Hi

he’s holding a small wooden bowl of local berries, tossing them into his mouth one by one while watching your silent struggle with a growing smirk.

"alright, give it to me straight," jake rumbles, his deep voice cutting through the wind.

he leans forward, placing his hands on his knees, his eyes locking onto yours. "give me the phrase for when the hunters return. the one we practiced earlier."

you swallow, your throat tightening. the sounds feel like trying to swallow small, jagged stones compared to the fluid, melodic vowels of your native tongue.

you take a breath, your ears twitching in deep concentration, "the... strangers... bring home the... dead meat," you say proudly, your voice cracking a bit as you speak .

jake freezes mid chew. a single purple berry rolls out of his fingers and bounces across the mat.

for a second, the forest is dead silent. then, he lets out a loud bark of laughter. he throws his head back, his entire frame shaking as he collapses sideways against the tree, clutching his stomach.

"strangers?!" jake gasps, his fangs fully bared as he tries to draw breath. "dead meat?!"

"it is what you said!" you protest instantly, your tail whacking the woven mat. your ears press completely flat against your skull, and the bioluminescent dots on your cheeks flare a brighter, embarrassed shade of blue.

"you said 'the hunters bring home the hunt.' a hunter is someone you do not know until they speak, which is a stranger! and the hunt is no longer alive, so it is dead meat!"

"okay and what did you say you wanted to do to the sky people's flying ship when it landed?"

you narrow your eyes, you see the smile on his face growing. you know he's waiting for you to fail, but you refuse to let this clumsy language defeat you

"i will... poke the giant... sky bug... in the belly," you announce, lifting your chin.

he clamps his hand over his mouth, his fingers pressing so hard into his cheeks that his skin is warping.

his eyes are squeezed shut, the lids trembling, and his tail is locked in a perfectly straight line behind him.

"jake," you say, warning. "do not do it."

a muffled, squeaking sound escapes his nose, his broad shoulders give a violent, uncontrollable hitch.

"i am serious," you hiss, your ears still flattened tightly against your skull they practically disappear into your dark hair.

jake slowly opens one eye. it is filled with tears of suppressed hysteria. he slowly lowers his hands from his face, his lips pressed together into a line so tight that his fangs are digging into his bottom lip.

"say it... say it one more time," he chokes out, his voice a strained, breathless squeak. "just... so i can make sure i heard the... the inflection right."

you take a deep, stabilizing breath, before placing the slate between you both and point a finger at it.

"i will ... poke the giant sky bug in the... belly," you repeat, glancing up at him.

he laughs again this time he covers his face with his hands.

"it is not funny, jake!" you protest, shoving his shoulder. he barely budges, which only makes you more annoyed. "i am trying!"

"i know, i know, i'm sorry," jake gasps, wiping a tear from his eye as he finally looks up at you.

he exhales letting out a small laugh before shaking his head. "okay, okay.. let's start over, i'll teach you some easy words." he grins, taking the slate from the mat.

you slide over, sitting beside him, watching as he draws a very shaky outline of a thanator.

"okay, this one is cat," jake says.

you stare at the drawing, then at him, bewildered. "jake, a thanator can eat three of your human bodies in one bite. why do you give it a name that sounds tiny and harmless?"

"no, no, a thanator is a big cat," jake explains. "back on earth, we have tiny versions of them. they sit on your lap and purr."

"i do not think a thanator would sit on my lap," you say dryly.

"probably not, now let's try it," he says, his voice low, "repeat after me. cat."

"khyat," you say, resting your head on his shoulder as you squint at the drawing.

"It’s soft.." jake says quietly, looking at you. "It’s just... cat... like a gentle little sigh. not Khyat, you sound like you have a hairball!" he grins.

"i do not have a...hairball, whatever that ridiculous human object is!" you say, confused.

your legs are tangled with his as you point down at the slate. "they get everything wrong," you mutter.

"yeah, they do," jake whispers playfully, before pressing as soft kiss on your forehead. "but you're still my favorite little khyat in the whole jungle."

you let out a little snort before rolling your eyes. "do not mock me skxawng... i am done with this sky people talk."

before you can scramble away, his massive arms shoot out and grab you by the waist. he yanks you backward into his lap, trapping you against his chest.

you let out a squeal, your hands gripping his forearms as you try to pry yourself free, but he’s like a solid wall of muscle.

he leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and uses his fangs to playfully nip and nuzzle at the sensitive skin right under your ear.

It tickles and your legs kick as you laugh out.

"say it," Jake demands into your neck, his voice vibrating right into your skin as he keeps up the tickling. "say the word right, or I’m never letting you up."

"Khyat!" you screech through your laughter, as you squirm helplessly against him.

"nope, wrong! try again!" jake chuckles loudly, his own laughter mixing with yours as he rolls both of you over onto the soft mat, pinning you beneath his weight. "come on, give it to me. one more time."

you pant, your chest heaving from laughing so hard, staring up at him as your ears finally settle into a soft, relaxed tilt.

"cat," you whisper smoothly, your tongue finally mimicking his perfectly.

jake smiles down at you, his eyes full of adoration. "perfect," he murmurs, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "see? i knew you could do it."

"i want to teach you a phrase," he says, "It's an important one."

you tilt your head, your ears twitching forward in curiosity. "what is it?"

"i love you," jake says softly.

the words sound strange, but the way he says them with a reverence that mirrors how the omaticaya speak of eywa, it makes your heart skip a beat.

"what does it mean?" you whisper.

he reaches out, his large hand gently cupping the side of your face. his thumb brushes over the glowing bioluminescent dots on your cheek.

"in na'vi, you say oel ngati kameie. i see you," jake explains, his eyes searching yours. "but on earth, when you say i love you... it means my heart belongs to you. It means you are my home."

your breath hitches. the depth of the human words suddenly feels more beautiful than you ever expected.

you place your hand over his, before holding his wrist lightly.

you swallow hard, practicing the sounds in your head before letting them slip past your lips, soft and clear.

"i... love... you, jake."

another breathtaking smile breaks across his face, his gaze drops to your lips, his thumb still tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

"can i teach you one more thing?" he murmurs, his breath brushing warm against your mouth.

you can barely nod, your fingers tightening around his wrist. "yes."

he closes the distance between you.

the kiss is soft at first, a hesitant question that melts the moment your lips part against his. tt’s entirely human, there's no queuing or an ancient na'vi ritual just the heat of him pressing into you.

jake’s hand shifts from your cheek to the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling in your hair to hold you close, while his other arm winds around your waist, pulling your chest flush against his.

Days after the incident, you made it your mission to stay as far away from the Sullys as possible. You simply wanted to not run into any of them in fear of them knowing of your blunder. Your friends kept telling you it wasn't a big deal and that no one remembered it but the image of Neteyam's stare was burnt into the back of your mind. Everytime you thought about it, you fought the urge to throw yourself into the ocean and let the waves decide your fate.

You kept your head down, staying focused on spinning new fibres. You reached out without looking, aiming for the neat pile of brushed fibers laid out next to you when a group of kids came running straight into it, scattering them out on the sand. You let out a startled gasped.

"Sorry karyu(teacher)!" One of the kids yelled as they kept running.

Your shoulders slumped and you brushed off the sand that the kids accidentally kicked up onto you and began collecting the strewn about fibers. Sand grains were now tangled in them. You sighed, knowing you would have to brush them out again.

An unfamiliar hand reached out, plucking a strand from the ground, startling you. You looked up, ears pinning back as Neteyam inspected the fibre. He placed it carefully in the new pile you had started and began collecting the rest.

You stared for a moment before shaking your head and dropping down to help.

When all was collected, you glanced up at him "Thank you.." you said, voice meek.

He smiled, easy and charming. That was the thing about Neteyam that drew you in. He was the kind of guy that turned heads without trying. Ever since the Sullys had set foot in Awa'atlu, every metkayina girl had set their eyes on him. His voice, his stature, his kindness and respect and the fact that he was so accomplished at such a young age made him insanely desirable. You were no different.

Neteyam picked up your spindle from your workspace, turning it over in his hands "What are you going to make?"

You stiffened, still not looking at him directly " um…" you swallowed "I have not decided yet. A new tewng…maybe?"

He hummed then handed you your spindle before nodding and walking off.

You just watched his retreating back, face burning.

You worked your shoulders. The muscle there was tense from the hours spent assisting the younglings in their diving. They had been particularly rowdy today. You let out a quiet pained groan as you massaged the crink between your neck and shoulder. You would have to visit the healer's tent for any relief.

You strolled down the beach, taking a familiar path on your way to the healer's when something fell. Directly in front of you, a grey blur shot down from the sky and clammered by your feet. It startled you so badly that you fell back.

Your mouth gaped at the sight before you.

There, mere inches away from your feet, was a knife. Your heart pumped in you chest and you eyes almost popped out of your head. You made a silent prayer to Eywa, thanking her for sparing you to live another day.

A body dropped down with a heavy thud.

"Shit! Are you okay?"

You looked up, eyes still wide. Neteyam crouched down beside you, his eyes—searching and worried—scanned you from head to toe before letting out a relieved sigh.

Softer, he asked again "Are you okay?"

You swallowed dryly then nodded.

He held a hand out. You glanced at it with hesistation but took it. With gentle strength, he pulled you to your feet and held your shoulders to steady you as you caught your breath.

He dipped his head closer to yours, and spoke with a softness, "I am sorry for scaring you. my brother—" he sent a pointed gaze upwards. It was then you noticed the tree behind him, Lo'ak sending a guilty look from the top "—should have been more careful."

You took a breath "It is okay. No harm was done" you dusted the back of your thighs, ready to take your leave when he stopped you.

"Please" he grabbed two coconuts from a pile at the base of the tree "Take these as an apology."

"No" you waved him off "That is not necessary. I am alright"

"Please..for my own peace of mind" he looked liked a kicked baby ilu.

You dug your toes into the sand, itching to leave. You really could not handle being near him. You took his offering with a swift thanks and rushed out of there.

"Maybe he likes you"

One of your friends suggested, weaving light blue shells in your hair.

You had told them of your encounters with the sully boy to which they all squealed in excitement.

"No.." you leaned forward and she smacked you lightly. You straightened back up. "I just have bad luck"

"But you like him, don't you? Isn't that the opposite of bad luck" another questioned "If me and my crush kept running into each other I would take it as a sign from Eywa" they giggled.

"It is not the same.." your brows furrowed "I am not like that. Everytime he comes near I make a fool out of myself. I am content watching from afar." You huffed and rested your chin on your palm. "I would rather he just did not know I existed.."

Your friend finished off the last strand and patted your shoulders. "Do not be so negative. You may never know what is running through a man's head. Have more confidence."

You pouted.

Easier said than done

Your friends all nodded enthusiastically and the tirade began,

"That first meeting must have been fated"

"You two would be adorable"

"Maybe he likes the quiet ones"

You sank deeper and deeper into your seat, taking hold of your now freshly styled hair and gradually pushing it onto your face. using it as a barrier against their teasing.

Eywa, you hoped you won't have to talk to him again.

Clearly the great mother had a bone to pick with you.

Beacause the very next day, you ran into him. Again.

This time you didn't walk into him. This time it was deliberate. He had sought you out.

You rested against the shoreline, letting the gentle waves lap at you and wet your tewng and the ends of your hair while your upper body stayed in the warm sun. You were resting after another lesson with the children. They had all ran off to make their mischief leaving you enjoy the long needed peace and quiet. Your eyes were closed but the sunlight still bled vaugely through your eyelids, so when it went dark your brows furrowed. You were resting for so long, that it took a few seconds to pry your eyes open. It was more effort that it should have been.

Your gaze was unfocused at first. The figure in front of you was darkened by the dackdrop of the midday sun. When the fogginess of rest cleared and the figure finally came into focus, your eyes bulged.

You scrambled up in surprise, tail whiping water droplets into the air.

"Neteyam" your voice was quiet and breathless as you choked out his name.

He shifted, eyes following you as you now stood in front of him. You thought you saw his mouth twitch but brushed it off.

"Hey" He titled his head in that way boys often did.

You blinked " um hi" Your hand came up in an odd sheepish wave. You cursed youself in your mind.

It was silent for a beat. You felt the back of your neck tingle at the sheer awkwardness but Neteyam stayed unbothered.

"I wanted to apologise for yesterday" he finally said.

Your ears swiveled "Oh—no! It is alright" you brushed him off, hoping to end this conversation as soon as possible "Besides you gave me those coconuts. All is forgiven"

He shook his head "My brother and I almost caused you great harm. I could never be sorry enough" He then reached into a small pouch attached to the side strings of his tewng. You couldn't help but rake your eyes over him. His tewng was a rich earthy colour, made of a mixture of omaticaya and metkayina weaving, and lined with vibrant green beads at the straps. His legs were long and thick with muscle, different from how they were when he was younger. And his stripes were more vibrant somehow, as if age had shaped them into something more suited to him, something more beautiful.

Before your gaze could travel up, Neteyam's hand pulled out of the pouch and was held out towards you. There, laying in his rough palm, was a small wooden vial.

You looked up at him in a silent question.

"I noticed that you were in pain yesterday. So i made you some oil. For your tense muscles," he said.

Your lashes fluttered before you reached out and plucked the vial from his waiting hand. You uncorked it and was hit with a familiar scent. Sweet and flowery.

Your eyes widened "Did you get this from the tsahik?"

"No" He shook his head "I did not want to deprive the healers of their medicine so I made it myself."

His words stunned you. This medicine was one that was sparse in healer inventories. It was not completely uncommon, just difficult to make. Gathering the ingrediants was a difficult task alone. The roots needed grew where the water was deep and dense and rough, and predators lurked in dark corners. It was only during breeding season, when most creatures had returned to their birth place, were swimmers sent to collect them. And even then only swimmers possessing great skill went as the currents could easily sweep anyone up.

But it was not breeding season. And Neteyam was not even born of the reef.

Your mouth opened and closed dumbly, lips searching for the words "You…made this?"

He nodded.

"You collected the ingredients? Yourself?

Another nod.

You stared at the bottle in your hand, turning it over carefully, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest and the flush that was surely spreading from head to toe. Your shoulders curled as you glanced at his face briefly "Thank you.."

He smiled, eyes shining in the sunlight.

You thought that would be it. That he would accept your gratitude and take his leave, returning back to whatever occupied his days and leaving you to stew in the interaction.

But he did not.

"You are a teacher." It was not exactly a question. Just a statement. An acknowledgement. But you answered anyway.

"…Yes"

He glanced at the kids playing in the distance. "They are rowdy"

"…Yes"

"But you like teaching them?"

"Yes" This time it came out a bit quicker. Reflexive. True.

Another pause. Shorter than the last.

"You hair" His eyes flicked over the decorations there "It's pretty. It suits you."

You felt hot. Your skin was on fire. The heat hovering behind your neck and engulfing your ears was truly unbearable. You gaze was on the sand, unable to bring yourself to look at him. Your hair fell slightly over your face, a makeshift curtain to hide away behind.

A puff of air sounded above you. Maybe a sound of amusement. Maybe one of annoyance. Either way you didn't care. You just wanted to be left alone before your heart exploded in your chest.

Thankfully he granted you mercy.

"I am sorry for interrupting your rest." He lingered for a bit before nodding and walking off.

It was only then did your shoulders fall, releasing the tension brought by his presence.

You looked up defeatedly into the sky, eyes staring directly into the mocking sun.

Everything got more confusing that night.

Like usual you sat with your friends in the corner of the communal area, far from the fire, but close enough to not freeze in the chilled night air.

The music was soft at first. Just something to meld into casual conversation. But when the drums started thrumming, fast and upbeat, everyone rushed to their feet dragging friends or mates with them.

Your friends rushed up, laughing as they held on to each other. One sent a look your way. You shook your head. They knew you did not particularly like dancing. At least in crowds. And definitely not sober. You always got too nervous, scared of tripping over your own feet and stumbling like a buffoon.

But as you watched the crowd grow, you felt a small tug in your chest.

You had noticed the Sully children had also joined, with Tuk, Kiri and Rotxo spinning around each other and Lo'ak and Tsireya holding each other with hearts in their eyes. Your gaze shifted to their usual seating and saw Ao'nung still seated, leaning back on a pillar seemingly enjoying a moment alone. You pointedly ignored the body next to him.

You turned back to your almost empty wine cup and filled it back up. You would sip away until your nerves settled and you could bring yourself to join. You lifted the drink to your lips letting the sweet taste rush over you tongue and down your throat. You kept each swallow slow, not wanting to have the full force of wine crash into you.

And when you went to pour yourself another cup full, a looming presence sent a prickle down your spine. Somehow you just knew who it was.

You turned, movements languid. Your eyes followed the line of his muscled calves all the way up his toned stomach and finally to his angled face.

He titled his head at you, like he always did. Like he was analysing you.

"Would you like to dance?" He asked, voice low, almost downed out by the drumming.

You twisted your mouth in thought.

Beacuse yes, you did.

But this was Neteyam. Your long time crush. Someone that was above you in every way possible. Someone who should have stayed just a distant fantasy and not something tangible.

Not to you.

You were meant to stay in the background. You were meant to blush when he walked into a room but never spared you a glance. He was meant to live his life, never having to know you. Never having to help you pick fibres out of the sand, or apologising with fruits or gifting you remedies.

But now, with your thoughts slowed and your muscles loose and you impulses more clear, none of that mattered.

You just wanted to dance.

"Yes"

You took his hand and all but dragged him to the center of the dance floor.

And you danced. Together.

Laughter rang out throughout the entire night. From you. From friends. From lovers. From children.

And for the first time, you existed next to Neteyam not as a girl who's heart jumped because of him and not as a girl who's face would flare at his attention.

This time your were free of the overwhelming thoughts that ran through your mind. Here, you were carefree.

You both danced until your feet ached and your lungs heaved, laughter pouring out of you.

The next morning, Neteyam, just like most, had woken later than usual. The exhaustion that came after the excitement of last night had hit everyone at full force.

He groggily tried to sit up, the movement pulling on his sore legs. His siblings were still face first in their hammocks, not even a twitch coming from them.

"Take the day off, son."

He startled at the voice.

Jake arched a brow at him. "The rest of the village is still asleep."

Neteyam almost denied until the thought of you stopped him. Surely, you were still asleep. You had danced more than he did.

With a groan he fell back, the hammock swaying under his weight, and closed his eyes and let himself drift back off to sleep.

By midday Neteyam strolled though the village, nodding at those who tiredly greeted him along the way.

It seemed most of the youth had also taken today off, clearly too tired for work. The older na'vi looked on with quiet amusment, thinking back to their days as frivolous young adults.

He scanned through the crowds, hoping to find someone in particular. It did not take long to spot what he was searching for.

There, leaning against a smooth boulder, you were weaving now dyed fibres together.

Neteyam stopped in his tracks, a small smile forming.

Your face was soft, a serene expression on it. The golden sun formed a halo around your bowed head, looking down at your lap where the work piece sat. Your movements were slower than usual, clearly having been affected by the fun of last night. Your hair was a bit frizzy but Neteyam liked it. It reminded him of last night. Of the way you held onto his hand with your smaller one, and pulled him to dance. Of the way your hair moved with you, wild and free. Of the way you flushed from the heat but didnt stop moving. He remembered the way the fire casted an red-orange sheen on your features as you jumped with the crowd. The way you smiled—wide and unashamed— pulled at something inside of him. As adorable as Neteyam found your meekness, he thinks he also liked it when you where uninhibited. When you let go and just felt. He wanted you to smile at him again, the way you did last night.

Like gravity pulling at him, Neteyam took a step towards you—a single step—before he was broken out of his fixation by a snippy, irritated voice.

"Where have you been? I have been hauling nets all morning by myself."

There stood Ao'nung, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

Neteyam glanced at him. Then to you. Then back to him before shrugging.

"I was resting, brother."

Ao'nung scoffed "There is nothing to rest for," He glanced around at the other na'vi who lounged. "It is your own fault if you are tired. That does not mean you do not work" He glared at a na'vi near him, who flinched and looked away at his words. He turned back to Neteyam then shot a look in your direction, " And it seems to me that you are very much rested."

Neteyam laughed "Do not be so. Let us enjoy the day."

"I refuse to do double the work tomorrow because you would rather oogle some girl. Now come. You owe me remember?"

Neteyam sighed. He took one last glance at you before following Ao'nung like downtrotten pup.

In the distance your ears perked.

You looked up from your weaving to see Neteyam walking in the opposite direction.

You let out a sigh.

You couldn't stop thinking about last night.

Flashes of the swaying flames. Muffled sounds of laughter. The dull feel of your limbs moving and your hair whipping about.

Eywa, you wanted to crawl into a rock and die.

You felt mortified. At the way you grabbed at him. At the way you laughed in his face. At the way you bumped into him with each step and sometimes stepped on his toes.

Your fingers picked up speed, beads sliding swiftly along the threads as they wrapped and unwrapped around them.

Anything to stop thinking about him

Water streamed from the heavy nets, splashing right back into the calm waters off the edge of the fishing dock.

Neteyam grunted as he hauled up the last net, filled with flopping fish. It dropped onto the pathway.

He dusted off his hands. "Happy now?"

Ao'nung rolled his eyes. Neteyam chuckled.

He looked up, blocking his face with his hand as the sun shone directly into his eyes.

He smiled. It was only late afternoon. Barely evening.

Ao'nung gave him a peculiar look "So." He grabbed two nets and flung them over his shoulders "Are you going to tell me what the oil was for?"

Neteyam did the same, falling to step beside him. "I already told you. It was a gift"

He thought back to when he had collected the ingredients for your oil. He had roped Ao'nung into being his lookout for roaming predators that Neteyam would probably struggle getting rid of on his own while cutting the roots. At first Ao'nung had refused, saying that it was too dangerous . He was a hard man to convince but eventually he had wore him down as Neteyam promised him a favour in return.

"Just a gift?" Ao'nung asked.

Neteyam only gave him a look, a half smile on his face.

"You cannot catch me!"

Pitched cackles of mischievous children filled your ears.

"No, do not—!" Water splashed onto your face as the little ilu with a very wicked child on it's back, sped off. You reeled your head back at the impact, before wiping the droplets off your face with a groan that made the other kids laugh and jumped onto your own mount to chase after the runaway child.

The kid, Ka'ro, looked back at you, already just a speck in the distance, a wide shit-eating grin on his face. He was a regular michief maker, always disrupting lessons and doing things that he definitely should not be doing. You have been teaching all these kids since they were capable enough to just sit up on ilu by themselves. And throughout the years you watched as they each grew and changed and broadened their personalities and skillss.

But the one thing that never changed, was how utterly annoying they could be.

Like right now.

Ka'ro was a bright kid though. He was quick on the uptake. The issue was that nothing ever trumped his desire for fun. And his keen mind was exactly why him—a novice rider— was able to steer his ilu ,with skills beyond that of a 10 year old, to evade you.

"Come back here you little—"

Your frustration meant nothing to him, clearly, when he took a harsh turn, splashing you fully with water.

He looked back, wiggling his brows with a smirk on his face.

Little sh—

Then there was a yelp.

Ka'ro was snatched off his little ilu faster than you could blink. Panic surged through you for a split second before your brain caught up with what had happened.

There, on his mount, was Neteyam. And under his arm, being held like a sack, was a stunned little mischief maker.

Neteyam's eyes caught yours from where your ilu had slowed to a stop next to his.

He jostled Ka'ro with a shrug "I see you are missing something."

Your strained sigh was answer enough.

You both made your way back to the shore, where the awaiting kids cheered at the sight of you.

Ka'ro tried his best to wiggle out of Neteyam's grip but it was fruitless. And when he was finally put down on his feet on the sand, you caught his ear gently. He whined.

"Do not think you are off the hook."

He stuck his tongue out at you before darting off to his friends.

Again, you sighed.

You looked up at Neteyam, exhaustion ridding any fear or anxiety you would normally have. "Thank you for that. You saved me from a very long headache "

"I see why you are always so tense" he smiled, looking from the rowdy kids and back to you.

You huffed a small laugh.

He kept looking at you, a soft smile pinned on his features.

Silence.

"So.." you bit your lip

"So." he repeated. It was then you realised how close he was.

"Well I should g—"

"About last night"

You stilled in your attempt to flee.

He had a look on his face. Something soft. Dare you say intimate.

"You are a good dancer" he said.

You laughed nervously "you do not need to lie. I do not dance often" you started walking.

"You should" he fell in to step with you. "Has the oil been useful?"

"Yes, very" you were happy for the change in subject.

"I'm glad"

Silence again.

You licked your lips.

"You are fast" the words left you before you had the chance to second guess every letter "You caught him very quickly."

He laughed, breathy and short "I have had practice catching rebellious boys "

You tilted your head.

Your feet stopped when his did.

He turned his face to you. You were confused until he nudged his head subtly to behind you both. Your eyes followed his, trying not to turn too obviously. And from your peripheral, a long ways from where you were, was Lo'ak and Tsireya.

You gasped, hands coming up to your mouth when a giggled left you and when you looked at Neteyam again, your breath caught.

Your faces were directly facing each other, so close you could feel the warm air leaving his nose. Your heart felt like it had stopped. Your mind was suddenly blank. His eyes were the only thing you could comprehend. Big and gold. They captured you completely. Everything else blurred out around the edges. For a second—the smallest of small seconds—it felt like you were getting closer.

Then his hand came up, brushing a stray loc from your face, rolling the bead on it between his fingers once.

"I hope we can dance again"

And with that he walked off back the way you both came from.

All you could do was stare at his retreating back.

"Are you and that guy dating?"

Your clenched your eyes shut, taking a deep breath "No."

"Didn't you say lying was bad?" Ka'ro raised a brow at you, an unconvinced look on his face.

"I am not lying."

"Yes, you are. "

"No, I am not."

"I heard he gave you a courting gift."

You choked.

You looked up from the shallows where you adjusted the saddle on an ilu to where Ka'ro was sat with the other kids just a few paces from you. They all looked at you, waiting for an explanation.

The one time they are quiet…

You took a grounding breath "That was just a normal gift. Between….friends."

"He does not look at you like a friend."

You lolled you head towards him "and what do you know about such things? Hm?"

He pointed to the village vaugely "My parents look at each other like that."

"Mine too."

"Uh huh."

A few others added in.

You focused back on the saddle gesturing for one of the kids to hop on " I am telling you, it is nothing like that. And even if it was," you jutted a finger out at them sweeping it acros the group, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, "it would be none of your business". They giggled at your theatrics.

You turned around to guide the kid.

You did not see the calculating gaze behind your back.

Neteyam was sat in the training grounds, a knife in hand as he sharpened a spear head. He watched as a thin layer of wood he scraped off, curled and fell into a sparse pile only to find a pair of smaller feet infront of his own. He looked up.

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face was the very boy Neteyam had caught for you. For a second Neteyam thought maybe the boy was angry about what happened and was here to let it be known.

Neither said anything for a while.

Then the boy said something Neteyam did not expect.

"Leave karyu alone"

Neteyam blinked. The words took a while to register in his mind but when it did he felt mix of confusion and the smallest amount of offense. His lips parted to say something but the boy did not give him the chance and stalked off, his small arms stiff by his sides as he left.

The next time Neteyam saw you was after he had just finished training.

Lo'ak reached over Neteyam's shoulder, trying to push at Ao'nung who bumped into Rotxo in an attempt to evade his hand. The group had been walking back from the training grounds, sweaty and ready for lunch when Neteyam caught sight of you in the distance. You were sat in the same spot he had first approached you, with your back against the trunk of a tree, protected from the sun's heat by the shade of a hanging leaf. Your body faced the shore, where you often held you lessons. It seemed like you were done for the day as there was not a single child in sight as you stayed focused on weaving.

Unknowingly Neteyam had stopped dead in his tracks to gaze at you. The others, of course, noticed and stopped just a few paces behind him. They followed his line of sight. He was broken out of his trance when Lo'ak clapped him on the shoulder a grin on his face. Neteyam shrugged him off and stepped away.

"I will meet you guys later" he said, already making his way towards you not letting any of them get a word out. He could feel their knowing gazes burning into his back.

The distance between you two shrunk with every step he took. His tail swished gently behind him. He felt something light in his chest as he opened his mouth to call out to you but was stopped when a familiar angry faced boy blocked his path.

Neteyam stopped abruptly. He blinked at the boy. "Hey buddy" The boy said nothing, his hands on his hips. Neteyam tried to side step him, but the boy anticipated it and followed, effectively blocking him again.

He tried again. A step to the left.

Blocked.

To the right.

Blocked.

To the right again.

Also, blocked.

Poorly concealed snickers came from behind. Neteyam did not need to turn to know his brother was doubled over, clutching his stomach. Or to know that Rotxo had a sympathetic look and that Ao'nung's mouth curled into a smirk.

Neteyam steeled himself and tried again.

A step to the left.

The boy did not move this time. His ear only twitched.

Neteyam walked forward slowly, keeping his eyes on the boy in case he did something else, but he did not. He just stayed still. A relieved sigh left Neteyam and he turned fully away from the little guard. He straigthened his back and held his chin high and lifted his foot off the sand only to freeze when your students poured out from the mangrove and surrounded you. You laughed at something that was said and was ushered away by the tiny crowd.

The boy then walked past Neteyam, on his way to join the others but not before raising his brows with a smirk at Neteyam.

Another time, Neteyam saw you lounging with your friends, the same weaving situated on your lap, now longer than it was before with a few beads already embelishing it.

He smiled, his body naturally gravitating towards you when something wacked behind his knees and they buckled. Of course he caught himself before he could fall and turned to see the very same angry boy with a training staff in his hands.

"Whoops" the boy said, monotone, and his face did not look sorry at all. In fact, he looked uncaring.

Before Neteyam did not truly take to heart what this boy had told him but it seemed that he was very determined to keep Neteyam away from you.

He chose to ignore the boy and turn back to you, but you had dissapeared.

His shoulders sagged.

This went on for a few days way too long.

Everytime Neteyam tried to speak to you or if he even looked at you a bit too long, Ka'ro would pop out from the shadows, ready to interfer.

When Neteyam tried to sit next to you for dinner, Ka'ro swept in and took the only spot available.

When he tried to compliment you on a new hairstyle, Ka'ro would talk over him.

When he tried to gift you fish he had caught, Ka'ro stole it.

When he tried to ask you to dance again, Ka'ro had grabbed you and pulled you into the crowd, making you his partner.

Every attempt was thwarted.

Neteyam—strong and unyeilding warrior—was being defeated by a 10 year old boy.

But he would not give up. No. He just had to change his strategy. He would have to win over Ka'ro first.

And so his plan went into action.

He walked through the village, his steps determined but this time he was not seeking you.

There in the empty training grounds was Ka'ro and a few other of your students. Confidently Neteyam went to them. The two that were sparring, stopped and slowly lowered their staffs. Everyone was scared, clearly they thought they were about to be scolded. Ka'ro stepped infront of the group, stance wide and strong.

Neteyam swept his eyes over them, watching as they huddled together and looked down guiltly. He grabbed a staff from the ground.

"Come" he said, looking at one of the boys "Your form is off. I will show you"

After a split second, the children perked up. They gathered around him as he bent and raised the staff in demonstartion.

Ka'ro just stood at the edge with a suspicious look on his face.

The next time, Neteyam had caught the kids beyond the reef. They were on their ilus, saddles half-hazardly strapped on and spears that were too sharp for them were raised high above their heads, aimed for the water. They trying to catch fish on their own. And from what he saw it was going very poorly.

"Those are (Y/N)'s students" Rotxo had said.

"They should not be out here" Ao'nung said, "It is dangerous"

Neteyam surged closer. At the sight of him, bright smiles were pointed his way. They already liked him from the sparring session it seemed. Rather than sending them back to the village, Neteyam stayed and guided them. He was not a teacher but he was patient. Rotxo and Ao'nung joined in but not without question to which he answered after the fact. Ka'ro even begruggingly took his advice when it worked for one of the others. By the end, everyone had caught at least one, with Neteyam's assistance.

This went on for a bit.

Whenever he was free, Neteyam would help out the kids or supervise them when he would catch them in doing something they should not.

And each time, the sharp look in Ka'ro's eyes fizzled out but it did not completely go away. Ka'ro already had an inkling of what Neteyam was doing. He knew that this must have been a tactic to get to you so he kept his resolve.

Ka'ro and your other students sat with you and your friends, each working on their own projects. Some were making bracelets, some were carving toys, some made hair pieces. Ka'ro worked on his knotting, making his very own fishing net. Every once and a while he would stop for you to assist.

This, technically, was not one of your lessons. Whenever lessons had concluded for the day and the children were bored, they would come find you. Alot of the time they would just sit near you while they did something on their own, just enjoying your presence. While Ka'ro would never admit it out loud, he cherished you greatly. All of the children did. They had known you the entirety of their lives, they grew up with you. You had been teaching them for so many years, that not being next to you at least once a day felt unnatural. Like the tide shifting in way that broke it out of its usual pattern. You were always kind to them in the ways that mattered. You never demeened then, never discouraged them. Even when you were frustrated—rightfully so—at their antics, you never gave up on them and made sure that each and every one of them saw their own value.

"What about Neteyam?" your friend asked. Ka'ro now tuned into the conversation that had been taking place.

Your shoulders tensed "What about him?" You added a few beads into the working thread.

"He has not done anything since that night?"

"No." The fibers rubbed at your fingers, over and under.

"Oh. That is a shame."

Your tail curled uncomfortably behind you. Ka'ro did not miss it.

"I have already told you" Your eyes stayed on the half finished tewng in your hands "It meant nothing. He probably regrets it." your voice quieted.

"But eylan, the way he looked at you…"

"You are reading into it." your brows furrowed "If—if it meant anything...wouldn't he have done something by now?"

Your friends tried to reassure you.

"Maybe he is just busy"

"Perhaps the omaticaya court differently"

"Have faith, it will all work out

You said nothing in return. You only hunched over, trying to hide the wetness that lined your eyes.

Your interactions since the beach have been minimal. Borderline nonexsistant. And as much as you wanted to deny it, you were dissapointed. After your last conversation, you had thought maybe—just maybe—you had caught his eye. That maybe the interactions you had were not all just happenstance. That maybe they meant something that you could not see at the time. That maybe he had felt something for you. Just maybe…

But now the thought of him made your head hurt. Now you realised that maybe everything was purely just for apology sake. That you had hoped a little too much and almost dove head first into something that wasn't even there. Your heart clenched. That short but suffocating feeling when hope had soured and become something that clogged your throat.

Maybe he is just busy, you would tell your self everytime you thought about him.

You tried not to dwell on it. You didn't even know him. Not truly. You were barely even friends. More so just people who saw each other around once in a while.

You sighed.

You seemed to be doing that alot lately.

Maybe once your interactions dwindled into nonexsistance, then maybe this dull ache would go away.

You leaned back, letting the sound of your friends voices soothe you into relaxation as you continued weaving.

You did not notice, but Ka'ro's hands had stopped working, his eyes knowingly watched you closely as you leaned over to correct a student's knot.

A usual hard faced Ka'ro stood in front of Neteyam, arms crossed. He gave him a once over.

Neteyam blinked.

"You"

Neteyam crouched down.

"You want to court karyu (teacher)?" straight to the point.

Without hesitation he answered "Yes"

Tiny ears stood at attention. Ka'ro cleared his throat.

"I have come to a decision" Ka'ro said, hands behind his back like an formal announcer.

"I was not aware there was a decision to be made," Neteyam quipped.

Ka'ro ignored him. "I have decided that you are decent enough to be with karyu and we have decided that we will help you." Neteyam's eyes widened and his jaw slacked at the unexpected propsition, "But if you put one toe out of line, there will be great harm."

"Is that so?" Neteyam tried to hide his smile

Ka'ro nodded with certainty. Then before anyone could say anything else, the child turned and marched off.

The following days were interesting to say the least.

Ka'ro was a surprisingly very strict for someone who was running away from his teacher the first time they met.

Neteyam trailed behind the little boy as he guided him into the mangroves. Ka'ro walked with assurance. Like he knew exactly what step to take to get exactly where he intended. The walk was brief and no words were exchanged. Neteyam had an inkling that ka'ro still did not particularly like him even though he was helping him court you. He didn't have time to mull over it when they stopped by a short tree. Ka'ro hopped, grasping at one of the small fruits on a branch, plucking it as he fell back on his feet.

"These are her favourites," he said before gathering more and tossing them to Neteyam. By the end they had a small basket filled.

Another time, accompanied by a few others, they shifted through the sand for shells. They had tried to go diving but Neteyam denied them, claiming that he would not risk them getting hurt. Surely you would be mad if something had happened. They pouted but eventually relented.

"She likes dark blue."

Neteyam grinned to himself when he had found a small shell, almost identical to the colour of his skin.

How fitting

He stuffed that one in his pouch.

"Make her a necklace" Ka'ro said.

And so his days continued, being bossed around by a 10 year old boy who cleary, wholeheartedly loved you.

You sat with your friends once again, your mind quiet, letting the familar sound of their voices soothe you.

Then the voices stopped. And a shadow fell over you.

And somehow you knew, just from the shape of it, who was standing over you.

And when you looked up, of course it was Neteyam.

Everyone sat in silence. Your friends looked back and forth at both of your faces, your eyes focused only on each other. You barely noticed when they left.

Neteyam lowered himself in front of you. It was then you noticed the jar in his hand.

He held it out to you. You gently set down your work on your lap and wrapped your fingers around the jar. You gave him a quizzacle look as you opened it. A tart scent filled your nose.

"What—"

"Jam," he said "for you."

You didn't know what to say. Because you knew what it was. It was jam from the little tart fruits that grew at the edge of the mangrove. The one you made at every special occasion. When the kids improved on a skill, when they caught their first fish, when someone completed their first weaving. The list went on and on. It was your favourite so you found any excuse to make it. And naturally it became the kids' favourite too. There was once a time when the trees did not bear and the fruit was scarce. You did not hear the end of it when you showed up without the sweet paste.

The jam he made was delicious. It was a bit too sweet for your liking but still it was good. You had finished it quickly but did not feel ashamed.

It was a gift after all.

And it seemed that the gifts were not done just yet.

Because the next day Neteyam found you before your lesson and gave you a woven bracelet. It was an intricate pattern—one that you were not familiar with. It was like vines looping around each other, twisting and knotting. And dangling from it were a series of light blue shell chips that rattled with every move. It matched the shells in your hair.

"May I?" He held it up, other hand reaching for your wrist. You gave it to him and he sliped it on. You turned your hand, admiring how the design complinemted your patterns.

Before you could thank him, your students came barreling towards you.

You did not miss the odd look Ka'ro gave Neteyam as he took his leave.

By the third gift you were certain of what this was.

During dinner Neteyam had sat next to you like it was natural. Like that spot could not possibly belong to anyone else other than him. You could not get a word out before he scooped up food from his own portion and gave it to you. And it was all your favourites. Smoked fished, dried salted yerik, and ripe yovo. You have never eaten with Neteyam before so you wondered how he knew what you liked. But you decided against asking. Because a part of you already new the answer.

There was a familliar pattern in what he was giving you.

Something you liked, something to remind you of him and now feeding you.

It was as clear as day to anyone with eyes.

You were being courted.

You did not second guess. You did not try to come up with any excuse—any reason for why he was doing what he was. You just looked down at your now full leaf and took a bite. Your tail may have shifted just a bit in his direction.

The music picked up.

Then he stood. He held his hand out to you. You stared at it. He waited patiently for you, his eyes soft, letting you know that you could reject him if you wanted.

You did not.

Your fingers slid along his until your palms were pressed against each other. He curled his hand around yours keeping it warm. Yours became clammy quick.

This time you could not hide behind the safety blanket of wine. You could not depend on it to calm your racing heart. You could not hope that it would stop your fidgeting.

He guided you to the centre and pulled you close, your chests barely touching, and danced. It was slow at first, and his movement were minimal. He was coercing you to follow—easing you into it. you took a breath, and raise your arms, copying his movements with uncertainty. His eyes bore into yours, preventing you from looking around to the others surrounding you. He wanted you to keep your eyes on him. To follow him. To lean on him. He would not let you hide yourself. Not tonight.

The growing crowd blurred out.

It was just you and Neteyam.

He then swayed with more energy, and his arms moved slightly faster. And without thinking, your body copied his. You followed his lead. You did not look away from him. You did not focus on anyone else.

Before you knew it, you were twirling wildly in his arms, large smiles on both of your faces. Adrenaline made your face burn but you did not care. You two moved with each other like you had been together for years. Like you knew what step the other was going to take.

And just like before, you danced and danced. Hair flew about and sweat dripped but neither of you cared. You felt the bass of the drums in your ears and the warmth of his hands on your arms. Your tails wrapped and unwrapped periodically as if you could not stand the thought of not touching each other.

When music dwindled and most had cleared out and staggered back to their tents, you and Neteyam remained side by side, soaking in the sounds of the night.

With your hands now interwined Neteyam pulled you gently towards the beach. You both walked in silence, with the only sound being the low swishing of the waves as they tiredly kissed the shore. The moon lit up the sea. It sparkled like stars in the night, drawing you in.

You stepped closer, letting the water reach your ankles, enjoying the cool feel of it after a long day in the blistering sun. A relaxed, airy sound left you. Your mind turned blank for a while until there was tug on your hand.

Neteyam had stopped just a pace from where you were. You turned silently, facing him fully. For the first time since you left the communal tent, he let go of you. He reached into that pouch on his side. A soft rattle made you ear flick curiously.

He unravled the fabric in his hands to reveal a neck piece. And as beutiful as it was, that was not what had immediately grabbed your attention. What did was the fact that it was a matching piece to the tewng you had finished earlier that day.

And there, daggeling at the bottom centre, was a vibrant dark blue shell. Mesmerised, you reached out, taking the smooth shell in your palm while he still held up the piece. You looked from it to his hands. The colour was uncanny. A deep, saturated, cobalt blue that stood out among the the lighter teal of your own hands. Your favourite.

There was a burning in your water line. You looked up at him, mouth turned down and brows furrowed, but not because of displeasure. But because you could not formulate a way to properly express how deeply touched you were. How the thought of him, searching for the right shell, weaving the most meaningful patterns made you want to melt from the affection of it all. How these past days had showed you in the most indeniable ways how closely he watched you. How much he cared. When he helped you pick up fibres, when he tried to ease your pain, when he caught a troublemaker for you. All of it showed that from the beginning, he had care.

All these years you had been just a girl with a crush who was too shy to ever do anything about it. But now all your childish dreams were coming true.

His hand cupped your face as if you were something precious, his thumb wiping away a a tear you did not know you had shed.

He smiled you. That charming, smile that was now turned up with fondness. "Since that day, I could not get you out of my head" You flipped through all the memories of him before landing on that day you had bumped into him "The way you had turned bright purple had been seered into my mind and I did not understand why. And no matter how hard I tried to shake the thought of you I could not. And you did not help," he chuckled " because suddenly you were everywhere," he leaned closer "I would walk through the village and there you would be, sat alone weaving. I would hear the laughter of children from the pathways and turn only to find you surrounded by tiny heads. My eyes always went to you. It was like a string was pulling me in your direction. And I noticed everything. What you ate, what you didn't. What made you blush and what made you groan. What ached you and what relaxed you. And I realised, that what I felt for you was not just a simple fascination or interest, no…" his forehead met yours "I could not focus without you near, I could not sleep before thinking of you. I wanted to know everything and more. I wanted to give you everything." he took a steadying breath.

"I love you. I see you" his eyes bore into your own that were now flooded with tears " Your kindness, your passion, your discipline, your shyness, you awkwardness—I see it all. and I want it. (Y/N)…I want you."

Your lips trembled and when you opened your mouth, a sob tore through. You wanted to answer but you could not, so you pulled at him and closed the distance between your lips. His hand went to the back your head and he kissed you slow and gentle. You tasted the sweetness of the fruit he ate and the saltyness of your tears. You pulled back with a watery laugh and pushed your forehead against him again. You looked at him through your lashes.

"I see you"

"How about Ka'ro"

"What?"

You gave the boy a look of disbelief, freezing from picking up the practice spears they had used to learn how to catch fish while on ilu back.

"Ka'ro is a good name."

You scoffed at the audacity of him "No"

"Why not?"

"Because I said so"

"Neteyam might agree"

"No, he will not"

"How do you know?"

"I just do"

The boy crossed his arms and pouted angrily.

You laughed and pinched his ear "I am not naming my child after you"

" You should" he shrugged you off "I am the reason you even have a baby"

A gasp of amused shock left you "Ka'ro!"

"What? I am not lying"

You rolled your eyes, and your hand instinctively went to your lower stomach where an almost unnoticable bump grew.

"He is right" Arms wrapped around your waist from behind as Neteyam greeted you with a kiss to the cheek.

"See, told you he would agree" Ka'ro smirked triumphantly.

You pointed at him "stop it" then you turned to Neteyam "and you. Do not encourage him". You sighed.

Ka'ro groaned dramatically "Fine. How about I be the first to hold the baby?"

"The second"

"What about me?" Neteyam had an amused look on his face

Ka'ro groaned again "Fine but I will be third."

"Deal" You nodded.

Neteyam laughed as you leaned back on him, his hand coming up to play with the small dark blue shell that rested aginst your chest.

Taglist: @raleiya comment or send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist for neteyam works

Varang’s private chamber was carved into the throat of an extinct vent, the walls rippling with ancient lava-flow patterns and inlaid with phosphorescent lichen that pulsed orange like a slumbering heartbeat. The air was thick with the scent of smoldering copal and something sharper—the metallic tang of a Recom knife, and beneath it, the unmistakable resinous bite of yur’kali crystals waiting to be ground.

They were already there, together as always.

Quaritch sat on a low shelf of obsidian, stripped to his tactical trousers, his scarred five-fingered feet bare against the warm stone. His body was a map of old violence, the human-born recom musculature defined but not grotesque, his skin the faintly mottled blue of a thing half-way between worlds. A blade lay across his thigh—standard RDA issue, the edge so sharp it seemed to hum. Beside him, Varang stood regal and terrifying, her deep grey-blue skin striped with crimson like cooling magma, the bone-and-obsidian regalia of her station making her seem ten feet tall. Her amber eyes fixed on you the instant you entered, and her lips curved in a slow, possessive smile.

“She came,” Varang murmured, her voice smoke and honey. “I told you she would.”

Quaritch’s gaze lifted to you, and it was the same weight you’d felt in the springs—the stare of a predator who had already decided you were worth the hunt. “Course she did. She’s been feeling us for weeks. Haven’t you, sweetheart?”

He said it so casually, the endearment a scrap of velvet dragged over a blade’s edge. You met his eyes, then Varang’s, and inclined your head in the formal greeting of an equal. “I knew I was being followed. I didn’t know why.”

Varang moved first, a slow prowl that brought her to your side. She was taller than you by nearly a head, and when she cupped your jaw her palm was hot, callused, the touch of a leader who had strangled a thanator with her bare hands. “You were followed because you were chosen,” she said, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “My colonel and I do not share our bed lightly. But we have watched you fight. We have watched you track. We have watched you bathe in the springs, unflinching when the hot crust broke beneath your feet. You are ember, little hunter. We would see you burn.”

Your breath caught. You had not expected this—the bluntness, the fierce possession in her eyes. You had heard whispers that Varang sometimes took other warriors into her sphere, but never with him, never with the sky-demon who was hers alone. This was unprecedented.

Quaritch stood, the knife in his hand now, turning it idly so the light ran along its edge. “Here’s how this goes. We don’t play games in this cave. Varang and I, we’re a set. You say yes, you’re taking both of us. You say no, you walk out that lava tube and nobody touches you. No hard feelings. But.” He paused, stepping closer, and you caught the scent of him—gun oil, volcanic ash, and something earthy and male beneath. “If you stay, we do this our way. Varang’s rules. My blade. A little dust to sharpen the edges. You follow our lead, you let us take you where we want to go, and we’ll make you feel things you didn’t know that pretty blue body could feel.”

You looked at Varang. She held your gaze, steady, regal, but there was a flicker of heat there—an invitation, not a command. The Olo’eyktan would not force you. She simply believed you would say yes.

You thought of the warmth at your back for three cycles, the shadow that never harmed, only watched. You thought of the way your pulse had quickened not with fear, but with a strange, dark anticipation. You were ash clan. You did not shrink from fire.

“I’ll stay,” you said, and your voice did not waver.

Varang’s smile became a blade itself. “Good.”

She led you to a mat of woven fire-fern piled with furs, and Quaritch knelt beside a low table where a mortar held a mound of rough, glassy crystals the color of dried blood. Yur’kali—the intoxication of the deep vents, mined where the mountain’s heart beat closest to the surface. The Na’vi called it the breath of the first fire. The RDA had tried to synthesize it and failed. It sharpened every nerve, dissolved the boundary between pleasure and pain, and turned a whisper into a roar. You had taken it once before, at your warrior’s rite. You remembered the way the world had tasted.

Varang settled behind you, her long legs bracketing your hips, her chest pressing warm against your back. You felt the cool scratch of her ceremonial bone pectoral against your spine, then the softness of her bare breasts as she reached around to begin unlacing your ash-cloth wrap. Her lips brushed the sensitive shell of your ear. “My colonel will prepare the dust. You will breathe it with us, and then we will begin. Before that, you must understand: he will use the knife. It will kiss your skin, just enough to draw the blood to the surface. I will taste it. You will not be harmed—only opened. Do you consent to this, little ember?”

A shiver cascaded down your body, ending in the tip of your tail, which lashed once. You’d seen Quaritch’s knife work. The man could skin a stag in under a minute and never nick the meat. And Varang—Varang’s mouth on your blood was a concept that made your thighs clench. “I consent,” you said, the formal words of the fire people.

Quaritch had finished grinding the crystals. He lifted the small obsidian mortar, the powder now a fine, shimmering dust that caught the lichen-light and threw sparks. He dipped a carved bone spoon into it and brought it to Varang first. She leaned forward over your shoulder, the gesture intimate, her lips parting as Quaritch gently placed the spoon at her nostril. She inhaled sharply, once, then the other side. Her pupils dilated immediately, the amber swallowing the light. A low, resonant hum vibrated from her chest into your back.

Then it was your turn. Quaritch cupped your chin, his thumb and forefinger surprisingly gentle, tilting your face up. “Breathe in deep, sweetheart. Don’t fight it.”

The spoon touched your nostril, cold, and you inhaled. The yur’kali hit the back of your throat like powdered lightning. Your sinuses burned, then bloomed into a searing, electric wave that washed down your spine, your limbs, all the way to your twitching tail. The world sharpened into hypersaturated clarity: the veins of obsidian in the walls, the minute vibrations of the mountain through the floor, the individual beads of sweat on Quaritch’s chest as he snorted his own dose with a practiced flick of his wrist. You felt Varang’s heartbeat against your back, felt the heat pooling between your own legs, felt every nerve ending wake up and scream for touch.

“There we are,” Quaritch breathed, setting the mortar aside. His eyes, already an eerie blue, now seemed to glow with an internal fire. “Now you’re with us.”

Varang’s hands completed their work, peeling your wrap away until you were bare on the fur mat, your grey-blue skin dusted with the faint iridescence that marked the avatar-born. She traced your collarbones, your ribs, the swell of your hips, mapping you. “Beautiful,” she pronounced. “Worthy.”

Quaritch drew the knife. Not in a threatening gesture—it was almost reverent, the way he held it, the flat of the blade resting on his palm. “First cut goes where the skin’s thinnest,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, instructional rumble. “Right over the hip bone. Little line, shallow. You’ll feel a sting, then warmth. Varang’ll take care of you after.”

He knelt in front of you, and Varang spread your thighs slightly, hooking her ankles over yours to keep you open, exposed, held. You could feel her hot center pressing against your lower back, a damp, insistent pressure. The yur’kali magnified every sensation—the coarse fur against your ass, the tickle of Varang’s breath on your neck, the cool air on your nipples, and the fierce, throbbing want that was building between your legs.

Quaritch placed the tip of the blade against your right hip, just above the jut of bone. The point was impossibly sharp; you felt the faintest pressure, then a line of bright, singing pain as he drew the edge downward in a one-inch stroke. It didn’t hurt the way a wound hurts. It was a precise, exquisite sting that resonated through the yur’kali haze and transmuted into a wave of heat that went straight to your clit. You gasped, your hips bucking, and Varang held you steady, her thighs clamping tighter.

“Shhh,” Varang whispered, and then she was moving, sliding around your side, bending low. A bead of crimson welled along the line Quaritch had drawn, vivid against your blue skin. Varang’s tongue, hot and wet and slightly rough, laved over the cut. You cried out. The sensation was overwhelming—pain and pleasure fused into one blinding signal. She licked again, slower this time, and you felt her hum of satisfaction all the way down to your bones. “She bleeds sweet, my colonel. As I knew she would.”

Quaritch watched, his nostrils flared, his chest rising faster. The yur’kali was working on him too—you could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the prominent bulge pressing against his cargos. “My turn,” he said, and the knife moved again, this time tracing a delicate arc along the inside of your left forearm, a place where the skin was nearly translucent, the veins close to the surface. He barely drew blood—just a scratch, a whisper of red—but the intimacy of it, the vulnerability of that spot, made you whimper.

Varang’s fingers found your chin, turned your face to hers, and kissed you. It was a consuming kiss, deep and flavored with the tang of your own blood and the resinous ghost of yur’kali. Her tongue thrust against yours, and you felt your mind white out, the overload of sensation threatening to unmoor you. At the same moment, Quaritch dipped his head to the cut on your arm, and you felt his mouth there—hotter than Varang’s, his lips closed over the scratch and sucked, a soft, deliberate pull. You arched between them, a live wire.

“Please,” you gasped against Varang’s mouth. The word was torn from you.

“Please what?” Varang purred, pulling back just enough to look into your glazed eyes. She was magnificent—regal and wild, her striped face flushed darker, her sharp canines catching the light. “Tell us.”

“More. Need more. Need you both.”

Quaritch chuckled, a dark, approving sound. He wiped a smear of your blood from his lower lip with his thumb and sucked it clean. “Hear that, darlin’? She needs us. I think she’s ready for the main event.”

Varang’s smile was pure sin. She reclined back against the furs, drawing you with her so that your back was against her front again, your head resting on her shoulder. Her legs spread, and she guided your legs over hers, leaving you utterly open, your slick, swollen folds exposed to the warm air and to Quaritch’s ravenous gaze. “Then take her, my colonel. Let her feel the weight of what we are.”

Quaritch made quick work of his cargos. His cock sprang free, long and thick, the base faintly ridged in the way of the avatar-kind, the tip already glistening. He positioned himself between your spread thighs, the knife still in his left hand, and you felt a fresh thrill of fear-tinged arousal. He wasn’t putting it down. Instead, he laid the flat of the blade against your inner thigh, the cool metal a shocking contrast to your overheated skin.

“Don’t move,” he instructed, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You feel that steel, you stay still as stone. I’m gonna press inside you, and if you flinch the wrong way, you’ll get a cut I don’t intend. You trust us?”

You nodded, your throat dry. You trusted them because they had watched you for weeks and never harmed you, because Varang’s arms were steel bands of safety around your ribcage, because Quaritch’s hands, for all their killing strength, were trembling slightly with the effort of control. The yur’kali had you all in its grip now, making time elastic and sensation absolute.

He pushed the head of his cock against your entrance, and the blade stayed steady on your thigh. He entered you in one long, slow, merciless glide. You cried out, the stretch huge and perfect, the yur’kali turning every inch into a cascade of ecstasy. The flat of the knife pressed a little harder, a warning and a promise. You held perfectly still, your inner walls clenching around him, and he groaned, a sound wrenched from somewhere primal.

“That’s it. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm, and Varang’s hand snaked down between your bodies. Her clever, callused fingers found your clit—the sensitive, hooded nub that was already throbbing—and began to circle it in time with Quaritch’s thrusts. The dual stimulation was shattering. You were pinned, impaled, and played like an instrument. The knife lifted from your thigh briefly, and you felt a line of liquid fire as the edge kissed your skin again—just above your pubic bone, a quick, shallow slash that sent a fresh bloom of blood trickling down toward where you and Quaritch were joined. Varang’s fingers immediately swirled through the blood, mixing it with your slick, using it to glide over your clit in maddening spirals.

You screamed—a high, keening sound that bounced off the lava-rock walls. The pleasure was so intense it verged on pain, and the pain only fed the pleasure. Your tail thrashed, and Varang captured it, gripping the base firmly, adding another layer of control.

Quaritch drove deeper, angling his hips to hit a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. “That’s the spot, ain’t it? Yeah, I feel you squeezing. Varang, you feel how tight she is? This little ash-cat is gonna come on my cock any second.”

Varang bit your shoulder—a hard, possessive bite that would leave a mark—and hissed against your skin, “Come for us, ember. Let the fire take you. We’ll catch you.”

The command, the yur’kali, the blood, the knife still glinting in Quaritch’s hand as he pounded into you—it all converged. Your orgasm hit like a pyroclastic surge, white-hot and all-consuming. You shattered, wailing, your body convulsing between them as Quaritch kept thrusting through your climax, dragging it out until you were sobbing with overstimulation.

Only then did he pull out, his cock slick and ruddy, and you felt Varang shift beneath you. She gently disengaged, laying you on the furs with a tenderness that was almost jarring after the intensity of the act. You were trembling, dazed, but not broken—never broken. They had pushed you to the edge and held you there with blood and steel and dust, but they had never let you fall.

Varang kissed your forehead, your eyelids, your lips. “Perfect. So perfect.” Then she turned her attention to Quaritch, who was standing, still painfully erect, the knife finally set aside. She went to him, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as she took him in hand, stroking him with the same blood-tinged slick she’d gathered from your body. She whispered something in his ear—something you couldn’t hear—and he shuddered, his head falling back as he spilled over her fist with a guttural, shattered groan.

Afterwards, they cleaned you with warm water and soft ash-cloth, anointed the knife-cuts with a healing salve that smelled of sulfur and herbs, and wrapped you in furs between them. Quaritch’s arm was a heavy, secure weight across your waist. Varang’s tail entwined with yours, a lazy, contented coil.

“You’re ours now,” Varang said, her voice drowsy but certain. “The stalk is finished. The hunt is over. You are home.”

Quaritch nuzzled the back of your neck, his breath slow and even. “Damn right she is. Told you she’d be perfect.”

You didn’t answer. You were already slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep, your body humming with the residue of yur’kali and the knowledge that you had been chosen by fire and shadow alike.