Chapter Text
Neteyam is laughing.
Lo'ak doesn't remember why anymore. Something stupid, probably. Something he said or did or broke. Maybe he slipped on the rocks trying to show off. Maybe he called his brother's name that wasn't even a real insult.
But he remembers the sound.
Later, when he tries to recall his face, the laughter is what comes first. Then the rain. Then nothing.
The day was ordinary. That's important. Lo'ak holds onto that part like a stone in his palm. The day was ordinary. Neteyam wasn't supposed to disappear on those days.
They were at the river because Neteyam said they could be. Mom said to stay close to Hometree, but he was eight and eight was basically grown, so it was fine. And even if it wasn't fine, everyone trusted him anyway. So it wasn't a problem. Lo'ak was seven and seven meant he had to listen, but it also meant he didn't have to like it.
The water was calm. It moved, but gently. Talking to itself the way rivers do. He was trying to catch something. A fish, maybe. Or a stick. He doesn't remember now. His hands were in the water and his brother was crouched on the bank nearby, watching him with that look he got. The one that was halfway between amused and worried. He told him before that he should just use a bow, but his hands insisted.
"You're scaring them, baby bro," Neteyam said.
"Am not."
"You are. You're too loud."
"You're too loud."
His brother laughed. That sound again. He'd do anything to hear it one more time.
The forest felt endless and safe. Trees older than their grandmother's grandmother rose around them, roots drinking deep from the river's edge. Moss grew thick on the north-facing bark. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in broken golden shafts, turning the mist into something soft and breathable. The air smelled like wet bark and sun-warmed leaves. Like permanence. Somewhere above, an ikran called with the kind of sound that made the forest feel even bigger.
He was arguing about something. He remembers the feeling of wanting to be right and hearing Neteyam to say okay, fine, you win.
He remembers gesturing too wildly with his hands in a way he always did when he got worked up. His brother was sitting cross-legged on a flat stone by the water, chin propped on one fist, watching him with that patient, half-smiling look. Never mocking. Just waiting because he had all the time in the world for him to finish being wrong.
His brother never admitted failure or loss. He wasn't a loser (in a sense of someone who loses often). But he listened. He always listened even when Lo'ak was being stupid. Even when the argument didn't matter. Neteyam would tilt his head slightly when he was really paying attention, and he'd wait until he ran out of words. Then he'd say something quiet that made sense. And he'd realize that he'd lost without his only brother ever raising his voice.
He loved hated that.
Not long, the rain came.
The sound changed first. Lo'ak was still crouched by the water when he heard it. A low rumble from somewhere upstream. Distant, but growing. Like thunder, but lower. Coming from the earth itself. The river deepened its voice, because it wasn't talking anymore. It was growling.
Lo'ak's fingers were still trailing in the current, cool and gentle against his skin, but something about the water felt wrong now. The rhythm had changed. Instead of the steady babble he'd grown up with, there was a new undercurrent with a pull he couldn't name. He looked up. Neteyam was already standing, his eyes tense, shoulders tight, head turned upstream. Alert in a way that made his stomach drop even though he didn't know why yet. His ears were pinned back, flicking and listening to his surroundings. His tail had gone still.
He'd seen that stance before—when the hunting party spotted something dangerous. When Dad told them to be quiet and stay behind me. But there was nothing. Just trees, the river, and the sound getting louder. He pulled his hand out of the water, wiping his palm on his thigh. His heart was beating faster and he didn't know why.
He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong.
"Lo'ak," Neteyam said. Not angry, but focused. The way he sounded when something was wrong.
His eyes hadn't left the bend in the river. Whatever he was watching for, it wasn't here yet. But somehow, it was coming.
He blinked. "What?"
"Get up. Now."
There was no room in his brother's voice for questions.
He didn't understand. The sky was still bright, patches of blue showing between the clouds like nothing was wrong. The water was still calm.
No.
The water wasn't calm anymore. It was rising. Not everywhere. Just wrong. Swelling where it shouldn't, pushing past the rocks that were dry moments ago, climbing the bank in thin, fast fingers that darkened the earth wherever they touched. He watched a stone disappear under brown water. It had been a hand's width from the river's edge when he'd been crouched there. Now it was gone, swallowed whole, and the water kept coming.
The current looked different too. Not clear like it had been all morning, but murky. Thick. Full of leaves and branches it had probably picked up upstream.
"Neteyam—"
"Now."
His brother moved before Lo'ak did. Quick strides and he was there, hand clamping around his upper arm, yanking him up and away from the water. His grip was tight enough to hurt, to leave marks, fingers digging into muscle. Lo'ak stumbled, feet slipping on wet stone, and Neteyam didn't slow down nor let go. He didn't even ask if he was okay.
He shoved him toward higher ground, pushing hard enough that he almost fell forward.
"Go!" He shouted.
The rain hit. Not drops, but all at once.
The world turned gray. One moment Lo'ak could see the trees ahead of him, the next there was only water falling so hard it felt solid. The sky had split open and emptied itself all at once.
He couldn't see. Couldn't hear anything except water hammering the leaves, slamming into the rocks, drumming against his skull hard enough to make his teeth ache. It soaked through his hair in seconds, plastered it to his head. Ran into his eyes, mouth, and every breath tasted like rain.
It was cold. Well, the forest was constantly like that, but this was colder than it should be, than any rain he'd ever felt. The kind of freezing that shocked the breath out of his lungs and made his chest go tight. It made his skin prickle and his muscles seize up. All of his fingers went numb almost immediately.
He ran because Neteyam told him to. His feet caught on roots, slipped on mud that hadn't been there before, and he went down hard on one knee before scrambling back up. His hands scraped bark as he grabbed at trees to keep his balance, palms stinging, and he didn't know where he was going. Just somewhere that wasn't the river. He couldn't see more than an arm's length in front of him. The rain was too thick, surroundings too dark, everything reduced to gray shapes and the endless roar of water.
The sound was everywhere. It swallowed everything.
His knee cracked against stone and pain shot up his leg, bright and sharp. He tried to push himself up but his hands slid, couldn't find purchase on the wet earth, and he was sprawled there, rain pounding his back, not moving, not fast enough—
Hands grabbed him.
Neteyam's hands, pulling him up by his arms, practically lifting him off the ground. Lo'ak's feet scrambled beneath him, trying to help, and he was pushing him again, steering him toward the trees that meant higher ground.
"Don't stop!" his brother yelled over the roar.
Lo'ak ran. Or tried to. His leg hurt where he'd hit it and the world was nothing but water and ominous shapes and he couldn't tell which way was up anymore. He grabbed at a tree trunk, bark rough under his palms, and used it to pull himself forward. Then another. His hands were shaking. Everything was staggering. Behind him, he heard the river's voice change again, much angrier.
He risked a look back.
The water had climbed the bank. It was spilling over the edge now, reaching for the roots of the trees, spreading across ground that should have been safe. And in the water, rolling with the current; branches, whole sections of trees, rocks tumbling like they weighed nothing.
Neteyam was still behind him. Still closer to the river than he should be, and he realized with a jolt of terror that he's stayed back. Had stayed between Lo'ak and the water, making sure Lo'ak got out first.
"Neteyam!" Lo'ak screamed.
His brother turned toward him, rain streaming down his face. He looked… calm wasn't the right word. Determined. Like he'd already decided something.
"Keep—" Neteyam started.
His foot slipped.
Lo'ak watched it happen. Watched Neteyam's eyes go wide, watched his arms pinwheel as the mud gave way beneath him, watched him drop hard onto his side and start sliding back toward the water.
"NETEYAM!"
He lunged. He didn't think. Just threw himself back down the slope, hands reaching, legs pumping against the mud that wanted to pull him down too. He could hear someone shouting, maybe at him, maybe his name, he didn't know, but he didn't stop. His brother was sliding and scrabbling for grip. He tried to move toward him. His legs felt slow because they were moving through water himself. He took one step, then another, reaching out even though his brother was too far away to grab.
His fingers caught a root and held for a moment, stopping his slide, and Lo'ak pushed harder, almost there, almost—
Strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
Yanked him backward.
The world tilted sideways, and for one horrible moment he thought he was going into the water. His arms windmilled, searching for balance that wasn't there. The ground was mud now, slick and treacherous, giving way under his weight. Hands grabbed him. An adult, maybe. He didn't see who, didn't turn to look. He was falling and then he wasn't, strong arms wrapping around his chest, hauling him backward and up. His voice came out raw, broken. "No, wait—Neteyam!"
Lo'ak thrashed, kicked, tried to twist free. "No, let go—"
He watched Neteyam get his knees under him. Watched him start to push himself up, still gripping that root, using it to haul himself toward solid ground. He was going to make it. He was close. Just a few more feet.
Something massive rolled past in the current. A log, thick as a body, tumbling downstream like a battering ram. It slammed into the bank right where he was climbing.
The impact shook the river.
It didn't crumble slowly. It didn't crack or split or give any warning. It just went. The entire section of riverbank where Neteyam had been, where he'd been holding on, where he'd almost reached safety, all of it dropped into the river like it had never been solid at all. A whole shelf of earth, taller than their dad, fell away, and his brother fell with it. He saw his his hand reach up, fingers grasping at air, at the roots that were suddenly too far above him.
"NO!"
Lo'ak fought harder. Bit down on the arm holding him, tasted blood, didn't care. The grip loosened for just a second and he tore free, threw himself toward the edge.
Neteyam surfaced.
His head broke through the churning foam, mouth open wide, gasping or shouting or screaming, he couldn't hear over the roar. Water poured over his face. His arm came up, reaching toward the bank, toward him, toward anything.
Their eyes found each other.
Afraid.
His brother shouted for his name.
He reached back. Stretched his arm out as far as it would go, fingers straining, and for one impossible moment he thought that if he could just get a little closer, if he could just reach far enough—
The current took his brother.
Pulled him under. Dragged him away. He saw his fingers slip beneath the surface. His dark hair disappear into brown water. Saw the space where he'd been fill with churning foam and debris. And he didn't come back up. The river just kept moving. Kept rushing downstream, carrying everything with it, all branches, mud, stones. Add his brother to the list.
Lo'ak was screaming. He knew he was screaming because his throat burned, because his lungs were empty, because the hands had grabbed him again and were pulling him back and he was still fighting, still reaching toward water that had already carried Neteyam beyond sight.
"NETEYAM!"
The rain swallowed his voice. The river didn't answer. No hand reaching back. Just Lo'ak, held back by hands that wouldn't let go, screaming into a storm that didn't care.
Gone.
Neteyam was gone.
The water swallowed him whole.