, fingers curling around her like they’d always belonged there, and pulled her in. Pulled her close until his stomach pressed flush against her, until he could lean down and kiss her.

For the billionth time that day, the world stopped. [Y/N]’s thoughts fogged, her eyes widened, her heart jolted—and then, damn her, she melted into him. Worse, she kissed him back.

One kiss was all it took for everything to come crashing back, like a wave to the shore. Every spark she’d sworn had burned out, every laugh she’d buried, every quiet promise, every stolen moment she’d told herself didn’t matter anymore. It was muscle memory and heartbreak all at once—familiar and devastating, like her body remembered him even when her mind had tried so hard not to. Her chest ached with it, with the awful truth that nothing between them had ever really disappeared. It had only been waiting.

Then he pulled back, just enough to look at her, his eyes wide and searching—asking the question he didn’t dare speak, the one that could shatter everything if answered wrong. Is this real? Is this okay? Is this a mistake? She saw all of it there, felt it echoing in her own chest. And before she could talk herself out of it, before fear or reason could catch up, she closed the distance again. She kissed him—not carefully this time, not uncertain—but like someone choosing the truth, no matter how much it may hurt.

And this kiss… this kiss was nothing like the first. It was desperate. Messy. Hungry. It was three years of restraint shattered in a single moment.

As he kissed her back, passion exploded between the two, and [Y/N] was pushed backwards into a tree—the bright one, she realized—hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs, but Neteyam was there immediately, crowding her space, grounding her, his hands braced on either side of her head as if he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

She made a sound—soft, broken, almost a sob—as she kissed him back, fingers tangling in the beaded ties at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Eywa, there was no mistaking it—her body remembered him. Remembered the way they fit together, remembered the warmth of his skin, the steady strength beneath it.

Neteyam’s breath stuttered against her mouth as his hands slid to her waist, thumbs digging in like he needed to anchor himself.

“You still feel the same,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, like he was afraid the words might break her.

She shivered at the sound of it. At him. At the truth in it. Her forehead dropped to his shoulder as she tried—tried—to pull back, to find the strength she’d sworn she had just moments ago.

“We should stop,” she whispered, the words barely audible, barely real.

“I know,” Neteyam answered immediately.

And yet, neither of them moved. If anything, he pulled her closer.

His lips traced along her jaw, her cheek, down the column of her throat, and her head tipped back without her permission. The sound that left her this time was unmistakable, and Neteyam froze—just for a heartbeat—like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to hear it.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, pressing his forehead into her neck, shoulders trembling. “Eywa help me…”

Her hands slid over his shoulders, down his arms, feeling the strength there—earned, familiar, real. She had spent three years imagining this moment, and now that it was here, it felt impossibly right and impossibly fragile all at once.

“We can’t,” she tried again, weaker now. “Neteyam, this—this changes everything.”

“That’s the point,” he said softly.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, really look at her, eyes bright and fierce and terrified all at once. The boy she had loved was gone—this was a man now, forged by loss and regret and choice.

“I choose you, [Y/N],” he said, the words steady despite the emotion threatening to crack them open. “Not the son I’m meant to be. Not the life that was decided for me. You.”

Her breath caught painfully in her chest.

“Neteyam—”

“I will not leave you,” he continued, hands framing her face like she was something sacred. “Never again. You can stay here, live with us, or we can return to Awa’atlu—no matter what my mother says. And if both our peoples reject us…” His voice dropped, earnest and unflinching. “Then we will travel the world together. Wherever you go, I follow.”

Tears blurred her vision, hot and sudden. She pressed her forehead to his, their breaths mingling, their noses brushing.

“You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to survive,” she whispered shakily.

A soft, broken laugh left him. “I don’t want you to survive without me.”

That was it.

She surged forward, kissing him again—slower this time, deeper, deliberate. This wasn’t desperation anymore. This was choice.

Neteyam’s hands slid into her hair, careful and reverent, as if he was memorizing her all over again. The forest around them seemed to breathe with them, the distant glow of bioluminescence painting their skin in soft blues and greens as they moved together, guided by instinct older than thought.

When their queues brushed, they both froze.

The world narrowed.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, forehead resting against hers, voice raw. “Once we do this—”

She interrupted him with a soft kiss, and as she pulled back, she whispered, in an almost unfamiliar amount of confidence, “Yes.”

The connection snapped into place—tsaheylu sparking like lightning under water. Her breath left her in a gasp as warmth flooded her veins, emotion crashing through her so powerfully her knees nearly buckled. Neteyam caught her instantly, arms wrapping around her as their bond deepened, solidified, became something unbreakable.

She felt him—his love, his regret, his devotion—woven seamlessly with her own. No walls. No distance. No doubt.

They sank to the mossy ground together, tangled in limbs and breath and quiet laughter that quickly dissolved into whispered names and reverent touches. The forest bore witness, glowing brighter, as if Eywa herself leaned closer to listen.

Time, once again, ceased to exist, but this time, the world did not stop. It sang.

Later—much later—she lay curled against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around her, fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine as if he needed constant proof she was real.

“Guess we didn’t stop,” she murmured, voice sleepy but content.

Neteyam pressed a kiss to her temple, smiling softly into her hair. “I never wanted to.”

Everyone else seemed to be moving forward. Aonung edged closer to promotion with each passing season. Tsireya had grown into one of the most skilled Tsakrems the clan had ever seen—second only to her mother, of course. Even Rotxo was branching out, chasing new horizons and new romances (though most of them fizzled out just as quickly—still, progress was progress).

But [Y/N] felt frozen in place.

She tried—she truly did. She buried herself in work, helping rebuild villages and volunteering to lead hunting parties alongside Aonung. She studied warfare obsessively, preparing for the impossible return of the RDA at full force. Yet every day bled into the next, indistinguishable and hollow, until her efforts felt redundant—useless.

Her romantic life fared no better. At her parents’ urging, she attempted to court any respectable male who showed interest. And every time, without fail, she was the one who pulled away.

“Do you want to be alone?” her mother had asked after [Y/N] returned home with yet another failed attempt.

“It is alright if you do,” she added quickly, her hand brushing her daughter’s arm. “But if that is the case, then you would be better off abandoning this mission altogether and focusing on your combat skills instead. At least then you will have something to make up for not having a mate.”

At her mother’s words, [Y/N]—ever the gentle poet—felt her eyes prick with furious tears. The plain, ugly, painful truth was no. No, she did not want to end up alone. She did not want to become a useless spinster whispered about in passing. But it was more complicated than she could ever explain.

The simplest way to put it was this: [Y/N] was being haunted.

Haunted by her past. Haunted by Neteyam.

Every time she shared a moment with someone new, her mind betrayed her. The second she ran a gentle hand down her date’s back, felt his grip on her waist, pressed her lips to his—it was as if he changed before her eyes. The Metkayina warrior vanished, along with the promise of a steady future. In his place stood an Omatikayan, dark indigo skin and all, carrying a love story that had always been impossible.

Every time she went out with someone new, she told herself she would finally find a way to ignore it. Find a way to fight it. And every time, she failed. 

Her heart split open into the same aching wound, and the familiar dread returned, heavy in her stomach. She knew it was unreasonable to still be so… obsessed. Three years had passed, for Eywa’s sake. And yet time—so generous to everyone else—had failed her. 

It hadn’t healed this.

And now, to make matters worse, [Y/N] was on her way to face her demons head-on.

Since the Sullys’ return to the forest, since Toruk Makto reclaimed his place among his people, healing had been reimagined—not as something clans endured alone, but as a communal effort. A shared burden. A shared hope.

In practice, that vision took the form of a council.

Once a year, leaders and chosen warriors from every clan gathered to reconnect, to grieve, to celebrate, and to update one another on Pandora’s slow recovery. For the past two years, Tonowari and Ronal had attended without hesitation. Pandora was still hurting then, and those meetings—beautiful as they were—had been necessary.

This year was different.

Most clans agreed that Pandora had healed, or at least stood firmly on the path upward. And Tonowari and Ronal, aging and content in Awa’atlu, had little interest in leaving home for yet another three-day congregation.

So they sent their children instead.

Aonung and Tsireya were already inching toward leadership; this was simply the next step. And when they took on the responsibility of attending the council, they also took on the privilege of choosing who would accompany them.

Of course, they chose their closest friends—[Y/N] and Rotxo.

At first, [Y/N] had been ecstatic. A change of scenery. An adventure. Something new. And then, Tsireya had broken the news, her face scrunching as she gently took [Y/N]’s hand, “It’s being held at High Camp this year,” she’d said softly. “Where Toruk Makto lives.”

Oh. Fuck.

Unfortunately, it’d been too late to back out, and she was too proud to be a wuss. Did her heart threaten to beat out her chest every time she even thought about running into him? Well, naturally. Did her stomach churn with nerves? Absolutely.

But there was another part of her that wondered—hoped—that this would be it. That this trip would finally fix something inside her. That she could see him again, get the closure she so desperately needed, and move on. Find some strong, dependable warrior who would love her and—better yet—never abandon her.

That thought had been easier to entertain back in Awa’atlu. Now, as she clung to the back of some random Omatikayan’s ikran, fingers locked into the stranger’s chest and arms for dear life, she was seriously reconsidering every choice she’d made.

They had left Awa’atlu nearly a week earlier, their own spirit brothers and sisters carrying them—and their supplies—across the open sea until they reached the rivers of the mainland. From there, they traveled by canoe as far inland as possible, winding through unfamiliar waters until the distant spires of the Hallelujah Mountains pierced the horizon.

That was where the Metkayina could go no farther alone, and the Omatikaya met them there soon after.

“Are you sure this is safe?” she’d asked, nerves filling her voice as she first boarded the back of the ikran, and when the forest Na’vi only narrowed her eyes and nodded curtly, [Y/N] decided then and there that it was probably best to shut up.

Unfortunately, that resolve lasted all of three seconds. The moment the ikran launched itself into the air, the world dropped out from beneath her, and every instinct in her body urged her to scream.

“Oh, shit,” she cursed, her stomach crawling up her throat. The forest unfurled beneath them—endless green, dizzying and alive—and [Y/N] squeezed her eyes shut, nails biting into the rider’s skin. Luckily for the Metkayina, the flight hadn’t been too long. And truthfully, it wasn’t even that bad—if they’d been closer to the ground, [Y/N] was sure she might’ve enjoyed it.

But unluckily for [Y/N]… the flight hadn’t been too long.

The moment the ikran’s feet hit the stony edge of High Camp’s entrance, two thoughts slammed into her at once: thank Eywa I’m alive and oh fuck, we’re here.

Her legs nearly gave out when she slid off the ikran, boots scraping against stone as she stumbled forward. Someone—Tsireya, she thought—caught her elbow before she could fully crumple.

“You okay?” her friend laughed, stabilizing her as she wavered on her feet. 

[Y/N] sucked her teeth. “I don’t think I’m made for airfare.”

Tsireya was more used to the idea of ikrans than the rest of them were—before he’d left, Lo’ak had taken her on quite a few midnight rides, a bliss [Y/N] never got to live out considering Neteyam and her had been so committed to keeping their relationship a secret.

At the thought of Lo’ak, [Y/N] found herself fighting a smile. Although Tsireya had kept to herself this trip, she knew it was because she was, above all else, extremely nervous. She was excited, too, but something about three, long, mysterious years made everything seem… scarier. 

When they were in their canoe, Tsireya had rambled to [Y/N] about the matter. “I told you Eywa would bring us back together,” she giggled, her cheeks blooming with color. “I knew it would happen. And I'm sure he’s even more handsome, more grown in three years—oh my, [Y/N], do I look okay?”

[Y/N] couldn’t hold back her laughter when she heard her friend ask that question, her eyes wide with a sobering seriousness. “Tsireya!” She looked at the girl incredulously. “You must be joking. You’re gorgeous!”

Their conversation went on like this for another five or so minutes, and even when Tsireya eventually relented, she still seemed unconvinced, and even now, [Y/N] could tell she remained unconvinced, even beneath her mask of laughter.

High Camp rose around them, woven seamlessly into the mountain’s spine. Massive roots coiled through stone. Platforms spiraled upward, alive with movement—Omatikaya warriors crossing bridges, children darting between marui, elders gathered in hushed conversation. It was breathtaking.

“Huh,” Aonung voiced, stepping up beside Tsireya, all three of them looking up with a weird look that combined uncertainty and awe all into one. “We must be the last to arrive,” he figured with a shrug.

At that, [Y/N] turned to him inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

Silently, he gestured back to the forest ahead of them. “I think all the clans are here,” he explained, and then [Y/N] realized. These were not all Omatikayans—these were Na’vi from around the globe.

Nearly all of them wore skin with a similar taint to that of the Sullys—a pure blue, dark and noble. Although there were many different shades represented, [Y/N] hadn’t even thought to assume that other clans were more similar looking to the Omatikayans rather than to the Metkayina.

And here they’d been, ignorant and presumptuous as they assumed, all those years ago, that the Sully kids were the weird looking ones.

She almost wanted to laugh at the irony.

“When does the meeting start?” Rotxo asked Tsireya and Aonung who, uselessly, shrugged. They had been so consumed with excitement that their parents had let them go on this adventure, they’d forgotten to listen to any of the details. At their silent response, Rotxo sighed, “Great.”

But, before they could even get to problem-solving—or even unpacking their canoes (which a very unlucky ikran and their rider were tasked with carrying up behind them) for that matter—a familiar voice echoed from a distance away.

“Tsireya!”

All at once, the four Metkayina whipped around in the direction of the sound, eyes squinted as they looked for their friend. Then, [Y/N] gasped at the sight, her hand reaching out to slap Tsireya in the arm as her eyes caught sight of three familiar faces: Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk, running as fast as they could from the trees to meet them at the landing bay.

“Lo’ak!” Tsireya was the first to respond, her feet moving before she even thought to yell at him. Then, like a scene straight out of a dream, they two crashed together, laughter flooding the ears of anyone watching. His arms wrapped around her middle and he lifted her clean off the ground before spinning her. She squealed, breathless and bright, clinging to his shoulders as if the past three years had never existed.

Nearby, a smaller figure burst through the crowd.

“[Y/N]!”

[Y/N] gasped as the girl barreled straight into her, arms flung wide. She was taller—so much taller now—and all elbows and enthusiasm as she hugged [Y/N] fiercely.

“[Y/N]!” Tuk grinned up at her. “I am so happy to see you!”

[Y/N] laughed and hugged her back just as tightly. “Eywa, look at you,” she murmured. “You’ve grown so much.”

Before she could say more, another familiar presence folded into the embrace. Kiri’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, warm and grounding, and [Y/N] felt something in her chest loosen as the two of them laughed softly together.

“I missed you,” Kiri said simply, her voice just as calming as she remembered.

“I missed you too,” [Y/N] replied, and for the first time since landing, she meant it without reservation.

Around them, their world exploded into happy reunions—reunions they’d only dreamt of three years prior, but now, somehow, they were really coming true.

[Y/N] and Kiri laughed as Aonung eventually tore his sister away from Lo’ak, something about, “You’ll have enough time together later. Let me at least say hi to him!” And, although Tsireya wore a faux pout on her lip as she stepped away, her bright eyes betrayed her—this was everything to her.

As Aonung and Rotxo approached Lo’ak, their one quick and practiced greetings—firm handshakes—quickly dissolved into brief, clumsy hugs. There was laughter, easy and familiar, that only came from surviving hell together.

“So,” Lo’ak started, grinning as he pulled back from his embrace with Aonung, “When’s your big promotion? Olo’eyktan and all.”

Aonung snorted, and then shrugged. “They don’t tell me anything—I still don’t even know if he wants to retire or wait for Eywa to finally kill him,” he admitted, and his grim humor made Lo’ak laugh while Tsireya cringed. “I think my father just likes to send me on errands.” Then, he paused, squinting as he glanced around the camp—or, the most visible parts from where they stood. “Where’s Neteyam?”

The question landed heavier than it should have, and, instinctively, Lo’ak’s gaze snapped to [Y/N].

The look barely lasted for a millisecond, though, before he looked back at Aonung. “Probably coming,” he said. “He’s never around anymore. Busy, whatever. I guess our dad sends him on errands too.”

The thought put her mind at ease—busy, errands—and [Y/N] could feel some tension leave her frame with a heavy sigh. She knew this bliss was temporary, and most likely, extremely short lived, considering she would have to face him eventually, but she couldn’t but bask in it while it still lasted.

As Aonung, Rotxo, and Lo’ak broke into another conversation—catching up on his life in the forest, how the hunts were, how the RDA was looking—[Y/N] stopped listening and found herself turning to meet back up with Kiri and Tuk, who were now engaged in what seemed like a very interesting conversation with Tsireya.

Tuk, her face more animated than ever, relayed an exciting story, her hands zooming through the air like they were her own props. [Y/N] laughed softly, a gentle smile settling on her lips as she started to turn back. Everything about this started to feel so… right. So familiar. So perfect.

She forgot how much she loved her friends.

And then… well, what was that about bliss being short-lived?

Just as she was about to take a step towards them, she let her gaze wander. Just for a second, just to process the beautiful world of trees and sky and mountains she was now standing in that was so far from the beaches of Awa’atlu. But, as she did so, as her gaze scanned the dark green trees, her stomach dropped.

She saw him.

Neteyam was walking toward them from the far side of the clearing, long strides easy and unhurried, his attention caught by a pair of Omatikayan warriors speaking animatedly at his side. He wasn’t looking at her. Not yet.

Everything inside her froze.

Not only was he coming straight toward them—but Eywa, he looked good. Broader. Older. Scarred in new places. His hair was longer, pulled back in a way she didn’t recognize, beads catching the light as he moved. He looked like someone who had lived.

Her lungs forgot how to work.

And, before she could pull her eyes away, before she could stop herself from staring, before she could save yet another heartbreak, Aonung followed her gaze. “Oh,” he said, squinting against the sunlight hiding behind the trees, and then, just as his eyes adjusted, [Y/N] saw his face adjust into something even more excited.

Instantly, [Y/N] cursed herself. Now, there was no way of escaping.

“Neteyam!” Aonung called out far too cheerily, an arm raised in greeting, and his name rang through the clearing like a damn curse and, of-fucking-course, he looked up. And worse? He smiled.

It wasn’t small or polite or restrained—it was wide and real and devastating, the kind of smile that had once made her feel safe enough to believe in impossible futures. He lifted a hand in greeting, already angling toward them.

[Y/N] couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—her body locked up as if Eywa herself had wrapped vines around her ribs and pulled tight.

It was him. Neteyam.

And [Y/N] realized then, the moment she laid eyes on him, that her whole purpose for this trip, her whole hypothesis that she just needed to see him again to prove that she didn’t like him, that she just needed closure… It was a big, fat lie.

Because, just from looking at him, it was like her body remembered everything. Her heart sped up, her stomach fluttered, her breath shallowed. Just from looking at him, she realized she still loved him.

She still fucking loved him.

That wasn’t fair! That wasn’t allowed! Three years were supposed to do something. They were supposed to sand this down, dull it, turn it into something manageable. Instead, it sat in her chest just as sharp as the day he’d left.

He drew closer with every step, his smile never faltering, eyes bright as he greeted Aonung first—clasping his forearm, laughing when Aonung pulled him into a brief, rough hug. For a moment, [Y/N] felt betrayed—so much for being a loyal friend—but she quickly pushed that thought aside.

Aonung was loyal—he punched Neteyam, for Eywa’s sake. But, she couldn’t expect him to hold a grudge just because she did.

“About time you got here,” Neteyam said easily. “We thought the ocean swallowed you.” His grin was quiet, calm, content. Like—and Eywa did she hate to admit this—like he truly did belong in this dumb forest.

Aonung only scoffed at his prodding tease. “Please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have ikrans like you do—we have multiple days of sea-travel, turned river canoeing. You should just be happy we didn’t give up halfway through.”

Neteyam laughed, the sound low and warm and achingly familiar. “You know,” he started, “for the past councils, I’m pretty sure we sent our own people to fly your’s the entire way. Dad told me, though, that Tonowari declined the request this year.” Then, with a shit-eating grin, he added, “Claimed it would be ‘good for you guys.’”

Instantly, both Rotxo’s and Aonung’s faces dropped—they were the one who ended up carrying most of their stuff, admittedly. Tsireya and [Y/N] kept claiming it was their chivalrous expectations, afterall. “You’re kidding me.”

As Lo’ak burst into laughter, Neteyam’s gaze shifted, finally landing on Tsireya who stood a bit in front of her—she must’ve moved. She must’ve seen [Y/N]’s face and tried to intercept (and [Y/N] would forever appreciate that effort, despite the fact that it was a useless plan).

When his eyes found Tsireya’s, he softened immediately and greeted her with a gentle nod. Something respectful and warm—while she may have been his ex’s best friend, she was also likely his future sister-in-law. Why did they have to make their love lives so complicated? 

“Tsireya,” he greeted, “it is good to see you.”

And Tsireya, despite herself, couldn’t hold back the beam of a smile on her face. “And you, too, Neteyam.”

And then—

Then his eyes found [Y/N] and the world narrowed.

She watched it happen in real time—the way his smile faltered, just barely. The way his steps slowed, like his body had recognized her before his mind could catch up. The way something unreadable flickered across his face, too quick for anyone else to notice.

Too slow for her not to.

“Oh,” he breathed—it wasn’t loud, but it also wasn’t meant for anyone else but her. Another word sat on his lips—a name, for that matter—trembling. She could see it. She could feel it.

She hated that her heart leapt anyway, almost wanting him to utter it. Wanting to hear what it sounded like coming out of his mouth three years later.

“Hello,” she said instead, because silence almost felt more painful than ripping off the bandage. Her voice came out far steadier than she felt, and for a moment, she almost said, Neteyam, but as soon as the word formed in her mouth, she understood why he held back.

It was like speaking to a ghost.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His eyes searched her face like he was trying to map what had changed—and what hadn’t. “You’re—” he stopped himself, collecting his composure and clearing his throat, “you’re here.” She huffed out something close to a laugh. “Seems that way.”

Awkward. Too careful. Too restrained for two people who had once known each other in the dark—in whispers, in stolen moments that had felt like secrets meant to last forever. It was almost poetic that they now moved so cautiously, afraid to touch a nerve, when three years ago they had been the ones lighting each other on fire.

But Lo’ak, oblivious as ever—or perhaps just uncomfortable with the tension—clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Told you they’d make it. Took them forever, though.”

Neteyam nodded absently, eyes still stuck on her, before he finally blinked and tore himself away. “Yeah. I—uh. The council’s already setting up. Dad’s been losing his mind trying to organize everyone.”

“Shocking,” Kiri muttered fondly, and at that simple word, the tension loosened just enough for breath to return to [Y/N]’s lungs.

“Well,” Tsireya said brightly, clearly sensing the strain, “we should probably get settled. Don’t want to be late—we’re clearly already the rookies of the bunch.”

“Yes,” [Y/N] said quickly. Too quickly. “Definitely.”

At her words, Tsireya grabbed her friend—hand gentle yet firm, as if she knew a part of [Y/N] needed guidance before she exploded—and started forward. Neteyam, who’d been standing directly in their path, stepped aside to let them through, polite. Distant. Like she was just another guest.

Why did that hurt so much?

And then, just as she walked past, she felt it. Her shoulder touched his—just barely a brush of the skin—and she almost stopped moving right there. It sent a jolt through her, and her heart leapt to her throat.

When he inhaled sharply, she knew he felt it too.

But, Tsireya did not slow. She kept dragging her friend along, no matter how much her body screamed at her to stop, to cast a look over her shoulder, and yet, she did not. She marched forward, even when she felt her name on his lips once again.

This time, when he uttered it, barely a whisper, she forced herself to pretend she hadn’t heard a thing.

The council gathered beneath a natural amphitheater of woven roots and stone, carved into the mountainside as if Eywa herself had intended it. Bioluminescent veins threaded through the bark above them, glowing softly in the dimming light, and [Y/N] found herself momentarily distracted—awed by how many clans, how many lives, could exist together in one place.

So many clans. So many stories.

Each was given time to speak. Some shared joy—new births, successful rites of passage, children stepping into adulthood beneath proud eyes. Others spoke of loss: a tsahìk who had returned to Eywa, a leader laid to rest, a lineage passed carefully to new hands. Grief and celebration wove together, inseparable.

If [Y/N] hadn’t known better, she might have believed the RDA had finally begun to rot from the inside out. There were still inconveniences—small skirmishes, broken machines abandoned in the forest—but nothing unified, nothing threatening. A dying thing, lashing weakly.

Pandora, it seemed, was healing.

She would have liked to believe she was too, but throughout the meeting, she could feel it.

Neteyam’s gaze.

It wasn’t constant—not obvious enough to draw attention—but it was there, brushing against her awareness like static. Every time she shifted, every time she laughed quietly at something Tsireya whispered, she felt it again. Heavy. Careful. Unfinished.

Finally, irritation bloomed beneath the ache. Feeling petty—and a little desperate—[Y/N] leaned toward Aonung. “I need a favor.”

He didn’t look at her, eyes stuck on the Olo’eyktan of another clan. “Can it wait until later?” A part of her felt guilty for bothering him—she’d never seen Aonung so committed before, but she supposed he was actually starting to take his responsibilities seriously. The other part of her, though, didn’t care.

“No,” she said flatly. “I need it now.”

He sighed and finally turned to her, brow raised, already unimpressed with her nonsense. “What is it?”

“Hold my hand,” she murmured. “So Neteyam stops looking at me.”

Aonung shot her a sideways look—one that clearly said you could just talk to him, you know—but she knew her friend. She knew that no matter what he thought, he would do it.

With exaggerated reluctance, he laced his fingers with hers.

Almost immediately, the weight lifted, and [Y/N] didn’t have to look to know Neteyam’s gaze had finally drifted away.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re early,” [Y/N] breathed out a small laugh, walking towards the Omatikayan boy who waited for her in their spot: right by the water, just enough for the seafoam to brush their skin, just enough for the water to send a chill down their arms, just enough for them to appreciate the beauty of this place. The beauty of them.

As she approached him, her steps soft on the cold sand, she started to realize how odd Neteyam seemed. Where he was usually beaming when he saw her, eyes bright and laughter loud, he hadn’t even bothered looking up at her when she entered. Where he was usually sprawled out across the sand, resting after a long, tiring day, he was curled in on himself, shoulders tense.

The smile she’d been wearing just moments before started to slip before she could stop it. “Neteyam?” she asked again, stopping right behind him. Silently, her hands dropped to his shoulders, fingers light against his skin. 

And then, he flinched.

It was small. Slight, barely even existent. [Y/N] had almost missed it—almost.

Instantly, panic settled in her stomach. “Yawntu,” she breathed, her brow furrowing in concern as she looked down at him. “Are you alright?” Suddenly, alarms seemed to blare within her head—warnings of everything that could possibly go wrong. We were fine this morning, she silently cursed herself, stomach churning as her thoughts began to spiral, what the hell could have happened?

What did I do?

Then, Neteyam inhaled, slow and careful, as if he were steadying himself, and only then did he turn his head enough to glance up at her. His eyes were darker than usual, shadowed by something she couldn’t name—she’d seen him stressed before, she’d seen him exhausted. This was… much more.

Then, her eyes flickered to his ears. They were pressed back, flat against his head, and then she knew. This was fear.

“Neteyam,” she exhaled, shaky and low. “Please, talk to me.” It came out more desperate than she expected—practically begging him to just open his goddamn mouth and say something. 

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

The quiet stretched—too long, too heavy. The soft sounds of the cove filled the space instead: water shifting, something distant calling through the reef, her own breathing suddenly loud in her ears. Neteyam’s gaze dropped back to the water, jaw tightening like he was holding something in by force.

He rubbed his palms against his thighs, once, twice—nervous. “Can you… can you sit for a moment?” he asked, voice low. “Please.”

[Y/N] froze for half a second before obeying, lowering herself beside him, knees brushing his thigh. She folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking, from reaching for him when it felt like touching him might make him pull away completely.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers dragging down slowly, like he was buying time. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter—rough around the edges.

“I need you to listen,” he said. “And I know you’re going to want to… to say something. But, please,” he paused, eyes meeting hers, and she suddenly realized there wasn’t just fear in his eyes… there was sorrow. “Please let me just speak. Uninterrupted.”

Her heart stuttered. Suddenly, this cave didn’t feel like salvation anymore. It felt like suffocation.

But, despite how much she wanted to claw at her own throat, how much she wanted to run out of here and find fresh air, she didn’t move. She stayed exactly where she was, and no matter how much she didn’t want to, she nodded. “Okay,” [Y/N] whispered. “I’m here. I’m listening.”

Neteyam swallowed, his gaze drifting past her and out towards the dark mouth of the cove. Almost as if he was trying to look at anything except her. Slowly, he opened his mouth, eyes returning back to his hands as he rasped, “I found out something today.”

[Y/N] blinked, and as her confusion seemed to intensify, so did her anxiety. Her breath wavered, her hands shook, her heart threatened to thump out of her chest. But, she willed to stay still, to stay silent.

Beside her, Neteyam seemed to be fighting for words. For a moment, he opened his mouth, but when no sound came out, leaving him agape, he closed it very tightly. She couldn’t help but watch his lips—the way they puffed out as he ran his tongue over his teeth, the way his jaw tightened as he grit his molars together.

Finally, he tried again. “My parents,” he exhaled, voice somehow even rougher than before, “They—my father and mother, they’ve been walking for a while. About… about home.”

The logical side of her instantly knew what this meant, instantly understood what he was trying to say, but she wasn’t ready to face that. Not yet. [Y/N] didn’t want to draw any conclusions, didn’t want to assume—she wanted Neteyam to say it. So, despite the way her chest tightened, despite how difficult breathing suddenly became, she only nodded, eyes wide and expectant.

That was finally when he turned to look at her, his bright yellow eyes meeting hers. They were glossy—full of tears threatening to spill. The silence that spread between the two of them was thick, suffocating. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. So could she.

“And?” she prompted softly, though something cold had already begun curling in her stomach.

That’s when the first tear spilled, rolling slowly down his cheek. “I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else,” he said quickly, words tumbling now that they’d started. “I wanted to tell you myself, I just—” then, he laughed once, breathless and humorless. “I didn’t know how.”

That cold she’d felt earlier suddenly blossomed. It filled her chest, her lungs, it spread down her legs, through her arms. It strangled her, it imprisoned her. “Neteyam,” she breathed, fingers curled into the sand. “Tell me what?”

But she already knew.

Then came the final blow, blunt and honest and bitter and terrifying. “We’re leaving,” he finally said.

It felt like, at that moment, the second those words crawled out of his mouth, sick and cruel as they were, time stopped. The world suddenly felt silent and thunderous simultaneously. [Y/N] couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. Everything felt wrong.

“No,” she’d uttered, without really meaning to. “No, no.” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “No, no, no, no. This isn’t right.” Neteyam didn’t know what to do—he watched her, just inches away, as she spiralled. Her hands gripped the sand, trying desperately to tether herself to this world before it all disappeared. Before this beautiful life that she had spent months envisioning with Neteyam just… disappeared.

“[Y/N],” Neteyam tried, his voice weak with his own grief. Weak with unshed tears and overdue screams. Weak with frustration and guilt. “[Y/N], please,” he begged, and slowly, his hand drifted to touch her thigh—

“No!” She pushed his hand off as soon as she felt it. “No, Neteyam! You don’t get to… you don’t get to comfort me.”

Her voice echoed off the stone, sharp enough to hurt both of them.

Neteyam’s hand dropped back to his lap like it burned. He didn’t argue. Didn’t reach for her again. He just stared at the place where she’d shoved him away, ears flicking back harder, tail curling tight around his ankle like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “I know.”

That somehow made it worse.

She stood abruptly, the movement frantic, unsteady, sending sand scattering into the shallow water. “You can’t just say that,” she snapped, turning on him. Her chest heaved, breaths shallow and fast. “You can’t say you’re leaving like it’s—like it’s a storm passing through, Neteyam. Like it doesn’t ruin everything.”

He pushed himself to his feet more slowly, like sudden movement might shatter her completely. They were eye to eye now, too close, the air between them tight and buzzing.

“I didn’t want this,” he said. His voice cracked on the last word.

“Well neither did I,” she shot back. Her eyes burned, wet but furious. “But I’m the one who gets left behind.”

The words landed heavy and unforgiving.

Neteyam flinched this time—really flinched. “That’s not fair,” he breathed, looking down at his lap as the tears poured, as thick and hot as the guilt that coursed beneath his skin. “I didn’t choose—”

She shook her head, pacing a few steps away, then back again, like the space between them physically hurt. “Then why does it feel like you’re letting it happen?”

The words slipped out too sharp, too cruel. She knew it the second they left her mouth.

But Neteyam didn’t deny it either.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath. “They expect so much from me,” he admitted, voice low. “I wanted to stay—I wanted to tell them—but this is the life they want for me. I don’t get to make these decisions—”

[Y/N]’s tail lashed in anger, cutting him off as she made an incredulous sound. “You’re right, they do expect a lot from you. But you could’ve at least tried to fight for us!” Then, she paused, eyes burning a hole into the side of his head as she sobbed, “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

At that, Neteyam went still. Not defensive. Not angry. Just… still.

His eyes dropped to the sand between them, jaw tightening like he was bracing for impact. When he spoke, his voice was low and painfully calm. “Because that’s who I am,” he said, finally looking at her again. His eyes were glossy, hollow in a way that made her throat close. “I’m the son who doesn’t argue. The one who doesn’t make things harder. The one who does what he’s told.”

Silence swallowed them whole.

“You didn’t even hesitate?” she whispered.

His breath shuddered. “I hesitated the entire time,” he admitted. “I just didn’t say anything.”

That was somehow worse.

“You didn’t offer to stay,” she stated—not a question, just a fact—voice now trembling. “You didn’t ask them if I could come with you.”

“I couldn’t,” he replied. “Because if I asked, it would’ve meant I was choosing you.” His voice cracked. “And I don’t know how to live with myself if I choose wrong.”

Her anger burned hot and sharp. “So you chose them.”

His head bowed. “I chose what I was raised to choose.”

She laughed once, broken and disbelieving. “You didn’t even give us a chance.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Silence enveloped them, heavy and painful and cruel. Silence enveloped them as tears rolled down each of their faces, their breaths labored and rapid and gasping. Silence enveloped them as they looked at each other in disdain, in anger, in hurt, but somehow still in adoration. In love. Tragic love.

Finally, [Y/N] asked, voice cracking, “When do you leave?”

And that was the real kicker, wasn’t it?

Neteyam swallowed, his eyes closing briefly. “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

The word didn’t land all at once. It seeped in slowly, like water filling her lungs.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her chest hitched—once, twice—and suddenly breathing wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. Too shallow. Too fast. Her hands flew to her ribs like she could force air back into herself.

“No,” she rasped, backing away from him. “No—no, I can’t—”

She turned sharply, stumbling toward the mouth of the cave like it was the only place oxygen still existed. Her feet slipped in the sand, panic clawing up her throat, her vision blurring.

“[Y/N]—wait!” Neteyam lunged after her.

She didn’t.

She burst out of the cave into open air, sobbing openly now, gasping like she’d been underwater too long. Her hands pressed to her chest as she staggered across the sand, tears streaking hot and uncontrollable down her face.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, voice cracking as she spun on him. “Just—just leave me alone!”

Neteyam stopped short, heart slamming against his ribs. “Please,” he begged, closing the distance anyway. “Please, just let me explain—”

“There is nothing to explain!” she cried, backing away again. “You made your choice!”

Her voice carried.

Too far.

A ways away, Aonung and Rotxo sat together, playing some stupid game. But, at the sound of yelling, Aonung looked up from where he’d been laughing with Rotxo—just in time to see [Y/N] crying, doubled over in pain, Neteyam reaching for her again.

Aonung had been friends with [Y/N] since they were barely walking. They’d been there for each other through thick and thin—she was still his friend when he went through the phase of being a total prick, and he was still [Y/N]’s friend when she declared all boys had ‘cooties.’ Aonung’s idea of loyalty was born with [Y/N], so the moment he saw her and Neteyam, something inside the Metkayina boy snapped.

Aonung was already on his feet before Rotxo could even think of stopping him. “Hey!” Aonung yelled, his voice deep as he walked across the sand, closing the distance between him and Neteyam, “Get the hell away from her.”

“Aonung, please,” Neteyam begged, his bloodshot eyes bright with desperation. “You don’t understand, I need to—”

The moment Neteyam even dared to take another step towards [Y/N], Aonung acted without thinking. The moment he dared to walk towards her, the Metkayina boy found his hands on Neteyam’s chest, shoving him back with as much strength as he could muster. “I said stay away from her.”

Neteyam stumbled, stunned by Aonung’s force. “Aonung,” he tried again, his eyes continuing to glance off of his friend’s shoulder to find [Y/N]’s shaking frame, barely keeping it together. “I need to explain—”

“Neteyam,” Aonung warned, voice suddenly low as he looked his friend in the eye. “I don’t wanna hurt you, but you need to walk away. Right now.”

But, Neteyam wasn’t thinking about his safety—he was thinking about her, so he took one more step—

Aonung didn’t hesitate. His fist connected with Neteyam’s jaw in an instant, sending him crashing into the sand with a sharp cry. The sound echoed—bone on bone, breath knocked clean.

“Holy shit,” a voice gasped from behind him, and Aonung knew instinctively it was Rotxo. Before he could stop him, his friend’s arms were wrapped around him, holding him back before he could send another swing Neteyam’s way.

But, Rotxo wasn’t the only one to notice the scene.

“What the hell happened?” Lo’ak demanded, running over with Tsireya on his heels—both of them were already teary from their own inevitable goodbye, and deep down, they knew exactly what had gone on.

Aonung looked up at Lo’ak, jaw tight as he pointed a sharp finger at the younger Sully boy. “Keep your punk-ass brother away from her,” he snapped, before his eyes tracked back down to Neteyam who was currently struggling to sit up. Then, quieter, “He made her cry.”

Behind them, Tsireya was already at [Y/N’s side, arms wrapping around her shoulders and pulling back gently—but firmly—away from the scene. “[Y/N], come on,” she murmured, voice soft with comfort, but with enough urgency to get her to start moving. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

But, just as she started moving, she heard her name leave his mouth again, and her head instinctively flipped over her shoulder. “[Y/N], please—” Neteyam called, voice raw, desperate.

Aonung jerked forward again, fury reigniting. “Do not say her name.”

Instantly, Tsireya tugged her again, her free hand turning her head forward before they made steps in the wrong direction. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s get you home.”

“Bro,” Rotxo muttered urgently to Lo’ak, tightening his grip on Aonung, “you gotta get him out of here.”

Lo’ak hesitated only a second before kneeling beside Neteyam, hauling him to his feet. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Not now.”

Neteyam didn’t fight it, didn’t fight his brother’s grip on his shoulders, didn’t fight as he forced him to his feet and far away from that goddamn beach. But, even as he left, as Lo’ak turned him around and led him back to their marui, he couldn’t help it. He kept looking at her over his shoulder, looking at [Y/N]’s fragile frame, her sobs muddled against Tsireya’s shoulders, her body shaking with every breath. He watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

And it hurt worse than the punch ever could.

“Oh, [Y/N],” Tsireya whispered, her voice soft as she rubbed circles into her friend’s back. The two were cuddled together in Tsireya’s nivi—truly meant for only one Na’vi at a time, but the two girls had made it work for two all throughout their childhood—arms wrapped around each other. For [Y/N], it felt like her grasp on Tsireya was a life ring, keeping her afloat, and for Tsireya, their embrace was full of as much love as she could muster.

They’d gotten there only moments before, but even now, as they settled into a comfortable position, [Y/N] couldn’t find words. Each time she tried, reaching desperately to find something—anything—to say, her chest wrenched, and another sob shook her shoulders.

But, Tsireya was patient as ever. She let her friend cry, holding her tightly as each new wave of emotion shook her sails. There wasn’t much she could do or say that would fix this new hole in her friend’s heart, but she knew that, at the very least, she could be there. Hold her.

But, after almost half an hour like that, [Y/N]’s sobs slowly calmed into silence. Tears still streamed across her face, but they were more inconveniences than obstacles, and soon, she found a question itching at the back of her throat. Quietly, she opened her mouth and asked, voice hoarse, “What about Lo’ak?” How selfish, [Y/N] realized, silently cursing herself. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I completely forgot… Lo’ak was leaving her, too. 

When she was only met with silence, [Y/N] stirred, breaking their embrace as she leaned back to get a better look at Tsireya. Panic settled in her chest as she did so, fully expecting Tsireya to have her own meltdown, but instead, she was faced with a bittersweet smile.

Incredulous, [Y/N] couldn’t help but ask, “You’re not mad he’s leaving?”

Tsireya couldn’t help but laugh at the question, wiping tears from her eyes. “No,” she admitted, voice thick with emotion. “I’m sad, naturally, but… well, he told me he’d stay. If I wanted him to. Said he’d fight his parents so he could stay with me.” While reminiscing on a conversation that had only happened hours ago, Tsireya’s eyes drifted, almost mesmerized. The smile on her lips was soft. Sweet. Gentle. “I told him no, though. Told him to go, stay with his family, live the life he was supposed to live in the forest. One day, I told him, Eywa will bring us back together, and if she doesn’t…” she laughed again, but this time, she let the tears fall. “If she doesn’t, I said I’d hunt him down myself.”

[Y/N] tried. She really did. She tried to keep her pain at bay, tried to smile back and enjoy Tsireya’s story—tried to appreciate how truly perfect she and Lo’ak were. But, she couldn’t hold her face. Couldn’t stop the floodgates. Couldn’t stop picturing his stupid, idiotic, annoying, gorgeous face.

Tsireya faded into silence when she noticed her friend, a frown settling onto her face once again. The Tsakarem reached out, carefully, and placed a gentle hand on [Y/N]’s as she dared to ask, “He didn’t offer to stay?”

“No.” The word nearly didn’t make it out of her mouth, caught on the rough edges of her vocal chords. “He didn’t. And you know what’s even worse?” She paused, biting her lip as she stared out the marui and into the deep, black ocean. “I’m so fucking in love with him, I would’ve followed him to the ends of the earth. But, he didn’t offer that either.”

Tsireya’s arms were wrapped around her almost immediately, gripping [Y/N] to her chest as a mother would to a saddened child. She held her in a strong, enduring embrace, eyes closed as she felt each of [Y/N]’s sobs vibrate through her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time.

The voices came before the footsteps.

Low at first, muffled by the walls—Aonung’s sharp and agitated, Rotxo’s quieter, trying to keep him in check. Tsireya stiffened almost immediately, her hand pausing where it rested against [Y/N]’s back. [Y/N] barely registered it. She was still staring out at the water, eyes glassy, shoulders heavy like gravity had doubled.

The doorway darkened.

Aonung stood there with Rotxo just behind him, both of them hesitating like they’d walked up to something fragile and weren’t sure where to put their hands. Aonung’s knuckles were scraped raw, one split and still red. His jaw was tight—not angry anymore. Something closer to sheepish. Or worse. Guilty.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Tsireya straightened, her eyes flicking immediately to her brother’s hand, and eventually, she let out a heavy sigh. Long. Flat. Dangerous.

“Did you really need to punch him?”

Aonung bristled on instinct. “He made her cry.”

Tsireya turned fully toward him now, incredulous. “That is not—”

“And,” he cut in, gesturing sharply toward [Y/N], “he wasn’t leaving her alone when she asked. So, pardon me for being a gentleman.”

Rotxo winced.

Tsireya crossed her arms, her gaze unimpressed. “Gentlemen do not attack people without cause.”

“There was a cause,” Aonung shot back. “My friend was crying. Is that really so wrong?”

She stared at him for a long second, then rolled her eyes and turned back to [Y/N], muttering something under her breath that sounded a lot like unbelievable.

The silence that followed was thick again—different from before, heavier with witnesses.

Rotxo cleared his throat, clearly choosing his words with care. “So,” he said gently, eyes flicking between all three of them, “what did he do?”

[Y/N]’s lip trembled. She hadn’t meant for it to, but the image of Neteyam’s face—tear-streaked, apologetic, helpless—rose too fast, too sharp. Tsireya noticed immediately.

“The Sullys are returning home,” Tsireya said instead, firm but soft. “Tomorrow.” She paused, then added, “Neteyam too.”

Silence.

Aonung’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” he breathed. Then, quieter, horrified, “And I punched him in the face. This does not bode well for international relations.”

Tsireya snorted despite herself. “You’ll both survive.” She waved off his concerns with a lazy hand. “All you guys do is punch each other and make up. The simplicity of males.” For a moment, her eyes flickered to [Y/N]—a part of her knew she should laugh, but she couldn’t bring herself to it.

“You’re probably right,” Aonung admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, before finally looking at [Y/N], and almost instantly, his gaze softened with concern. Her eyes were swollen, lashes clumped, shoulders still shaking faintly like her body hadn’t gotten the message that the worst of it was over. His mouth opened. Then it closed.

Whatever he’d been about to say clearly wasn’t enough.

Rotxo stepped in smoothly, resting a hand on Aonung’s arm. “We’ll let you be,” he said, already steering him back toward the door.

As they left, Tsireya moved closer again, pulling [Y/N] back into her arms without a word, and this time, [Y/N] didn’t break. She did not cry, she did not sob into Tsireya. Instead, she just closed her eyes, praying that sleep would take her before she started spiraling again.

Outside, their footsteps faded.

Inside, the grief stayed.

Morning came too fast.

The village was already awake when [Y/N] arrived, though she stayed on the edges, tucked into the shade where the woven canopies cast long shadows across the sand. The ocean was calm—offensively calm—like it didn’t know it was about to lose something.

Her eyes were still puffy, her skin tight from crying herself empty the night before.

A few feet away, Tsireya stood near the center of the gathering, helping Neytiri secure supplies, her movements steady and practiced. She glanced back every so often, checking the shore, checking for her friend.

The rest of the Sully family was quiet—a very unusual trait for their lot. Lo’ak stood off to the side, silent as his gaze rested on Tsireya and her busy hands. Kiri hovered nearby, expression distant, like she was already half somewhere else.

And Neteyam—

[Y/N] didn’t let herself look at him. Not yet.

But just as [Y/N] was starting to believe she’d chosen a fine enough hiding spot—just far enough away where she couldn’t be spotted, but close enough that she could still watch them leave—a voice called her name, cutting through the melancholy quiet.

“[Y/N]!”

Before she could brace herself, a little body barreled toward her, nearly tripping over her own feet before colliding into [Y/N]’s legs. She dropped to her knees instinctively, catching Tuk in her arms.

“Hey,” [Y/N] murmured, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Hey, bug.” At Tuk’s warbling lip, her glossy eyes, the older girl ran a soft thumb across her cheek.

“I don’t want to go,” Tuk admitted, quiet as tears threatened to spill over. If [Y/N] hadn’t been sad before, the poor devastation on this girl’s face was enough to send her over the edge. But despite that, she held it back, willing herself to be strong for Tuk—even if she really didn’t want to be.

“I know,” [Y/N] whispered, cradling her face gently. “But you get to go home. And you know what? You will always—always—be welcome back here, bug.”

Slowly, Tuk nodded, accepting [Y/N]’s comforting truths. Then, “You promise?”

Instinctively, [Y/N] held up her hand, all fingers balled tight into a fist except the smallest one—a silly act that Tuk had taught her all those months ago. “Pinky swear.”

Tuk giggled slightly, despite the tears that trickled down her face, as she wrapped her own tiny finger around [Y/N]’s. Then, just as she was letting go, her eyes widened, and a gasp left her mouth.

“I almost forgot!” she exclaimed, looking down at her other hand.

Carefully, Tuk removed a delicate, hand-threaded bead bracelet from her wrist, and as soon as it was free, she held it up to [Y/N] like it was made of pure gold.

“I made this for you.” Her voice was quiet now. Shy.

[Y/N] gaped quietly, her chest blooming with warmth as she picked up the bracelet gently. “For me?” she asked, and before she even knew it, a small smile spread across her face—a small, but real, smile.

Tuk nodded silently, looking down as she wrung her own hands. “Yes,” she admitted. “I made it so you don’t forget us. Kiri, or Lo’ak, or Neteyam…” [Y/N] held back a flinch. “Or me.”

[Y/N] felt as though her throat was closing, and silently, she let a small tear fall down her cheek. “I could never forget you, Tuk,” she breathed, a bittersweetness to her words, “even if I tried.”

Then she brought her arms around the youngest Sully, pulling her into her chest. Tuk clung to her like she might float away.

All around them, farewells were being exchanged. Lo’ak threw a gentle punch at Aonung before they eventually pulled each other into a quick embrace. Neteyam exchanged quiet goodbyes with Rotxo. Kiri and Tsireya held each other in a teary hug. Neytiri and Jake thanked Ronal and Tonowari for everything.

Eventually, Tuk pulled away when she heard Tsireya calling her name. Although she hesitated for just a moment, not wanting to leave [Y/N], the Metkayina girl shook her head, a small chuckle falling from her lips.

“Go,” she told the young Sully. “You have many fans.”

And as Tuk ran away, [Y/N] looked up and found Lo’ak walking toward her.

The second Sully son stopped a few steps in front of her, rocking slightly on his heels like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. His eyes flicked briefly to the bracelet still clutched in [Y/N]’s fingers, then back to her face.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” she echoed.

Then she stepped toward him, and the two wrapped their arms around each other in a warm embrace. After everything over the past few months, Lo’ak and [Y/N] had become fast friends. They’d started from a slightly threatening relationship, as [Y/N] warned him against breaking her best friend’s heart, but they soon grew closer when Lo’ak realized he could threaten her too.

Although neither of them had really expected Neteyam to be the one who broke her heart.

As they hugged, Lo’ak muttered the soft, powerful words, “I’m so sorry,” into her ear.

At the sound, [Y/N] felt herself go rigid in his embrace, as if he’d reminded her of everything all at once—of her distress, of what was coming. But if he felt her shift, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t loosen his grip.

“He’s an idiot, y’know. A real one,” Lo’ak continued quietly. “And that doesn’t mean you owe him anything—doesn’t mean you should forgive him. But… just know he never meant to hurt you. He just doesn’t know how to choose himself.”

Silence swallowed the two of them whole as Lo’ak slowly dropped his arms and stepped back to look at her.

Finally, she whispered, “I know.”

At her words, they exchanged one last silent look, both knowing they’d said everything they could. From there forward, it was all in Eywa’s time.

So Lo’ak nodded once, a gentle smile playing at his lips, before he stepped back and found Tsireya.

And then—

She felt it. That pull in her chest. That awareness she’d been avoiding since sunrise.

She lifted her head.

Neteyam stood a few paces away.

He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t speaking. Just watching her like stepping forward might shatter something fragile and already broken. His face was tight with restraint, eyes red-rimmed, hands curled uselessly at his sides.

For one heartbeat, she waited.

For one foolish, hopeful second, she thought he might cross the distance.

He didn’t.

Something inside her closed—cleanly, decisively.

[Y/N] turned away before the tears could fall, before her face could give her away. She walked back toward the shade, her breath coming too fast, her heart breaking all over again with every step.

Behind her, she heard her name—soft, cracked—but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

“Kaltxì, Zalor,” she would reply, voice warm with an overabundance of joy. These days, [Y/N] felt like she couldn’t stop smiling, and while a part of it, she knew, was because Quaritch was officially dead as of four months ago, and the RDA was weaker than ever, [Y/N] knew the truth deep inside. 

“[Y/N]!” That was why. The moment she heard his voice, a comfortable warmth filled her chest, her stomach did a backflip, and she found it impossible to not turn around and look at him. He was a fair distance away, but she couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the speed he was moving, his dark blue skin standing out against the pale sand of Awa’atlu. “[Y/N]!” he hollered again, and finally [Y/N] waved at him.

“Hello, Neteyam,” she greeted, watching in amusement as he tripped on a sand dune, nearly sprawling out on all-fours, although he caught himself before any embarrassment could consume him. Still, at the sound of [Y/N]’s laughter, the boy looked up sheepishly, blushing just slightly.

Four months ago, when Quaritch was finally killed and the RDA was nearly defeated, Neteyam had nearly died. Every time she looked at that idiotic Sully-boy, she couldn’t help but let her eyes trail down to his shoulder where a nasty scar was left behind. A bullet, a sickening piece of the Sky-People’s artillery, had him seconds away from death, bleeding out in a cove, breathing the breaths they all thought would be his last.

[Y/N] had always been a quiet girl. She kept to herself, followed directions like good warriors do, didn’t make dangerous strides. But, that night, when she saw that boy, merely a good friend at the time, nearing death, it was as if she acted on instinct alone. She took him, before Toruk Mahkto or his mate had a chance to disagree, with Tsireya. The two girls, best friends since birth, practically flew across that ocean, [Y/N] holding Neteyam’s limp body steady aboard the ilu.

Tsireya, being the Tsakarem, knew what she was doing as soon as they reached her mother’s supplies. She worked in silence, [Y/N] helping whenever she was directed, and it felt like the world was about to cave in on itself. His shallowing breaths, the thickening puddle of blood, the dark sky outside full of nothing but fire.

Silently, [Y/N] prayed. With watchful, anxious eyes, she prayed to Eywa that Neteyam would be alright. That he would live, because if he didn’t… her stomach plummeted at the thought, and she pushed it away until it only lingered in the periphery of her mind.

An hour had passed, although it felt triple that for Tsireya and [Y/N], before the first warriors began to return. Many were injured, but none were seconds away from death in the same way Neteyam was. “[Y/N],” Tsireya had breathed out, shaky and unsure. “I need you to find my mother.”

When her friend had looked up at her after that, eyes glazed with fear, and worst of all, panic, [Y/N] knew she had to hurry. Tsireya was doing everything she could, but there eventually came a limit to her skills. For now, she could keep the Sully boy alive, but Ronal was the only one who could truly heal him.

“Where is Ronal?” she begged a warrior outside, a lovely boy named Rorín who was just around [Y/N]’s age. “Have you seen her?” When he only shrugged, helpless and injured, dread began to settle in [Y/N]’s chest.

She asked everyone gathered on the docks, ran to the incoming warriors to see if they had, at the very least, spotted her, but it was no use. Just when the tears pooled on her bottom lid, just when she felt that all hope was lost, she finally spotted them on the horizon. Two aqua blobs aboard their swimwings, weapons in hand.

“Tonowari!” She began waving her hands above her head, acting like a lunatic as she signalled to the couple. “Ronal!” Please, she begged, chest tightening, please notice me. And to her luck, she watched as Tonowari slowly pointed to her, redirecting his mate’s attention.

Relief flooded her body as they began moving in her direction, speed increasing tenfold the moment they realized [Y/N], practically an extra child with how close she was to Aonung and Tsireya, needed their help.

By the time they reached the docks, the Tsahik and Olo’eyktan of Awa’atlu were dismounting as soon as they could, feet carrying them to her panicked frame at a frantic speed. “[Y/N],” Tonowari reached out to grab her, checking her up and down for injuries, “what is the matter?”

“I am fine,” she admitted, voice raspy from the tears she’d shed over the past hour and a half. “I am fine, Tsireya is fine. But,” she turned to look at Ronal, desperation in her gaze, “we need your help.”

[Y/N] explained the situation to her on the way to her marui. Explained how the injury occurred, where on the body it was located, the speed in which they treated him, and lastly, explained that, while Tsireya was doing everything she could, they needed Ronal.

As they burst through the curtains, Ronal stifled a gasp at her daughter. Neteyam’s blood coated her arms, her supplies were scattered everywhere, and the boy was barely holding on from where he laid on her table. “Move,” Ronal ordered, and although the tone was demanding, her eyes told another story.

Tsireya backed away, bringing her hands to her face—to which [Y/N] quickly stepped in before they could even linger by her mouth, “We must go wash up,” she whispered gently—and small, quiet sobs wracked her body.

Ronal started working almost immediately, grabbing herbs and pastes and threads and needles, but, for a moment, she paused and looked back at the girls. Her girls. When she turned back to Neteyam’s body, she stated bluntly, “Leave me.” Then, a breath later, “I am proud of you both.”

[Y/N] could still feel the anxiety of that night. The way she and Tsireya shook as they washed the blood off their hands, their tears hot and silent. [Y/N], in desperation, clawed at his skin, trying to remove any sign that Neteyam was ever injured, but it was no use.

Aonung and Rotxo had found them first, their faces creased with concern as they crouched down, meeting their eyes as they asked, “[Y/N], Tsireya, what happened?” And, even as Tsireya relayed the story, voice faint, their faces never changed, their hands never left the girls’ shoulders. They kept them grounded, no matter how much they, too, wanted to cry.

That night, none of them had slept. Just around the bend, the Sully family was getting frantic as well. If [Y/N] listened closely, she could hear Neytiri’s sobs, Kiri’s soft prayers, Tuk’s comforting words. Jake and Lo’ak, as she could’ve guessed, remained silent. Stoic.

“He blames himself,” Tsireya whispered to [Y/N], the two watching the stars blink through the sky. “He blames himself for what happened to Neteyam. Because he made them go back, get their… human friend.”

“Have you spoken with him?” she asked her friend, her head dropping onto Tsireya’s shoulder as she dared, for just a moment, to close her eyes and tempt herself with rest.

She could feel Tsireya shake her head, her thick spirals of hair tickling [Y/N]’s back. “No,” she admitted before resting her chin atop [Y/N]’s head. “But, I know him.” Her eyes drifted to look at Rotxo and Aonung, just a few feet away, curled up and asleep. If it was any other circumstance, [Y/N] is sure she would laugh.

Hours passed, and [Y/N] and Tsireya seemed to take turns fading in and out of sleep. They were exhausted—physically, from having to fight Avatars and escape death on numerous counts, as well as mentally—but they were scared. Scared that, if they fell asleep, they would wake up and Neteyam would be gone.

But, the sun was finally cresting the next morning when the news finally came. [Y/N] would never forget how that felt—the light slowly creeping across her skin, breaking the chill of Awa’atlu’s cold nights. Waves lapped at the dock, soft, gentle, as if the ocean hadn’t any idea of the horrors that had taken place upon her open waters the night before.

[Y/N] dared to lift her head, rubbing exhaustion out of her eyes as she cast a look towards Ronal’s marui. Where Neteyam was lying, trying to beat death. No, she corrected herself, where he is beating death.

And then, the entrance flap opened, and Ronal stepped out.

At the sight, [Y/N] immediately popped up, stirring Tsireya. Instinctively, she grabbed her friend’s hand, and the girl shook her head, her face squished with confusion. “[Y/N]?” she rasped, sitting up slowly. “What is happening?”

All [Y/N] could think to do was grab Tsireya’s head, turning it so she finally looked at mother, waiting expectantly. While Ronal was busy watching the Sullys, silently willing them to come towards her, the Tsahik managed to cast a glance at her daughter and her friend. Then, for just a split second, as Neytiri and Jake were rushing to meet her, Ronal let herself smile. It was small, barely even there if you didn’t look for it, but [Y/N] and Tsireya saw it. And then, she nodded, and both girls knew exactly what she meant, no words necessary.

Neteyam was alive.

Ever since that fateful night, when [Y/N] had, well, helped save his life, there were three big discoveries. First off, Neteyam, and really the entire Sully family, had realized there was much more to [Y/N] than they had assumed. Neytiri had expressed that clearly, thanking the girl for her instincts, for her bravery. “You saved my son,” the Omatikayan woman exhaled, tears welling in her eyes as she squeezed [Y/N]’s hands. “Thank you.”

The second discovery was that there was much more to Tsireya, as well. Not only did Neytiri and Jake express their gratitude towards her, but her own mother finally—finally—expressed her pride. “You did the right thing, daughter. I knew you were intelligent, but I am more proud than ever to know you will be Tsahik in the future.”

The third discovery was, well, a whole lot of love. While Tsireya and Lo’ak already had preexisting interest in each other, this battle, although detrimental, only increased their feelings towards each other. Neteyam and [Y/N] however, were full of new beginnings.

New beginnings that, inevitably, led to a whole lot of secrecy just a month later.

Although, secrecy was beginning to feel like one big, fat lie. 

As Neteyam got closer, his deep blue skin now darkened by the constant barrage of sunlight, [Y/N] felt herself pull back to reality. Out of her memories, out of the terrors that have managed to haunt her, night by night, and instead, into the joy of the present. Into the joy of Neteyam.

“Are you busy?” the Omatikayan boy asked, although his words were slightly drowned out by his heavy breaths, suddenly exhausted from his trip across the sand dune. He stood next to her now, hands on his hips as he looked down with a small boyish grin.

[Y/N] laughed, waving a lazy hand in the air. “Technically, yes,” she admitted. “But, I can make time for you. If you need it,” she teased, eyes dancing with delight as the boy lowered himself to the sand and sat down right next to her. In front of her, a coil of rope—mangrove roots and tough sea plants, morphed together—sat at her feet. She was in the middle of weaving a fishing net, a tedious and arduous task.

“Did you draw the short straw today?” Neteyam asked knowingly. She’d complained about these chores very often to him, and clearly, it was reaching the point where it was a bit too much.

She sighed, leaning back so she rested her weight on her locked arms behind her, and shrugged. “I got to hunt yesterday, so now Aonung’s forcing me to stay here. Sucks that he gets to be all bossy all the time,” she complained with a groan.

“He is the future Olo’eyktan,” Neteyam offered with a laugh. “You’ll be hearing a lot more from him in the coming years.”

She rolled her eyes, although she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled from her throat. “Yeah, don’t remind me.”

Ever since Neteyam began to recover, their relationship began to bloom. It was quiet at first, respectful, sweet. He didn’t domineer, he just… waited. Offered to help her when she needed it, spent more time around her, watched her in admiration. Soon, they began to see each other regularly, and before they knew it, they found any excuse they could to be together.

Eventually, the two would often sneak out, far after Eclipse, to find each other. [Y/N] brought him into a secret underground cove, one that she had kept to herself since her childhood, but now that she was grown, she finally decided it was time to share it. He was the first one she showed.

Neteyam and [Y/N], admittedly, shared a lot of firsts with each other.

One night, as they laid in that cove, backs pressed against the sand while the tide brushed against their toes, [Y/N] finally dared to ask. “Neteyam,” she caught his attention, voice gentle while she rolled, just slightly, to look at him.

Neteyam could feel her eyes on the side of his face and, habitually, he turned to meet her gaze. “Hm?” he hummed, a content smile resting on his lips. She watched as his gaze drifted—it trekked through her features, her eyes he so often complimented, her lips he could not get enough of, down to the waist he adored, her thighs—

“Eyes up here!” [Y/N] grabbed his chin with her hands, tilting it up so his eyes met hers once again. Laughter shook through his body, echoing across the small cave, and she felt her heart thump a bit faster at the sound. “I am trying to ask you a question here.”

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically, but the smile on his face betrayed him. “What do you want to know, ma’yawne?”

“Stop being such a flirt,” she teased, now fully turning on her side so she could get a full look at him. Her Neteyam. Finally, she took a breath and asked, “Was it me saving your life that convinced you to like me?”

Neteyam answered almost immediately. “No,” he said, with a shake of his head, shocking [Y/N] into pure confusion. “Oh, no. That was… no, [Y/N]. I have liked you since the very first moment I saw you.”

That was not what she’d been expecting.

“When we first arrived in Awa’atlu, you were… you were stunning, [Y/N], and everything in me told me to talk to you. But, I was a coward, and I knew you didn’t really like me, so it was never worth a try.” He shook his head, looking back up at the ceiling of the cave as if reliving his memories. “Then, I almost died. And you saved me. And I realized that, maybe—just maybe—you liked me too.”

An ugly guffaw echoed from [Y/N]’s mouth before she could stop it. Almost immediately, at hearing the sound, she clasped a hand on her lips, face heating up in embarrassment. “That was so much louder than I meant,” she whispered, and this time, both of them erupted into laughter.

“[Y/N]?” Neteyam’s voice brought her out of her head and back to the present. The present where she was still seated on the beach weaving stupid fishing nets because Aonung decided to be an asshole that morning. “[Y/N], are you okay?”

As she snapped back into it, [Y/N] turned to look at Neteyam, whose face was a mixture of amusement and slight concern. “Sorry,” she breathed, a sheepish grin shifting the corners of her mouth upwards. “Stuck in my head.”

He chuckled, shrugging. “It is alright, [Y/N],” he offered, his eyes lingering on her mouth for a second too long. She knew he wanted to kiss her—she wanted to kiss him too—but everything they’d done over the past three months—every kiss, every sensual touch, every deep conversation—had been in secret.

There were many reasons for their secret, but it was primarily because of their parents. In the case of Neteyam, he had a very… expectant mother and father. They’d been pushing him to find a mate right before they’d left High Camp—believing that he would still be the future Olo’eyktan at the time—and now, a part of him was scared they still expected him to create a life back at home. Especially knowing that Quaritch was gone, and the RDA would disappear within the next ten years anyway.

As for [Y/N], her parents were still pushing her to find a mate. To find a strong, stable life with some Metkayina warrior and create strong, stable babies. Just like her mother had done before her, and her grandmother before that. She wasn’t nearly as pressured as Neteyam was—she had no problem fighting her parents, in truth—but it still scared her to think about.

She knew she really wouldn’t have that conversation with them anytime soon, anyway. Well, not until she was truly ready to mate.

But, even though they intended their relationship to remain under wraps regarding their parents, there was only so much they could do when it came to their siblings and friends. While Neteyam and [Y/N], during that first month, believe they were more stealthy and secretive than ever, it turned out, they were anything but.

Tsireya was the first one who noticed. She watched how [Y/N]’s shoulders straightened when she saw Neteyam, how her breathing shallowed, her grin became softer. Easier. And then Neteyam was more joyous than ever. Despite having almost died a month earlier, he would not stop smiling. And his gaze… his gaze was so gentle when he looked at that girl. So kind, so sweet.

Tsireya had, idiotically, asked Lo’ak his opinion on this matter. “You don’t think they’re… seeing each other, do you?” While Lo’ak had no helpful information, he did have a very large mouth that accidentally told Aonung, who told Rotxo, who told Kiri, who confronted Neteyam about it right in front of Tuk. (Not to mention, the amount of bribery it took for Tuk to not tell on them.)

Luckily, their friends didn’t care—they were more annoyed than anything. Annoyed that Neteyam and [Y/N] had kept it a secret from them and for so long. In fact, it was shockingly Aonung who had said, “You know, I literally knew this was gonna happen. Didn’t I, Rotxo?”

Rotxo could only shrug. “Yeah, he bet on it like three weeks ago.” Then, the boy blinked. “Shit, I owe you, don’t I?”

Aonung slapped his friend on the shoulder cheerily. “Two months of chores, if I remember correctly.”

But, even if their friends knew, both Neteyam and [Y/N] knew that their parents would not have as gentle of a reaction. So, even if [Y/N] felt every urge to grab the back of his neck and kiss him right then and there, on that beach, in front of the stupid fishing nets, she couldn’t.

Instead, she smiled softly, looking down at her tired fingers, and whispered, “Will I see you tonight?”

that’s right, she cursed herself, remembering the idiotic promise she made to her brothers last night. what had [y/n] been thinking! she didn’t want to confess her sins, and never mind confessing them to her parents. she stifled a groan as she twisted and turned in her nivi, finally able to climb out and place her feet on the mesh floor of the marui.

the truth was, neteyam and lo’ak caught her in a very… vulnerable time. and she wasn’t really thinking for her future—moreso, she was willing to say anything to get her brothers to leave her alone. of course, the “anything” happened to be an idiotic promise to tell her parents everything: that she’d been sneaking out, and worse, that she’d been sneaking out to see aonung. oh, and when did she commit to making this confession? oh, that’s right. by the end of today.

dread settled in [y/n]’s chest as she slowly walked out of her family’s marui. sunlight hit her face, and she fought every urge to retreat back into the shade so her head could catch up with her feet. but, when she turned to look over her shoulder, her stomach dropped at the sight of her parents.

they were awake—she hadn’t even noticed them, although she was probably too wrapped up in her own worries—and seated around their fire pit. the flame was small, just enough to cook their breakfast without overheating their entire marui, a mistake that jake had made years back before [y/n] could even remember (although neytiri told the story enough that [y/n] would never forget it).

“rewon lefpom, maite,” neytiri greeted [y/n] with a soft smile. her mother was very rarely joyous these days—it was hard to be, considering she was miles away from her home, her family, her people—so, for neytiri to be smiling this early in the morning, even if it was small, was a wonderful sign. a positive indicator that life would be okay.

except for the fact that [y/n] would steal all that happiness when she finally told her parents of her terrible, reckless behavior—did her brothers do idiotic stuff? all the time. but [y/n]... she was supposed to be the good one. the one they didn’t have to worry about, the one who kept her twin out of danger, who listened to kiri, who helped neteyam, who entertained tuk.

the dread was getting heavier with each second that passed.

“hi,” [y/n] finally replied, forcing a smile onto her face, as artificial as it felt. she could feel her parents’ eyes on her—jake’s were scrutinizing, trying to read every bit of her body language, and most likely, trying to figure out if she was okay. if she was safe. neytiri, however, looked at her with concern. where her mate felt the need to protect his children and keep them alive, neytiri’s maternal instinct prompted her to make sure they weren’t just alive, but that they were alive and well.

“are you alright, maite?” her mother asked, eyes full of worry, and guilt flooded [y/n]’s chest. 

no, [y/n] thought to herself. i am like five seconds away from hurling myself into the sea. but, instead, she broadened her smile and shrugged. “i’m fine. just tired, i guess.” then, as she walked closer to the fire pit, she peered over the merki to find roasting fish. “and i guess a bit hungry.” although, that was a complete lie. she hated fish.

“really?” lo’ak’s voice came out of absolutely nowhere, and [y/n] turned to find her twin seated a few feet away, his hands busy as he fiddled with some random reeds, braiding and unbraiding them habitually. but, despite his apparent boredom, [y/n] knew her twin, and she knew the expression he wore was anything but innocent.

“yes,” she restated, anger lacing her tone as she shot a look at him. “yes, really, lo’ak.” sometimes, she wondered if she was sent as his twin to keep him out of trouble, or if he was sent here with the mission to make her life a living hell.

but, lo’ak just shrugged at her response. “huh,” he breathed, looking back at his hands, although his eyebrows remained high on his forehead. “thought you hated fish.”

[y/n] bit her tongue before she said something that she couldn’t take back, and instead took a deep breath. “yeah, well,” she hummed, sitting down beside her mother, who placed the strong smelling breakfast in her hands. she felt every urge to wrinkle her nose, to gag, to give it back and walk away, but she stayed strong. “it’s growing on me, i guess.”

later that day, [y/n] found herself stuck, once again, with her ever-hovering mother. the two of them were alone in their marui, weaving baskets like two well-oiled machines. they’d been in desperate need of storage, especially now that they were, well, fully moving into this place, it seemed. so, when neytiri had asked for help a few days prior, [y/n] of course volunteered.

now, she wished she hadn’t been such a kind and gracious daughter.

luckily, neytiri hadn’t wished to talk. the two, instead, sat in comfortable silence, almost hypnotized by their own fingers moving at impressive paces to finish these damn baskets. well, maybe a more correct statement would be, neytiri sat in comfortable silence. [y/n], however, was still drowning in guilt mixed with dread.

every few minutes, [y/n] feels the words on her tongue, and she’s so tempted to just… say it. to confess it, to tell her mother everything, but every time she looks up, every time she looks at her mother’s focused face, she lets her cowardice win.

she looks back down and keeps weaving.

this goes on for hours—endless and awful—and, by the end of it, [y/n] is suffocating. partially because she’s choking on her own words, her own truth, and also partly because the thought of getting in any trouble whatsoever causes her skin to heat up, her neck start to itch, her body to nearly shut down.

part of her wondered if it was just better to admit it so everything could end. the anxiety, the fear, the nerves. but, then again, that anxiety, that fear, those nerves… they were there for a reason.

[y/n] had been fully stuck in her own head, spiralling endlessly into what-ifs and worst-case-scenarios, that she hadn’t even noticed neteyam enter. he was watching her from afar, eyes furrowed in a sort of concern that mirror their mother’s, as she continued this endless cycle. weaving, stopping, looking up at neytiri, blushing a deep indigo, and looking down at her hands to continue weaving.

finally, her older brother had enough. “[y/n]?” he finally caught her attention (which, by the way, almost made her jump out of her skin considering she hadn’t even realized he was there).

“neteyam,” she breathed, a hand on her chest as she kept herself grounded. “do you need something?”

he gave her a look, and she, of course, instantly knew. “can we talk?”

she didn’t even bother fighting it. it wasn’t worth it, and by the way neteyam was looking at her, he would not leave her alone until she confided in him. sometimes, his generosity and kindness was a blessing, but other times… well, it was exhausting to be on the other end of his empathy if you really had no interest in talking about your feelings.

regardless of how much she didn’t want to talk to neteyam, though, [y/n] still found herself following him outside, until they were a few feet away—enough for neytiri to not be able to overhear.

“so,” he finally started, drawing out the ‘o,’ “you said you would tell them today.” it wasn’t a question, it was a very definitive, very irrefutable statement.

[y/n] still found herself questioning it, though. “did i really?” she gasped, pressing a mock hand to her chest. “i could’ve sworn i said next year, neteyam, silly me!”

“[y/n].” the look he gave her was pointed, and she found herself groaning, head dropped back so that she looked straight up into the sky.

“‘teyam,” she whined, looking at him with tired eyes that were begging for sympathy. “you know it’s easier said than done.”

neteyam only smiled at that, though, a hand pressing down on his sister’s shoulders. “yes, i know. even though lo’ak keeps saying you’re just a wuss.”

[y/n] couldn’t help but scoff at that remark, her arms now crossed across her chest. “me a wuss? why does he have to be such a prick all the time?” shaking her head, she suddenly realized, “you know what! you can tell him that he’s a wuss because he still hasn’t asked tsireya out. at least i am getting some action.”

at that, neteyam’s head rolled backwards as he let out a string of laughter. “you can tell him that yourself.”

then, she rose a brow. “uh, no. i already have enough confessions to make.”

dinner time came quicker than [y/n] hoped, but she knew it was probably for the best, because dinner time meant she could finally get this stupid shit over with and just tell her parents and hope she didn’t die as a result of it.

the food itself was… not great—another meal of fish—but, [y/n] had no appetite anyway. the entire meal, she picked at her plate, pulling the poor creature apart due to the anxiety that was ultimately disguised as boredom.

however, her disenchantment was quite noticeable to all those around her. lo’ak and neteyam watched her warily—they knew everything, so it was only slightly concerning. but, everyone else… well, it was weird to see [y/n], of all people, so bummed out. especially since she’d just been starting to seem to happy here.

finally, it was neytiri who asked. “[y/n],” she called for her middle daughter’s attention, and as the girl looked up, she could feel a pit open in her stomach. “are you alright? you haven’t been yourself all day.”

every part of [y/n] screamed at her to say yup, totally fine! and move on, but one look at neteyam and lo’ak, and she knew it was time to rip off the bandage. she paused for a moment, looking once at her mother, then her father, and then let out a long breath. “i’m fine,” she started, because she really didn’t want her parents to panic, “but… can i talk to you two? alone?”

the request was met almost immediately. instantly, jake and neytiri walked with their daughter outside (none of them really liked fish anyway, so they weren’t missing out much on dinner), their faces etched with concern the entire time. neytiri’s eyes were soft, concerned, and jake’s brows were furrowed down.

she’d seen those faces so many times, but they almost never in response to her. her stomach twirled.

“what is it, [y/n]?” jake asked, sitting down beside his daughter on the dock. “you know, you can tell us anything.”

she sighed, an ironic smile playing at her lips. “that’s what all parents say, isn’t it?” but, at neytiri’s unimpressed face at such a lame attempt of a joke, [y/n] shook her head. no more beating around the bush.

then, she took one, full, deep breath, before it all came spilling out. at once. “okay so a month ago or something aonung and i became friends and then we started becoming more than friends and like i know he’s been stupid before and he’s been rude to kiri and cruel to lo’ak but y’know their friendships are okay now and he apologized to kiri and he really isn’t a bad person. he’s really nice! and i just… i think i really like him, and i also started sneaking out to see him because that’s the only time i thought we could just be him and me without any stress until neteyam and lo’ak basically stalked us last night and forced me into confessing to you guys, so if you’re mad at me you should actually be mad at them because they made me do this.”

the silence after her confession was unbearable.

[y/n] squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for it—the disappointment, the anger, the lecture that would last for hours. her heart was hammering so hard she was sure they could hear it.

then—

her dad laughed.

not a loud laugh. not even really a laugh at all. more like a breath that turned into a sound, dragged out of him from sheer relief. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. “that’s it?” he said quietly.

[y/n]’s eyes snapped open. “what?”

neytiri blinked, her ears flicking back in disbelief before she let out a shaky breath of her own. her hand pressed briefly to her chest, as if grounding herself. “ma eywa,” she murmured. “i thought you were sad. or sick. or that something terrible had happened to you.”

the words hit [y/n] harder than any scolding could have.

“you’ve been pale all day,” neytiri continued softly. “quiet. afraid. my heart has been heavy since morning.”

guilt flooded her all over again. “i didn’t mean to scare you,” she said quickly. “i just—i didn’t know how to say it.”

jake straightened, finally looking at her fully. his expression wasn’t angry. it wasn’t disappointed. it was tired, but warm. understanding in that way that made her throat tighten. “baby girl,” he said, “we were worried you were in danger. sneaking out is bad, yeah—but this?” he gestured vaguely between them. “this is… growing up.”

neytiri nodded. “you have been strong for so long,” she said, reaching out to brush her thumb over [y/n]’s knuckles. “you carry much without speaking of it. it is not wrong to want someone. to find comfort.”

[y/n] swallowed. “even if it’s aonung?”

neytiri’s mouth twitched despite herself. “your father was far worse.”

“hey,” jake protested immediately.

neytiri shot him a look. “you were reckless. loud. stubborn.” and when he grumbled an unintelligible response, she rolled her eyes. “in fact, you still are.”

that finally cracked it. a laugh bubbled out of [y/n] before she could stop it—short, breathless, a little hysterical. she brought a hand up to her face, scrubbing at her eyes.

“okay,” jake said gently, sobering. “here’s the deal. no more sneaking out. that part stops.”

[y/n] nodded instantly. “yeah. yeah, okay. that makes sense, i guess.”

“we want to know where you are,” neytiri added. “that you are safe.”

“i get it,” [y/n] said, softer now. “i really do.”

neytiri pulled her into a hug before she could think too hard about it, arms wrapping around her shoulders, firm and warm and grounding. [y/n] melted into it without hesitation. a second later, jake joined in too—awkward, broad, squeezing a little too tight.

for the first time all day, the knot in [y/n]’s chest loosened.

later, curled up in her nivi, she stared at the ceiling long after the marui had gone quiet. no more sneaking out, she told herself. i promised.

the thought lasted maybe five minutes.

because all she could think about was aonung. about how close she’d come to ruining everything out of fear. about how she didn’t want to end the day without seeing him.

“just this once,” she whispered into the dark, and quietly, she slipped out of her nivi and into the open air of awa’atlu. her feet carried her towards the water like muscle memory, getting just a bit faster with each step.

then, she saw him.

standing near the shore, arms crossed, staring out at the ocean like he was debating whether to give up and head back. his shoulders visibly relaxed when he spotted her. “you’re okay,” he said, relief plain in his voice, and the soft smile that settled on his lips was enough to make her realize that, even if she was breaking a rule, it was worth it.

“yeah,” she breathed. “i am.”

they sat together in the sand, close but not touching. she told him everything—about her parents, the confession, the rule. he listened without interrupting, jaw tight, eyes soft.

“you actually told them,” he said when she finished, a little stunned.

“yeah,” she shrugged. “almost threw up, but… yeah.”

he huffed a quiet laugh. “you’re braver than you give yourself credit for. i mean, i feel like you told so many stories of the forest where you ran away, where you were scared, but… well, i think what you did was pretty courageous.” when [y/n] gave him an unimpressed look, he held up his hands in mock defense. “i mean it! i know i offered to tell my parents last night, but… i still don’t know if i could.”

she laughed softly. “well, you’re mom’s terrifying, so i get it.”

“so is your mom.”

“yeah, you’re right.”

they sat in silence for a moment. then aonung turned to her, suddenly serious. “i don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble.”

“you’re not,” she said immediately. “this was my choice.”

their faces were close now. closer than they’d ever been. the ocean hummed around them, steady and endless. [y/n] watched, in anxious silence, as aonung gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second—long enough to make her stomach flip.

they leaned toward each other without any explicit decision. just… instinct.

it was slow. unsure. their noses brushed first, awkward and soft, and she almost laughed before his hand came up, resting at her wrist like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch more than that.

he paused just before their lips touched, a silent question hanging in the air. is this okay? he seemed to ask. she answered wordlessly, closing the gap between them.

the kiss wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t smooth. their timing was a little off, teeth bumping lightly before they figured it out. but when they did, it felt… real. warm. grounding. 

he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, breathing out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “okay,” he whispered. “yeah.”

she smiled, eyes still closed. “yeah.”

and when they finally let go, it felt like something had settled into place—nothing loud or dramatic. just right.

back in the sully’s marui, neytiri and jake laid wide awake. “she went out,” jake whispered to his mate, shifting just slightly so she nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

he could feel neytiri smile against him skin, breath warm as she spoke softly, “yes.”

neither of them moved to stop it. for the first time since leaving the forest, peace settled between them—small, fragile, but real. at least one of their children was finding her place in this new world. 

kiri was, in all honesty, not truly his child the same way neteyam and [y/n] were. he adored kiri to death—she reminded him of a peaceful time, reminded him of grace—and wouldn’t trade her for the world, but, there was a sort of softness about his first daughter. because she wasn’t his. and that made jake love her in a unique way—in a way that appreciated her symbolic optimism, that life could stem from practically nothing, and in a way that made him want to protect and nurture such holiness.

neteyam and [y/n], though, were products of jake. and that didn’t mean “better” in any way—in fact, sometimes, jake wished that none of his children came from him. from his blood—his tainted, sinful, poisonous blood. the blood full of wartime tragedies, sickening memories, harrowing ways of life. because of this irrefutable truth, because jake knew that his his traumas and mistakes and dangers were stored deep within neteyam and [y/n]’s dna, he also felt a different sort of protection towards them. where kiri remained innocent—being the product of genius, kind, angelic grace augustine and, well, eywa—neteyam and [y/n] were already, inevitably, scarred by him. already disadvantaged because they were his kids. and jake felt that, instead of protecting them from life’s horrors to come, he should prepare them instead. because if they were anything like him, even slightly, then they were already doomed.

but, looking at the sleeping baby in his arms, he still couldn’t shake that deep, intrinsic instinct that [y/n] was different. where neteyam was his first child, a sort of feat that is generally considered life changing, jake almost felt removed from him. not in a bad way—but, it was obvious to everyone in the village that neteyam favored neytiri. even at a year and a half, everything about that kid reminded the omatikaya of their tsahik—his hands, his face, his mannerisms, his heart.

he was a na’vi, through and through.

kiri was, like mentioned before, special in her own way. young as she was, kiri was very obviously connected with the world around her. she babbled at vegetation, giggled at deadly creatures, gasped at bioluminescence. she was, like neteyam, a na’vi through and through.

but [y/n]. [y/n] was only a few months old, and she was different than both neteyam and kiri in almost every possible way. where neteyam was a calm newborn, rarely fussy except when he was exhausted or hungry, [y/n] was a huge pain in the ass. she cried and screamed at any slight inconvenience—like when jake tried to feed her instead of neytiri, or when neytiri tried to rock her to sleep instead of jake. she was so particular, so bossy, and most of all, so rambunctious.

while still not having mastered her motor skills, although it was becoming clear that she was trying her damned hardest, she rolled around like she had places to be. soon enough, she’d be crawling, jake was sure, but that was a daily battle in itself. [y/n] wanted to be able to move, wanted to be able to participate with her big siblings, but each time she realized her body wasn’t cooperating, it became an all-hands-on-deck level tantrum.

jake chuckled softly at the thought, his eyes softening as he watched her. the way her chest rose and fell, the way she gripped his pinky like it was her only tether to this earth.

she was a menace. she was a wild child. she was so, inexplicably, uncomfortably… different. a part of jake loved it—she was a spit-fire, a warrior—and another part of him feared it—if [y/n] wasn’t na’vi through and through, did she take more humanity that he intended? was she doomed all because of jake?

being the middle child—younger than neteyam and kiri, yet older than lo’ak and tuk—has its ups and downs. for one, she can sneak out of her parents’ sights very easily. they have too much on their plates with training neteyam into the perfect future olo'eyktan, keeping kiri and lo’ak out of too much trouble, and caring for little tuk, so most of the time, [y/n] finds herself without much parental attention.

unfortunately, where her parents seem to forget her, her siblings seem to take it upon themselves to remember her. but, instead of coming to her with maternal concern or paternal disappointment, they come with the sole mission of annoying her.

“[y/n]?”

the young na’vi groans, her head dropping into her hands. she thinks she is safe—far enough away that nobody finds her, close enough that she doesn’t find herself in life threatening danger. it is the perfect spot! but now, it seems like neteyam ruins it.

“[y/n], are you here?”

a part of her doesn’t want to answer—wants to see if he gives up and turns around before it is too late. but guilt strikes her stomach, and she knows that she doesn’t want to cause any unnecessary worry for her big brother if he is really trying to find her. “yes,” she finally responds with a heaving sigh. “yes, i’m right here, ‘teyam.”

the leaves behind her rustle, and she prepares herself—this is a game her brothers like to play a lot, and as many times as they try to convince [y/n] it is fun, the poor girl can never get on board.

either way, that never stops her brothers.

“gotcha!” neteyam proclaims from behind her (which she fights the urge to scoff at because… he isn’t very quiet at all. if she really cares, she could easily move spots and avoid this detriment, but she is far too lazy) before she feels a ton of weight knock her forward.

forward, and forward, and forward, until together, the two siblings are rolling with neteyam’s momentum.

“agh!” [y/n] grunts as they move—she hasn’t expected him to come at her that strong—eventually landing straight in the stream with a large splash.

by the time [y/n] resurfaces, flustered and pissed, neteyam has already predicted his future. clearly, at the speed he is trying to get back to land, neteyam hasn’t expected his attack to be that strong either.

“neteyam!” the younger sister yells, her fists clenched under water. “oh, i am going to murder you, you skxawngn!” when her big brother’s laughter echoes in the breeze, her anger seems to boil to another level—if she doesn’t know any better, she would guess steam is coming out of her ears.

“neteyam!” she screams again, starting her journey back to shore, which is a whole different layer of frustration. each time she steps, her feet seem to sink layers into the mud beneath, which has her spouting curse words that would give her mother a heart attack.

only a few feet ahead of her, neteyam seems to be struggling as well, although he finds it to be amusing rather than irritating. each time he walks forward, each time he sinks inches deeper, a laugh bubbles out of his chest.

[y/n] huffs. “neteyam, i hate you right now. so much.”

“no you don’t,” he refutes, sparing her a look over his shoulder—a shit-eating grin that triggers [y/n] in a way that only siblings can access—before taking another step forward. “you were so bored before I got here!”

“no, i was perfectly fine. everything was peaceful until you show your ugly face and ruin my day. now i have to wash everything and explain to mom why i am covered in mud!”

“and what are you going to say?” neteyam dares to ask, his eyebrow raised teasingly. “you can’t tell her you go swimming—she would be very mad if you go swimming without supervision.”

[y/n] grunts as she releases her foot from the mud again, taking the largest stride she can manage. “i’ll tell her you disturb my peace and push me into a puddle of mud—also, i am not a baby. i can swim without supervision.”

“i think our mother forgets our ages sometimes,” neteyam admits with a chuckle, and [y/n] watches in jealousy as he finally starts to reach the bank, each step getting easier until he is only toe deep in the water. “she still thinks we’re children.”

[y/n] scoffs, taking another massive step and cursing as she feels a muscle in her leg tweak as she pulls it up. “meanwhile dad thinks we’re double our age—when he says ‘act your age,’ he wants us to be all respectful and resilient and perfect, but really, acting our age would be… well, tackling each other into rivers.”

neteyam smiles silently, reaching his hand outward and offering his grip to his baby sister once she is close enough. silently, [y/n] glares and gives him a skeptical look, but she eventually accepts his hand when she realizes she is too exhausted to be petty.

as his grasp tightens on her hand, he begins to pull her up until both of her feet rest on solid ground.

without another word, the two siblings sit on the ground, chests heaving for air. “thanks,” [y/n] finally breathes out, and neteyam gives her a sideways smile. 

“what would you do without me?”

[y/n] gives him a look. “do you want me to attack you?” but neteyam only laughs, leaning backwards until he lays on the ground, admiring the trees from below. as he lowers himself, sunlight begins to envelop him until he’s basking in its warmth. almost instantly, the mud on his legs begins to dry into a cakey texture, but he doesn’t mind. everything about him looks as if he’s at peace—[y/n] wishes she could know that feeling, if she hadn’t been so rudely interrupted.

but, either way, neteyam doesn’t pay [y/n] any mind. she knows it is very rare for neteyam to find himself at peace—away from their parents’ expectations, away from the clan’s expectations, away from duties as a son and as the oldest brother. so, as much as [y/n] wants to hate him, she finds it hard to. not now, anyway.

“we should probably head back,” neteyam heaves with a sigh, but he makes no attempt to move. “they’ll start looking for us if we aren’t back soon.”

[y/n] only shrugs. “when am i ever home on time?”

at that, neteyam pries open an eye to peer at her. a grin tempts his lips, the corners slightly upturned. “for being such a goodie-two-shoes all the time, you seem much more risky these days, little sister.”

she only laughs, looking at her toes as she shatters the mask of dried mud with a few wiggles. “what can i say? i’ve matured into quite the rebel. mom and dad won’t know what hit them.”

he echoes her with a small chuckle, his shoulders shaking in amusement. “yeah, well, you’re still you, i guess. you’ve always… been independent. always the one shaking me off when we were bored toddlers. always the one who rolled her eyes at lo’ak’s nonsense or his fights with kiri.” his eyes linger for a moment, peering into her, and for some reason, [y/n] feels her chest jolt with a pain she can’t recognize. “you’ve always done it your way, and i guess, you’ll figure life out in your own way, too.”

as neteyam closes his mouth, his gaze remains stuck on [y/n]. around them, the sounds of nature echo—creatures stumbling through shrubs, the breeze whistling through the trees, the river bubbling as it continues to flow, despite [y/n] feeling as if the world has stopped spinning.

she supposes everything remains in motion as long as she lives—even if it feels like life has stopped.

finally, neteyam’s lips turn back into a small grin, and he lays back down, eyes closed. his chest rises and falls carefully, almost perfectly in sync with [y/n]’s own breathing. she doesn’t look away—can’t—for she must memorize this. memorize the way it feels to be here, memorize the way he looks—happy, calm—memorize her home and what life feels like.

what it used to feel like.

silently, a tear trickles down [y/n]’s cheek. she misses him—she misses her big brother more than anything. it feels like yesterday that she was trampling through this stupid river, but she would give anything to have this back. to have him back.

now, he’s at the bottom of the ocean. far away from their home.

“i love you, neteyam,” she finally whispers, and the peaceful boy only smiles, almost appearing content. satisfied.

“i love you, little sister. now shut up, and let me sleep.”

silently, [y/n] wipes her cheeks, wet and sticky with salt. “alright, ‘teyam. i’ll let you rest, you skxawngn.”

and, before she’s ready, [y/n] opens her eyes, and there she floats. at the bottom of the ocean, queue connected to the metkayina’s spirit tree.