Chapter Text
“I…” you stood there stumped, eyes staring at the figure that is holding onto his Ikran so firmly. “What am I…?” supposed to do ... your words trailed off as your eyes wandered to the rocky terrains of the Hallelujah Mountains, screeches of the mountain banshees echoing through the open space. The sting that accompanies you night and day was the only thing that held you back from calling Reze , your Ikran.
By now, if it wasn’t for your wounds opening up every time you try to stretch, you would just run off like a madman, jumping down to feel the thrill of your life dangling in the lane.
Body still, wrapped in a trance. Your figure was standing motionless between the many signs of life surrounding you, shadows of other Omaticayan’s riding their Ikran, the creaks of the gravel each time a pathway was formed, as well as the chirps of the many lifeform Pandora shields.
It was weird.
“What is?” you groaned as you realized you were lacking control over yourself once more—speaking out loud without your knowledge, hearing Neteyam’s question being delivered by the wisp of winds.
You grumbled before taking glancing towards Neteyam, “Breaking out from a habit.” you replied.
Every time you would stand at the height of this terrain, your response was to fight and flight. Hallelujah Mountains was a sacred place to you, a place where you first acquired a trophy to prove to the people— to prove to the Omaticayans that you are a part of them. That you are an Ikranä Maktoyu, a banshee rider, a warrior worth something. Young and inexperienced, the only thing fueling you through your Iknimaya was the grief that suffocated your heart (as well as your promise to Neytiri).
A charming chuckle caught your attention as Neteyam’s locks swayed through the wind, throwing his head back in amusement, your mind unintentionally finding a pillar to lean on as you saw Eywa’s breeze dancing around him. Weak, a shadow whispered, your heart is weak.
You are weak for him.
He approached you slowly with a smile, “That’s quite accurate,” Neteyam agreed, “Breaking out from a habit is difficult,” he nodded attentively as he crowded your body, “Extremely difficult, I say.” and soon, your amused grin was wiped off from your face in an instant as you realized that the sweet smile wasn’t genuine.
That boy was taunting you. He’s getting braver as of late.
Tail swaying from behind, his whole being screamed of confidence. Neteyam smirked, “And you know what’s more difficult?” he smiled as he deliberately towered over you.
Oh, game on.
You might be a person weak to emotions.
But you were never one to back off from a challenge.
All of your previous sentiments are easily forgotten in the face of his provocation, it was laughable to think how much of an influence this little boy had over you. You lifted your chin in defiance, a similar smirk mirroring his. “And what might that be?” you questioned, tone silvery.
He took a step back before a peculiar glint reflected in his eyes, a devious expression illuminating his figure.
“You.”
You let out a quiet chuckle from the rush of adrenaline, head tilting, cracking your bones.
It was war.
Raising your hands towards his ear in a rush, your body leaned over towards Neteyam’s without a thought. “You skxwa —?!” your eyes widened in horror as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you close to his embrace, your right hand trapped. Face to face, you were blessed by the sight of his eyes that resembles his mother's, continuous layers of amber that overlapped each other in a ring staring back at you.
You stood there flustered as one of his legs slipped in between yours, bodies in close proximity, chest to chest. Millions of tiny goosebumps jumped out from your arms as you felt his staggered breath near you, his hands wrapping tightly around your waist. A feeling of tension sneaked around your bodies, wrapping around your figures that were molding into one under the shadows of the sunlight. It felt like a snake slithering in the darkness, observing, and waiting for its prey before finishing it up only when it had writhed in pain.
The tension was exhilarating agonizing.
He exhaled.
You inhaled.
Fingers twitching, the both of you bolted to stare upon your left hand, before locking your gaze back towards each other. Your left arm responds immediately to your command, clenching into a fist in a matter of seconds, bolting to become a punch in haste.
A huge grin decorated Neteyam’s face as he caught your fist with his palms. Your right hand was trapped within his hold and your left hand was seized by his palms. Hissing, you threatened him, eyes squinting, “You are lucky I am injured.”
A shrug is all you got as a reply, “True,” Neteyam replied, his whole being emitting nonchalance. “But,” he smiled before letting go of your left hand, making you lose balance over his abrupt action. “A chance is a chance, isn’t it?” he hummed, before wrapping his free hand around your waist, pulling you closer into his embrace.
“Kha’se,” dear, once again you winced as Neteyam spoke with a tone overly sweet, your mind adding unnecessary words that he didn’t speak of—never spoke of . He guided your right hand onto his shoulder, letting it rest there before his knuckles knocked onto your forehead playfully.
“Do you know what makes you so difficult?” he whispered, eyes intently staring at yours. You looked up at him from your position, your lips slightly jutted. An eyebrow raised as if saying, what?
“You are one that is unfamiliar with changes, Kha’se. I know that.” Neteyam spoke in hushes as his palms caressed your cheek with such tenderness, “I’ve been wanting to speak to you about this.” he said sincerely.
“I’ve been yearning for it.”
Yearning for you.
Yet again, those whispers that spoke of nonsense came to invade your head once more. Spitting out words that have never been spoken of. You frowned at yourself, angered from losing control over yourself once more. It is as if I lost the power to conduct my own body. You scowled.
My heart had been speaking for me more often than before. You realized.
Your body had submitted herself in the presence of your heart your feelings. You conceded defeat.
For years and years, your muscles, your organs, your brain, and even your soul had been systemized to work with autopilot. Days of mentoring Neteyam had somehow become a form of a break (a coping mechanism) for you. From break to dawn, all you’ve done is overexert your muscles, your whole being beating itself to get recognition from people who would never bow to your labor, who would never express their gratitude even if they had learned how to say Irayo—how to say “thank you”. Hell, you were sure, even if they had learned thousands of languages, they wouldn’t have the heart to spare you a single syllable either.
Though, a swipe of a thumb on your brows had your attention back at him, the fog of thought dispersing in an instant in the face of Neteyam’s endearing smile. “Hey hey hey..” he cooed, thumb brushing over your frown in an attempt to smoothen your wrinkles, “What’s with that frown, huh?”
You must not rest.
The concrete around your heart had weakened, cracks spreading through it.
War isn’t over yet, for you.
His embrace had always been one of warmth to you, the many fights and banter—the scoldings that you shouldered together, the rebellious recollections you had as you scrambled off with Neteyam to peek at the Ikrans before your Iknimaya ritual, memories that had scattered and had etched themselves in your mind were one of the major reasons you haven’t abandoned your belongings and said farewell to this living hell.
Your eyes glared at him with a certain look in your stare, a facade of emotions trying to conceal your desires. Pushing his body away from yours, your whole body trembled from the loss. Mourning over his touch.
And it seems he was fooled.
For a moment you were thankful for his foolishness, a naivety many youths of his age still own. But— you swallowed a wail , a tiny part of you grieved from it, from knowing that perhaps he hadn’t known you well enough, that all these times—the feeling of him looking right through you was an illusion only you had felt, that perhaps you were betraying his trust because—because if he hadn’t trusted you—if he hadn’t looked at you with a look as if he would gladly take a shot through his head if you asked him to, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled by your games made by your emotions. Of your war within.
I’m such a failure.
You are.
I’m making the next Olo’eyktan, the son of the Toruk Makto, believe in me.
You’re letting the next Olo’eyktan place his trust in a hypocrite.
In you.
Neteyam raised both of his hands in surrender, though his expression shows no signs of disappointment or defeat. It was as if he knew something you didn’t. Something about yourself that even you yourself don’t even know. He gave you a look before mounting his Ikran, hand offered for yours to take.
“I’m trying to make you accept it, Kha’se.” Neteyam said as you slipped your hands in his, once again your fingers were intertwined with each other, his warm palms engulfing your cold ones. Goosebumps spread through your body as your body shrieked in joy from the contact, no longer mourning for his touch . It was as if every dead cell of your body would be brought back to life in an instant by just a tender caress from him.
“Trying to make you accept me.” he mumbled. Though, it goes unheard.
If he was a fool then you are the lunatic who fell for the fool.
An idiot.
Neteyam pulled you to mount on his Ikran as well, letting you settle down behind him, bringing your intertwined hands to wrap around his torso, his hands patting your arms in a manner you would always do to him ages ago. There, you looked into his shoulders that were now broad, his posture firm—you scrutinized his figure, eyes looking up and down. Pursing your lips, you shrugged a silent acknowledgment, he has gotten taller as well.
A slither of his fingers slipping into yours caught your attention, his larger ones overlapping with yours. It seems more prominent now. How many things have changed. How people had always continued to move even when you’re still — even when you’re stagnant. It was overwhelming to realize, that everyone had changed, that everyone had grown, and you’re—you looked down on yourself, you’re still you.
Unchanging. Full of anger. Of misery. Of rage.
It was pathetic.
Pitiful.
Neteyam coughed to garner your attention, it was fascinating to know that he had realized, that he had known you had lost yourself, even without looking at you.
He gave you a shy glimpse before squeezing your fingers, “For years—you have been teaching me many things someone wouldn’t share without experience.” he started, “As I grew up, I realized. People with experience had always looked into the younger generations thinking, ‘ Oh, they won’t go through the same things we did. ’ taking us lightly and teaching us many simpler things. Mundane things.”
“Hunting, history, our rites. All of it is a given, being a part of the tribe.” Neteyam said, his Ikran still within his command, unmoving. “Father was a little bit more open-minded than others, I suppose.”
“But Mother,” he shook his head with a berating laugh, “Mother had zero knowledge about the stars. About the things out there. I heard glimpses of how our old home was burnt into ashes from the moment Father arrived here, from the moment the Sky People came here. It was terrible, just from hearing the tale.” he exhaled heavily. “Horrifying,” Neteyam remarked before he jolted—action frantic as if he just remembered something, looking up to the skies.
Then this shameless boy then had the gal to turn and look back at you with a sheepish smile, his palms around his nape. Letting out an unabashed laugh before breaking out to you news that is long overdue.
“Kha’se..” he initiated carefully, assessing your emotions. “We were supposed to patrol, aren’t we?” he offered a tiny smile.
Your eyes blinked in bewilderment before you screeched once more, your fingers targeting to pinch his ears as a habit. Shielding himself, Neteyam was familiar with the upcoming routine the both of you would go through if he had managed to seep under your skin.
“Hey! Hey!” he thrashed in defeat, “Driver’s safety! Driver’s safety is first!”
You sat up and bonked his head, annoyed. “To hell with that Driver’s safety bullshit, I’m riding with you.” you scowled, “Customers come first, you skxwang!” your fingers then crowded all over him, trying to pinch him at any opportunity.
Protecting himself with his arms, he let out a boisterous laugh, feeling a sense of nostalgia from this childish banter. “Then where is my pay, Kha’se?” he questioned, head tilting back to see you, a content grin on his face.
Your face was looking down at him, hair cascading into his vision, your locks curtaining the daylight that was shining on his face. Neteyam's pointer finger slowly crawled to tangle itself in your hair, twirling it teasingly. “How are you gonna pay me, hm?” his eyes turned into crescents as his amusement showed, his cheeks wrinkling from delight.
Huffing, you flicked his forehead in exasperation.
“A beating,” you threatened.
Neteyam groaned before whining, “Mercy,” he exaggerated.
Rolling your eyes, you bet on your burnt toys Lo’ak had set on fire when you were young, if Neteyam had a piece of white clothing right now, he would use the last of his brain cells to make a white flag, completing his performance. “Underpaid,” he wailed, “Child labor,” he complained.
Though, he locked his eyes with you, his face flat.
“Not enough.” he demanded.
You sighed, conceding to his whims.
“Then what is enough, Nete’?”
Your eyes were so busy getting mesmerized by those stunning eyes, you didn’t notice his fingers that held the reign over his Ikran.
Neteyam tapped his cheek with a cheeky smile, “Maybe a kiss on the cheek from you wouldn’t hurt?”
You sputtered in surprise, fingers prepared to pinch his ears once more, but soon a pressure sent you keeling back to the edge of the seat—your hands scrambling to wrap themselves around Neteyam’s waist once more.
Years had gone by and this skxawng is still petty about his first dive, taking revenge on you when you had lowered your guard.
“You fucker!” you cussed him out in English, Neteyam laughed as he took you to flight—recognizing the vocabulary his Father would use while he was frustrated.
“I’m telling Sully about your potty mouth, Kha’se.” he mimicked the words you said, rolling his eyes.
You cackled before pinching his waist—giggling as you heard a small “ouch!” from him. It was one of the memories you treasured with your soul. Maybe —ah, no. It’s not a maybe. You were sure. Every memory with him is something you would reminisce till your death bed—blind, dead, or on the brink of death—even if you’re wallowing in sorrow, a memory of him would calm the fire that had been blazing for centuries.
You pitched your voice, trying to imitate the 10-year-old Neteyam. “Fuck you.”
Neteyam laughed in disbelief before his hand approached your fingers that were holding tight to each other on his torso, he then forcibly slipped his fingers and laced them around yours.
You looked away, feeling blood rush into your cheeks. Stubborn boy.
“Gladly.” your head whipped to look at him in surprise, fingers trying to run away from his hold from shock. Though a sharp squeeze from him held you back.
He exhaled a sigh after peeking at your flabbergasted expression, patting his Ikran and whispering, “Like what we rehearsed, yeah?”
With his Kuru still bonded with his Ikran, he changed his seating position mid-flight, your eyes widened—astonished by his skillfulness. Rather than facing forward to pilot his Ikran, Neteyam turned to face you instead, legs dangling.
His Ikran was just idly flying through the skies of Pandora—no particular destination decided. While the passengers of it were sitting face to face, eyes calculating each other's move.
His fingers once again slid into yours, both you and Neteyam had your attention on his hands that were playing with your fingers. Pursing your lips, you took a glimpse at him, fingers making circles around your palm, a small content smile on his face.
“It’s about our conversation, earlier.” he started, eyes not looking into yours, head lowered. “About the arrival of the sky people.”
“Mother had told me as well,” Neteyam did a heavy inhale, “About the death of her Ikran; Seze. About her dearest friend's death. About her sister’s death—my Aunt; Sylwanin—dying right in front of Mother’s eyes. And also about..” he averted his gaze from your fingers, “About grandfather’s death.”
“I admit, all of these times I’ve only been in battles.” Neteyam shook his head, “Not war.”
“And it’s always one-sided.” you looked at his dispirited expression, gaze slightly downcasted. “So far, I had realized, Father had only led battles he could win, he was only confident in the battles he had calculated.”
A moment of silence passed between the two of you, the wisp of winds that blew your ear was the only tune filling it.
“The Father I know is far different than the person my Mother had told me in her tales.” he confided. “My Mother would speak of him with a lovestruck look—every time. As my Mother tried to relieve the past, she looked relaxed, full of youth.” Neteyam’s eyes which were so similar to his Mother’s finally looked up, locking his gaze with yours. “She looked happy.” his voice cracked.
He then brought your intertwined fingers to rest on top of his chest, your palms laid right above where his heartbeat made a sound. Neteyam closed his eyes as if he was comforted by your cold hands on him.
“I connected all the dots by then.”
“My Father’s cautiousness. My mother’s immense love, her never-ending forgiveness.” he gulped, “And the outcome of their love…”
You pressed your hand deeper into his chest before whispering your acknowledgment, “You.”
“Yes.” Neteyam nodded, clenching your palm closer to him, “Me.”
“I realized.” he said, “With loving comes risk.”
“My Father loved—loves my Mother, to death. My Mother as well.” Neteyam pursed his lips, contemplating his words. “Maybe in some sense, My Father’s attachment is deep enough to create an effect of many sacrifices.”
“Many died, in the hands of their love, Kha’se."
“Of a love between a Na’vi,” he looked at you as if he was implying something with his undecipherable gaze. Then, he looked at your hands that were resting on his chest, before holding them close to his lips. Kissing your palms, pecking the lines your palm had like a treasure map. He traced the lines before landing on your wrist, Neteyam’s barrage of kisses stopped as he took a moment to stare at you.
Etching the sight of you being tame in his hold.
“And an Avatar,” he kissed your wrist, exactly where a bulge of vein stood, the lines connecting it to your heart.
“For years, the effect had been rolling around without a destination to end.” Neteyam concluded, lowering your arms, though your hands were still entrapped by his slightly larger ones.
“And now the rolling domino has found its destination—back to where it started, Pandora.”
“However—Father isn’t as fearless as he used to be.”
You nodded in understanding, clenching his palms. “Because he has you—Lo’ak, Tuk’, Kiri—and,” you looked away, “Spider.”
“I had always thought, Father is too controlling over us—stern, full of fury, a permanent frown on his brow.” he smiled while pointing to his forehead, “Sometimes Lo’ak and I missed the Father that would run around with us—pretending that he’s a monster.” Neteyam chuckled before looking at you, “And other times we racked our brains to bring that side of Father back.”
“But that day,” he recollected, his finger enclosing around yours, “I understood.”
“Why he had changed drastically.”
“A battle is still a battle, although it’s not a war, it doesn’t mean I should underestimate it.”
“Merely because of Lo’ak’s actions, Father’s calculation had gone into shambles. Merely because of an unknown variant that Father hadn’t predicted…” his eyes looked straight into yours, face awfully distressed . Noticing such an unsuitable expression on Neteyam’s face, your palms unconsciously cupped his cheeks.
Neteyam’s fingers then overlapped your hands, pressing his face tighter to your palms, he closed his eyes in comfort.
“I almost lost you.” Neteyam said with a raw voice, frightened.
Behind those closed eyelids, if the Devil had seen the way Neteyam gazed upon your figure, he would repent and bow, seeing such devoutness coming from a mortal to a mortal. And if Eywa had known the turmoil of feelings his eyelid had hidden, she may weep, pitying such fate.
It was mid-day, not during the eclipse. There was no such thing as a dim light shining at the both of you, creating an illusion that you’re the protagonist— hell there’s a bunch of screeches that the Ikrans’ had let out echoing below you, letting you know that you weren’t alone.
It doesn’t fucking feel like you own the world, like the world were only yours and Neteyam’s. Romantic words like a gentle breeze curving around your body were utter bull —for the Great Mother’s sake! Neteyam had brought you flying high above with his Ikran—your teeth felt dry—it was fucking windy.
Yet with all of your complaints—you tried to cover the upcoming grin growing on your lips, your heart beating a bit too fast for an idle flight you had always done for a routine.
It was as if Pandora's box had been unlocked inside your soul, continuous images that had you jolting from each tingle, a burst of feelings that were so imminent it made you speechless.
You felt extremely lucky, looking at Neteyam’s closed eyes. Gaze hidden.
If you had already folded merely because of his sincere voice…
You wouldn't know what would happen to yourself if you had seen the way he looked at you.
Maybe, just maybe... you would burn the world out of an honest mistake, flustered—if you had seen how deep his gaze had looked, profound and genuine.