#netelo

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Neteyam

Words carried great weight—he had always known that. That was why he always thought twice before speaking. But his little brother had a way of making him impulsive, even when he was alive.

He had feared that the secret in his heart would remain forever unspoken, locked away without ever passing his lips. But now that Lo’ak knew—and hadn’t reacted nearly as badly as he had expected—a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one he had carried for years.

How long had it been? He couldn’t even remember when the simple, innocent love between brothers had shifted into something else entirely. Something more forbidden, something far more consuming, burning inside him with a heat he could no longer control. When it came to Lo’ak, his body moved on its own, drawn to him instinctively. He would have followed him to the ends of the world, no matter the cost.

And his brother—he always went where his heart and thirst for adventure led him, often recklessly, straight into danger.

Neteyam understood why, even if it frustrated him. Lo’ak couldn’t help but seek proof that he was worthy of attention, of praise—recognition he had never been given. And Neteyam, despite knowing this, had never been able to make up for their parents’ approval. He was… just a brother to him. Nothing more.

He loved every sky-high tree of the Hallelujah Mountains, the thick, humid air, the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy, coaxing the vibrant flowers to bloom. But none of it mattered as much as Lo’ak’s presence. It was the only reason he could let go of his home—especially this place.

He could still see that day before his eyes, the memory burned sharp and indelible in his mind—when he had played here with his eight-year-old little brother.

Lo’ak had fashioned himself a crude headdress from fallen feathers, kneeling at the base of their tree, draped in a richly patterned syuve. His face was streaked with uneven, pale violet lines, reminiscent of how the future Tsahik was adorned in the old Omatikaya tales—though Neteyam was fairly certain that, during an actual tìrusey, a real Tsahik’s markings would be… a little more deliberate than this.

The thought sent a strange tingling through his stomach, especially as he watched Lo’ak, wrapped in their mother’s syuve—one that had been passed down in their family for generations. His laughter rang bright and full of life through the trees.

“If Mom finds out you stole that, she’ll wring our necks,” Neteyam sighed. It was more than likely that if they got caught, he wouldn’t escape punishment either.

His little brother, meanwhile, had just finished his masterpiece—a hideous feathered Olo’eyktan collar. Neteyam didn’t stop him from standing on his toes to drape it over his shoulders, but he still felt like they were doing something they shouldn’t.

“We’ll put it back before they come home, and they’ll never know,” Lo’ak waved off his concern, admiring his handiwork with satisfaction. Then, suddenly, his expression darkened as he glanced around.

“Someone should be singing the ritual songs. We should’ve brought Kiri!”

“Oh, that would’ve been fun—watching you two argue over who gets to be the Tsahik.”

“Pfft, she never would’ve beaten me!”

Lo’ak declared confidently. Neteyam smiled at the memory—his brother’s smug grin as he adjusted the feathered collar, the proudest accomplishment of his life so far.

Neither of them had ever actually witnessed such a ceremony, but Lo’ak seemed to have memorized everything their mother had told them the night before, trying to recreate it as best he could—with a few creative substitutions for the proper items.

Neteyam never forgot the stomach-churning taste of the “spirit-cleansing” drink, a concoction of mashed herbs and berries, which Lo’ak had forced down his throat after much pleading. He couldn’t taste anything for days afterward.

Still, the victorious smile that spread across Lo’ak’s face after successfully making him drink it had somewhat made up for it. (Even if Neteyam had briefly considered what it would actually take for him to be genuinely mad at his idiot little brother.)

Lo’ak hadn’t quite grown into the role yet—his performance was too childish, exaggerated—but his enthusiasm, the bright sparkle in his eyes, the complete devotion with which he threw himself into the game… it enchanted Neteyam.

“Well, there’s just one thing left,” Lo’ak announced decisively. Then, without warning, he grabbed Neteyam’s hand. “Tsaheylu!”

Neteyam was so startled that he didn’t even have time to protest before Lo’ak was already reaching for his braid, his small, clumsy fingers trying to grasp the neural strands. The gesture was entirely childlike—naïve, playful, and yet so natural that, for a moment, Neteyam’s heart skipped a beat.

“Lo’ak!” He jerked back in shock, shoving his brother’s hand away. “Don’t do that—Tsaheylu isn’t a game!”

“But why not?” Lo’ak blinked at him, confused. “Mom said that’s how the Olo’eyktan and the Tsahik bond before Eywa—so they can feel each other’s hearts!”

The thought was so innocent, so pure and earnest, that Neteyam had no idea how to respond. He just stared at Lo’ak—his flushed cheeks, the streaks of paint smudged slightly across his face, the way he impatiently tapped his fingers against the crook of his elbow, waiting for an answer.

The wind stirred their braids, as if Eywa herself were watching them. But was she giving them her blessing? Or was it a warning?

“…Maybe one day,” Neteyam murmured at last, a strange feeling curling in his stomach. He didn’t dare say more. He didn’t dare admit that even then—even back then—something about Lo’ak made him feel a way he shouldn’t.

“Well, in that case…” Lo’ak muttered, narrowing his eyes in concentration. Before Neteyam could react, his little brother reached over his shoulder and tugged his braid forward, then grabbed the frozen Neteyam’s one and simply draped them over each other.

Even though their tswins did not connect—only rested against each other, hidden within their hair—the intensity of the sensation surged through his entire body, weakening his knees, the tingling coiling deep in his stomach.

For the first time in his life, he felt something like this—an unfamiliar, profound attachment that defied all reason.

He knew he shouldn’t be so affected by the sight of their hair entwined. He shouldn’t have felt anything at all. But feelings never asked for permission.

They were simply there, lurking irrevocably beneath his skin. Haunting him on sleepless nights as he lay beside Lo’ak on their sleeping mat, when no one was watching, and he inched closer—covering him, warming him, running soothing fingers over his arm when he had bad dreams, shielding him from everything and everyone.

At first, it had been mere childish devotion. But as the years passed… as he grew older, it became harder and harder to explain to himself.

Like when Lo’ak, exhausted from a long hunt, lazily rested his head on his shoulder, mumbling sleepily—probably his usual complaints—but Neteyam had to summon all his strength not to touch him.

Or when his little brother stormed ahead of him after an argument, tail lashing with frustration, and Neteyam couldn’t not notice how beautiful he looked like that—flushed with raw emotion.

Then, the stolen touches became more frequent—just as the heat in his body flared every time Lo’ak wandered too close. Sometimes, it was a near thing, maintaining control and not doing something irreversibly foolish.

Like when Lo’ak’s legs draped over him in his sleep, curling into his chest, his tail wrapping around his thighs, and Neteyam felt like he was going to lose his mind—his fingers clenching so tightly into the mat that his knuckles turned white.

Year after year, the torment only grew stronger until his resolve solidified: If he was ever chosen as Olo’eyktan, he wanted no mate but him. No matter what was expected of him, he would never be able to bond with anyone else.

And now, here sat Lo’ak, fully grown, beside him—their hands entwined between them. Even Neteyam himself marveled at how naturally four fingers laced together with five.

From the look in his eyes, Lo’ak might have been thinking the exact same thing. His eyes shone, perhaps even brighter than his tanhìs, like stars in the night sky, making the curve of his forehead all the more striking.

He regarded their fingers with that same childlike confusion he always had—ever since he first realized he had one more than his brother. And in the midst of his endless self-reproach, he bit his lip in hesitation.

“Neteyam…” Lo’ak began cautiously, uncertainty lacing his voice. His head dipped slightly, as if he couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.

Oh, Eywa, how he loved hearing his name from his lips—especially in that soft, bashful tone.

Neteyam wanted to memorize everything about this moment—how Lo’ak ran his fingers through his own hair as if trying to summon courage, how he parted his lips to speak but seemed to think better of it, shutting them just as quickly.

"What is it, baby bro?" he asked with a laugh, trying to ease the tension. "You look like you're about to drown in your own thoughts. Don't think so hard—just spit it out!"

"I'm just… curious about something," Lo'ak huffed, like an agitated young palulukan. His nails curled reflexively, digging into the back of Neteyam’s hand—then, realizing how sharply he had overreacted, a faint purple flush spread across his cheeks, and his ears flattened.

Under his brother’s curious gaze, he grew paler, as if struggling to gather his resolve.

"In the end… you didn’t do it with anyone else, did you?"

For a moment, Neteyam didn’t quite understand what he meant, and his thoughts strayed to dangerous places. No. Lo’ak definitely wasn’t implying that.

"Do what?" "The… Tsaheylu."

...

Oh. His breath caught, and for a moment, he had no words.

They weren’t children anymore, and this question was far more intimate than if Lo’ak had simply asked if he had lain with someone before—he might have recovered from that easier.

But of course, his little brother had never cared for things as simple as respect and propriety.

"You never gave me a free moment when I wasn’t busy with saving your ass," he finally sighed, exasperated. "When would I have? With who?"

"Are you seriously blaming me for that?" Lo'ak scoffed. "You had plenty of chances—any Omaticaya girl would’ve had you. Probably most of the Metkayina, too."

"As if I ever wanted any of them!"

There it was. Another fight, just like when they were reckless kids, wasting time. And who knew how much of that they even had left?

Neteyam was about to say something to break the tension when Lo’ak’s next words reached him.

"And me?"

It was barely a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud might change everything.

Him, the eternal rebel—the one who had never feared anything.

"If you really… love me, we could have done it."

The question struck his chest like an arrow. It was as if all the air had been ripped from his lungs, as if Eywa herself had stopped time for one fleeting moment, just long enough for Lo’ak’s words to pierce the deepest, most guarded part of him.

Lo’ak’s question shook him. Neteyam could no longer hear the wind rustling through the trees—only the sound of Lo’ak’s breath, his heartbeat pounding too close to his own.

This was a trap. A beautiful, tempting trap, one he could fall into with a single careless step—never to return. The answer pulsed within him. Yes. He had always wanted him. Lo’ak had always been the only one he had ever thought of, the only one he had ever longed for with every nerve in his body, the only one no one else could ever compare to.

But it couldn’t be. The bitter truth sat heavy on his tongue.

"Lo’ak…" His name fell from Neteyam’s lips like something fragile, something that hurt to say. And maybe it did.

"We… we can’t."

His brother frowned in confusion.

"Why not? We’re not kids anymore, and we don’t have time to keep waiting for someday!"

There was a tremor in his voice, deep beneath his frustration. Neteyam’s lips parted—then closed again. He wanted to tell him. Wanted to explain that Lo’ak didn’t understand what he was asking.

Tsaheylu wasn’t just a gesture, not just a kiss or an embrace; that if they did this, he would likely never be able to bond with anyone else ever again. And Neteyam was already gone.

No matter that he had been given this one moment to say goodbye—he was only a memory. Nothing more. No longer a part of this world.

"You still have an entire life ahead of you," he said finally. Pain seeped into his gaze, and the words left bitterness on his tongue. "You would bind yourself to me forever, and I… I’m not here, Lo’ak. I can’t be with you."

Lo’ak’s lips pressed into a tight line.

For a moment, he closed his eyes—then opened them again, and Neteyam couldn’t not notice the way his irises shimmered, as if he were barely holding back tears.

"And you think…" he asked, voice hollow, "I would ever want anyone else?" Neteyam froze.

"If you're the only one I’ll ever be able to connect with... that’s more than enough for me!" The boy grabbed his shoulders roughly, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline.

"That’s all I’ve EVER truly wanted, so you’d better fucking find a way to drag your dumb ass back to me, I don’t care how, you hear me?! NO EXCUSES, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, if anyone can do it, it’s definitely you!!"

Lo’ak’s tail lashed irritably behind him, and he probably didn’t even notice how, in his intense emotions, he had climbed over Neteyam’s legs and curled up in his lap. The sight of his stormy, furrowed brows struck like a lightning bolt, and even the sounds of the rainforest seemed to quiet around them, as if Eywa herself were holding her breath.

The question hovered in the air, fragile yet burning, like a freshly bloomed loreyu flower in the morning dew.

Neteyam’s fingers tightened over Lo’ak’s hand, his touch searing, feverish. He stared into his brother’s eyes, then at those well-shaped, faintly violet lips—the ones he had spent so many nights staring at while Lo’ak slept peacefully beside him, oblivious to the maddening, sinful thoughts that tormented him.

Neteyam’s heart pounded in his throat. As his brother trembled above him, as if regretting the question, as if he wanted to take back his words, Neteyam already knew—he couldn’t let him go. He couldn’t let this moment slip away.

Slowly, with almost sacrilegious reverence, he lifted Lo’ak’s hand and brought it to his lips. His kiss brushed over each finger, one after another, returning again and again to the one Lo’ak despised most about himself. His name slipped from Neteyam’s lips like a sigh as he continued his silent devotion, and this time, Lo’ak didn’t pull away. Neither of them moved.

They only watched each other, floating between emotions, in a world where neither past nor future mattered—only this moment.

Neteyam reached forward, his face stopping mere inches from Lo’ak’s. He could smell him—that clean, familiar, yet maddening scent that set his blood on fire.

"I want to do it." The words left his mouth with such raw honesty that even he was surprised by them. He was no longer the golden child, not a heroic warrior, the pride of his people—just a young man holding the one thing he desired most in his arms. "Fuck, you have no idea how much!"

The weight of the confession crashed down on them both, breaking through like a dam, releasing everything he had tried to suppress for years.

Lo’ak’s fingers trembled as they pressed against Neteyam’s face, as if afraid he would disappear if he didn’t hold on tightly enough.

"Then do it." His voice was barely more than a breath as he brought his queue forward, offering it with averted eyes. "Now."

"But…"

"JUST SHUT UP AND DO IT! I want this, and I know you too, so there’s nothing stopping us, okay?"

Neteyam hesitated, but he couldn’t resist any longer.

Carefully, as if handling something fragile, he reached for Lo’ak’s queue, taking his own between his fingers. The moment was sacred—not a game, not some childish experiment, but something deeper, something true, something that would change everything forever.

Lo’ak’s lips parted slightly as Neteyam slowly drew them closer, their skin warming where their bare stomachs pressed together. Lo’ak tensed above him, a soft, shuddering whimper escaping him; even that was enough to make Neteyam feel like he was burning alive, but nothing could compare to the moment their neural tendrils brushed together, then intertwined— Neteyam felt as if an entirely new world had opened before him.

The first contact was explosive. In a single breath, he felt everything—Lo’ak’s thoughts, his emotions, as if their souls had fused into one, beating with a single heart. His brother clung to him in surprise, his pupils blown wide, his spine arching as the new sensations crashed over him.

Love. Curiosity. Pain. Want…

Neteyam squeezed his eyes shut, realizing there was no going back. Lo’ak knew now. He could feel it all. And he accepted it.

As his thoughts surged through their bond, as his brother grasped the full meaning, as hesitation slowly melted into understanding—Neteyam instinctively wanted to shield him from it, from the overwhelming storm inside him—but there was nowhere to hide anymore.

Lo’ak’s breathing grew ragged, his gaze locked onto Neteyam’s face.

"I…" Lo’ak’s voice echoed deep inside him. No words, just raw, unfiltered emotions flowing between them. Neteyam clenched his teeth, his hands curling into fists, trying to restrain himself—but when Lo’ak’s fingers traced down to rest over his chest, right above his heart, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

"Me too…" he whispered, and like a starving beast, he yanked Lo’ak closer, his lips descending upon his brother’s neck with wild, fevered desperation.

Their breaths mingled, their bodies aligned as if they had always meant to fit together this way. They had no idea what they were doing anymore, only instinctively moving against each other, the tsaheylu deepening their bond—not just through the connection, but in every lingering touch, every shared longing.

Neteyam’s lips parted involuntarily as Lo’ak’s hand slid down his side, lingering at his waist, igniting a thousand tiny detonations low in his belly. And when Lo’ak leaned in to press their mouths together, they both groaned into the kiss, their minds and bodies spiraling into a shared descent.

He felt every hazy, heated thought—both his and Lo’ak’s—the ones his brother might never have admitted even to himself. But Neteyam knew. He felt it. Oh, Eywa… and it was driving him insane. They were alone in this perfect, unrepeatable moment, and nothing else mattered anymore.

But… this came with something else—something that was about to push them past a boundary they could never return from. When his hands slid down Lo’ak’s back, and his fingers brushed the base of his tail, his brother’s breath hitched sharply.

Neteyam couldn’t stop himself from gripping his waist, pulling him even closer against him—stunning both himself and Lo’ak with the realization that their bodies were ready for an entirely different kind of connection too.

Lo’ak

..........

With every passing moment, he was more certain—coming here had been a mistake.

Months had gone by, yet he could never bring himself to face Neteyam’s memory. His brother’s figure haunted his dreams every night, and though he had become better at pretending during the day, feigning that he was fine, upon waking from those dreams, he wanted nothing more than to scream. Desperately, hopelessly, until perhaps even Eywa would hear him and take him away too. To him. Instead of him… Anything would be better than this.

No matter what he did to occupy himself, the gnawing emptiness always found its way back to him. If things were different, Neteyam would surely be there, teasing him for doing a half-hearted job, throwing in a few sarcastic remarks about his lack of skill—only to pat him on the back and call him an idiot with a smile, like he always did. He hated him for that. He… missed him so much.

Something had been lost with him, something irreplaceable. His parents no longer scolded him, no longer compared him, yet the unspoken accusation lingered in their silent gazes. He was certain they would all be happier if he had died instead of his brother. And oh, how happy he would be! Or at least… happier.

More than once, he caught glimpses of blame in his mother’s eyes, or fleeting glances from his siblings whenever Neteyam was mentioned. Just a brief flicker in their gaze, but he knew exactly what it meant. They had looked at him like that countless times throughout his life, whenever he messed up—just like always. But this time… this time was different. This had crossed a line. They would never forgive him. And he would never forgive himself.

Back then… when things felt too much, he would retreat, pulling his knees to his chest, rocking himself on the highest branches of a tree—until he came. Usually teasing him, ruffling his hair, refusing to leave until he admitted exactly how he felt. And when at last he snapped and spilled all his pain, Neteyam would just be there, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone, that he always would be. No matter how many called him a freak, a demon-blood, no matter how many times he got hurt because of his own stupidity or how often Dad punished him for yet another reckless act— but now, he wasn’t there.

Because of him.

The water had become such a part of his daily life that it almost felt like he had been born metkayina. By now, even in his most distressed moments, it no longer troubled him to quiet his heart—at least, physically. Inside, there was only war, but his heartbeat gradually slowed, merging with the soft rhythm of the waves.

Did he even have the right to be here? He didn’t think so. Perhaps he would only catch a glimpse, a memory—but how would he react to seeing him? To his killer… And how could Lo’ak stand before him without crumbling beneath the weight of guilt, without begging to take his place? He deserved life so much more. Everyone would be so much happier if they could trade places!

He would never hurt anyone again. And maybe, just maybe, his soul would finally stop aching.

One last time, the five-fingered hand he had always despised curled into a fist as he connected his tswin to the softly glowing tendrils of the Utraya Mokri. And as his mind sank into the swirling, luminous currents, a single tear rolled down his cheek. —

Neteyam

..........

Being with Eywa… was like sinking into the purest, most serene spring. No pain, no fear, no hunger—only comfort, as his soul lay bare before the vastness of existence, waiting. Perhaps to be reborn, he thought. Honestly, this wasn’t such a bad state to be in. A place, where he no longer had to wear the mask of perfection.

He could simply be himself. Eywa had no expectations of him. She let him rest at last, without the constant worry of Lo’ak sneaking out in the middle of the night, getting himself killed... … Oh. Shit.

He barely managed to stir from the weightless stillness, but his eyes fluttered open hesitantly.

Lo’ak…

Was there anyone to stop him from doing something reckless now that he couldn’t? He could only hope their parents weren’t too harsh on him. That… they didn’t blame him. After all, he had been the one to fail. Maybe they refused to admit that it was his mistake, but logically, it had been that one misstep. That one careless moment, when he hadn’t protected himself properly, despite all of Dad’s lessons on how to evade such an attack. He hadn’t controlled himself. He hadn’t positioned himself correctly when he stepped out of hiding. If only he could tell them!

Lo’ak… there was no one left who would know where to find him when he was hurting. No one to comfort him—not that Neteyam had ever been very good at it, but he had cherished every moment when his brother’s sulking would, after enough pestering, break into the smallest smile. And then everything was okay again—because Lo’ak was already thinking up his next reckless idea, the kind that, at best, would only break his neck.

Did he… at least miss him? Even a little?

"Do you truly wish to know?"

The voice came like a gentle melody in his mind. He should have been used to it by now, hearing it so often, but still, he shuddered, as if caught in something shameful.

His face flushed, hiding behind a shy smile, though he knew there were no secrets before her. Out of habit, he still tried to suppress his emotions.

"It’s foolish," he murmured. "Surely he enjoys his new life as the eldest brother. No longer compared to me, no longer expected to be like me. Without me, he can finally be who he always wanted to be."

"And yet, your heart aches."

"Just… because he never came. I understand why he wouldn’t want to see me, but… even if he can’t hear me, I just wanted to hear his voice. See that skxawng face of his. Know what memory would come to his mind when he thinks of me."

It hurt. More than he expected. So much time had passed, and all of his siblings had come. At first, tearful, then later, with bittersweet smiles, recalling only the good times they had shared. But he never came.

He, whom Neteyam had waited for most of all, had never come.

"You have yet to use your wish."

Eywa knew him too well—there was no use denying it. When she first spoke to him, she had offered a gift, a small compensation for giving his life to save another. He could have used it anytime. But all along… he had wanted to use it with him. Was it selfish to feel disappointed that he never got the chance? He didn’t blame him, but…

"He won’t come, will he?" His voice broke, and the warmth of the endless peace turned cold, freezing as his soul shattered into tiny, aching pieces.

For years, he had suppressed everything—every longing, every forbidden feeling he shouldn’t have had for his own brother. He had hoped Lo’ak would at least love him as his brother. But no matter how hard he tried to get closer, he had never been able to make him... see him.

"Perhaps it’s for the best. If he came… if I saw him again, I’m not sure what I would do."

His vision blurred with tears he had never allowed himself to shed. He was ready to let go, to fade into nothingness—until Eywa’s voice pulled him back.

"In that case, would you like me to send him back?"

Wh-what?

A strange, blinding light engulfed him. Neteyam woke up leaning against the trunk of a massive tree, surrounded by vibrant tarsyu flowers blooming—a sight so unusual he immediately deemed it peculiar. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

It took a few moments for his senses to return after the lingering numbness, but once they did, he recognized the place instantly: their secret “base,” where he and Lo’ak had played countless times as children—just the two of them, without their sisters or parents.

They had stumbled upon it by accident after his younger brother had run away from home in a sulk, and Neteyam had found him curled up against this tree, tears streaming down his face unstoppable.

He could still recall the frightened desperation on Lo’ak’s face before he wrapped him in a comforting embrace, making the younger boy so stunned he momentarily forgot to sniffle.

"Don't cry," he had said with a smile, gently stroking Lo’ak’s messy braids.

"I'm not crying!" came the irritated reply, and Lo’ak shook off his hand.

He would never admit it, but Neteyam knew anyway: he was hungry. Tired. Scared… He knew every little movement his brother made all too well.

"Were you afraid?" Neteyam had asked, sitting down beside him cautiously, leaving just enough space in case the little boy wanted to lean into him. Of course, he didn’t. "It’s okay now. I’m here with you."

"Great. Now we’re both lost!"

Always the optimism, since the day he was born. And it seemed Neteyam’s life mission was to cheer him up, over and over again, despite it all.

"Do you remember what Mom taught us? If you’re lost, ask Eywa for guidance. Eywa shows the way to all her children."

He reached out to touch a nearby tarsyu. Back then, it looked nothing like the dreamlike spectacle it had become now—it was wrapped in a thick cocoon, shying away from his touch.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at his brother. There was something similar between him and this plant, the way he hid within his own imaginary cocoon, too shy to reveal his bloom. But Neteyam was certain that if Lo’ak ever opened up, he would be more beautiful than any flower on Pandora.

"Any other plans?" Lo’ak had asked skeptically, but then his eyes widened as an Atokirina' gently landed on Neteyam’s outstretched finger.

For a few moments, they both stared in awe—first at the Sacred Tree’s seed, then at each other—until, suddenly, hundreds more appeared, floating before them in an interwoven chain.

"See?" Neteyam laughed. "Eywa is showing us the way home."

They returned to this place countless times afterward, just the two of them. The tarsyus never opened their petals, just as Lo’ak always took a step back whenever their bond grew too close.

More than anything, Neteyam had wanted to see him there, among the blooming flowers, once more—one last time.

A soft breeze caressed his face, and an Atokirina' drifted gently before his eyes. As his gaze followed its path, a tall shadow suddenly fell over him.

A tall, lean figure with loose braids, a leather strap around his waist. A palulukan dagger hung at his side—a blade, all too familiar. Once, it had been his own.

So he had kept it?

His dead heart felt as if it had started beating once again. A strange, tingling warmth spread through his entire being—something akin to pure happiness—as he took in the sight before him.

Lo’ak… He had grown so much. Taller than in this memory, even taller than Neteyam remembered from the last time he saw him. His hair was no longer tied to his tswin, left to fall freely on either side of his face.

He was older now, and yet… He looked more lost than ever, staring at Neteyam shocked. He seemed on the verge of speaking when, suddenly, he just dropped to his knees.

"I’m sorry," Lo’ak said, his voice carrying an unfamiliar edge, deeper than Neteyam remembered… had it changed while he was gone?

Neteyam couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, a soft smile spreading across his face. His brother may have grown taller, but he was still the same lost little boy as always.

And yet, something much heavier weighed on him now.

Neteyam wasn’t sure what to say to avoid ruining this moment—the last moment granted to them.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, startled by the sound of his own voice—it had been so long since he last spoke that it almost felt foreign.

But Lo’ak reacted instantly—his body tensed, his ears twitched, but he didn’t look up.

"I’m sorry… I… I should have…." Neteyam stared at him. Lo’ak was trembling.

Not like when he was a child, overwhelmed by frustration. Not like when his feet had frozen to the ground, afraid, as he tried to claim his ikran. His fists clenched tightly on his knees, as if that was the only thing keeping him from completely breaking apart.

Neteyam’s heart ached at the sight. Every word he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. This was the moment he had been waiting for, and now… now he was frozen, unable to move. Lo’ak… His Lo’ak. Wild, stubborn, irresistibly free, always defying every rule in his path.

And yet, here he was, kneeling before him, shattered—every ounce of strength and defiance abandoned, as if he had finally surrendered in a battle he was never meant to fight alone.

Neteyam swallowed hard and instinctively reached out, wanting to touch Lo’ak’s hair—to feel that he was really here, finally, after so long. But his fingers stopped midway.

Would it only make things harder? Would Lo’ak even want him to?

His brother gasped softly, as if carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. His body shook, but he didn’t lift his head.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, barely audible. "I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry that I get to live, and not you—you, who deserved it so much more."

Neteyam didn't know what to do, his heart was pounding. The love he felt in that moment was so overwhelming, it was almost unbearable.

"Hey," he finally said, hoarsely. "What kind of nonsense are you saying, baby brother?"

He didn’t hesitate anymore. He reached forward and cupped Lo’ak’s face in both hands. His brother’s skin was warm under his touch, his tears leaving tiny trails across his cheeks.

"Look at me," Neteyam said softly. Lo’ak’s eyes slowly opened, and when their gazes finally met, Neteyam felt his breath hitch. Those beautiful, warm golden eyes he had always loved—now broken, yet burning with a strange mix of pain and love.

"You are not to blame," Neteyam said firmly. "You never were. I chose to protect you. I chose to give my life for you, if needed."

Lo’ak shook his head.

"But if… if I had been stronger… if I hadn’t been such a burden… If I had just listened to you…."

Neteyam sighed, wiping away his tears with his thumb.

"You were never a burden, Lo’ak. Never."

Lo’ak’s lips quivered, as if about to protest, but Neteyam didn’t let him.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against his brother’s, just as he had done so many times when they were children.

Silence settled between them—a single, eternal moment where only their breaths mingled, and their hearts beat as one.

Then, Lo’ak moved first. He lifted his hand hesitantly, as if afraid Neteyam would vanish before his eyes. But when his fingers touched his brother’s arm—he was there.

This wasn’t a dream. Not an illusion. Neteyam was real.

Tears welled up again, but this time, not from pain.

Neteyam watched him, uncertain. He had always been a sensitive boy behind the defiant mask, but he had never fallen apart like this.

What could he do to cheer him up? Or at least snap him out of it. He shook his head slightly, then slowly pulled his brother’s face closer and leaned in.

Lo’ak’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening—when his brother gently brushed his lips against his own, it was as if every thought in his mind had vanished. Neteyam kissed him carefully, tasting him softly, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to.

Lo’ak’s breath hitched, and he remained motionless for a long moment. Then, barely perceptible, like the touch of a delicate petal, Neteyam finally felt the slightest movement of his lips—and his little brother, the one he had longed for all his life, hesitantly kissed him back.

The sensation surged through every nerve in his body, and he nearly cried out in joy.

"...teyam..."

His name, in Lo’ak's voice, just beneath his lips—it felt like too much to bear.

Maybe he had gone too far. But did it even matter anymore? He only managed to pull back just enough for their gazes to meet, and though he could see the thousand unspoken questions in the other’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to answer them.

"You stopped" he finally murmured with a gentle smile, reaching up to stroke Lo’ak’s flushed, trembling ears.