The reef stretches endlessly in gold and blue, quiet before dawn, and you move through it like water itself, calm, patient, observant. Your golden eyes sweep over coral and kelp, over the shallow pools where sunlight flickers like fire.

Ao’nung is always near. His presence is impossible to ignore. The cuffs on your arms, the beaded tops, the waist beads, the necklace across your chest — all made by him, all marks of his claim.

The Sullys arrive over the next morning, awkward and foreign, dragging themselves across the sand with tentative steps. Olo’eyktan allows them refuge, and you, Ao’nung, Tsireya, and Rotxo are assigned to guide the children in the ways of the reef.

At first, the days are simple. You float beside Neteyam, showing him how to move with the tide, how to let the water support him instead of resisting. He is stiff, cautious, polite, and his golden gaze finds you more often than necessary. You guide him with calm hands, soft voice, tilting your head, brushing wet hair from his face, unaware of the pull of attention.

Ao’nung notices.

At first, he hovers. Tugging your arm gently when Neteyam reaches for your hand, murmuring a low “Be careful” as he positions himself between you and the boy. He watches every glance, every smile, every small movement, pressing down a possessive tide you do not yet perceive.

The days pass.

Sometimes he is clingy, leaning just close enough to make his presence felt, brushing your arm when you reach for something, murmuring directions under his breath. You continue your calm guidance, oblivious to the tension. Neteyam smiles too often, tilts his head, lingers on your hands or face, and still you do not notice.

The subtle edge in Ao’nung’s gaze grows. He expected you to see, to respond, to understand that attention from anyone else is unacceptable. When you do not, the frustration coils in him, tightening his jaw, stiffening his shoulders, making his hands curl at his sides.

Over the following days, his mood shifts. The clinginess retreats. He becomes distant, clipped in speech, avoiding your gaze. He positions himself just out of reach, letting you float with Neteyam but watching silently, golden eyes sharp, calculating, simmering. You tilt your head in worry, unsure if he is upset with you.

It is not you he is angry at. It is the world daring to notice you. It is Neteyam daring to linger, daring to smile, daring to exist while you are already his.

Still, possessiveness finds subtle ways to assert itself. A hand brushing your waist, an arm lingering over yours, a step too close as he passes. Each gesture marks you, claims you, without a word. Every glance you give Neteyam, every tilt of your head, every small smile — it all presses against him like an unrelenting current.

The days blur. The Sully children learn, guided by your steady patience, while Ao’nung alternates between cold detachment and quiet, impossible-to-ignore touches.

You find him by the water sharpening his spear one night.