#roxto

You stand at the edge of the reef where stone drops suddenly into open sea, toes curled against wet rock, bow resting loose in your hand. The wind brushes past you, salt-heavy, carrying the distant scent of lightning. It moves differently today — not stronger, not faster, just… aware.

You tilt your head, eyes half-lidded.

Listening.

Below the surface, life shifts. Fish scatter without predator. Larger shapes sink deeper, abandoning the upper currents. The reef should be loud with movement at this hour, with color and pulse and rhythm.

Instead, it hesitates.

So do you.

“Again,” comes the voice behind you.

You don’t turn.

Your instructor — if that word still applies — stands several paces back, spear planted firmly in the stone. He has been watching you since dawn, like the elders asked, like they always ask now. Not openly. Not with accusation. Just with that quiet, measuring attention that crawls along your spine.

You lift your bow and draw.

The string pulls back smoothly, familiar as breath. Your shoulders settle, muscles aligning without thought. You don’t aim at the target woven from kelp and bone across the inlet.

You aim past it.

Your arrow slips free.

It vanishes into the water with barely a ripple — and a heartbeat later, the current shifts. Just slightly. Enough to curve the arrow’s path as it descends. The shaft corrects mid-fall, guided by instinct rather than sight, and strikes true, splitting the center of the target with a dull, echoing thunk.

Silence follows.

Not the good kind.

Behind you, your instructor exhales slowly. “You felt it again.”

You finally turn, expression neutral. “The current changed.”

“It changed for you.”

That earns him a look — cool, sharp, unimpressed. “Currents change all the time.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But they do not usually wait.”

You say nothing.

There is no point. You learned long ago that explaining yourself only makes them listen harder, look closer, dig where they should not. So you retrieve your arrow in silence, water slicking over your skin as you wade in, every movement economical, controlled.

You feel it again then — the faintest resistance around your calves, like the sea pausing to consider you.

Annoyance sparks, brief and hot.

Not now.

You push the sensation down, grounding yourself the way you were taught: weight in your heels, breath low, thoughts narrowed to purpose. The water releases you at once, flowing normally again, as if nothing strange has occurred.

Your instructor watches all of it.

𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃

By the time you return to the reef, the elders are waiting.

They sit in a half-circle beneath the wind-carved arch that overlooks the open sea, cloaks pulled close, beads and bones clicking softly with each shift of posture. No drums. No songs. This is not a ceremony.

This is an assessment.

You stop at the edge of the circle, bow slung across your back, twin blades resting at your hips. You do not kneel. They did not ask you to.

The eldest among them studies you for a long moment, eyes reflecting the dull gray of the sky. “The sea moves around you,” she says at last.

“So it always has,” you reply evenly.

A murmur ripples through the others — restrained, uneasy.

“It moves in response,” another elder says. “The wind bends toward you. Stone steadies beneath your feet.”

You tilt your head, just slightly. “Are you accusing Eywa of favoritism?”

That earns a sharp glance. One elder bristles; another looks away. The eldest raises a hand, stilling them.

“We are accusing nothing,” she says. “We are listening.”

There it is again. That word.

You cross your arms loosely over your chest. “Then listen harder. Eywa speaks to all of us.”

“Yes,” the eldest agrees. “But not all of us answer without meaning to.”

The air feels thicker suddenly, as if the storm overhead has leaned closer.

You feel it in your ribs — that subtle pressure, that almost-pull — and clamp down on it hard. Control snaps back into place, cold and precise.

“I have done nothing forbidden,” you say.

“No,” the eldest replies. “You have done nothing yet.”

Silence stretches.

The decision has already been made. You can hear it in the way they avoid your eyes, in the careful neutrality of their expressions. This is not a trial. It is a conclusion dressed as concern.

“There is imbalance beyond our waters,” the eldest continues. “Far to the east. Where the reef softens. Where the clans grow gentle.”

Metkayina.

You keep your face still.

“You will go,” she says. “You will listen. You will find where Eywa’s song strains.”

“And if I do?” you ask.

“Then you will return,” she says — and does not add if you can.

A pause. Then, quieter, “And if you cannot… then distance will protect us all.”

There it is.

Not exile. Never named as such. Just space. Just precaution.

You nod once. “When?”

“The tide turns at dusk.”

Of course it does.

You leave without ceremony.

No one stops you. No one follows. The reef watches in silence as you prepare your gear, secure your blades, check your bowstring one last time. The wind brushes your cheek, almost gentle now, as if curious.

“You don’t have to make this difficult,” your instructor says softly, lingering nearby.

You glance at him, one brow lifting. “I don’t make things difficult. I endure them.”

A flicker of something like pride crosses his face — quickly buried beneath worry.

You step into the water and do not look back.

The sea opens before you.

And somewhere far beyond the horizon, something waits.

𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃

The open sea has no patience for hesitation.

Once the reef drops away beneath you, there is nothing left to soften the world — no sheltering stone, no tangled roots, no familiar currents that know your body as well as you know them. The water deepens to a darker blue, then darker still, swallowing light until the sun becomes only a pale suggestion above.

You swim without hurry.

Speed is for those who fear what follows them.

The Tìkara have always taught endurance over haste, listening over force. Out here, where the ocean stretches vast and indifferent, those lessons settle into your bones. Your strokes are long and measured, tail cutting clean arcs through the water. Every breath is deliberate, every movement chosen.

Still, the sea watches you.

It’s subtle at first — the way the current nudges your left side a fraction more than your right, testing balance. The way pressure shifts ahead of you, as if the water itself is adjusting around your path.

You ignore it.

You’ve learned how dangerous curiosity can be.

As the sun begins its slow descent, clouds gather above, drawn together by invisible threads. They don’t look threatening yet. No thunder. No lightning. Just a thickening of gray that weighs down the sky.

You surface briefly, scanning the horizon.

Nothing but water and sky.

Good.

You dive again, letting the sea close over your head, and focus on the rhythm of your body — pull, glide, kick, breathe. The repetition quiets your thoughts, sharpens your awareness. Below you, the deep opens like a waiting mouth, endless and dark.

That’s when the first real sign comes.

A vibration travels through the water — low, distant, wrong. Not the song of a large creature. Not the rumble of shifting stone. This is uneven, stuttering, like a note struck and left to warp.

You slow instinctively.

The vibration strengthens as you move eastward, weaving through the water like a pulse. With it comes something else — a faint tug beneath your sternum, as if a thread has been looped around your ribs and pulled tight.

Your jaw clenches.

So it’s not just the Tìkara waters.

You adjust course slightly, angling toward the source of the disturbance. The sea responds immediately, current shifting to accommodate you, smoothing your path.

“No,” you murmur into the water, more irritation than fear in your tone.

The current hesitates — then resumes its natural flow.

Good.

You swim on.

Hours pass. The light dims, filtered through thickening cloud cover, and the sea grows restless. Small waves ripple overhead, their shadows sliding across the surface like restless spirits. You surface again, rolling onto your back for a moment to stretch your shoulders, eyes tracking the sky.

The storm is forming faster now.

You can feel it in the air — that charged stillness that presses against your skin, raises the fine hairs along your arms. Wind brushes across the surface in uneven bursts, sending ripples racing outward.

This storm does not feel random.

It feels… attentive.

You flip forward and dive just as the first raindrops strike the surface, cold pinpricks that scatter light. Thunder rolls distantly, low and restrained, as if the sky itself is holding back.

You push deeper, where the noise softens and the water wraps around you like a shield.

The pressure steadies your thoughts.

Until it doesn’t.

A sudden cross-current slams into your side, knocking you off balance. You twist instinctively, tail flicking to compensate — and the water moves with you, surging in the direction you turn, amplifying the motion instead of resisting it.

You correct harder than necessary, muscles snapping tight.

The current obeys again, overcorrecting this time, throwing you forward in a burst of speed that steals your breath.

You stop dead.

Suspended in the water, heart pounding, you force yourself to stillness. The sea settles around you slowly, like a creature calming after being startled.

Your breathing evens.

Control, you remind yourself. Control is survival.

You resume swimming, slower now, senses stretched taut.

Above, the storm breaks in earnest.

Lightning fractures the sky, white-hot and jagged, followed almost immediately by thunder that cracks so close it vibrates through the water. The surface churns, waves colliding and collapsing in chaotic patterns.

You should surface. Reorient. Find shelter.

Instead, you feel the pull again — stronger now, unmistakable.

Not toward the storm.

Toward the reef ahead.

Metkayina waters.

The closer you get, the stranger it feels. The vibration you sensed earlier sharpens into something almost like dissonance, a clash of rhythms that scrape against your nerves. The water here is warmer, clearer, alive with motion — schools of fish darting in coordinated flashes of color, larger shapes gliding gracefully through the depths.

Beautiful.

And wrong.

You surface cautiously near the edge of the reef, keeping low, body half-submerged as you take it in. Towering coral formations rise from the shallows, their surfaces smooth and luminous, nothing like the jagged stone of Tìkara territory. Bioluminescent plants pulse softly as dusk deepens, casting the reef in shifting hues of blue and green.

It should feel welcoming.

Instead, your skin prickles.

You feel eyes on you long before you see anyone.

The storm rages just beyond the reef’s protective curve, waves crashing violently against the outer barrier. Inside, the water is calm — unnaturally so, as if the reef itself is holding the chaos at bay.

You swim forward slowly, every instinct screaming caution.

The tug in your chest tightens, drawing your attention downward — to a fissure in the reef floor where the coral thins and the water darkens abruptly. Something stirs there, deep and heavy, sending out ripples that distort the light.

You hover above it, unease coiling tight in your gut.

This is it.

The wound in Eywa’s song.

𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃

The reef stretches before you, jagged spires of coral and stone jutting from the shallows like the ribs of some slumbering beast. You linger beneath the surface for a heartbeat, letting the tide curl around your form. Every ripple, every subtle vibration of the storm above, whispers secrets. You hear them.

Then you rise. Shoulder breaking the water first, droplets cascading down your skin, your breath calm and measured. The wind carries the salt of the sea and the faint scent of rain. You glide forward, bow across your back, blades at your hips, body taut with control.

Ahead, a lone figure watches. Ao’nung. His posture is firm, spear in hand, eyes narrowing as he registers a stranger emerging from the reef. “Who are you?” he demands, voice steady, edged with caution.

You lift your chin slightly. “That is not important,” you reply evenly. “Yet I am here.”

Suspicion tightens his jaw. “Your clan,” he says. “State yourself.”

Before you can answer, movement erupts behind you. Shadows twist in the shallows, dozens of figures moving with silent precision. The Metkayina clan emerges, warriors of every age and stature, gliding across the shallow surf like predators and protectors. Their presence is immediate, overwhelming, and controlled — Ao’nung stiffens, realizing the reef is no longer empty, no longer just his domain.

They circle you with quiet authority, stopping a few meters out, eyes on the unfamiliar marks that identify you. Your tattoo — above the breast near the shoulder, interlaced waves and jagged stone, faintly glowing beneath your wet skin — is unmistakable. Recognition flashes through the clan, murmurs rippling across the group.

Then, from the shore and the marui, familiar figures arrive: Tonowari, the Olo'eyktan, and Ronal, the Tsahìk, accompanied by some omaticaya. Tonowari’s gaze fixes instantly on your tattoo. “Tìkara,” he says, voice low, recognition sharp. “You bear the mark of the storm-reef.”

Ronal steps forward, eyes narrowing as she takes in the scene. “I have not seen this emblem in years,” she says. “Why are you here?”

Ao’nung’s attention snaps between you and the newcomers, his confusion deepening. He does not yet know your clan. His hand tightens on his spear.

You incline your head slightly, maintaining calm. “I am here because Eywa sings of imbalance,” you say softly. “And I intend to listen.”

Tonowari studies you intently. “And yet you enter our waters unannounced?”

“I had no other choice,” you answer evenly, scanning the reef and the assembled clan. Beneath your feet, the fissure in the reef stirs faintly, a ripple of unrest that you quickly force under control.

Ronal exchanges a glance with Tonowari, and Ao’nung shifts uneasily, together with a girl and another boy. Suspicion and pride coil within him, yet beneath it all, the water itself seems aware of your presence — attentive, waiting, aware.

The marui smells of smoke, salt, and the faint sweetness of sea-fruits. The soft glow of bioluminescent coral along its edges casts flickering light over the gathered faces. Tonowari sits across from you, posture commanding, shoulders squared like the reef itself, while Ronal observes quietly beside him, calculating and deliberate. The Sully family watches from a respectful distance, eyes keen but patient. Ao’nung remains by the edge of the circle, spear still in hand, his stance taut with suspicion.

Tonowari leans forward slightly, gaze fixed on the tattoo above your breast, the faint glow pulsing like the heartbeat of your clan. “Tìkara,” he says, almost reverently. “You come unannounced into our waters. Why?”

You tilt your head, hands folded in your lap, every movement precise. “I follow the tides,” you say evenly. “And Eywa’s song led me here.”

Ronal’s dark eyes narrow, studying your face, your posture, your calm. “Eywa’s song,” she repeats, voice soft but firm. “Do you mean to say there is a wound in our waters?”

“Yes,” you reply. “Something is not right. I felt it on the journey — in the currents, in the stones, in the storm itself. It is deeper than the reef. Far-reaching.”

Ao’nung finally shifts forward, voice low but dangerous. “You bring strangers into our waters with words of imbalance. How can we trust your claim? Who trained you? What is your clan’s purpose here?”

You meet his eyes, steady, controlled. “Tìkara. I am trained to listen, to endure, to act when the song changes. My clan watches the storms. We do not bring chaos. We follow it.”

Tonowari leans back, a hint of approval in his expression, but his voice remains firm. “And yet, you acted alone. The reef has eyes, ears, and currents that speak — yet you bypassed them. Why?”

“I had no choice,” you answer simply. “The imbalance is delicate. Subtle. If I had waited, it would have grown beyond recognition. I act for the sake of the song, not for my pride.”

Ronal gestures toward the marui, inviting you to take a small piece of food offered ceremonially. “You will be fed, Tìkara,” she says, “but you will also answer more questions. We need clarity. Eywa guides us, yes, but caution protects our people.”

You accept the offering, taking it with quiet grace. The water around your feet shifts minutely, almost imperceptible, responding to your presence without revealing your full power.

Tonowari studies you again, gaze lingering on your tattoo. “You carry the symbol of your clan, yet your eyes… they carry storms of their own. What is your true purpose in these waters? And tell me — how did you come alone?”

You exhale slowly, letting the tension settle. “I did not come to fight. I came to listen. I came to act if needed. Alone, because the reef moves differently when I am present. Alone, because the song is mine to hear first.”

Ronal leans forward, voice sharper, eyes studying your face. “And your name?”

You glance at her calmly, letting the words settle in the air. “I am Y/n Seyelanu,” you reply evenly.

Ao’nung’s spear lowers slightly, though the edge of his doubt remains. He shifts, studying you with caution and curiosity. The clan around you — Metkayina warriors, Ronal, Tonowari, even the Sully family — hold their ground, waiting, listening, weighing your words.

Ronal nods slowly. “Seyelanu… then the storm truly walks among us.”

After a long silence, Tonowari leans forward, voice commanding yet deliberate. “You will remain here,” he says, decisively. “The song you follow brought you to us. You will stay in a marui, under observation, until we know what this imbalance truly is. You are Tìkara. That mark is undeniable. You are not an enemy. But you are also not free to leave.”

You nod slightly, keeping your expression calm, letting your mind catalog the room, the reactions, the subtle currents beneath your feet. “I understand,” you say evenly.

Ronal inclines her head once, voice softer now, almost measured in relief. “Then you are welcome — but within the bounds of our caution. Oel ngati kameie, Tìkara. We see you.”

The words settle in the air like a chord, binding you to the marui, to their observation, to the reef itself. Ao’nung glances at the Sully family, at Tonowari, and finally at you, suspicion simmering beneath curiosity, the tension unbroken.

Beneath it all, the reef seems to pulse in quiet recognition. The fissure that disturbed the waters trembles faintly, aware of your presence, aware of the song you have followed. The storm overhead rumbles as if approving, a low, steady heartbeat echoing the unspoken truth: you are here. And the waters themselves know it.

The questioning has ended — for now. But the stay is not voluntary, and the storm within you is only beginning to stir.

𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃

The marui is quiet, but the air hums with tension. Ao’nung’s gaze has sharpened to a knife-edge, every instinct screaming caution. He does not trust you — and neither do you trust the calm he pretends to maintain.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he shifts. The spear in his hands tilts, ready, testing you, testing your patience. The guards notice too late: the stance is aggressive, even threatening.

“You think you can sit here and speak of storms while trespassing in my waters?” Ao’nung hisses, eyes blazing. “Do you understand what you risk?”

“I understand perfectly,” you reply, voice low, measured, every syllable controlled. “But it seems you do not understand me… or the reef.”

His eyes narrow. He lunges.

The movement is quick, sudden — a strike intended to unbalance you. But you are faster. Your twin blades flash from your hips, slicing the air in a blur. Ao’nung parries instinctively, the metal clashing, sparks of sound ringing through the marui.

The guards step back, cautious, their eyes wide. Tonowari and Ronal emerge from the shadows, but you hold your ground, calculating, lethal. Ao’nung’s strikes are strong, precise, but he is young, brash — and you are far more experienced, your movements fluid, almost like the water itself guides you.

“Nga tìtstew fìtsenge teya!” you snap, circling him gracefully, blades glinting. “Nga tsun oe nì’awve! Do not pretend otherwise.”

The word stings, and Ao’nung’s jaw tightens. But there is a flicker — a spark in his eyes that is not just anger. It is curiosity. Respect. And something… more.

You press closer, weaving around him, each movement a test, each strike a question. He blocks, counters, but there’s hesitation now, a tension threading through his limbs, through the air between you. Your eyes meet — wide, unyielding — and for a heartbeat, the hostility and attraction collide.

“You are reckless,” you murmur, voice low enough that only he hears. “Brash, and yet… there is fire in you.”

Ao’nung falters for a split second, chest rising and falling fast, eyes locked on yours. “Fire…” he repeats, a growl slipping into the word. “You speak too easily of things you cannot know.”

“Perhaps,” you reply, voice softening only fractionally, “or perhaps you are too young to recognize them.”

His hand tightens on the spear. Yours is steady. The air around you seems to hum, subtle currents tugging at the edges of the marui, almost reacting to the tension between you — the heat, the danger, the pull neither of you wants to admit.

Another strike, another parry. Ao’nung is fast, strong, but you are precise, controlled, every movement designed to disarm without harm… for now. The dance is lethal, electric, and beneath it all, the unspoken attraction sparks like fire in the storm.

Finally, you step back, letting your blades rest casually at your sides, breathing steady. “Enough,” you say, calm but firm. “You are strong… but not ready.”

Ao’nung staggers slightly, chest heaving, eyes dark and smoldering. He does not speak for a long moment, then mutters through clenched teeth: “Afraid… child, indeed.”

The word hangs between you, half-curse, half-challenge. And yet, even in that moment, the pull between you — something forbidden, sharp, undeniable — tangles with the tension, leaving the air heavy, almost crackling.

Tonowari’s voice cuts through the thick atmosphere. “Enough! Both of you. She stays here, under our protection. You will not fight her again tonight.”

Ronal steps forward, eyes dark with warning. “Both of you. Calm yourselves.”

You sheath your blades slowly, eyes never leaving Ao’nung. His gaze does not falter either. Even as the guards shift around the marui, the tension remains — fierce, dangerous, and electric. And beneath the anger, beneath the challenge, there is something neither of you can deny.

The storm outside rumbles low, as if echoing the current between you.

And for the first time, you sense that this clash — this collision of skill, pride, and desire — is only the beginning.

𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃 𓂃

𓇼 Dictionary

Nga tìtstew fìtsenge teya you fight weakly, like a child

Roxto burst into the entrance of the marui, a whirlwind of salt and unbridled energy. He was drenched, his teal skin glistening with seawater, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He looked exactly like what he was: a boy who lived for the thrill of the hunt and the warmth of the sun.

"Quiet, you noisy pup!" Sa’eyla scolded, though her face immediately softened. "You’ll knock the beads right off our strings. The net is by the pillar, exactly where it was this morning when you forgot it."

Roxto laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I didn't forget it, I was... detained. The ilu were restless."

"The ilu were fine, you were racing Aonung," Saeyla countered.

Roxto grinned, his teeth bright against his skin. "Maybe. But I won."

He stepped further into the shaded hollow, heading toward the pillar. But as he moved, his gaze drifted away from the elders and landed on the quiet figure tucked away in the corner.

He stopped. His breath, which had been coming in short, jagged gasps, suddenly hitched in his throat.

Roxto knew who you were. In a village as tight-knit as Awa’atlu, it was impossible not to. He had seen you many times before—walking along the shore at dusk, your eyes fixed on the horizon, or diving from the high cliffs with a grace that made his heart stutter. He had seen you a thousand times, of course. Awa’atlu was a small community.

He knew your name, he knew your family, and he knew you were the one the elders praised for your "golden hands." But usually, you were something he deemed unapproachable. Your beauty to him was unparalleled, and no matter how friendly he was, or how everyone knew him— he could never find a way to talk you, let alone muster up the courage. 

He had spent months wanting to speak to you. He’d practiced lines in his head while out on his ilu, imagining himself saying something clever that would make you smile— or even telling his spirit brother how he wished he could just walk up to you. But every time he got close, his resolve would evaporate like sea foam in the sun.

And seeing you now, bathed in the golden needles of light in a way that made time seem to liquefy.

You were leaning into your work, your chin tucked down, the line of your neck elegant and decorated with a fine necklace. A stray lock of dark hair had escaped your top-knot, hanging precariously over your eye.

You didn't brush it away; you were too far gone in your craft. Your tongue was caught between your teeth in a look of such intense, fierce concentration that Roxto felt a strange, sudden hitch in his lungs.

He had seen warriors look like that when facing an Akula. He had seen the Tsahìk look like that when interpreting the will of Eywa. But he had never seen a girl look like that over a piece of wood.

He watched, mesmerized, as your hand moved. It wasn't just carving; it was a dance. The obsidian blade shaved off a sliver of wood so thin it was translucent, drifting through the air like a fallen petal.

"Wow," he breathed. It was barely a whisper, a tiny exhale of pure admiration that he didn't even realize he’d let out.

Finally, Sa’eyla reached out with her foot and gave Roxto’s ankle a sharp poke.

"The net, boy! Unless you intend to stand there until you grow barnacles!"

Roxto jumped as if he’d been stung by a jellyfish, ears darting back. "I—yes! The net! I see it. I will get it."

He lunged for the net, his usual coordination failing him. He fumbled the bundle, nearly knocking over a basket of dyed fibers. His face was burning now, a deep, dark indigo flush spreading across his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

The commotion finally broke your trance. You blinked, the world of spirals and wood-grain receding as you looked up.

Your eyes, still sharp with the intensity of your work, landed directly on Roxto.

He was staring at you, clutching a heap of netting to his chest like a shield. He looked breathless, as if he had just finished a sprint across the entire island.

"Oh," you said, your voice a little airy. You hadn't realized anyone else was there. "Hello, Roxto."

You gave him a small, polite smile— a smile he had yet to see until today. For Roxto, it felt like being hit by a sneak wave.

"I... uh... hello Y/N," he managed. He wanted to say something clever. He wanted to tell you that the carving looked incredible. He wanted to ask how you could sit so still when the whole world was spinning.

Instead, he said: "The wood is white."

The grandmothers erupted. Sa’eyla nearly fell off her mat laughing. "The wood is white! Truly, a scholar among us! A poet of the Metkayina!"

Roxto wanted the floor to open up and swallow him into the deepest of the trenches Eywa had blessed this land with. He squeezed the net tighter, his tail simply dropped in mortification.

You, however, didn't laugh— a little the shake of your head sure but you looked down at the piece in your lap and then back at him, your expression ever so slightly softening. You saw the way his eyes were darting around, the genuine embarrassment written in every line of his body.

"It is," you said gently, unintentionally coming to his rescue. "It’s tidal-wood. It takes the sun's light and keeps it."

Roxto felt his heart do a strange, clumsy flip. You had spoken to him. Not just a greeting, but a real thought. Your voice was like the calm water inside the reef’s own lagoon—smooth and cool.

"It looks like you," he blurted out, once again.

But this time room went dead silent, even your ears flickered forward at his words, lips parting with confusion. Even Sa’eyla stopped laughing.

Roxto’s eyes went wide. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't even planned the thought. It had just escaped. "I mean! The... the detail. It’s... strong. It looks strong. Like you... I mean, your work! Your work is strong!"

He was digging a hole so deep he might find the core of Pandora.

You felt a warmth creep up your own neck, ears darting back. No one usually talked to you like that. Most people admired your work, but they spoke to you as if you were only an extension of the tools you held.

"Thank you, Roxto," you whispered, eyes looking any direction but at him.

He stepped closer, drawn to your orbit like a moon to a planet. He forgot about the net as his hands dropped to his side, said net now dangling loosely. He forgot about his father. He forgot about the eels.

"That's, uhh— a lot of work for a branch," he said. He tried to sound casual, but his voice had a slight tremor to it, a crack in his usual bravado.

You hummed, looking back down into your lap. Your obsidian tool continued its slow, rhythmic journey along the wood. "It isn't a branch. It is a story."

It wasn't mean; it was just a statement of fact. You were trying to focus back on your craft, and he was becoming a distraction.

Roxto felt a flush of dark indigo heat rise to the tips of his ears. He fighting his inner excitement as he spoke to you. "A story? It looks like a fish to me. A very... stiff fish."

You paused. The tool stopped moving. You didn't look up yet, but the air around you seemed to grow a little colder. "It is stiff because it is not finished. Movement is the hardest thing to capture in something that does not breathe."

"I know a thing or two about movement," Roxto said, regaining some of his footing. He leaned against a nearby support pillar, trying to look comfortable even though his heart was hammering against his ribs. "I spend all day in the water. If you want to see how a fish moves, you should be out there, not in here with the dust."

Finally, you lifted your head.

Your eyes met his. They were once again clear, analytical, and devastatingly calm. You looked at him not as a peer, or a hunter, or even as a boy, but as an object of study. You noted the salt on his skin, the dampness of his hair, and the way he was leaning—measuring him the same way you measured a piece of timber.

"I am a skilled diver, Roxto," you said, your voice still calm. "I know how the water moves. I choose to be here because the current is fleeting. This," you gestured to the wood, "remains."

Roxto felt the weight of your gaze. It was like being submerged in a cold current—it took the breath right out of him once again.

He had always thought you were pretty, but up close, with that intense, focused fire in your eyes, you were breathtaking. He felt a sudden, desperate need to prove himself to you, to show you that he wasn't just a "noisy pup."

"I know who you are," he said softly, his playful tone dropping into something more honest. "I've seen you dive at the Spirit Tree. You stay down longer than anyone. I have always wondered why you didn't join the practice hunts."

You looked back down at your work, the brief connection severed. "The hunts are loud. They are for the stomach. This is for the soul. One does not need a crowd to speak to Eywa."

"I guess not," Roxto murmured. He stood there for a moment, watching the way the light played off your hands. He felt a strange ache in his chest—a mixture of awe and a sudden, sharp longing.

He had wanted to talk to you for so long, and now that he was here, he realized that a few clever words wouldn't be enough to bridge the gap between your world and his.

"Roxto!" Saeyla barked, breaking the spell. "The net! Or I will tell your father you spent the afternoon staring at the wall!"

Roxto jumped, his tail flicking in embarrassment. "I—yes! The net! I'm going!"

He grabbed the bundle of hemp, but he didn't move immediately. He took one last look at you—at the way you leaned back into your work, at the way the lock of hair fell over your eye. You hadn't looked back up. You were already gone, lost back into the grain of the wood.

As he walked out of the marui, his feet felt heavier than they had when he arrived. He felt like he had touched something rare and beautiful, and he wasn't ready to let go of the feeling.

Behind him, Sa’eyla watched him go with a knowing smirk. "The boy is hooked," she whispered to Tswaya. "I’ll bet you my finest sea glass he will be returning sooner than needed"

"I’d rather not lose my seaglass Sa’eyla," Tswaya chuckled before continuing "i know that scene from a mile away."

You didn't hear them. You were focused on the wood, but for the first time in a long time, the silence of the marui felt a little different. It felt like it was waiting for something. You made a cut, a perfect, curving line, and for a fleeting second, you thought of the boy with the salt on his skin and the way his eyes had widened when you looked at him.

He was noisy, yes. He was distracting. But for a hunter, he had a very quiet way of looking at things.

You pushed the thought away, returning to the wood.

The following morning, the marui of threads was bathed in a hazy, ethereal light. The sun was just beginning to climb over the distant cliffs of the archipelago, casting long, bruised shadows of indigo and violet across the woven floors. The air was cool, carrying the dewy scent of the jungle behind the village mixed with the sharp, waking tang of the salt spray.

You were in your alcove before the first hunters had even mounted their ilu. Your hands, usually so sure and steady, were currently resting idle on your knees. In front of you lay the tidal-wood fish—the one Roxto had so clumsily called "stiff." You hated that he was right.

No matter how many times you adjusted the angle of your blade or how carefully you mapped out the interlocking spirals of the fins, the wood remained wood. It lacked the spirit of the water. It lacked that sudden, violent snap of life that occurred when a fish turned on a dime to escape a predator.

You were stuck. For an artisan of your caliber, a mental block was more than a frustration; it was a crisis of identity. You stared at the wood until the grain began to blur, your brow furrowing into a deep, frustrated line.

The rhythmic thwack-clack of Sa’eyla’s loom began behind you. The elders were arriving, settling into their spots with the ease of ancient sea turtles.

"The fish still refuses to swim?" Sa’eyla asked, her voice dry but not unkind.

"It is a stone in the shape of a fish," you muttered, your voice tight. "It has no soul."

"Perhaps you are looking for the soul in the wrong place," Tswaya added, setting down a basket of dyed fibers. "You look at the wood as a master looks at a servant. Maybe you should look at it as a partner."

You didn't answer. You felt too irritated to decipher her elder knowledge, instead youou picked up your obsidian blade, turning it over in your hand, but you didn't make a cut. You didn't want to ruin the piece with a movement born of irritation.

The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly altered—not by a loud crash this time, but by a presence. The air in the marui seemed to shift, a subtle change in pressure that made the fine hairs on your neck stand up.

A low, melodic whistle drifted through the air. You didn't have to look up to know it was Sa’eyla. She had seen him first.

Roxto entered the marui. This time, there was no splashing, no shouting, and no frantic excuses. He moved with a quiet, deliberate grace that felt entirely out of character for the boy who had fumbled a net only twenty-four hours prior.

He was still damp from the morning surf, his teal skin glowing with a healthy, vibrant sheen, but his energy was contained. He looked like a hunter stalking something fragile.

He paused at the entrance, offering a respectful, silent nod to the grandmothers. He didn't say a word to them, his gaze already sweeping the room until it locked onto your corner.

He began to walk toward you. Every footfall on the woven floor was muffled, yet to your ears, they sounded like drumbeats. He stopped a respectful distance away, kneeling on the mat with a slow, controlled movement.

"Good morning, Grandmothers," he finally said, his voice surprisingly soft. Then, his eyes shifted to you, and that familiar, wide-eyed wonder returned, though it was tempered by a new, focused shyness. "Hello, Y/N."

"Hello, Roxto," you replied. You kept your voice as even as possible, but you could feel the elders watching you like hawks. You didn't look at him directly, instead focusing on the way the light caught the water droplets still clinging to his collarbone. "You are quiet today. Did the waves finally tire you out?"

Roxto gave a small, lopsided smile—one that didn't reach for a joke, but seemed to settle for a shared secret. "Not the waves. Aonung. We were practicing close-quarters defense near the reef pillars. That skxawng... he’s as stubborn as a shark-glider."

He reached for his belt and pulled out a hunting knife. It was a sturdy piece, but the blade was slightly misaligned from the hilt, and a jagged, ugly crack ran through the bone where it met the grip.

"He hit it against a rock during a parry," Roxto explained, holding the weapon out toward you. He looked genuinely saddened by the damage. "He says I should just carve a new one, but this was my father’s before it was mine. I thought... well, I hoped you might be able to heal it."

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his as you took the knife. His skin was warm, a sharp contrast to the cool morning air. You inspected the damage with a professional eye, feeling the weight and the balance.

"He hit it with a great deal of force," you noted, your artisan’s brain beginning to calculate the repair. "The bone is deep-sea marrow. It’s strong, but brittle under high impact. I can fix it, but it will require resin and a steady hand."

"I trust your hands more than any in the village," Roxto said. The honesty in his voice was disarming. He didn't say it like a flirtation; he said it as a simple, undeniable truth.

You felt a warmth creep up your neck, and you quickly reached for your kit to hide it. "Sit," you commanded softly. "It will take time for the resin to set."

Roxto didn't need to be told twice. He settled into a cross-legged position across from you, his tail curled neatly behind him. For a long time, the only sound was the scraping of your tool as you cleaned the crack in the bone. Roxto didn't speak. He just watched.

Usually, the presence of others while you worked felt like an intrusion, a layer of static that interfered with your connection to the material.

But Roxto’s presence was different. He was like the tide—constant, rhythmic, and strangely grounding. He sat with a wide curiosity in his eyes, his head tilted slightly as he watched you mix the thick, translucent resin with ground shell powder.

"Does it hurt the wood?" he asked suddenly.

You paused, a dollop of resin on the end of a fine needle. "What?"

"The wood. The bone. When you cut into it," he clarified, gesturing to your tools. "You talk about them like they’re stories. I wondered if they feel you changing them."

You looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw that he wasn't joking. "They don't feel pain, Roxto. But they have a will. If you fight that will, they break. If you listen to it, they transform. I am just... the interpreter."

Roxto nodded slowly, as if processing a profound piece of philosophy. "I think I do that with the ilu. If I try to force them to turn, they buck. But if I just... think the turn, and let them feel it, we move together."

"Exactly," you whispered, returning to the knife.

The conversation drifted into the small, quiet spaces between your movements. You found yourself telling him about the different types of resin—which ones were for strength and which were for flexibility.

He told you about the way he tracked game in the sea, and how the bioluminescence of the coral was usually a big indicator of how powerful of a creature lived there.

He was a good listener. He didn't interrupt; he just absorbed everything you said with that same intense focus you usually reserved for your carvings. It was a strange feeling—being the object of someone’s absolute attention.

As you began the delicate process of binding the hilt with fresh aquatic fiber, Roxto’s eyes wandered to the side, landing on the unfinished tidal-wood fish resting on your mat.

His expression shifted from curiosity to concern. He looked at the fish, then at you, noting the tension in your jaw that you hadn't even realized you were holding.

"What's up with that one?" he asked, nodding toward the carving. "It’s been in the same spot since yesterday. Usually, your hands don't stop moving."

You sighed, the frustration of the morning rushing back. You set the knife down for a moment, the resin still tacky.

"It’s a commission for the tsahik in her teachings. But it’s wrong. It’s exactly what you said it was—stiff. I want it to look like it’s darting through the currents, but every time I try to carve the motion, the wood stays flat. It’s a mental block. I can see the fish in my head, but my hands... they’ve forgotten how the water feels."

You looked down at your palms, feeling a sudden, rare sense of vulnerability. "I spend so much time in here, Roxto. I think I’ve started to treat the ocean as a memory instead of a living thing."

Roxto didn't laugh. He didn't make a joke about you being "Ice." He looked at the carving with a deep, contemplative frown, his tail giving a slow, thoughtful flick.

"You're trying to carve the fish," he said finally.

"Of course I am," you replied, a bit of your old coolness returning. "What else would I be carving?"

"No," Roxto said, his eyes brightening as a thought took hold. He leaned forward, his energy beginning to bubble up again, though he kept his voice low so as not to disturb the grandmothers. "That's the problem. You're trying to carve the shape of a fish. But a fish isn't just a shape. It’s a reaction. It’s the way the water pushes against the scales and the way the fins fight the current."

He looked at you, his grin growing wider, more confident. He looked like he had just discovered a new island.

"You need to see it," he said. "Not as a memory. You need to feel the push and the pull. You need to see how the light breaks over the fins when they’re actually moving, not just when you’re thinking about them."

He stood up, his excitement now too great to keep him seated. He looked down at you, his teal skin practically vibrating with a new mission.

"I have an idea," he said, his voice full of a sudden, infectious certainty. "Actually... I have the perfect idea."

You looked up at him, the unfinished knife in your lap and the "stiff" fish at your side, feeling a sudden, fluttering anticipation in your chest that you couldn't quite explain.

"Roxto?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He just beamed at you and threw a “thumbs” up— a quick movement that made your heart skip a beat. "Just finish my knife, Y/N. I'll be back. And tomorrow... tomorrow, I’m going to show you how to make that wood breathe."

The moment Roxto vanished, the marui of threads seemed to lose half its light. You sat perfectly still, your obsidian tool hovering inches above the tidal-wood, staring at the empty triangular doorway where he had been just seconds before.

The confused expression on your face must have been quite the sight, because a sharp, rhythmic sh-sh-sh sound started up behind you—the sound of the grandmothers trying to hide their snickering behind their weaving shuttles.

"Confused, little fin?" Sa’eyla asked, not even bothering to look up. "He is a boy of the tides. When they get an idea, it is best to simply hold on to your ilu."

You didn't answer. You looked down at his father’s knife, the resin now beginning to bond the bone hilt back into its rightful place. It felt heavier than it had before.

You spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze, the "mental block" on your fish carving still firmly in place, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying the way his eyes had brightened when he said he had a plan.

The next morning, the sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon before a shadow fell across the entrance of your family’s pod.

"Y/N! Are you awake? The tide is waiting!"

You emerged, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, to find Roxto practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, his teal skin glowing with an almost manic level of excitement.

"Do you have it? The fish? And the knife?" he asked breathlessly.

You nodded, holding up your satchel. You hadn't even had time to tie your hair up, the curly locks falling over your shoulders. Without another word, he grabbed your wrist—his hand warm and rough—and led you away from the village.

He took you to the eastern spit, a place where the reef met the open sea in a series of shallow, crystal-clear tide pools protected by towering limestone pillars. The water here was so still it looked like a sheet of turquoise glass.

"Look," Roxto whispered, his voice dropping as if he were showing you a secret grotto of Eywa herself.

In the center of the largest pool, Roxto had staked several fine-mesh nets into the sandy floor, creating a series of underwater pens. And inside? It was a riot of motion.

He had caught dozens of fish—iridescent fan-tails, needle-fish with their sharp, silver snouts, and even a few of the rare glow-fins that usually stayed in the deeper channels.

He stood at the edge of the water, his chest puffed out just a little, his tail giving a proud, rhythmic sweep behind him. He looked at the nets, then back at you, his eyes wide and searching, practically begging for your reaction. He looked so incredibly proud of himself—like a young hunter bringing home his first catch.

You stepped onto a flat, sun-warmed rock that sat barely an inch above the surface of the pool. As you looked down, the "Ice" didn't just melt; it shattered. The fish were darting, weaving, and snapping in the exact way you had been trying to imagine.

"Roxto..." you breathed, your voice soft with genuine wonder. You looked up at him, and for the first time, a full, radiant smile spread across your face—not the polite, distant one from the marui, but a warm, brilliant expression that made your eyes crinkle. "You did all this? Since I saw you yesterday?"

"I went out before the eclipse," he admitted, his grin turning sheepish but staying just as wide. "I wanted you to see the real snap of the tail. Not a memory."

"Thank you," you said, and the sincerity in your voice made his ears give a happy, frantic twitch. "Truly, Roxto. This is... it's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for my work."

Roxto looked like he might actually float away. "Well, you know. I couldn't have the village's best artisan stuck on a 'stiff' fish. It would be a tragedy."

"Sit! Sit here," he commanded, gesturing to the rock.

The rest of the morning was a kind of new peace you hadn't known you were missing. You sat on your rock, your carving tools spread out and feet swishing in the cool water while Roxto stayed in the pools. He didn't just watch; he became your live-action reference library.

"Okay, look at this one!" Roxto laughed, plunging his hands into a net and emerging with a vibrant fan-tail.

The fish wriggled frantically, its fins flapping like wet silk. Roxto waded closer, his knees bumping against your rock, holding his cupped hands up so they were level with your face.

"See how the spine curves right at the base of the tail?" he pointed out, his wet finger tracing a line in the air. "It’s not a straight line, Y/N. It’s like a spring!"

You leaned forward, your face inches from his hands—and his chest. You could smell the salt on him, the scent of the deep ocean mixed with the warmth of the sun. You watched the fish, then immediately made a sharp, aggressive cut into your wood.

"Yes, I see it now Roxto" you chirped, your usual clinical tone replaced by more a bubbly excitement.

Every few minutes, Roxto would find a new species to show you. He was in his element—splashing, laughing, and constantly checking to see if you were watching. When a needle-fish managed to slip through his fingers and slap him across the nose with its tail before disappearing back into the net, you let out a genuine, melodic laugh that made Roxto freeze in the water.

He stood there, dripping wet, a look of absolute doting adoration on his face as he watched you laugh.

"What?" you asked, wiping a stray drop of water from your cheek.

"Nothing," he said, his voice unusually soft, his smile turning into something tender. "I just like that sound. I think the fish like it too."

You felt the blush return, but this time you didn't look away. You reached for the bone knife—his father’s knife—which was now perfectly fixed, the resin clear and the hilt stronger than ever.

"Here," you said, handing it to him over the water. "It is healed."

He took it, his wet fingers lingering against yours. He didn't even look at the knife; he kept his eyes on you. "Thanks, Y/N. For everything."

You turned back to your carving, the wood finally beginning to "breathe" under your hands. Roxto stayed in the pool, leaning his arms against the edge of your rock, watching you work with a quiet, happy sigh. But you paused, and his ears swivels forward as he straightened himself— no longer leaning against the rock.

“Is something the matter?” He asked with a tilt of his head, his wet curls falling with the movement. But his lips parted when you looked at him and placed your hand on his own—bringing it closer to your chest.

“I see you, Roxto.” You spoke, tilting your own head to look up at him— causing the sunlight to perfectly hit your irises and your loose hair falling around your shoulders. stealing the breath from his lungs once again.

“I see you, Y/N.” He replied, squeezing your hand as he smiled down at you.

You didn’t mean to fall for him, in fact you tried to deny the feelings. You tried reasoning with yourself that him and his family would be the downfall of your clans safety, that they were aliens and should go back to their own clan. However, you couldn’t push it down any further.

It started when Tonowari instructed his children to teach the Sully kids the way of the water, and you being Tsireya’s friend, you tagged along. You tried your best to remain patient with them, after all they were not use to the current and ocean, so you tried your best to explain. Sometimes you would agree with Ao’nung about them being hopeless, but you didn’t want to cause them anymore pain.

You were asked by Tsireya to teach the oldest brother how to control his breathing, so you did just that.

“You are doing it wrong,” you tell him, gently laying your hand on his upper stomach, “why are you fighting against the very thing Eywa gifted us?” You ask him.

His yellow eyes catch your blue ones and that’s when you felt the sudden shift in things. He didn’t argue back like his younger brother, instead he took in the feed back and applied it.

“That’s it,” you smiled, “control, be the ocean’s friend, not foe.”

He stayed under water for 60 seconds, beating his last attempt of 19.

After that, he sought you out when it came to training. He found your company endearing and delightful, allowing himself to be who he truly is, but also learning in ways that helps him maintain.

It was getting obvious to everyone how close the two of you were becoming, even to the elders of the clan. It wasn’t like either of you were trying to hide it.

“Why is that Sully boy following you like a lost Ilu?” A voice questions you. Looking up, you saw Ao’nung approaching you and Tsireya, taking a seat closer to you. “Do you want me to say something? Is he bothering you?”

Rolling your eyes, you let a small smile appear on your face. “No, he’s not. I find it quite endearing actually.” You respond, focusing on the current beads that lay in the palm of your hands. Blue and green, your favorite color.

Tsireya chuckled at your response, “someone is in loveeeee” she drags out the last word, giving you a cheeky grin.

A deep hue purple spread across your cheeks as you threw a rock at her, “Oh please! You can’t speak when you are always around that Loak!”

Ao’nung just stared at the both of you guys, a mixture of disgust and judgement on his face. He then turned to you, “Why him though? There are so many better worriers here then that Alien.” He explained, inching closer than before.

His sister sighed, “You’re sounding a bit jealous, dear brother. You want Y/N to yourself?” She teases, giving him a knowing look.

You clear your throat, as if to warn the both of them of their next wording. “He’s just concerned, that’s all ‘Reya. Besides,” you looked at him, “There is nothing to worry about.” You gave him a genuine smile.

who knew that a smile that’s meant to cause happiness, could break his heart?

You spoke too soon and a part of you wishes you never even opened your mouth to begin with. It started when you spotted Neteyam with another female, A’kina, the village beauty. You tried your best to contain the bitterness that started to rise and acted like nothing happened.

When it came time to teach the Sully kids, you swam next to Neteyam, who didn’t even look your way. Nothing too weird.

When the teaching of the day was explained, you turned to Neteyam and were about to open your mouth, but was cut off by him speaking to Roxto, “Would you mind training me?”

That hurt you like a spear through the chest. Was he purposefully ignoring you? Was there something that offended him? Ao’nung seemed to notice and swam up to you, offering his support. “Follow me, we will watch from afar.” He said.

you didn’t argue and instead just followed him, mind clearly crowded with many questions. It wasn’t just a one time occurrence, it started happening as the days dwindled one. You tried getting his attention, tried joking with him, tried teaching him, but he opted to ignore very interaction with you, as if he despised you.

Finally having enough, you found a way to get him alone after he was done conversing with A’kina. Following his path to his Mauri, you called out his name.

When he turned his body to you, that’s when you noticed the vibe, and it hurt you deep inside. “Can we talk?” You asked.

He was hesitant, trying to think of any excuse to get out of this situation, so you decided to keep on talking.

“I don’t get it Neteyam, what happened? We were doing good, joking with each other and spending time. But now,” tears started to form in your eyes, “You’re ignoring me like I don’t even matter, like I’m some burden to you.”

You hear a sigh from him as he steps closer, “I’m sorry,” he mutters on his breath, “I should’ve said something sooner. I care about you, I really do. maybe too much. But….” He trails off, “I can’t do this.”

Hearing the end made your head shoot up, searching his face for any regret or joking. But there was none.

“What do you mean?” You asked, voice barely a whisper. Your throat tightened as your hands formed into a fist.

“This,” he motions between the two of you, “I just can’t. We won’t be a good fit, Y/N. I have duties to uphold, things I am dealing with. hell you know why my family and I are here, right? You just won’t understand!”

“Well then help me understand instead of shutting me out! You say these promises and these hopes of us, yet now it’s like it was nothing to you!” Tears are running down your face, dropping onto your chest.

“You want me to be honest? You want me to he,p you understand? We won’t be a good fit. I need someone that is my level, someone that can lead with me.”

Words caught in your throat as you were about to respond. Did he really think that about you? Think that you were so weak and some fragile little shell that couldn’t fend for herself?

“I hate you.” You whisper, pointing a finger in his chest. You opened your pouch and pulled out a woven necklace that you made him. Without a second thought, you threw it into the ocean and walked away from him. The words of a man that you once sought out for company, just broke your heart.

Days passed since your fight with him, and you couldn’t find yourself to leave your Mauri or even eat. You just stayed inside, crying from the pain all while pretending to your parents that everything was alright.

One morning when your mother left you alone, your tried busying yourself with some weaving projects, but you hated it. The blue a green beads that you had in your basket felt like it was laughing at you and your pain. Those colors were starting to look ugly.

Suddenly, light infiltrated your Mauri and in stepped in Ao’nung. His eyes finally found your form and the state you were currently in. As he walked closer, you sighed and placed down the project you were working on.

“Please leave me alone, I don’t want to talk to anyone.” You say, not bothering to look up.

“I won’t leave,” he says as he lowered himself to your level, “what’s wrong?” He asked gently, like if he raised it any higher you would shatter.

Shaking your head, you started to feel tears drop from your eyes and onto your mat.

He understood right away and wrapped his arms around your figure, gently pulling you into his chest and allowing you to cry into him. Ao’nung knew he didn’t need to say anything, silence was the best answer in this case.

The way your figure shook as you cried, trying to apologize for taking him away from his fun with his friends.

“Syulang, you’re not doing any of that, I promise. I chose to come here, I chose to check on you. I don’t care about others.”

Those words, words that were next spoken from Ao’nung, comforted you. The boy you grew up with that teased you and his sister was now replaced with warmth and maturity.

“Please, come out. This isn’t healthy. You need the sun, to see the beauty Eywa has graced us. Let me show you that you can find comfort in things that aren’t him.”

You held him to his promise, but it was hard considering the last guy you trusted made you turn into this messy state. Ao’nung finally dragged you out of your home and into the ocean. The waves were calm right now, allowing you to see the sand and shells that usually hide during this time of day.

He guided you deeper until it reached your waist, and it felt great. The warm water braced your skin, welcomed you with open arms as if saying ‘we missed you’. Your feet dug into the sand, steadying yourself as you looked around you.

Ao’nung watched you from behind, noticing your hesitation but also how you felt at peace. the wind picked up your curls, pushing the ones that were hiding your face and onto your back.

“The ocean missed you.” He said, “And I know you missed her.”

You turned around and gave him a big smile, a genuine smile that you haven’t felt in days. The guy in front of you, the guy you opted to ignore most times, roll your eyes at, and even push was the cause of that smile.

“Thank you,” you say, swimming closer to him, “This is the best thing anyone has ever done.”

Ao’nung felt a hitch in his chest seeing how closer you are and he didn’t hate it. He saw the way your eyes were regaining that spark, the slight freckles that spread across your face, and the way your nose scrunched up every time you allowed yourself to smile.

“There is a gathering going on tonight with all the young ones, you should go.” He says, “I promise to be by your side the entire time.”

You thought for a while, and nodded your head. Maybe it was time to make a change, time to the course of the direction you were heading in the dark state.

As time passed, you and Ao’nung made your way to the shore to collect some shells. Before, you avoided any color, especially blue or green, and this time you tired your best to see the beauty of it.

“I got you something.” He said from behind. As you turned around, he presented it to you, “I remember you favored green, specifically this light green. Thought you might like it.”

it was a tiny rock that shimmered under the sun. It was a light green, with one side glimmering dark, but also showing its beauty as it sparkled.

“You remembered?” You asked, taking the rock with such care.

He nodded his head, “How could I forget? This was your favorite ever since we were little.”

Maybe green wasn’t an ugly color. And maybe you were starting to like light blue again.

The time came for the gathering and you stood with Ao’nung who kept his promise of never leaving your side.

You didn’t care to look around the fire and to the others, you were having a blast with your best friend who was currently recalling a time where Roxto almost got squished by an excited Ilu.

Laughing at his story, your head fell back, your voice carrying such charm and happiness. It’s been a while since a genuine laugh left your mouth, and you never wanted it to stop. Ao’nung, seeing this, draped his arm around your shoulder to pull you in closer to tell you another story.

He couldn’t help but like the way you laughed at his jokes, how your attention was on him and how you would rest your hand on his arm. An opportunity was within his reach, and it involved you. He won’t let it go to waste.

Across the gathering, Neteyam watched as you and Ao’nung were huddled together. His hands never leaving your waist. It was like he was staking his claim on you, letting others know that you are his.

He narrowed his eyes at the thought and hated it. Before, he noticed how you always kept Ao’nung at arms length, having a few bantering moments, but nothing more than a way that screamed just friends. You weren’t into him and you made it known. So why does he see the exact opposite?

Neteyam knew he has no right to be irritated, after all he rejected you. However, deep in his heart it didn’t feel right to him. It should be him holding onto you, laughing with you, letting others know that you are his. But he knew he messed it up with the way he ended things between the both of you and it’s something that will keep him up for the rest of his life.

“Careful big brother, anymore of your glaring his head will pop right off.” Loak jokes, sitting right next to him. He draped his arm over his brothers shoulders, as if they were making war plans, “You know you don’t have a right to be jealous , right?”

The oldest Sully sighed and nodded his head, “I know, I don’t have that right,” he says, “But I want the right to be next to her, laughing with her and everything. I want her.”

“Then why did you ruin it?” Loak asked, taking away his arm, “Why say those things?”

Neteyam shook his head, shoulders falling in defeat, “I was scared. But now I’m seeing my mistake,” he answers as Ao’nung and you started dancing together, holding onto one another, “I want her by my side.”

As if possessed by Eywa’s courageous spirit, he stood up and walked over to where the both of you were. You didn’t notice a presence behind you, too distracted enjoying the dance and fun you were having.

That was until you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you assumed it was Tsireya, only to be met with the one person you tried avoiding this entire time. His eyes searched yours, as if to read what was in your mind. His shoulders weee tense, hands were out ready to touch you, but the hesitation was overriding all his confidence.

“Syulang,” he says, almost as if it pained him, “Can we talk?”

You dint even respond. And even if you could, you didn’t know how. Ao’nung’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, as if protecting you from a monster.

“What do you want, forest freak?” He narrowed his eyes, “you caused enough damage, there is no need for your presence here.”

Neteyam ignored his remarks and just focused on you and it pained him to see you grip onto Ao’nung’s hand for emotional support. “Please, I just want to talk.”

You shook your head, finally being able to find your voice. “Not here, I don’t want to talk to you.”

The words pierce his heart, but he knew better than to react to that. He saw you free yourself from Ao’nung and walked away, excusing yourself to him with a whisper. Neteyam couldn’t handle it, he didn’t like how you relied on that man, how you gave him heavy eye contact and held onto his arm as if he was the only thing keeping you sane. So, he followed you.

“Please, you don’t have to talk, just listen to me!” He says, walking right behind you.

The two of you were out of view from the rest, softly walking on the sand that caused you some strange comfort. Comfort in the thought of you and Ao’nung spending time together earlier that day.

His hand caught your arm to stop you from walking away further. You didn’t fight, just allowed him to spin you around to face him.

Those yellow eyes, ones that make you weak in the knees and shy. After everything with him, he still has some sort of power over you.

“Those words, everything I said. I didn’t mean. And I hate that it came out like that. I hate not talking to you, being near you and hearing your laugh. I am so sorry.” His hands on holding onto both of your arms, his face leaned in very close to yours.

“I was a fool and I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you, but that wasn’t the case.”

You tried your best to not cry, but being the emotional person you were, tears started to fall. “You hurt me, Neteyam, you hurt me really badly.” You whisper, “Words have weight, and that crushed my heart.”

Neteyam nodded his head, dropping it lower in shame, “I understand, and right when I said it I wanted to take it back immediately. I never want to be the cause of your pain, your sadness and your despair.”

“So why?” You asked, “why did you say those things?”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his braids, “I wanted to protect you. My family is actively being hunted right now, I can’t bare the thought of you getting in the crossfire because of me. I thought by swung those things you would turn away. But during that time,” his hands finds its way to his chest, “I couldn’t help but feel the pain of you away from me. You were like the glue holding me together, and I was falling apart.”

His eyes bore into yours then to your nose and lips. He wanted to lean in, capture your lips and kiss you deep, showing you how sorry he was. However he knew better and now was not the time.

“Why now though? Why didn’t you stop me that night? Why wait until I was with another man to finally say something?”

That question stuck through him and he hated the feeling. He hated to explain the jealousy and irritation that flew through his veins. “I can’t stand the thought of him trying to take the spot I had next to you. I know you guys have history, but I want to be part of your present and future. Seeing you laugh with him, hold onto him cut me deeper than any spear. The whole time I just thought that it should’ve been me.”

You hated the way your heart melted at his response and it honestly made you even more angry how easy you were. You wanted him to suffer the way you did, but the way his love was shining through made it impossible.

“Neteyam you really hurt me, worse than any guy ever has.” you said, “I hate that my heart is warming up to you, telling me to forgive you. But my brain is telling me to run and forget you. Why must you complicate things?”

He leaned closer, allowing his forehead to touch yours. His hand cupped your face, thumb rubbing on your cheek gently, as if he was holding the most sacred thing in the world. With his right hand, he grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest, “do you hear that? My heart, it beats for you and only you. I was a fool to think otherwise.”

“How will I know you won’t hurt me again?” You say, trying to free yourself from his hold. But the firm grip he had on you was to no avail.

“Because, I see you. I see you Y/N. I see your beauty, your flaws, your patience, your kindness. I see everything and I will never take that for granted. You’re the last one I want to see before I sleep and the first one I see when I wake. You cause me to gain hope.”

Those words came crashing down and you felt like a prized possession. The genuine wording, the love he had for you was immense and you even couldn’t deny it. However, your mind drifted back to a certain someone and it conflicted you.

If there was one thing about you, it was that you hated being confused.

“Neteyam,” you say as you free yourself from his grasp, “Its just so hard. Days stuck in my Mauri. The only person that came to check on me was Ao’nung. He truly cared for me, brought me out of my darkness. I can’t just forget that, you understand that, right?”

Hurt flashed across his face as he nodded his head. He hated how deep Ao’nung pushed himself into your life during this time.

“I understand Yawne, but I don’t want to give up on you, not now and not ever. I will do everything and anything in my power to have you forget him. Forget what he did. I want to be that person for you, now and forever.”

You didn’t respond as he reached for you again, but the moment was broken when footsteps appeared behind the both of you guys.

“You think saying that will make her immediately forgive all the pain you have caused her?” Ao’nung’s voice carried out throughout the dark night.

Neteyam turned around and squared up his chest, as if to show that he was above him. “This doesn’t concern you, leave us alone.” He firmly said.

Ao’nung shook his head and darkly chuckled, “Why? You heard her, I was there for her, I helped pick up the pieces that you stomped on. I’m on her mind.”

The two of them were standing close to one another, as if daring the others to swing first. You stood behind them, looking back and forth and slightly praying to Eywa once of them grows common sense and diffuses the situation.

“Please guys, let’s just drop this and go home. It’s getting late, people will talk.” You try to keep it calm between them, standing in the middle to push them away.

Neteyam grabbed one of your wrist gently and turned to you, “Yawne, I will never hurt you again. Everything I did, will never happen again. I promise you that and so much more.”

Ao’nung grabbed your other hand and held it up to his chest, “You feel my heart? It beats for you. The way he treated you, You never have to worry about that with me. I promise you.”

Having enough, you pulled from both grasp and started to walk away, “I’m leaving, I can’t handle this. I need time. This is all too much and I just want time to think, away from both of you.” And as soon as you said that, you walked away leaving the two of them alone.

Quiet surrounded them except for the waves hitting the rocks. It was gentle, a nice night out, but there wasn’t any gentleness between the two young men who were glaring at one another.

“You won’t give up. Will you?” The oldest Sully kid asked, crossing his arms.

Ao’nung shook his head, a smirk forming on his lips, “why should I? When I know I’m the right one for her.”

Y/N goes on a date

You and Tsireya were sitting next to each other at dinner giggling whenever you made eye contact. Ronal and Tonowari were in deep discussion, something about clan matters. And Aonung..... well he felt left out.

Having two sisters was already enough of a pain, but when they left him out on things well that just made him even more annoyed. He never would say anything though, choosing to eavesdrop and gossip with the Sully brothers and Roxto instead afterwards. Out of the three of you, Aonung was the biggest gossip. He was proud of it too, using it as an opportunity to join in on your conversations and spread village drama like a teenage girl. This time, however, he chose to stay silent his ears perking up at your words.

"What should I wear to my date tomorrow?" you whispered to Tsireya.

"It's a lunch date right? Why don't you borrow one of my tops? You know the really cute one with the tiny shells," she suggested.

He watched as your eyes lit up at her suggestion and you hugged her.

You? His loud, annoying ass sister? Was going on a date? Oh the boys were going to love this.

The next morning Aonung woke up a bit too late, it was not a rare occurrence for him to sleep in but today he was supposed to wake up early and spy on you before you went on your date. Tsrieya was nowhere to be found in your family's marui either, which made him even more suspicious.

He rushed to your usual spot on the beach, where he found Neteyam, Lo'ak and Roxto sitting together discussing their plans for the day.

"I say we head beyond the reef," Lo'ak suggested.

Roxto rolled his eyes, "Yeah sure buddy, last time we went there you almost drowned."

"Did not-"

"Did too-"

Aonung had been standing in front of the group for five minutes and none of them had greeted him. Except Neteyam, who gave him an acknowledging nod, before going back to watch the other two argue in amusement.

"Hey guys," Aonung said, but the two of them did not care and just continued bickering.

One thing about Aonung was that he hated being ignored, his sisters ignored him on the daily basis and he was not going to let his friends ignore him too.

"Y/N'S GOING ON A DATE-"

At those words the two turned to face him, he was surprised they didn't get whiplash from how fast the movement was. Even Neteyam moved from him spot, with wide eyes.

"So you're telling me Y/N, who can't hunt to save her life, managed to pull before us???" Lo'ak gasped in shock.

Roxto was equally confused, except he looked more like a proud mother.

"It only feels like yesterday when I first taught my baby how to swim," he sniffled.

Aonung grimaced, "Bro cut it out ew."

Neteyam, on the other hand, had no reaction if you didn't count the clench of his jaw and his tail swishing back and forth in irritation. In fact, after two minutes of awkward silence he was the first one to speak.

"So where is she going.... for this date?" he asked physically cringing as he said the word "date."

"Erm so I don't actually know...."

They all groaned in unison.

"Come on bro, how are we supposed to spy on her if we don't know where she will be?" Lo'ak sighed.

"Why don't we just ask Kiri?" Roxto suggested. The four of them agreed that it wouldn't hurt to try, so they went to go see Kiri.

When they reached the Sully marui, they found Kiri, Tuk and Tsireya sitting criss cross applesauce in a circle, playing a heated game of Uno.

"No fair Kiri you cheated!" Tuk whined.

In response Kiri stuck her tongue out, "I won fair and square you’re just bad-"

"Hey guys," Lo'ak interrupted, giving Tsireya a shy, little wave which earned a giggle from her.

Aonung and Neteyam, who already sensed that Lo'ak was getting distracted, facepalmed.

"We heard Y/N is going on a date...." Roxto started.

Both Kiri and Tsireya looked at each in confusion.

Kiri raised her eyebrow, "And who told you that??"

Tsireya scowled and got up seeing her brother hiding behind Lo'ak.

"Aonung!"

Meanwhile, Tuk was watching the whole interaction unfold, a devious plan forming in her mind. This was her chance to get revenge on Kiri for beating her in Uno.

Neteyam sighed, standing in front of Aonung protectively, before Tsireya could beat his ass and turned to Kiri.

"Where is this date?" he questioned.

Kiri glanced at Tsireya who cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Why do you want to know?" Kiri smirked at Neteyam.

Tuk, putting down her cards, chimed with faux innocence.

"Shouldn't Y/N be at the beach by now with Akran-"

"Tuk!" Tsrieya and Kiri hissed in unison. But it was too late, the four boys had already ran off to go spy.

Meanwhile, you were on a date with Akran, chatting enthusiastically about some beautiful shells you found on the coast earlier that morning. Sure, he was a bit eccentric with his collection of pet rocks but the guy was muscular as hell so you weren't complaining at all. And he was a good listener. The two of you were so absorbed in your conversation that neither of you noticed a familiar group of boys huddled behind some rocks nearby.

"She looks like she's actually enjoying herself," Aonung cringed.

"Looks like you're getting a brother-in-law soon," Roxto chuckled, which made Aonung gag in disgust.

The four of them watched, as Akran gave you a shell and you placed a hand on his arm in response. They gawked as the older Na'vi tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, leaning in.

"Woah bro looks like she's really into him. And I thought she liked Neteyam-"

The three of them who were suddenly reminded of Neteyam’s presence turned to look at him, he didn’t even notice their curious gaze as his eyes were fixated on the scene before him with a clenched jaw.

"Hey bro you good?" Lo'ak asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Neteyam shrugged his hand off, before standing up, "Yeah I'm good." But they could sense the tension in his voice. He walked off, far away from the scene leaving the three confused.

"He seems upset," Roxto said, "Should we go to him?"

"Nah he'll be fine, he probably needed a minute to process it," Lo'ak shrugged, but he still felt a bit worried.

It was common knowledge in the entire friendship group that you have a fat crush on Neteyam or at least used to. With the way you used to light up around him and find any excuse to be near him, any Na'vi could tell you were infatuated with him. But what wasn't common knowledge, something that only Lo'ak, Roxto and Aonung knew, was that Neteyam was just as equally obsessed. He'd always mention you in conversations even when you weren't there and would collect little things that reminded him of you. It got to the point, where even Jake and Neytiri noticed, as his collection took up a whole shelf in their marui.

Lo'ak sighed, turning back to the scene of you giggling with Akran. His brother rarely got upset, and even if he did he would rarely show it. He had to do something.

"Guys I hate to say it but we have to ruin their date-"

"Wait shush something is happening," Aonung hissed.

They watched as a young Na'vi approached you and Akran.

"Papa what are you doing??" She exclaimed, clinging onto Akran's legs desperately. You turned to him in confusion about to say something but the girl beat you to it.

"Don't tell me you're cheating on mama again??" she gasped loudly, her words gaining the attention from nearby Na'vi. You gasped too, as the male stammered in embarrassment.

"I don't even know who you are-"

"You said that last time Papa!" the girl hissed dragging Akran by the hand, "Come on let's go mama was looking for you."

The three of them watched in shock and confusion, as the little girl dragged the older Na'vi away, leaving you standing there in disbelief.

A chuckle from next to them gained their attention. It was Neteyam.

"Huh??? Since when were you here?" Lo'ak questioned, he didn't even notice his brother come back.

"Forget about that, let's go," he replied, getting up to approach you.

The three turned to face each other.

"Do you think-"

"Yes, he definitely did something."

The three quickly caught up to Neteyam, who was catching up to you as you were walking towards the Sully marui.

"Wow Y/N I didn't know you were into dads," Lo'ak teased. Your cheeks turned a deep shade of purple.

"You heard that???"

"I'm pretty sure half of the village heard it tsmuke," Aonung teased, "Such a shame too you seemed really into him too."

And as if that wasn't enough to make you embarrassed, Lo'ak and Roxto started making kissy faces at each other and imitating you.

"Oh Akran you're so strong~"

"Stoppp just kiss me already-"

You hissed, fully prepared crash out, but paused at the sensation of a hand quickly grasping yours. You looked up to see Neteyam holding your hand, squeezing it in reassurance.

"It's okay Y/N I'm sure you will find someone better," he smiled softly, placing a kiss on the back of your hand, “You deserve the best after all.”

You swooned, quickly forgetting about the trio in front of you's antics and your failed date with Akran.