Chapter Text
A week passed.
The reef still breathed.
The tides still came and went.
Fish still shimmered through the shallows like scattered stars.
But something essential was missing.
Tonowari stood at the edge of the spirit cove long before the sun fully rose, the water pale and glass-smooth beneath the morning light.
The clan moved behind him quiet, efficient, careful in the way people were when they knew grief lived too close. No one spoke of Ronal aloud anymore.
Not because she was forgotten, but because saying her name felt like reopening a wound that had barely begun to seal.
The olo’eyktan lifted his chin, shoulders squared, posture unbroken.
To the Metkayina, he was still their pillar still steady, still unyielding. He listened to disputes. He approved fishing routes. He assigned guards and scouts and healers as though his world had not split open beneath his feet.
But when he turned away from the clan and returned to the marui, the strength bled from him.
The baby slept in a woven chest-latch, her small body pressed close to his heart. She was warm. Solid. Real. Proof that life had continued even when it should not have.
Proof that Ronal was gone.
Tonowari lowered himself carefully, large hands trembling just enough that he clenched them into fists.
He had not been there. Not for Ronal’s final breath. Not for the birth of their daughter. The weight of that truth pressed heavier than any ocean current. His mate – his fierce, brilliant Ronal had given everything while he was elsewhere, fighting, commanding, surviving.
“She has your eyes,” Tsireya said softly.
Tonowari looked up. "So do you" he says His daughter knelt nearby in the shallows, gathering seashells with gentle hands, her voice barely above the tide.
She smiled at the baby with a tenderness that hurt to witness. Tsireya had taken to helping without being asked feeding, rocking, soothing stepping into a role too heavy for someone so young.
“She sleeps better when she hears the water,” Tsireya continued. “I think… I think Mother would have liked that.”
Tonowari swallowed hard. He nodded once, unable to trust his voice.
Tsireya adjusted the latch, ensuring the baby was secure, her movements practiced now. The infant stirred, tiny fingers curling against the fabric, and for a brief moment Tonowari allowed his hand to rest his against the baby's back,
“I will be back before midday,” he said, voice steady once more. “The eastern kelp beds need inspection.”
Tsireya nodded. “Ao’nung said he would take her if you are busy.”
That name.... Ao’nung carried its own ache.
Ao’nung took the baby without hesitation.
He adjusted the chest-latch the way Tsireya had shown him, careful, deliberate.
His sister was small, lighter than he expected, her warmth seeping through the fabric into his skin. She made a quiet sound half breath, half sigh settling against him as though she trusted him instinctively.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, not realizing he’d spoken aloud.
The water welcomed him as he stepped into the shallows, the familiar cool wrapping around his legs.
Fishing spear in hand, he moved slowly, mindful of her presence, staying close to shore where the currents were gentle and predictable.
The reef had always been loud to Ao’nung laughter, competition, Roxto’s endless mouth running beside him. Now it felt muted, like sound carried through thick water.
He cast his line. Waited.
Minutes passed. Or hours. He wasn’t sure.
Sometimes he just stared down into the water, watching sunlight ripple across the sand. In the reflection, memories surfaced uninvited.
Roxto laughing as he missed an easy catch.
“Great hunter you are,” his friend had teased, grinning wide.
Ronal’s sharp voice cutting through them both.
“If you spent half as much time working as you do talking, we would eat better tonight!”
Ao’nung almost smiled.
Almost.
His chest tightened instead.
He had not realized how often those moments had anchored him how much of his world had been built on the certainty that they would always be there.
His mother’s scolding. Roxto’s shoulder bump. The easy rhythm of life before fire and ash tore through it.
The baby shifted.
Ao’nung froze, instinctively lowering his spear. A small whimper escaped her, soft and uncertain, followed by a tiny cry that vibrated against his chest.
“Hey,” he whispered quickly, lifting a hand to steady her. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Her cry wavered, then softened, her fingers curling into the fabric near his collarbone. Ao’nung felt something break open inside him then something he had been holding too tightly for too long.
A tear slipped free before he noticed.
It fell, warm against his skin, disappearing into the water below.
He bowed his head, breath hitching once, then again.
He thought of Roxto, gone without goodbye. Of his mother, whose voice he would never hear again. Of this small life pressed against him, who would grow up knowing Ronal only through stories.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, words meant for no one. “But I’ll try.”
The water answered with quiet patience.
“Ao’nung!”
Tsireya’s voice carried across the shallows, bright and insistent. He looked up, blinking, realizing how far he’d drifted from shore.
Tsireya stood with one hand raised, the other shielding her eyes.
“Lunch is ready!” she called. “Father is asking for you.”
Ao’nung inhaled slowly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, hoping the saltwater disguised what had escaped him.
He adjusted the chest-latch once more, ensuring his sister was secure, her breathing even again.
“Alright,” he murmured to her, straightening his shoulders. “Back we go.”
He turned toward shore, each step heavier than the last, carrying more than just a child carrying a future he hadn’t asked for, responsibilities he could not refuse, and grief he did not yet know how to set down.
Behind him, the water closed gently, holding everything he could not say.
And the reef watched, silent, as Ao’nung walked forward already becoming something more than he had been before.
Settling in he gives the baby to his father He hadn’t even noticed his father look until Tonowari’s shadow crossed the small fire.
“Ao’nung,” Tonowari called gently, raising a hand. “you did well today.”
Ao’nung startled he nodded once, expression already settling back into something controlled.
“thanks father.”
Tonowari’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual, sharp and knowing but he said nothing. Instead, he offered a small wrap and turned back toward the baby.