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Neteyam vividly remembers each time he’d gained a sibling.
The first time was when Dad and Ma brought Kiri home, her tiny form bundled snugly against their mother’s chest. He’d been young—not even a year old—but the memory of staring in awe, heart thumping with warmth, lingered softly in his mind.
The second time was when Lo’ak was born. Neteyam was older then—not by much, but enough that the memory was less blurred by age. That night he’d curled up between Kiri and Dad, but a new body was pressed against his mom's chest.
“You’re gonna be a great big brother,” his dad had murmured, voice thick with warmth and happiness. And at his young age, Neteyam had just smiled and nodded seriously, because the words sounded important.
The last time—Tuk—had been much different. He’d been old enough that he was starting to learn to use a bow, and he spent the days running around the forest with his siblings like a pack of nantang pups. The three kids had gazed at their baby sister with pure adoration as they each took a turn cradling her in their arms.
With Tuktirey, he’d felt something different bloom in his chest. Love, yes. But also a burning protectiveness, a fierce desire that grabbed hold of his heart and refused to let go. Because with her, Neteyam was old enough to see how fragile and innocent she was. Her wide golden eyes shone like sunlight, and her gaze seemed to peer straight into his soul.
With each new addition to their family, he’d felt his heart slowly expand to encompass his love for all of them. Because though his love for The People coursed through his veins, his siblings were his world. His heart. His purpose.
So he’d slipped into the role of the eldest easily. But back then, being the eldest had been easy.
“’Teyam, come on!” Lo’ak grumbled, shifting impatiently from foot to foot by the exit of their pod. He was in that stage of childhood where he had endless energy, which only made him extra impatient. His arms were crossed in front of him, bottom lip protruding in a slight pout.
“We have to wait for Kiri,” he replied diplomatically, casting a glance at their sister who was somehow less ready to leave than she’d been ten minutes ago. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her tongue stuck out in concentration. The only indication that she’d heard her name was a subtle flick of her ear.
Lo’ak groaned, the sound drawn out in a way only a nine-year-old would. His tail flicked behind him restlessly. “Then she needs to stop being such a slow ‘angtsik!”
At that Kiri finally turned towards them, the damaged pouch she was intent on repairing sliding to the ground. “I am not a slow ‘angtsik!” she retorted indignantly, sticking out her tongue at their brother.
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
Dad cleared his throat in warning, his sharp gaze fixing on the squabbling kids from his spot beside the cookfire. “Lo’ak. Kiri,” he said slowly, voice low and stern. Beside him, Mom glanced up from where she was cleaning up dishes from their morning meal.
Both kids paused their bickering to mutter a sheepish, “sorry,” though Kiri attempted to throw her brother one last subtle glare. Dad raised his eyebrow at her, and she ducked her head in embarrassment.
“Kiri,” he started gently. “Maybe you could go out with your brothers and have your mother fix that instead.”
She frowned, taking the bag back into her hands and tracing her fingers along the frayed clasp. “But I wanted to do it myself,” she complained, her tone somehow childish and serious at the same time. “I need it to carry cool stuff I find. Tuktuk likes shiny rocks and I wanted to find some Ar’lek seeds.”
As if she knew she was being talked about, their youngest sibling babbled happily from her position strapped against Mom’s chest. “No need for worry,” Ma broke in calmly from the other side of the pod. “I will fix your pouch.” And before Kiri could protest, she added, “and you may take mine.”
Kiri brightened at that, a surprised grin spreading across her cheeks as her ears flicked up. “Really?”
Their mom nodded, a small smile slipping onto her lips as she untied the pouch from her waist. “Yes. Just don’t lose it.”
His sister’s grin grew wider as she launched herself from the floor to hug Ma. “Thank you!” she murmured into their mother’s side thankfully, pulling away to take the green bag from her hands. She tied it quickly, twisting her neck around to gaze at every angle.
Ma laughed and rolled her eyes fondly, locking her warm eyes with Dad’s. It seemed as if a whole conversation could pass between them in an instant; it was a kind of spiritual understanding Neteyam envied. “Of course, my sweet child.”
Kiri happily turned to hug their dad in the routine goodbye, and the two boys quickly followed. Dad pulled Neteyam against his side, smooth skin warm against his cheek. Ma gave them each a kiss on the head on her way past, laughing quietly as her youngest son squirmed impatiently.
The moment probably would have been sweet, if not for Lo’ak breaking in with another whine. “Okay, enough mushy, sappy stuff—let’s go.”
Dad pulled away and made a show of looking wounded, clutching his chest and gasping sharply as he stumbled backwards. A teasing expression danced on his face, bright with the kind of easy happiness that would only exist during their childhood.
“Wow. I can’t believe my son is too cool for dad hugs now.” He shook his head in mock disbelief, drawing a snort of amusement from Neteyam. “I should have known this day would come.”
Lo’ak rolled his eyes extra dramatically, but went in for another quick hug anyway. “Okay,” he said seriously once he pulled back. “Now we really have to go. I bet Spider’s already waiting.”
Dad smiled, ruffling his youngest son’s hair affectionately. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled. “Probably shouldn’t keep him waiting then. Go on.”
His brother whooped in excitement, darting for the flap with Kiri close behind. “Neteyam,” Dad called. “Keep your siblings out of trouble.”
He smiled, feeling important as he nodded quickly. “I know,” he said seriously, a hint of pride bleeding into his voice. “They’re safe with me.”
Dad’s expression shifted to something closer to affectionate pride, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I know they are. You’re a good brother.”
Neteyam beamed brighter at that, puffing out his chest. The words lifted his heart until he thought it might burst from pride, and he gave Dad one last determined nod before following his siblings out into the village.
His brother and sister were already halfway across the path, so he had to jog to catch up. Lo’ak’s eyes brightened as he slowed beside them, a wide grin splitting his face. “Hey ‘Teyam...” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What?”
His brother smirked. “Race you!” And he took off with a teasing laugh.
“Hey—!” Neteyam sprinted after Lo'ak with a betrayed screech, Kiri on his heels, shouting quick apologies to the half-dozen people they nearly bowled over. The cool wind rushed against his face, sending his braids flying behind him. The forest floor was soft beneath his feet, cool, long grass brushing his toes.
“Lo’ak cheated!” Kiri puffed indignantly from her position behind him, face set in determination.
He grinned, “Come on, we can still beat him,” he responded, ducking his head and pushing his legs to go faster. And sure enough, he soon outpaced his brother, sticking out his tongue in triumph as he passed the younger boy.
Just a moment later they broke into the clearing that led to the tall, sharp structures of Hell’s Gate. He slowed, chest heaving as he collapsed into the sunlit grass beside the trickling creek. Lo’ak flopped down beside him, and a moment later Kiri joined them on his other side. They didn’t speak, just lay against the soft ground drinking the warmth of Alpha Centauri, fighting to catch their breath.
Neteyam’s gaze trailed over the familiar, yet unnatural forms that made up the Human base, and a small shiver ran down his spine. No matter how many times he saw them, the unnatural, angular buildings of Hell’s Gate still managed to make his chest twinge in discomfort.
“Took you guys long enough,” A familiar voice whined, and Neteyam’s eyes moved to find his friend perched halfway up a tree. His tangled golden curls framed his face as he peered down at them cheekily.
Lo’ak lifted his head enough to squint at the human boy, his brow furrowing in a defensive expression. “We were racing,” he replied, as if that explained everything. “And Kiri was being a slowpoke.”
Kiri pushed herself into a sitting position to face their sibling, which Neteyam quickly followed. Her tail lashed, stirring up leaves and twigs. “No, I wasn’t!”
“You’re like a sleepy palulukan.”
With a screech, Kiri launched herself at Lo’ak. They turned into a rolling, tangled mass of limbs as they attempted to pin the other to the ground. “Penis face! I hate you!” his sister squealed.
“You’re a penis face!” his brother retorted, growling as she made a failed attempt at pinning his arms to the ground.
Spider slid down from the tree, landing with a thump beside Neteyam. He watched the two younger kids with a half-smile, exasperation and amusement mixing in a way that mirrored his own.
“Should we stop them?”
Neteyam shook his head with an exasperated scoff, rolling his eyes at the two as he pushed himself to his feet. “They’ll probably give it up if we threaten to leave them behind.”
Spider snorted, the noise sounding a little strange as it bounced behind his mask. “Come on you two,” he shouted over the hissing and insults. “Stop acting like a bunch of nantang pups or we’re gonna go by ourselves.”
At that the two Na’vi kids paused, Lo’ak mid-tug of a fistful of his sister’s hair, and Kiri with her mouth open and aimed for her brother’s forearm. Neteyam scowled at them in mild annoyance. “Lo’ak, stop pulling Kiri’s hair,” he hissed. “And Kiri, don’t bite. You two are acting like five-year-olds that should still be confined to the village.”
His siblings finally broke apart, hair tangled, and skin stained with patches of dirt. They stood, ears pinning against their heads in embarrassment. “Sorry Neteyam,” they mumbled in unsynchronized unison.
He sighed through his nose, but the annoyance didn’t quite reach his heart. It rarely did with them. “It’s fine,” he muttered, though his tone still held that older-brother-firmness that he tended to fall into. “Just stop fighting every five seconds.”
Lo’ak shot a glare at his sister, hair beads clacking together as he turned to face her. “She started it!”
“Did not,” Kiri huffed.
Spider groaned, cutting them both off. “You guys always say that.”
Neteyam rolled his eyes, though unable to stop the fond smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as annoyance melted into affection. “Come on. We didn’t come all the way out here to stand around arguing.”
The irritation in each of his siblings’ eyes dissolved as they remembered that there was still a whole forest to explore, and they scurried off at a brisk walk. The looks they wore were the same ones that Neteyam knew he wore back when his parents first started taking him into the forest, when he was still deep in the grasp of childhood innocence.
He was not much older than Lo’ak and Kiri, and strangely, Spider was older than Neteyam. But sometimes he felt as if he was ten years divided from the three of them, already a warrior while they’re still wide-eyed kids. Dad always said he’s mature for his age, which never failed to squeeze his chest with pride.
As they walked along the nantang-carved paths, Neteyam couldn’t help but smile as he watched his siblings, and the human boy who might as well have been one of them. Spider was almost showing off as they moved through the trees, scrambling up boulders and swinging back down on the vines just to prove he could. Occasionally, Kiri would stop to admire some shiny rock or interesting plant, and Lo’ak would roll his eyes at her.
“By Eywa,” she muttered after her brother’s third or so impatient sigh. “Maybe if he stopped being such a skxawng, the Great Mother would open his eyes.”
Lo’ak and Spider were probably too far ahead to have heard her annoyed mumblings, though Neteyam did. But he just smiled and shook his head quietly, mild confusion mixing with affection in his stomach.
His sister was weird, with her strange and cryptic comments and piercing gaze. That was something not even she would deny. But her weirdness was one of the things he loved most about her, just like he loved Lo’ak’s reckless streak, and Tuk’s curiosity, and Spider’s teasing humor. He loved every part of his siblings, even the parts other people thought were weird or annoying. And all Neteyam hoped was that they wouldn’t ever change.
Neteyam squinted in concentration, pulling the bowstring back in one swift motion. The hot sun beat down on his back through gaps in the trees, a few beads of sweat forming on his skin. He focused his eyes on his target, though they felt heavy with fatigue. He took a moment to judge the force he’d need without it being too much or too little, when the abrupt shrieking call of some animal pierced his focus.
The string suddenly slipped from his fingers, which were trembling with effort. The arrow sliced through the air, just barely missing the yerik’s heart and instead veering slightly to the left. It slid into the creature’s shoulder cleanly, and it let out a shrill sound of pain as its body fell onto the ground.
“Dammit,” Dad muttered from where he was crouched in the undergrowth beside his son. “You missed the heart. It’s still alive.”
“Sorry sir,” Neteyam answered quietly, disappointment curling in his stomach. He pulled his knife from the sheath against his waist and quickly made his way to the animal, driving the blade straight into its chest.
It fell still with a shudder. He pulled the arrow from its body and slid it back into the pouch strapped to his back, murmuring a quick prayer. Dad came up beside him and frowned at the extra entrance wound.
“I’m sorry. My hand slipped,” Neteyam said quickly, thick shame coating his throat as he swallowed. The yerik did not deserve that extra pain and fear before its death, he scolded himself silently, although the voice bared a strange resemblance to his dad’s. Be better next time.
Dad sighed, exhaling a mix of bottled-up stress and quiet disappointment. “It’s okay son. Just...try harder next time.”
For a moment, annoyance flared in Neteyam’s chest. It was a simple mistake—the string was slippery, his hands were oddly shaky, he was trying his best, and—Eywa, he sounded like Lo’ak. But the feeling dissipated as quickly as it came, replaced with guilt.
“Yes sir,” he murmured, the response muscle memory, face burning. He’s right. Neteyam thought, frowning, as they began carrying his catch back to the village. I wasn’t focusing enough. I know better.
The thoughts continued to come as they moved through the forest, his jaw tightening and tail flicking the louder they got. And as they deposited the kill by the village cookfire and a few passerby proudly congratulated him, he found his chest was missing the usual pride that came with the praise.
“’Teyam! Bro, hey!” The voice broke him from his thoughts, loosening the negative emotions just a little. He did his best to give Lo’ak a smile as his brother hurried up to greet him, Kiri and Spider on his heels.
“Hey bro,” he greeted warmly, stomach loosening a little at the sight of familiar disheveled hair and dirt-scuffed skin. The other two weren’t much cleaner, and Neteyam couldn’t help but smile at the state of Spider’s wild golden curls. “Hey Kiri. Hey Spider.”
The two older kids didn’t have a chance to answer, before Lo’ak was making a sound of amazement, staring wide-eyed at the creature by his feet. “Is that your catch?” he asked, voice high-pitched with awe and excitement.
Neteyam’s face warmed, and he rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture that was very much like their father. The wind blew through his hair gently, giving him a curtain of braids to hide behind. “I mean—Dad helped. But yeah.”
Spider let out an impressed hum. “That’s a pretty big one bro.”
Kiri, ever the strange one, mumbled something under her breath that sounded like prayer before giving him an approving nod. “It is beautiful brother.”
He laughed quietly, the sound a little more self-deprecating than he intended. His fingers tightened around the soft wood of his bow, edges digging into his palms. “Thanks guys. I messed up the shot though.”
Spider rolled his eyes, elbowing him playfully in the side. Or well—more like his hip with the height difference that had appeared between them recently. “You’re too hard on yourself skxawng. Just accept the compliment.”
He laughed for real that time, the kind that only his brothers could drag out of him. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks.”
Spider laughed with him quietly, but after a moment it faded into something more serious. “So,” he started, startling Neteyam with the sudden serious tone. “You’ve been busy lately.”
He winced. It was true that he’d been busier than usual. Ever since they got the news of new RDA ships heading for their planet, everything had been busier. He’d started his warrior training early, Mom and Dad teaching him how to hunt and fight when they weren’t in meetings with the elders or other clan leaders. He hadn’t even hung out with his siblings much lately, let alone Spider.
“Yeah,” he replied, guilt coiling in his stomach. “I guess I have.”
Spider smiled, but it wasn’t his usual easy grin. It was slightly forced, the kind he used when he was trying pretend he wasn’t upset. “When are you gonna hang out with us again? Unless you’re trying to avoid us.”
“I’m not avoiding you!” he snapped immediately, even surprising himself with the sudden defensiveness. “Sometimes I just—have more important things to do.”
The second the words left his mouth and Spider’s face fell even more, he realized it was supposed to be a joke. A lighthearted attempt at rekindling their familiar banter. Usually, he could read his human brother as easily as ‘angtsik tracks.
The guilt burrowed deeper. He must have been more tired than he thought; he almost always had complete control over his words. Lo’ak was the brother who blurted things out and regretted them after, not him.
“Right, yeah.” Spider cleared his throat, an obvious attempt to draw their attention away from the hurt clouding his eyes. The guilt flared stronger, nausea creeping up his throat despite his attempts to swallow it back down.
“No that’s not—” he started quickly, but the words tangled in his throat. He huffed a frustrated exhale, dragging a hand down his face. “That came out wrong.”
Lo'ak snorted, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. “Clearly.”
“Not the time Skxawng.”
“I didn’t mean you’re not important,” Neteyam continued, before his younger siblings could spiral into an argument. “There’s just...a lot going on. You know the Sky People are coming back. With all their metal weapons and machines. Dad says we have to be ready. Especially me.”
“That’s so unfair,” Lo’ak muttered immediately, frowning and crossing his arms sulkily. “I should be training too.”
“You are training.”
“Not like you!”
Neteyam sighed, a sound that wasn’t quite annoyance. “I’m the oldest,” he replied simply. “I have to protect you guys. And The People. You know that.”
That was enough to quiet his brother, who just exhaled in resigned irritation and rolled his eyes. They’d all gotten the ‘Neteyam is the oldest’ speech one too many times—although for Lo’ak it was more about his tendency to ignore that.
“You look tired,” Kiri piped up quietly, in that tone that said she knew more than she was letting on. Her eyes were gentler than usual.
He flinched at the observation, shaking his head despite the truth in her words. “I’m fine Kiri.”
His sister didn’t argue, though they both knew it was a lie. Instead she hummed doubtfully and turned to Lo’ak instead. “Didn’t we come out here for a reason? Ninat still wants those herbs.”
His brother’s eyes widened in remembrance. “Oh yeah. Shit.”
All three kids scowled at their brother’s use of the English swearing. “Mom will scratch your eyes out if she hears you say that,” Neteyam scolded.
Lo’ak rolled his eyes, mouth widening in a mischievous grin. “Shit, shit, shit. Oh, I’m sooo scared." Kiri reached over to smack him lightly on the shoulder, and he let out an offended squawk.
Spider snorted, shaking his head in amusement as they continued to go at each other. “Skxawngs.”
His sister rolled her eyes, shifting from foot to foot in impatience. She frowned at Lo’ak with an expression that looked strikingly similar to their mother. “Can we please go get those herbs before Ninat comes looking for us herself?”
His brother winced. “Yeah, great idea. She’s scary.”
“She is not.”
“Once she made me sort roots for an hour Kiri!”
“Cause you kept mixing them up!”
The two older boys watched as their siblings wandered off in the direction of Mo’at’s pod, the sound of their bickering fading. Spider turned back to Neteyam, the seriousness returning to his expression. “You should come with us,” he offered hopefully. “Now that you finished your hunt.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but his gaze flickered back to the limp body beside him. To the extra hole in its shoulder, dried blood crusting at the edges. It brought that sinking feeling back to his stomach, the echo of Try Harder bouncing around his skull.
“I have to train,” he mumbled, heart constricting in his chest at Spider’s disappointed expression. His tail flicked before he could stop it, the only show of his own pain he’d allow.
“You can’t take a break?”
Eywa, he wanted to. He wanted with all his heart to go bounding after his siblings in the forest, laughing as they tripped over roots and got a mouthful of leaves. He wanted to go back to being a child with them, back to a time where his biggest concern was where they would play or keeping Spider away from their mother. But he couldn’t. Instead, he had to train, and then train harder when he messed up. Because he had to be able to protect them; He was the oldest.
“Sorry Lil’ bro,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light for the sake of his brother. It was a running joke between them—technically Spider was the oldest, but Neteyam far surpassed him in height. Usually, he’d grin and remind Neteyam that he was really the little brother.
But instead of returning the joke, the human boy sighed, a slight hint of loneliness clouding his gaze. “Yeah, I figured. We just miss you,” he frowned, running a hand through his tangled golden hair. “I miss you. Watching Kiri and Lo’ak argue isn’t as fun without you.”
Neteyam swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He hated how Spider was starting to look like a wilting sun lily. “Maybe I could teach you how to use a bow soon,” he offered optimistically. “We could practice together.”
His brother brightened just a little at that, hope filling his brown eyes once again. “Yeah, okay. That...sounds fun.” And with that he turned to leave. His gaze drifted back over his shoulder, just for a moment, like he was deciding whether or not to try and push one last time.
If he did, Neteyam wasn’t sure he’d be able to say no.
But finally he gave a resigned sigh and murmured, “Bye ‘Teyam,” shoulders slumping as he headed off into the village to find Kiri and Lo’ak.
Neteyam turned to head back into the forest, but his heart ached right in the space he kept his siblings. He wasn’t sure if he’d made the right decision. He felt...distant from Spider. From all his siblings—more so than before. He hated how he felt like he was drifting, leaving them behind in childhood while he sprinted towards warriorhood.
But that thought was squished as soon as it made itself known, by the ever-present reminder that both held him together and tore him apart. It’s my job to protect them. I have to protect them.
He wondered, not for the first time, if that meant sacrificing himself.
“We should be fighting,” Lo’ak muttered, tail lashing as he irritably packed away his riding guards. “We’re warriors too. We’re trained to fight. Not fucking babysit.”
Neteyam rolled his eyes, snorting. It seemed his brother had conveniently forgotten that he was the one who got them grounded from scout duty. If he had just kept his mouth shut instead of arguing about being allowed to fight, maybe they would be in the sky instead of stuck in the cave that held their pod.
“Dad said we stay,” he sighed. A simple, default response. “So we stay.”
Lo’ak muttered something unintelligible in response, but didn’t argue any further. Still, his eyes burned with annoyance, half of which was probably left over from his fight with their dad. It was the same look he’d worn too often recently—sharp anger layered over something like hurt.
Since the RDA had come back and they'd moved to High Camp, Lo’ak’s reckless streak had gone from a spark to a blaze. Neteyam could have sworn his brother thought he was invincible with the way he threw himself into danger. When you mixed that with a father who was responsible for the safety of his entire clan, it didn’t go too well.
Neteyam could almost laugh when he watched his dad and Lo’ak argue. Same lashing tails, same furrowed brow, same blazing golden eyes. They were so similar it was like watching someone fight their own reflection.
Like his mother would say—they were arrows carved from the same tree.
“Are you two done sulking?” Kiri asked in exasperation, turning from a pot of boiling stew to raise her eyebrow at them. “You two need to clean up. Tuk and I cooked.”
“We made payoang stew!” Tuk added eagerly, oblivious to the tension in their pod as she attempted to show off a spoonful of broth that instead ended up on the floor. Kiri tutted quietly, grabbing a piece of cloth and quickly mopping up the spill.
Lo’ak crossed his arms defiantly. “What about him?” He jutted an accusing finger at Spider, who was sitting cross-legged in the corner. “He’s not helping.”
Their friend blinked in alarm, clearly not expecting to be dragged into the Sully kids’ drama. “Hey!” he said indignantly. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” Neteyam muttered tiredly, dragging a hand over his face. “Lo’ak is just touchy today.”
“I am not!”
“You are,” Kiri replied mildly, causing their brother’s ears to pin against his head. He opened his mouth to argue, but Neteyam cut in before they could start a full-on argument.
“We’ll clean. Spider can do his part after we eat.”
His sister exhaled, tossing the dirty rag to the side. “Thank you.”
Neteyam moved to start straightening the cooking dishes, but Lo’ak stayed still. He glanced up at the younger boy, trying not to let his annoyance reach his tone. “Well?”
His brother glared back at him, posture rigid and defensive. “Why do you care so much?”
He blinked in mixed annoyance and confusion. “Because it has to be done.”
“Not that.” Lo’ak scowled, the fire in his eyes suddenly burning brighter. “About what Dad says. About what we’re supposed to do. About keeping everything in line like you’re already Olo’eyktan or something!”
Neteyam scowled back, lashing his tail once as he hissed in irritation. “Come on bro. This isn’t about winning some argument.”
“You’re right!” His brother shouted, his voice slowly rising in volume. His ears pinned against his head in anger. “It’s not! It's always about following orders and being the perfect fucking little soldier!”
“Lo’ak!” Kiri growled in warning, pressing her hands over their teary-eyed sister’s ears. “You’re scaring Tuk!”
“Well she should be scared!” Lo’ak hissed in response, throwing up his hands. “We should all be scared, because no one trusts us to do anything about the demons destroying our home!”
There it is.
Neteyam felt a strange satisfaction at finally seeing the shadow behind his brother’s shallow annoyance come to light. He was afraid. He was afraid and tired of watching his home be slowly torn apart, of watching fewer people come home than the amount that left, and not being able to do anything about it. The same exact fear that had been haunting himself since the sky people returned.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, irritation dissolving. He knew how to handle his brother’s anger once he knew where it came from. “Lo’ak, listen,” he started softly.
But his brother interrupted before he could continue. “No, you listen!” he snapped. “I’m done sitting around while everyone else fights! I’m done being treated like a kid!”
He froze, startled at the sudden burst of emotion flooding from Lo’ak. A familiar protectiveness flooded his system. “You are a kid,” he said sharply, the words slipping out before he could soften them.
Lo’ak’s eyes narrowed, hurt flashing across his gaze. “We don’t have time to be kids anymore,” he replied, low and quiet. It sounded so much like Neteyam’s own thoughts for the last few years it sent shivers down his spine. “I’m done being the stupid little brother. I’m going.”
Warning bells exploded in his head, freezing him in place as panic flooded his limbs. Lo’ak quickly grabbed his bow from the hook on the wall, and a pouch of Mom’s arrows from beside the door. And then before Neteyam’s brain could catch up, his brother was bolting from the pod.
“Lo’ak, wait—” He jolted forward to grab his brother’s arm, but it was too late. His body snapped back into protection mode, sending him flying around the pod to grab his gear. He couldn’t let his baby brother run off into a battle alone. The idea of something happening to him, of him getting injured or worse, made the panic thrum harder.
“Where’s Lo’ak going?” Tuk sniffed, staring at the place he’d disappeared. “He hasn’t eaten yet...”
His heart ached to see his baby sister’s confusion and disappointment at such a simple thing. Lo’ak had been like that once, just an innocent child with the smallest of worries. But right now he was a kid who thought he was a warrior, running headfirst towards an early death.
“Kiri, Spider,” he barked, his voice commanding in way that was strangely like their mother. “Do not follow me. Keep Tuk safe.”
“Neteyam, come on,” Kiri protested irritably, but he was already sprinting out into the cave in the direction Lo’ak had gone. He caught sight of him already at the edge of the cliff, not even glancing back before mounting his ikran.
Eywa, he’s going to get himself killed.
“Lo’ak, get your skxawng ass back here!” he shouted, but it was no use. Blue and brown-speckled wings took to the air, sending another tremor of fear through his veins. The gust of wind sent his braids flying into his eyes, and he pushed them out of his face instinctually.
He vocalized for his ikran, a hint of relief mixing with the adrenaline as Seylan’s familiar blue-green figure landed in front of him. He made tsaheylu with practiced ease, his ikran’s mind flooding into his own. And with no more than an urgent thought, Seylan took to the sky with a shriek. Neteyam’s panic and steely determination seeped into the creature, and his friend sent him a soft wave of reassurance.
The cool air rushed against him as he squinted through the darkness, forever grateful for the soft light of Polyphemus. His sight caught on a familiar figure weaving through the air, sending another wave of determination coursing through the bond.
“Lo’ak!” He shouted as Seylan pushed himself to go faster, but his brother was still too far ahead of them to hear. The shrieking of the wind only made him more powerless to get through, a wave of desperation rushing over him and causing his friend to let out another concerned shriek.
Then suddenly, another sound entered his hearing. Something strange and unnatural that grated against his ears and made his stomach roll. It was the unmistakable whir of the demon’s sky-ships, backed by crack of gunfire.
“Shit,” he hissed, stomach dropping like it was filled with stones. He’s flying right into an active battle zone.
Sharp yellow beams cut through the darkness ahead, emitted by the metal ship slowly coming into view. It hadn’t spotted Lo’ak yet, thank Eywa, but he knew it was only a matter of time. “Shit,” he hissed again. “Faster bro!”
Seylan complied, his own distress bleeding into Neteyam’s. His wings beat against the air while Neteyam lowered his body so the air cut over him. Please Eywa, he thought desperately. Don’t let my brother be killed by his own stupidity. If it comes to it, take me instead.
“Lo’ak!” He shouted again, but this time his brother seemed to hear. He twisted in his saddle, slowing to a pause, and at that moment the ship noticed them. It turned awkwardly with a sharp screech, the metal arms underneath it turning to face them.
No—not arms. Guns. And they were pointing straight at his brother.
His vision blurred red as furious panic blinded him. Time slowed, and his gaze fixed on the metal weapon. Too many things happened at once for him to process.
He screamed his brother’s name.
Heat exploded behind them. Neteyam slammed Seylan into his brother.
Wings crashed together and pain flared in his shoulder.
And then suddenly, the four of them were tumbling towards the forest floor, lush trees rushing to greet them. He was ripped from the bond, and as they separated his mind calmed just enough that he could send a silent prayer to Eywa.
Please Great Mother, help us.
He plummeted through the canopy, and his hands somehow found a tangle of vines causing his fall to come to a stop. He sucked in a sharp breath, air rushing into his lungs like it was the first he’d taken in hours. The world rushed back into focus, the colors and sound assaulting his senses as pain flared in his shoulder.
He glanced around, spotting his brother hanging on to another cluster a little farther away. Their eyes met, Lo’ak’s wide with shock and badly concealed fear. Thank you Eywa, he thought, hoping the Great Mother could hear his immense gratefulness.
“Slide down slowly,” Neteyam instructed, a small quiver piercing his practiced tone. He nodded to the massive glowing plants below them. “We can land on those torukspxam.”
His brother did as instructed, sliding down the thick vines and landing with a soft thump. Neteyam followed, pain throbbing with every movement of his arm. Together, the Na’vi boys clumsily stumbled down the plants until their feet were finally back on solid ground.
Neteyam moved to inspect Lo’ak on a fear-driven instinct, praying he wouldn’t find any blood. “Are you hurt?” He demanded, preparing to find some horrific injury with each glance.
“I’m fine,” Lo’ak reassured him quickly, voice slightly shaky. “Just bruised.”
With one final sweep, he allowed himself to exhale, stepping away. “You’re hurt,” his brother observed worriedly, not bothering to conceal his fear. Neteyam shook his head, gently pressing a hand to his shoulder, wincing as it came away bloody. Thankfully, the wound was shallow. It would scar in a matter of weeks.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly, the adrenaline slowly seeping from his body. It left him exhausted, every part of him aching with bruises, his mind still trying to process that he didn’t need to be in panic mode anymore.
Lo’ak’s eyes were still fixed on his bloody shoulder, pooling with emotions he didn’t have the energy to unpack. “It’s nothing,” Neteyam added, sharper this time. “We need to find our ikrans and get out of here.”
His brother nodded, seemingly drained from any fight he had left. He looked pale, but his expression hardened into determination as they began vocalizing for their ikrans. And after just long enough that Neteyam began to feel a pit of dread forming in his stomach, the two ikrans hurried out of the undergrowth clumsily.
“Sorry bro,” he apologized softly as he hurried up to his ikran, reaching up to scratch Seylan’s neck in the spot he loved. “You okay?”
His ikran chirped calmly in response, something that would have been close to I forgive you if he were Na’vi. Next to them, Lo’ak murmured softly, earning a stubborn huff followed by a rumbling trill.
Neteyam had just allowed his muscles to relax when he heard the sharp sound of footsteps moving towards them. He hissed, springing back into protection mode as he grabbed his bow and aimed in the direction of the sounds, shoulder screaming at the movement.
“Lo’ak! Neteyam!”
The familiar voice froze him in his tracks. He lowered the bow just as Dad came sprinting into the clearing, eyes wide and panicked. “Neteyam, what happened?” he snapped, eyes darting to the blooming red on his son’s arm. “Are you okay?" His voice was shaking despite the commanding tone, clearly expecting the worst.
“I’m fine, I just got grazed by a bullet,” he replied quickly, sagging with relief at the sight of their dad. Still, Dad insisted on inspecting him for injuries just as Neteyam had been doing to Lo’ak moments ago, maneuvering him around until he was satisfied. He repeated the same process with his youngest son a moment later, the panic finally draining from his gaze as he stepped back.
It was quickly replaced with hardened anger, and Neteyam drew a shaky breath. “What the hell were you boys thinking? Do you know how close you were to getting shot up there?”
Familiar shame settled in Neteyam’s gut, twisting and strangling him like a snake. He should have grabbed Lo’ak earlier, somehow kept him from leaving High camp like he was supposed to. What kind of older brother was he that he’d nearly allowed his baby brother’s death?
“I’m sorry sir,” he apologized, ducking his head. “It was my fault.”
Dad’s expression softened just a little, but the sharp edge didn’t leave his tone. His tail lashed in agitation “Neteyam, don’t take the blame for your brother’s behavior.”
He ducked his head again, noticing his brother’s pained, regretful expression out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry,” Lo’ak interjected quietly, voice strained with guilt and leftover fear, ears pinning against his head. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Dad’s eyes hardened again, but this time with something Neteyam couldn’t place. “Clearly,” he growled. “You almost got your brother killed, Lo’ak.”
The younger Na’vi flinched, his ikran making a comforting noise and bumping her nose against his side. And for once, Lo’ak didn’t argue, everything about him screaming defeat. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again, voice flat.
Dad exhaled slowly, muttering a string of exasperation-filled English words. “We'll talk about this at home,” he said, his tone telling Neteyam that it’ll probably be more of a scolding than talking. “You boys got lucky. That was the last airship.”
They mounted their Ikrans slowly, Neteyam trying not to flinch with every flare of his shoulder. Seylan sent him a thought of comfort, and he smiled softly, rubbing his blue-green neck affectionately. They took to the sky, and Neteyam was surprised to find the tension didn’t leave him as it usually did when he was flying. Instead it lingered, thickening the air around him.
The thought that he would soon be fighting those demon ships made him want to vomit. Just being close to one had been terrifying enough. The idea of shooting an arrow straight while filled with that panic was a fantasy.
And the thought of Lo’ak going anywhere near the sky people again made him feel even worse. He had to swallow the lump in his throat forming at the idea, because there was nothing he could do to change it. His brother was becoming a warrior faster than Neteyam would like—it was only a matter of time before they would be racing into battle side-by-side.
So with a sideways glance at Lo'ak’s too-young form lit by Polyphemus, he made himself a promise.
I will keep my siblings alive, he decided, jaw setting with determination. Even if it kills me.
Neteyam stared out at the wide expanse of water before him, rolling and crashing with a fury he wasn't used to from his planet. The vast openness made him feel uncomfortably exposed, the back of his neck tingling every time he sensed movement. It was all so unfamiliar, nothing like the forest’s thick plant life and towering trees. Here, there was just water.
Deep, blue, endless water.
Now that he finally had a moment to sit, his chest throbbed louder with the ache that was ever-present in his chest since arriving in Awa’atlu. He’d managed to ignore it for the most part, keeping busy with swimming lessons, taking care of Tuk, warrior duties, and anything else he could do around the village.
But today, Tonowari had noticed his constant working and ordered him to take some time for himself. Or well—to spend some time ‘being a child,’ as the man had put it. And only once he’d made it across the village and to the beach, had he realized he had no idea what to do with himself.
Neteyam hadn’t been a child in a long time.
So he’d sat on the sand and allowed himself to just...think for the first time in a long while. And the immediate thought that hit him was how much he wanted to go home.
Not High Camp—the stone mountains had never been home. No, he wanted to go back to the village he grew up in, nestled deep within the trees of Eywa’s forest. Back to the yerik trails he and his siblings would follow adventurously, or the creek near Hell’s Gate where they would wrestle while waiting for Spider.
Spider.
He hadn’t been close to his human brother in years, not how they were when they were kids. Life had slowly pulled them apart, until there was more distance between them than ever. But Neteyam still loved him as he did his blood siblings. They would always be brothers—so he couldn’t help but wonder if he could have stopped Spider from being taken.
But he didn’t. And now his brother is in the clutches of the sky people, far from the forest he loves, enduring Eywa knows what.
Or worse.
His stomach twisted sharply, guilt and fear threatening to choke him. He couldn’t let himself finish the thought—Dad had said the demons had some kind of messed up moral about humanity. They wouldn't kill a child in cold-blood.
Neteyam refused to consider the options that didn't leave blood on the demon’s hands.
Spider was alive. He was tough—he’d managed to thrive with a species so different from his own. Neteyam had watched him calmly pop his own dislocated shoulder back into place. He could survive this.
Still, he tried not to think about how he’d failed one of the people he’d sworn to protect.
“Neteyam?”
His mother’s voice sliced through the roar of his mind, making him straighten immediately out of habit. He turned to see her just as she came up behind him, even expression not betraying her emotions.
“Mother,” he greeted, smiling faintly.
She settled herself on the sand beside him with a ghost of a smile, golden eyes settling on him with an unreadable expression. “My son.”
Her hand moved to run through his braids once, the familiar motion loosening some of the tension in his muscles. He leaned into it just a fraction, relishing the warm strength of her hand. He hadn’t had much time to spend one-on-one with his mother since his training began years ago.
“You are troubled,” she murmured, tilting her head peering at him in a way that said she knew more than she let on. It made him squirm under her gaze like he was a misbehaving child.
He huffed a quiet breath, shifting his gaze back towards the ocean. “I’m fine,” he replied automatically. Then quieter, he added, “Just...missing the forest.”
And Spider.
His mother hummed softly, the sound both sympathetic and unsurprised. “You are like me,” she commented warmly. “Your heart lies with the trees.”
The sea wind moved through his hair gently, the beads making a familiar clacking sound. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess I am.”
They went quiet for a while, sitting in each other’s presence and listening to the roar of the ocean. Neteyam allowed his mind to drift with the water as it pulled back, across the sea and back into his memories of home.
He thought about some of his earliest memories, sitting with his grandmother in her pod while she sang the stories of his family’s songcords. He thought about the first time he met Spider— when the human boy had snuck out of Hell’s Gate to explore the forest and somehow found his way into the village. He thought about wrestling with Kiri and the older boy at the river near their pod, before they were allowed to explore on their own. He thought about the time Dad helped him kill his first fish, the day Tuk was born, the day he bonded with Seylan, and all the times his youngest sister would beg to tag along with them on their adventures.
His emotions threatened to barrel him over with how fast they hit. His throat clogged with nostalgia, longing, and anger all at once as he wondered who’s right it was to take that life away.
Once again, it was his mother’s voice that cut through the red fog clouding his vision. “I’m not good with the water,” she said conversationally, oblivious to the storm Neteyam kept hidden so well. “It is not natural to me. Not like flying.”
He swallowed thickly to calm his rising emotions, but they didn’t fully dissipate. “I’m not either. But Lo’ak and Kiri already seem at home.” The last part came out more bitter than he intended, and he ducked his head in an embarrassed apology.
Mom laughed, the sound breathy and warm. “Those two are very much your father’s children. Their roots are not in one place. But you...” she paused to smile in a motherly way he hadn’t seen since leaving, and tucked a stray braid behind his ear. “You are my son. Our roots are in the trees and sky. We are one, my Neteyam.”
Everything in him softened, defenses melting away like water. Suddenly he was a child again, feeling nothing but safe and loved as he sat next to his mother. He leaned into her without thinking, and she moved to drape her arm around his shoulders.
For just a moment, he let himself sink into it completely. No pressure, no homesickness, no constant awareness of everything that could go wrong. His eyes slipped shut, chest light for the first time in days. Her hand came up to smooth his braids again, running her hand through the roots like she used to do when he had nightmares.
“Neteyam!” The shriek broke through the peace, and he opened his eyes just in time to watch Tuk barrel into him, her small arms wrapping tightly around his waist. He fell back into the sand with a yelp, wincing as he spat grains that had splashed into his mouth.
“Tuk,” he groaned, propping himself up on his now slightly bruised arms. “You’ve gotta stop doing that. You’re getting big.”
She grinned from her position on his stomach, her face way too close to his for comfort. “I know!” she chirped with a cheeky smile, and he swatted at her teasingly. She let out a high-pitched mock hiss, but relented and climbed off him.
He laughed quietly, pushing himself back into a sitting position. “One of these days you’re gonna crush me Tuk-Tuk.”
There was a splash from behind them, and a new voice joined them. “Wow,” Lo’ak snorted, coming around into Neteyam’s field of vision. “The mighty warrior Neteyam, defeated by a child half his size.”
He rolled his eyes, pretending not to hear his mother’s traitorous laugh. “Skxawng!”
Tuk crouched to his level, clearly ignoring their brother’s comment on her height. “Come swim with us!” she chirped hopefully. “Kiri’s training with Ronal, and you haven’t played with us in forever!”
“Yeah,” Lo’ak added. “You’ve been off doing warrior stuff for days.”
Their sister, seemingly deciding that she wasn’t going to let him make his own decision, grabbed his hand and pulled him up with surprising strength. “Come on!” she growled persuasively. “Stop being boring!”
Neteyam glanced back at his mother out of habit, and she tutted in exasperation. “Go explore with your siblings,” she demanded, though a smile cracked her serious expression. “You have plenty of light until eclipse.”
He nodded, turning back to Tuk with a smile. “Okay, okay” he relented, ruffling her hair as she squealed and batted his hand away. “Let’s go.”
She gave a whoop of excitement, taking off down the beach. Lo’ak followed after her, shouting something about patience, and Neteyam snorted at that irony.
His mother was watching them fondly, and he turned to her with a little of the heaviness returned to his chest. “I’ll keep them safe and out of trouble,” he reassured automatically. The mantra had been drilled into him so often he repeated it without prompting.
She gave him an odd look he couldn’t place, tilting her head. “My son,” she said slowly, voice edged with both confusion and affection. “I’m not telling you to go with them to keep an eye. I’m telling you to go explore with your siblings. Like you used to in the forest.”
He blinked, the words sending a jolt of surprise through him. The thought of not being sent after them as a babysitter was foreign. It left a strange taste in his mouth, a feeling he couldn’t place.
“Oh.”
Mom smiled, shaking her head fondly. “Your siblings are lucky to have such a devoted brother.”
He couldn’t help but smile bashfully, the praise warming him in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. “I mean—someone has to look out for them.”
“Neteyam!” Tuk called suddenly from the other side of the beach, crossing her arms in impatience. “Hurry up!”
“Go,” his mother ordered gently, still smiling. It crinkled at the corners of her eyes, which sparkled with fondness. “Be with them.”
He nodded, a real smile splitting his own face as he turned and ran after them.
“Go! Get out of here!” Neteyam shouted, waving his hand at Payakan and his siblings. “I’ll lead them away!”
Lo’ak nodded, and he prayed to Eywa that his little brother would be able to protect their sisters. He shifted the orange tracker to rest under his arm, the metal strangely smooth against his skin. He took a huge gulp of air, and with just a thought his ilu dove down into the ocean.
They sped up, and the water pulled at his limbs, so unlike the air he was used to. He glanced behind him to make sure the pull wasn’t costing them speed, just in time for something to explode in the water beside them. The blast nearly managed to knock him over, but he gritted his teeth and pulled himself back into position.
Just a little farther, he thought, keeping his eyes trained on the ship as they kept moving through the water. He finally let the tracker fall into a patch of coral, hoping it would be enough to keep the hunters at bay long enough for his siblings and the Metkayina kids to get away. His ilu dove deeper without any direction from him, and Neteyam was finally able to realize how much his lungs were burning, and his heart was pounding as the ship shrunk behind them.
We need to surface, he thought, wishing he had the breath stamina Lo’ak and Kiri had somehow already developed. His ilu chirped in agreement, tilting its body upwards and propelling them towards the faint sunlight.
They broke the surface, and Neteyam took in a gasping lungful of air. He patted the ilu’s neck in praise, although it’s smooth, wet skin was still strange under his fingertips. He took a moment to breathe, calming his heart, before he would decide what to do next.
“Neteyam!”
The familiar call startled him, as he glanced up to see his mother and Sa’ata swoop down to hover beside him. “My child,” she said quickly, her eyes doing a quick sweep of his body. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, breath hitching at the fear and anger so clear in her expression. Instinctive alarm bells sounded in his mind at the emotions. “What happened?” he asked, gut twisting as his heart kicked back up. “What’s wrong?”
She hissed furiously, nodding towards the faint outline of the ship. “Lo’ak and Tuk,” she growled, the names making his heart plummet even before her next words. “They have been taken.”
“Shit,” he muttered, fear rising in his throat like bile. He positioned himself to take off again, preparing to head into battle. “We’re going after them, right?”
To his dismay, Mother shook her head with a grim expression. He immediately opened his mouth to argue, but she held out her hand in a motion of silence. “If we storm their ship like a Palulukan, we will die,” she snapped bluntly. “We must plan.”
“Okay,” he said, an edge of something sharp creeping into his voice as his stance loosened. “So what’s the plan? How do I help?”
At that she looked pained, glancing away. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and his heart plummeted further. “We must trust your father.” Then, glancing up with a more stern look she added, “But you will help by staying away.”
“What?” he interjected immediately, anger rising in his chest as much as he tried to push it down. “I need to fight! I’m a warrior! I am their older brother—”
She shook her head, stopping his words short with a commanding hiss. “No,” she growled. “This is bigger than the raids in the forest, and you are still a child.”
“But—”
“Enough,” she interrupted sharply, casting a glance behind her and reaching up to press something on her com. “I must go. You will stay away, and I will see you after the battle, once your siblings are returned to us.”
And without another word, she turned and sped off in the direction of the ship, leaving him behind. He swallowed against the anger, and his ilu chirped worriedly at his rising emotions. “I’m not a child,” he muttered to himself, voice rough from saltwater. “And I can’t just sit here while Lo’ak and Tuk are in danger.”
His mother wasn’t wrong that taking the Metkayina and storming the ship would be a horrible idea. Too many warriors would lose their lives, and the demons might even kill his siblings before anyone had a chance to get to them.
But they wouldn’t expect a lone, teenage warrior.
Before he had even fully made up his mind, his ilu was moving across the water again. Neteyam gave the signal to dive, sucking in a breath before his head once again plunged below the surface.
They stayed low, weaving through the large sea-plants for cover. He pressed himself flat against the creature’s neck as they cut through the currents, keeping one eye on the approaching ship.
Lo’ak better be keeping a level head, he thought grimly. Or he could get himself killed.
The idea sent new fear surging through his veins, and he urged them faster, heart beating more frantically the closer they got. And as they came up to the side of the ship, he peered through the water to see three Na’vi-shaped shadows at the edge of the deck. Not far off, he noticed a familiar Tulkun weaving and twisting with purposeful movements. Payakan.
He braced himself, sending his ilu speeding upwards. They leaped from the water, and Neteyam launched himself from his ilu to the railing of the demon ship, slipping for half a second on the wet metal. His wet braids smacked into his face as he clambered over the railing and landed on the ship deck.
Now out of the water, everything around him was pure chaos. Familiar battle cries sounded not far off, and Payakan’s bellows echoed through the air. Sky people were running around in every direction, screaming in fear and barking orders at each other in English. It blurred into nothing after only a moment, his senses narrowing in on his siblings.
“Neteyam!” Tuk cried happily, and his entire body loosened as he saw she wasn’t hurt. He moved to cut the first bindings he saw—Tsireya’s—and managed a grin of relief at his brother.
“Hey baby brother,” he greeted playfully, slipping into their usual banter without a thought. “Need some help?”
Lo’ak rolled his eyes, clearly unamused. “Shut up. Come on and get us loose.”
Neteyam didn’t respond, instead moving to cut the bindings on his sister’s wrists. Once she was free, he turned to Tsireya and pushed Tuk towards her. “Okay, get her out of here,” he ordered, thankful that he knew he could trust the Tsakarem to keep his baby sister safe.
“Bro, hurry up!” Lo’ak snapped, and Neteyam rolled his eyes as he moved to work on his brother’s ties.
“Who’s the mighty warrior? Come on, say it,” he said, trying to lighten the situation, grinning a little at the exasperated sigh and eyeroll he got in return.
He finally managed to get the bindings loose, grunting with effort as he pulled his knife upwards in one last motion. “Come on, let’s go,” he hissed quickly, turning and running towards the edge. However Lo’ak didn’t follow, instead going the opposite direction and picking up a gun he probably had no idea how to use.
“They’ve got Spider,” Lo’ak said urgently, crouching beside the stolen gun’s dead owner. “We’ve gotta get him. Come on!”
Neteyam froze, shaking his head slowly. His chest constricted with the thought of their human brother, everything in him practically screaming to go now that they were so close.
“Come on bro, we can’t leave him.”
All the guilt Neteyam had built up over the last few months came rushing down like a wave. His jaw clenched, the chaos around them slowing as his instincts battled for dominance.
The idea of allowing Lo’ak to sprint right into danger was something everything in him screamed against. But it was Spider. All Neteyam had wanted since he was taken was to have his human brother beside him again, to laugh and joke and have Spider back where he belonged.
Lo’ak was right. They couldn’t just leave their brother. He’d already failed Spider once. He wasn’t planning on failing him again. And really, there was no question about it. Because he had known his whole life that he would do anything to keep his siblings safe. He had always known his purpose—to protect. Even if it cost him his life.
He turned, nodding once to Lo’ak, and sprinted into the heart of the ship.