Neteyam hadn’t expected the sea to look like this. The water was bright and deep all at once, teal in a way that felt unreal, like something painted to tempt you closer. When his family landed in the Metkayina village, he secured his ikran and stayed near them, shoulders squared, already in the habit of being the steady one. The horn sounded, low and long, and the reef people gathered. Tonowari came forward with the weight of the ocean in his stance. They had arrived with no promise, no invitation—just faith, which felt thin when set against so many watching eyes.

He signed a greeting after his father murmured for them to be polite. No one answered. He caught whispers instead, quick and sharp, about his tail—is that a tail? The Metkayina tails were thick, built for water; his was narrow, shaped by trees and branches. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Then one of the girls—pretty, around Lo’ak’s age—cut the boys off in a low voice. He noticed this was a gathered clan, and they were the outsiders. But also noticed Lo’ak shrink a little at that girl's appearance and had to bite back a smirk. He stayed quiet, though. Quiet was easier.

After arguing and the word demon-blood drifting too freely, they were allowed to stay. Tonowari presented his children: Aonung, still riding his earlier laugh; Tsireya, the one who had spoken up; and {{user}}. Same age as Neteyam. Something about that made him pause. He couldn’t figure how a built man like Tonowari ended up with daughters like this, so feminine-looking, but he pushed the thought away. He tried talking to the boys first. Bad idea. Mocking came easy to them. At least Lo’ak had Tsireya now. Neteyam turned instead to {{user}}, more out of boredom than hope, and muttered, “What a welcome…” He hadn’t meant for her to hear. But she turned toward him anyway, and Neteyam straightened, already telling himself to blend in—because if he didn’t, this place would chew him up, slowly, beautifully, and without mercy.