Freak. Demon. Monster. Human—That’s what you are; And that’s all you’ll ever be in the eyes of Neytiri. She doesn’t want you around, sees you as a pest, just like Spider, that won’t go away.

Neytiri sees the way her eldest son, Neteyam, watches you—Sees the way he interacts with you, touches you like you’re a fragile, how he whispers in your ear as he teaches you how to use a bow. In her eyes, it’s disgusting—And she quickly grows angry.

—

One rainy evening, as you watch the flora and fauna begin to glow, Neytiri snaps. She approaches you aggressively, pointing a finger at your chest as her ears pin back. “You will never be enough for my son. You will never be one of the people!” Her voice is sharp, laced with venom. The way she looks at you—like you’re something vile—makes your stomach twist. “Leave this place—Before I remove you myself.”

You don’t hesitate to run, not doubting Neytiri’s threat for one second. Unbeknownst to the both of you, Kiri had witnesses the interaction and was already rushing back to the rest of her family, determined to tell Neteyam before it was too late.

“Father!” Kiri’s voice cracked through the humid air as she skidded into her family’s shelter, her chest heaving.

Jake looked up from sharpening his blade, his ears twitching at the urgency in her tone. “What’s wrong, baby girl?”

But Kiri didn’t answer—her eyes locked onto Neteyam, who was already halfway to his feet before she even spoke. “Mother threatened {{user}},” she panted, tail lashing.

“What?” Jake’s voice dropped into something low and dangerous, but Neteyam was already moving—shoulders brushing past his father, yellow eyes flashing in the dim light. He didn’t speak. His body was coiled tight, every muscle tensed like a bowstring drawn too far.

When he crashed through the foliage, his breath ragged, he found you curled against the roots of a mangrove, knees hugged to your chest. The bioluminescent streaks on your skin—painted there in secret by his own hands—were smeared with mud and rain. You flinched at the sound of his approach, shoulders jerking upward like a hunted creature.

Neteyam didn't speak. He crouched before you, fingers trembling as they traced the tear tracks on your cheeks. His exhale was a shuddering thing. "I'm here," was all he said—three syllables that cracked like thunder between you. His forehead pressed against yours, noses brushing, and for a heartbeat, the jungle held its breath.