Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Neteyam looked down from his ikran, and a world of blue unfolded beneath him. Awa’atlu. The village that held their last hope for uturu. The air that rushed past him felt foreign, holding none of the familiar, comforting scent of the damp earth he was used to.

He allowed his gaze to sweep over his family. A heavy, suffocating silence had settled over them all. His usually troublesome brother, Lo’ak, looked down, uncharacteristically quiet. Tuk’s wide eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and awe as she tried to take in the landscape, while Kiri seemed to have the hardest time leaving the forest behind. He felt the pain on her face as a physical ache in his own chest, a reflection of her sorrow that he, unlike her, would never let surface. His mother looked tired, not in the sense that she needed sleep, but in a deeper way. She looked exhausted, with grief carved into the lines around her eyes. And his father, the mighty Toruk Makto, now looked weathered and aged, as if the war had stolen ten years from his spirit. 

A sigh built in Neteyam’s chest, a pressure he forcefully swallowed down. If this place can give them peace, it is enough, he thought. My own happiness does not matter. He poured all his hope into this single desperate wish that here, his family would finally find a lasting happiness. Neteyam had long ago accepted that he did not need it for himself. If his family could be safe and content, he would sacrifice himself without a second thought, without a single doubt. His family always came before him. As the oldest child, his father kept reminding him of his responsibilities: to look out for his siblings, to always keep them safe, to protect them and watch over them. 

Neteyam’s gaze shifted back to the village below. Awa’atlu was different. Way different. Of course it would be. The village was beautiful, truly and undeniably beautiful, yet that very beauty made him long for home even more, a constant reminder that this place was not it. 

His soul was still tied to the forest. It was there that he had learned how to use a bow and the patience of a hunt. He had completed his ikniyama there, earning his ikran in the Hallelujah Mountains. His best moments were lived among those trees. Secret hunts with his stubborn brother, patient moments helping his little sisters, and the simple yet joyful chaos of goofing around with all of them together. But the person he ached for the most was his grandmother, Mo’at. He missed the sound of her steady and wise voice that had always grounded him. As their grandmother, she loved all her grandchildren with an equal heart, but as her firstborn grandchild, Neteyam held a special place within it. She had always seen the burden he carried, and her gentle hands were the only ones that could soothe the tension from his shoulders. 

If his own sense of loss was this hollowing, he could not bear to imagine what his mother felt. The forest was her entire life, her home. She took her first breath in the forest, her first step. She proved herself as a hunter there, experienced her greatest joys and her most devastating losses there. She had met the love of her life there. She was destined to lead her people there as future Tsahik, for Eywa’s sake! To leave was to tear her away from her clan, her home, and her entire history. Every memory, of both good and bad, was tied to that place. Thinking about the weight of her sacrifice made his own grief feel small and selfish. 

A deep feeling of hopelessness tried to take over, but he clung to one truth, and the only one that had ever truly mattered: Sullys stick together. As long as they were together, they could survive anything. His own heart could break a thousand times, could shatter into a million pieces, as long as it kept theirs whole.

Chapter Text

As Neteyam dismounted his ikran, his feet sank into sand so white and fine it looked like it glowed. He curled his toes, the sand feeling soft, smooth, and cool against his skin, a strange new sensation that was nothing like the comforting firmness of the forest floor. A group of villagers began to gather, their eyes curious but guarded. Neteyam saw how hands tightened on spears, while others pulled their children close, as if the very presence of the forest people might cause harm. 

Neteyam’s gaze swept over the crowd. The Metkayina’s teal skin stood out sharply against his family’s dark blue, their fluid, ripple-like stripes marking the Sullys as immediate outsiders. As more people surrounded them, Neteyam felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach. Each whispered word from the crowd felt like a stone thrown at them. He could feel his composure, so carefully maintained, beginning to fracture. His father’s words replayed in his head: I need you guys to behave. No fighting. No talking back. 

His father took the lead, walking ahead with his hands raised, trying to show the Metkayina people they meant no harm. But the villagers continued to stare, their expressions stating clearly that they saw the family as a danger to the clan. Neteyam glanced at Lo’ak, whose face showed he was barely containing his anger. Neteyam gave a quick, sharp shake of his head, a silent order to calm down, even though he himself was clenching his own jaw against the anger bubbling inside him.

Neteyam’s attention was pulled by a sudden movement in the crowd. The sea of people parted effortlessly, making way for a boy who walked with a natural, commanding authority. A shorter boy trailed in his wake. The taller one’s pale azure eyes, sharp and cutting, were locked directly on Neteyam. He moved with confidence, like his muscular frame was built for the water. His curly hair was braided into a bun that framed his face set in an expression of pure arrogance. As the guy stopped before them, Neteyam and Lo’ak acted on instinct, swiftly swiping their fingers across their foreheads in a gesture of respect. 

The Metkayina’s eyes flickered to Neteyam's forehead and then back to his eyes, his arrogant expression unchanging. There was no reciprocation of the courtesy. The deliberate insult landed like a cold slap. Neteyam’s tail gave a single, furious twitch behind him, a clear sign of his agitation. 

The two Metkayina boys began a slow circle around the Sully brothers. The shorter one was the first to break the silence. “Look at their tails,” he snickered, not bothering to lower his voice. The taller one didn't even glance at his friend, his assessing eyes still locked on Neteyam. A low chuckle escaped him. “Perhaps that is how they climb in the trees,” he said, his voice laced with a mockery that was far more cutting than his friend’s. “Swinging from branch to branch. It would explain why they are so.. skinny.” The boy finally broke his stare to make a sweeping gesture at the endless ocean. “Here, it is completely useless.” Every instinct in Neteyam’s body screamed to respond, to defend his family’s honor. Instead, he locked his gaze on the distant horizon, gritting his teeth so hard a sharp pain shot through his jaw. He would not give them the reaction they so clearly craved. 

Just then, the crowd’s murmuring ceased as three figures approached, riding on the backs of powerful sea creatures. The man in the center commanded immediate attention. His face, neck, and chest were a canvas of detailed tattoos, and a chief’s cloak rested on his shoulders, marking him unmistakably as the Olo’eyktan. A respectful silence fell, and as he drew nearer, the Metkayina people bowed their heads to the chief.

Initiating the traditional greeting, Jake stepped forward and swept his hand across his forehead. “Tonowari, I see you.” The chief acknowledged him with a nod, replying, “Jake Sully,” as he reciprocated the gesture. Taking their cue, the rest of the Sully family did the same. 

All attention then turned to the Tsahik as she approached, a girl with a welcoming smile at her side. The girl took her place beside Tonowari, and Neteyam assumed she was his daughter. The Tsahik was noticeably pregnant. A tattoo stretched above her belly, while others adorned her forehead and trailed down her chin and neck. She wore a headband centered with a white, seashell-like ornament upon her forehead. Her gaze was neither curious nor welcoming like her daughter’s, but sharp and scrutinizing, sweeping over them like a predator. Neteyam’s spine straightened instinctively beneath her stare.

“I see you, Ronal.” The family repeated the gesture of respect, but her eyes only narrowed as Jake explained their purpose. “We seek uturu.” He glanced back at his family, his shoulders tight with tension. “The war follows us. We do not ask for a fight, but a chance to let our children live.” 

Neteyam’s eyes flickered across the crowd, meeting only suspicion and harsh whispers. The fragile hope he had carried earlier suddenly felt thin and brittle. 

The Tsahik did not reply. Instead, she began to slowly circle them, her gaze stripping them bare. She reached out and abruptly grabbed Neytiri’s tail. A sharp hiss escaped Neytiri’s throat. Lo’ak’s look of disbelief mirrored the shock that ran through Neteyam.

The humiliation was relentless. She gripped Tuk’s thin arms. “They are weak.” She yanked Kiri’s tail, making her stumble. “Their tails are useless!” She then grabbed Kiri’s hands, inspecting them. “These children are not even real Na’vi.” Jake looked on helplessly, while Neytiri’s worry was turning into outright rage. Finally, she forced Lo’ak’s five fingers apart, holding his wrist high for everyone to see. “They have demon blood!”

The crowd erupted in hisses and shocked gasps. Lo’ak hung his head in shame and humiliation. A hot, protective anger burned through Neteyam at the public shaming of his family. 

“I was born a sky person, and then I became a Na’vi! We can adapt. We will adapt!” Jake pleaded, his voice strained as he held his hands out. 

The desperation in his eyes shattered something in Neteyam. Where was the fearless leader he was used to seeing? His father was meant to lead, not to beg.

Neytiri had reached her limit, no longer being able to stay silent. “My husband was Toruk Makto. He led the clans to victory against the sky people.” 

The gasps and whispers grew louder.

Ronal did not back down. “Is this what you call victory?” she sneered, gesturing to their state. “Hiding among strangers?” She stepped closer to Neytiri, her voice filled with challenge. “It seems Eywa has turned her back on you, chosen one.” 

Neytiri snarled, baring her teeth in a fierce hiss. Ronal hissed back, the sound sharp and guttural. The air grew tense, and Neteyam was starting to worry that this would take a turn for the worse. 

“Enough.” Tonowari’s voice was deep and final, cutting through the tension. “Toruk Makto is a great war leader. All Na’vi know his story, but we Metkayina are not at war.” He turned to Jake, his expression firm yet not unkind. “We cannot let you bring your war here.”

For a moment, it was over. Neteyam had accepted defeat, although it left a bitter taste on his tongue. Neytiri began to turn, ready to march back to her ikran rather than endure another second of this humiliation. But Jake reached for her, his gaze holding hers in a silent conversation. Neytiri let out a tired sigh, the fight draining from her as she leaned into his side. 

The Olo’eyktan and Tsahik stood together, their children now at their sides. It was then that Neteyam realized that the tall, arrogant boy was their son. The leaders shared a long, silent look, and finally, Ronal gave a reluctant nod. 

A tap of Tonowari’s spear silenced the crowd. His gaze, heavy and measuring, passed over each of the Sully children. “You may stay,” he announced. “But you will have to learn. Our ways are not your ways.”

Uturu was granted. Sanctuary. The word should have been a relief, but it settled on Neteyam’s shoulders like a stone, heavy and cold. All he could feel was the humiliation. The Tsahik hated them, her son was no better, and the village shared their sentiment. The Olo’eyktan was tolerating them at best. The only one who had shown a flicker of kindness was their daughter, and she hadn't even spoken a word.

He looked at his family and saw it all. His father’s desperation, his mother’s humiliated pride, Lo’ak’s shame, Kiri’s sorrow, and Tuk’s confusion. The sight was a physical blow, and something inside his chest felt like it was splitting apart.

He would learn the way of water. He would endure the stares and mockery. He would do whatever it took to keep his family safe. Even if it meant drowning in the process.

Chapter Text

Aonung took his place beside his father, the familiar weight of expectation settling on his shoulders like a second skin. The Sully family stood across from them. Look at them. Standing there as if they belong already. The eldest son stood directly opposite him. His posture was too straight, his gaze too steady for someone who had just been begging for shelter. Who does he think he is?

“My son, Aonung, and my daughter, Tsireya, will teach your children our ways,” Tonowari declared, his voice filled with finality in the communal marui. 

The command hit Aonung like a physical blow. His eyes flickered to his father, a protest burning in his throat. Teach them? Seriously? He was expected to teach these outsiders? To waste his time on freaks who would probably drown in shallow water? Aonung could already picture their clumsy limbs tangling in the water and their pathetic thin tails flailing uselessly. He was this village’s future leader, its future Olo’eyktan, not a babysitter! He did not want to risk getting in trouble and having his tongue ripped out by his father, so he clenched his jaw and swallowed his pride. “Yes, father. Of course,” he replied, forcing his mouth into a tight smile.

His sister, Tsireya, beamed as if she had been given a great honor. “I cannot wait to show you guys around!” she chirped. Of course she’s happy, Aonung thought, his own fake smile straining his cheeks. She’ll probably try to mother them all and giggle at their clumsy mistakes. His irritation sharpened as he watched her offer one of her gentle, infuriatingly sincere smiles to the Sully family. 

Like every Na’vi, Aonung had heard the legendary tales of Toruk Makto and had longed to see the legend for himself. He had never imagined his first encounter with the legendary warrior would be of a desperate man pleading for uturu. 

His attention was dragged back to the eldest son. Neteyam. Now he had a name for the face that had been irritating him since the moment their eyes first met. Something about this unwavering forest boy felt like a constant provocation. Aonung fixed him with his most intimidating glare, the one that usually made other youngsters look away. 

Neteyam didn’t. 

His golden eyes met Aonung’s head-on, not with anger, but with a cool, unnerving assessment. A challenge. Aonung felt a jolt of surprise, followed by anger. Refusing to be the first to look away, he raised his eyebrows mockingly, a silent, You have a problem?

To his utter astonishment, Neteyam’s lips twitched. He didn’t look away in shame or fear. Instead, he scoffed silently, rolling his eyes with a dismissiveness that was somehow more insulting than a curse, and shifted his attention to his father as if Aonung were no longer worth even a second of his time.

A slow smirk spread across Aonung’s face. So the perfect eldest son has some fight in him after all. This was getting interesting. He would take immense pleasure in chipping away at that infuriating composure until the forest boy finally, truly broke. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a movement to his right. His eyes narrowed as he saw the source. The younger Sully boy, Lo’ak, was gazing at Tsireya with a pathetic, awe-struck expression. And his sister, to his utter disgust, was not looking away. A soft, unmistakable blush was coloring her cheeks, and her lips were curved into a shy, pleased smile that was meant for this outsider. A new type of anger shot through Aonung. If he thought his irritation with Neteyam was strong, it was nothing compared to the pure, undiluted hatred he felt for this little demon-blooded pest who dared to look at his sister in that way.

When the meeting finally ended, Tsireya eagerly stepped forward to guide the Sullys to their assigned marui. Aonung felt a wave of relief. Finally. Freedom. He could escape, go for a dive or something.

The relief lasted for all of three seconds.

“Aonung.” His father’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Go with your sister. Help her show them the way.”

His shoulders tensed. You have got to be kidding me. He forced a stiff nod, the motion feeling like it might crack his own neck, and turned back toward the group. He dragged his feet behind the group, his gaze burning holes into the backs of the Sully brothers.

As they stepped onto the main walkway, Aonung deliberately shouldered past Neteyam, not hard enough to be a shove, but enough to make his point. “Watch where you’re standing, forest boy,” he muttered, low enough for only Neteyam to hear. 

Neteyam didn’t even stumble. He just adjusted his balance with an infuriating, natural grace, his gaze cool as he glanced back. “The path is wide enough for the both of us,” he replied, his voice dangerously even.

Aonung felt that spark of anger again. He talks back. He smirked, leaning in slightly. “You are in my way.”

They walked close together, and for a moment, Aonung saw the younger one say something, a mischievous grin on his face.

Then, Lo’ak turned. His eyes locked with Aonung’s, a mocking smile on his face. With deliberate slowness, he lifted his hand, raising a single finger, the middle one, while curling the others down. He held the strange gesture for a moment, his mocking smile growing wider, before turning back around as if nothing had happened.

Neteyam witnessed the whole exchange. He reacted instantly, smacking Lo’ak upside the head in a show of discipline, but a chuckle slipped out, revealing he found it just as funny as his brother did. 

Aonung froze. What in Eywa’s name was that? What kind of rude gesture was a single raised finger? The raised finger was an insult, he was sure of it. But not knowing the exact meaning frustrated him. It was just another part of their alienness. Their demon blood, their secret mocking signals.

Fine, he thought, his eyes fixed on the brothers’ backs. You want to play? Let’s play.

Chapter Text

The Sully family finally arrived in the marui that had been assigned to them. Neteyam’s eyes scanned the inside. This was it. This was to be their home now. But that was the wrong word. Home was the forest, with its trees and the solid ground, not the ocean. The marui had no walls, it was an open weave, offering a view of the endless ocean from every angle. 

The floor was a slightly springy surface but tightly bound, and the only sound was the constant, gentle lap, lap, lap of water against the foundations. Every soft lap served as a constant reminder that they were not wanted here. They were guests, outsiders in a world that was not their own.

This was the first time the Sully family was truly alone since landing on the beach, and the first thing they did was have a family meeting. Everyone sat in a circle, and his father spoke, his voice intense. 

“I need you guys to behave. Learn and adjust fast,” he said, his gaze sweeping over his children before landing squarely on Neteyam. “Look out for your siblings. And keep them out of trouble.”

Neteyam nodded, the motion automatic. “Yes, sir.” I have to look out for others. Who looks out for me? But he was the oldest. He could not complain. He had been doing this for years, taking the blame. There was no way he was going to stop now.

“We’ve got this,” Jake said, his voice firming as he looked at each of his children. “And what’s our rule? Sully’s..” A beat of silence, then the reply came. “Sully’s stick together,” they said in unison.

Once their few belongings were sorted and sleeping arrangements decided, Tsireya appeared at the marui’s entrance. “I am ready for your first lesson when you are,” she said, a kind smile in her eyes.

She led the Sully siblings away, guiding them among the springy woven paths of the village. Neteyam walked with a straight back and a carefully maintained smile, acutely aware of the elders’ eyes following them. He saw the glances exchanged between the villagers. Judgment was still evident in their gazes. They were not used to outsiders, especially ones so different. He was sure his siblings noticed it, too.

They were led to a learning spot by the water. Aonung was already there, propped against a tree, while the shorter boy Neteyam had met earlier, Rotxo, sat on the ground. When Tsireya and the Sullys arrived, the group settled onto the sand. Aonung alone did not move. He remained leaning, a look of pure boredom on his face. Neteyam sat next to Lo’ak, directly across from him.

Everything about this guy irked Neteyam to his very core. It started from the moment he had refused to reciprocate the “I see you” gesture, a deliberate insult that made Neteyam’s fingers twitch with the urge to wipe that smug look right off the Metkayina’s face.

He could feel Aonung’s gaze burning a hole in the side of his head, but he refused to give the smug bastard the satisfaction of looking back. He kept his eyes fixed on Tsireya as she spoke.

“This is our home,” she said, a smile gracing her features. “And we will do all we can to make it feel like yours, too.” Neteyam did not need to look to know Lo’ak would be wearing that awe-struck look again. He glanced over anyway, and a small, knowing smile touched his lips. He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly, before he returned his full attention back to Tsireya.

“The first lesson is about holding your breath,” she continued. “We’ll start with a test. Dive in and hold your breath for as long as you can.”

Tsireya dove into the water. Aonung and Rotxo followed, all three moving with an effortless ease that Neteyam could only watch and envy.

After a shared glance with his siblings, he watched Tuk and Kiri jump in first, followed closely by Lo’ak. Neteyam drew a deep, steadying breath and plunged into the water after them.

The water enveloped him, cold but in a refreshing way. For a single moment, he felt a strange peace. But it was short-lived. The further he went, the more pressure built in his lungs. To his side, he saw Lo’ak struggling just as much. Kiri, however, was already far ahead, swimming as if she had lived here all her life. Tuk was struggling too and had already turned back for the surface. Neteyam pushed himself further, but his chest tightened. 

He felt a frantic tap on his shoulder from Lo’ak. Without a second thought, they both kicked for the surface, filling their lungs with much needed air. Ducking his head back under, Neteyam saw the three Metkayina teens moving their hands, making a series of swift signs. The meaning was completely lost on him. A moment later, they shot up beside them, breaking through the surface with ease.

The moment Aonung broke through the water, his laughter followed. “Was that it?” he sneered, his voice filled with mockery. “These forest people cannot even hold their breath for a minute,” he continued, an arrogant grin spread across his face. “Teaching them is a waste of time.”

Rotxo chuckled from beside him, quickly adding, “They are not built for this.”

The urge to slam his fist into Aonung’s grinning mouth felt like a physical need in Neteyam’s chest. He forced his hands to unclench, only to find them balled back into fists a moment later. He was trying, truly trying, to push down the irritation, but Aonung was testing his patience, which was thinning by the second.

Before Neteyam could say anything, Tsireya cut in. She looked right at Aonung, her expression serious. “That is enough, Aonung. Rotxo. They are learning.”

Aonung’s pale, sharp eyes slid from his sister to Neteyam. “Learning?” he sneered. “It looks more like drowning to me. Maybe we should tie a rope to them so we can pull their bodies back up.” 

Neteyam had heard enough. “I can manage well enough on my own,” he shot back, his voice tense. Aonung raised a mocking eyebrow. “Can you? Your sister is missing, and you are up here wasting air on talking.”

Neteyam’s eyes swept over his siblings, quickly counting them. Only Lo’ak and Tuk. A horrible, cold feeling grew in his stomach. Kiri was still underwater. Pure panic set in. What if something had happened? He was responsible for his siblings’ safety. If she was hurt, it was his fault. 

With a deep, frantic breath, he dove back into the water, swimming deeper than before as his eyes scanned around for any trace of his sister. Lo’ak was right beside him, his expression full of the same fear. The initial panic was turning into a cold, gripping fear. He was terrified. Neteyam’s own breath was running out, his limbs screaming in protest, but he pushed further. Just as the fear was about to consume him, he saw her. Kiri was perfectly fine, calmly watching a group of glowing fish swim by, completely unaware of the panic she caused.

Thank you, Eywa. Neteyam sent a quick, desperate prayer of gratitude. The relief was immediately followed by a nauseating wave of dizziness. Air. He needed air. He kicked for the surface, his limbs feeling like heavy stone. Lo’ak had already made it. The more he swam, the more his body protested, his strength giving out. His vision began to spot. Just. A. Bit. More. he screamed at himself. You cannot die like this. You are a warrior. Come on!

With the last of his strength, he forced his legs to kick and finally broke the surface, gasping in a huge, ragged breath of air.

Back on the sand, struggling to regain his composure, Neteyam listened as Tsireya decided it would be better for everyone to receive one-on-one lessons. She announced the pairs: Kiri and Tuk with Rotxo. Lo’ak with herself. 

“And Neteyam,” Tsireya said, her voice gentle but firm, “you will be with Aonung.”

Fucking hell. I’d rather wrestle a Palulukan than spend another second with that arrogant piece of shit, Neteyam thought, all while keeping a smile of strained politeness on his face.

Aonung, who had been shaking the water from his hair, froze. “What? Why?”

“Because you are both the eldest sons,” Tsireya explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can relate to one another.”

Aonung let out a sharp, disbelieving bark of laughter. “Relate? To him?” He looked Neteyam up and down, his expression one of pure disgust. 

Tsireya pushed between them. “That is enough, Aonung. Or do you want father to hear of this?” Aonung’s jaw tightened, and he let out a dismissive scoff, but he held his tongue. “You will teach him,” Tsireya pressed, her gaze firm. “And you will be respectful. It is not a request.”

“Fine,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. He turned and began walking down the beach without looking back. “Come on, forest boy. Do not disappoint me more than you already have.” He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes locking with Neteyam’s as a mocking smile played on his lips. 

Neteyam held Aonung’s mocking stare, a single, unimpressed eyebrow raised, until the other boy was forced to turn back around. Skxawng.

Chapter Text

Aonung did not lead him back to the water. Instead, he moved toward a flat rock at the water’s edge and settled on it, his eyes fixed on the forest boy with condescension. He wanted to see how the mighty warrior would handle this. “Sit,” he commanded, the word short and sharp.

Aonung saw Neteyam’s eyes flicker toward the ocean, where his siblings were receiving their lessons from Tsireya and Rotxo.

“We stay here,” Aonung announced, crossing his arms over his chest. He let out a mocking laugh. “Did you truly believe I would take you into the water? After you nearly drowned just looking for your sister?” He shook his head, his signature smirk plastered on his face. “No way. My father would skin me alive if I let Toruk Makto’s precious son sink to the bottom. Now, sit, forest boy.”

Neteyam held back a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. He lowered himself onto the rock, the rough surface grating against his skin. I will endure this, he thought, his jaw tightening. For my family, I will endure this irking, arrogant face.

“We will start the lesson now,” Aonung stated. He didn’t lean forward, but lounged back on one elbow as if watching a pathetic show. He drew a slow, silent breath, his chest expanding with natural ease. He held it for a painfully long time, his eyes locked on Neteyam in a silent challenge, before finally releasing a long, measured exhale. “That,” he said, “is how it’s done. Do not worry if you cannot do it. I would be genuinely shocked if you could.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched. He refused to be baited. Instead, he focused, trying to mimic the rhythm, but his breath hitched, coming out ragged and shallow. The anger simmering in his chest was ruining any chance of calm.

A low, sharp chuckle escaped Aonung. “What was that? A dying ilu?” He shook his head, a wide, mocking grin spreading across his face. “I have heard calmer breaths from a baby. Again, forest boy.”

I will not punch the chief’s son. I will not punch the chief’s son. The mantra was losing against the heat rising in Neteyam’s cheeks. He tried again, holding his breath until his lungs burned, but it was another failure, ending in a gasp.

Neteyam could hear his siblings laughing in the distance. They were enjoying themselves, truly learning, while he was stuck suffering with the most insufferable Metkayina in the village. A bitter smile touched his lips. For their happiness, he would gladly enjoy the company of ten Aonungs.

“Useless,” Aonung spat, the word sharp enough to jerk Neteyam’s attention back. He made no move to help, only gesturing dismissively. “You are breathing from here.” He tapped a finger against his own throat. “All panic, no control. Like a scared animal. Here, it will kill you.” He paused, a cold smile spreading across his face. “But that is not my problem. My problem is the precious time of mine you are wasting.”

The dismissal to even try to teach felt like a deeper insult than any mockery. It made Neteyam feel like he wasn’t even worth the breath it would take to teach him properly.

Neteyam’s fists clenched so tightly his nails carved crescent moons into his palms. He took one more ragged breath, but this time, he did not look at Aonung. He looked past him, at the endless horizon. He pushed Aonung’s voice, his presence, and his very existence out of his mind. There was only the rhythm of the waves and the need to win this small, stupid battle in his mind. 

He drew in a breath. It was deep. It was silent. He held it. 

A small, fierce triumph had flared in his chest. He had done it. On his own.

His eyes, blazing with that victory, snapped to Aonung’s.

Seeing the success, the independent success, made Aonung’s mask of arrogance slip for a fraction of a second, revealing pure irritation. He leaned in abruptly, his lips close to Neteyam’s ear, his whisper a low attempt to shatter the moment. “Do not look so proud. A baby could do that.”

The moment shattered. The calm was replaced by fury.

“Listen.” Neteyam’s voice was low, dangerous, and perfectly clear. “This is the first and last time I give you the reaction you want.” He leaned in, invading Aonung’s space in turn. “My silence does not mean I have nothing to say. I am the first son of Toruk Makto. I am waiting for you to say something that is not utterly pathetic as the first son of the Olo’eyktan.” He finished with a mocking smile that was a perfect mirror of Aonung’s own.

A jolt, half rage and half pure thrill, coursed through Aonung. There it is. His mocking smile returned in full force. “But you just did.”

It took every ounce of Neteyam’s willpower not to wipe that smile off his face with his fist. Instead, he took a deep, proper breath from his stomach. “Are we done here?” he asked, his voice dangerously even. “Or do you have more useless nothings to say?”

“Done?” Aonung let out a humorless laugh. He rose to his full height, looking down at Neteyam where he sat. The flicker of thrill was gone, replaced by the familiar feeling of contempt. “We have not even begun. You think that was it?“ he shook his head, “Do not be more stupid than you look, forest boy.”

He started walking away, leaving Neteyam sitting on the rock. After a few paces, he stopped and looked back over his shoulders, his eyes locking with Neteyam’s. “Be here at sunrise tomorrow,” Aonung said, his voice flat and final. “And do not be late. My precious time, remember?”

He did not wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, his shoulders set in a hard line. He could feel Neteyam’s furious gaze burning into his back. And he found the sensation deeply satisfying. This hatred was something far more personal. It was, he decided, infinitely more interesting.

Chapter Text

Neteyam remained on the rocks, Aonung’s words still lingering long after the boy himself had walked away. Neteyam let out a slow, controlled breath. It is only the first day. The reminder did nothing to soothe the raw irritation crawling under his skin. In just one day, Aonung had found a way to get under it.

From the rocks, he had a perfect view of his siblings. Pulling his knees to his chest, he rested his chin upon them and observed. Tuk was splashing with pure joy, and Kiri moved through the water as if she had been born here.

His eyes then found Lo’ak. His brother was trying and failing to mimic a fluid hand gesture Tsireya had suddenly made. But instead of frustration, Lo’ak was grinning, and Tsireya was laughing, a sound so happy and melodic. The quick, shy glance they shared said everything. Neteyam allowed himself a small, genuine smile. His brother deserved this joy after everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, she could be the one to keep him out of trouble.

His gaze shifted back to his sisters, noticing Rotxo now by their side. The boy was patiently helping them adjust their stance, his encouragement seeming earnest. This surprised Neteyam. Given Rotxo’s loyalty to Aonung, he had expected him to stay the same like earlier and share the same contempt as his friend’s, but he was proving otherwise. Perhaps not all of them are like Aonung.

The soft laughter of his siblings cut through the sound of the waves, creating a new life from which he felt painfully separated from. His thoughts drifted, pulled back to the air of the forest. He remembered the weight of his bow in his hands and the scent of damp earth. He could almost hear Lo’ak’s convincing whisper: “Come on, bro. No one will even know we’re gone.” They had gotten in so much trouble. But it had been worth it. Now, a hollow homesickness filled him. All good things, it seemed, must come to an end.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his loincloth. He walked away without a backward glance, unwilling to intrude on their moment. They were too engrossed to notice anyway.

Neteyam walked through the village, his thoughts a tangled knot. He saw a distant glimpse of Aonung with his friends, laughing and shoving each other, being completely at ease with them. Why so much hatred? Neteyam wondered. Is it because we look different? Because my family intruded? The sharp sound of Aonung’s laughter cut his thoughts short. With a sigh, he walked on.

He nodded to a Metkayina woman weaving a net. “I see you,” he offered. Her fingers stilled for a moment, and she gave a slow, measured nod in return. No smile, but no hostility either. It was a start. Further on, a group of children stopped their play to stare. He offered them a small wave, and one, daring, waved back before being hushed by her friends. They were warming to him, slowly. It was something.

Ahead, he saw an elder, his back straining as he hauled on a rope attached to a submerged net. The man’s muscles knotted with the effort, but the heavy net refused to budge.

Without a second thought, Neteyam waded into the cool water. “Sir? Let me help you.”

The elder glanced over his shoulders, his eyes standing out in his weathered face. He gave a grunt, but shifted to make space. Neteyam found a grip on the thick rope, planting his feet firmly on the sandy bottom. 

“On three,” Neteyam said. “One.. two.. three!” They pulled together, their combined strength finally wresting the heavy net from the water. It spilled onto the shore, swarming with flapping fish unlike anything Neteyam had ever seen in the forest.

The elder turned, breathing heavily, and looked Neteyam up and down. “You are the oldest son of Toruk Makto.”

“I am,” Neteyam replied, wiping his face.

The man’s stern expression softened into what might have been a smile. “Thank you, son of Toruk Makto.”

“It was no trouble, sir,” Neteyam said with a respectful dip of his head. “My name is Neteyam.”

The elder studied him for a moment, then gave a slow, approving nod. “The name fits. I am Moyit.” He bent and gathered a sizable portion of the catch, securing it with a strand of vine before offering it. “Here. For your family.”

Neteyam raised his hands in a gentle refusal, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Sir, please. That is not necessary. I only did what anyone would do.”

Moyit’s eyes crinkled with a knowing glint. “And I am only thanking you. You have a strong back and a good heart. Take it,” he pressed the bundle firmly into Neteyam’s hands, his grip surprisingly strong. “And call me Moyit.” 

Neteyam bowed his head in acceptance, a true smile finally breaking through. “I thank you, Moyit.” He hefted the bundle, the weight of it feeling good and earned. “If you ever need an extra pair of hands, you know where to find me.” With a final wave, he started back through the village.

The walk back to the marui felt lighter. He found his mother inside, carefully tending her bow. She moved with her usual graceful efficiency, but it could not hide the tight line of tension in her shoulders. Neteyam stayed at the entrance, quietly watching. His eyes moved over the small touches she had already added to the marui. All of their bows were hung on one wall, and their few belongings were arranged in a way that reminded him of their home in the forest. It was her way of trying to make this strange place feel a bit like home.

Neytiri looked up as he entered, her eyes taking in the fish in his hands. “Ma Neteyam,” she said, a real smile gracing her features for the first time that day. “What is this? Have you been fishing already?” She set her bow aside, her full attention now on him. 

“In a way,” he said, setting the fish down. “An elder was struggling with his net. I helped him. He insisted I take this.” Neteyam gestured toward the fresh catch. 

A look of quiet pride passed over his mother’s face. Neytiri picked one up, examining its shimmering scales. “This is a good sign. A generous gift.” She looked at him, her gaze sharp and knowing. “And how was your first lesson?”

Neteyam busied himself with finding a knife to clean the fish. "It was fine. We just started with holding our breath."

"I see." She sat opposite him, beginning to crush herbs for the fish. The silence stretched, comfortable at first, filled only by the rhythmic sound of her work. But soon, it grew heavy, thick with everything Neteyam was choosing not to say. 

Neytiri paused her work, her hands stilling as she watched her son. He was focused on his task, but she saw the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow that he believed was hidden. "Ma Neteyam," she began again, her voice softer, the way she used to speak to him when he was small and had scraped his knee. "How are you?"

He kept his eyes on his work, meticulously scaling the fish. "I am well, mother. It is a new place. There is much to learn." His focus remained fixed on the task. He was speaking the truth, but not the whole truth.

"That is not what I asked."

He finally looked up. Her gaze was unwavering, filled with a deep, understanding concern that threatened to undo his carefully maintained composure. The words he had prepared caught in his throat. He forced a brighter smile. "I am fine. Truly. Do not worry for me."

Neytiri studied him, her expression softening with a sadness that understood more than he could say. "Very well," she said softly, letting the subject drop, and finally looking down and returning to her work.

A comfortable, knowing silence settled between them after that. The only sounds were the scraping of Neteyam’s knife and the rhythmic grinding of Neytiri's paste preparation, both lost in their own thoughts. 

The marui gradually filled with the rest of the family as the sun began to set. Jake arrived, his posture softening as he took in the scene. Tuk followed, chattering about the village, while Kiri slipped in behind her, her gaze thoughtful. The peace was finally shattered by Lo'ak, who all but exploded into the marui, his presence immediate and loud.

"You should have seen it!" Lo'ak exclaimed, collapsing next to Neteyam with a grin that split his face. "Tsireya, she's.. she's an amazing teacher! And Rotxo isn't so bad. We're learning to hold our breath and even learned hand signs for 'danger' and 'safe' and.." He nudged Neteyam with his shoulder, too excited to contain himself. "Bro, it was incredible."

"Slow down, son," Jake said, a tired but fond smile on his face. "You're filling your brother's head with a lot of information all at once."

Neteyam smiled, shaking his head. "It is alright, let him talk. He is happy." He didn't mind the chatter. In fact, he welcomed it.

As they shared the fish, the marui buzzed with their stories. Tuk demonstrated how she held her breath, Kiri spoke quietly about the feeling of the ocean, and Lo'ak couldn't stop talking about Tsireya. 

"She's incredible, dad! She doesn't laugh when you make mistakes, she's really great!"

"Yeah, we get it, you like her," Kiri murmured without looking up, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. Lo'ak immediately spluttered, his cheeks darkening.

Jake exchanged a knowing look with Neytiri.

Tuk added happily, "Yeah, Rotxo was very fun too! And nice!" and Kiri hummed, agreeing with her.

Neteyam listened, offering a comment here and there, a careful smile fixed on his face. He was happy for them, truly. But their easy adaptation only highlighted the condescending smirk Neteyam had endured all afternoon. He kept his eyes on his food, the memory souring the taste. 

Jake's eyes drifted from his cheerful children to his quietest son. "Neteyam," he said, his voice calm but firm. "How was your lesson?"

Lo'ak, his mouth full of fish, looked at him. "Yeah, bro. How was it with Aonung?"

The rest of the eyes turned to him. Neteyam shrugged, focusing a little too intently on his food. "It was fine. He is.. a very direct teacher." 

"Direct?" Tuk blurted out. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lo’ak snorted. “He means Aonung was a skxawng.”

"A big one," Kiri added quietly, not looking up from her meal. 

Tuk's eyes went wide with understanding. "Ohhh," she said, drawing the sound out. "So he was mean." She nodded to herself, as if Lo'ak had just explained a great mystery. 

A faint smile broke through Neteyam’s composed mask. He didn’t confirm it, but he didn't deny it either. 

"Hey," Jake warned, but his tone lacked real heat. 

Later, as the family settled onto their sleeping mats, the village fell silent, the sounds of the waves filling the air. Neteyam lay on his back, staring at the woven ceiling, listening to his siblings' breathing even out into the rhythm of sleep. The joyful stories from their day replayed in his mind, each one a constant reminder of his own difficult day, of Aonung’s condescending smirk. They have found their place here, he realized, the thought accompanied by a sharp pang of loneliness. Where is mine?

He refused to let Aonung claim any more of his thoughts. Instead, he filled it with the comforts of home, with memories of the forest. Sleep, when it finally came, was a welcome escape, washing away the frustrations of the long, tiresome day.