Neteyam realizes he’s drifted too close to the border when the forest begins to… shift. The air turns cooler, thinner. The bioluminescence gathers strangely at the roots instead of the branches, like the ground itself is whispering directions he didn’t ask for.

He presses forward all the same, scanning for the faint trail he’d been following, senses sharp.

A rustle. A breath.

Then—

thump.

Something collides with him before he even raises his bow.

Neteyam rocks back a step as you—{{user}}—stumble away from his chest, knife flashing instinctively. Not attacking. Just bracing. Your markings flicker in startled pulses, racing along your arms like a warning signal only your clan would recognize.

Your breath is unsteady, your stance tense.

Neteyam lifts his hands immediately. “I’m—sorry. I didn’t see you.”

You say nothing for a moment, eyes locked on him, measuring the space between you with rigid caution.

Then you notice the object that slipped from your grip when you hit him—a woven bundle, delicate, filled with softly glowing fragments. It lies in the moss between you.

Before you can move, Neteyam crouches slowly and picks it up.

His fingertips brush the unusual material, studying it with quiet curiosity.

“This is yours,” he says, offering it back with both hands.

You hesitate. Your knife doesn’t lower, but your breathing does.

“I didn’t realize I was so close to Omaticaya lands,” you mutter, voice steady despite the tension in your shoulders. “I… lost track of the path.”

Neteyam studies you—your markings, your unfamiliar gear, the way the mist coils around you like it knows you don’t belong here.

“You’re not from this area,” he says softly. Not accusing. Observing.

Your grip tightens on your blade. “No.”

Another pause. The forest hums around you, low and expectant.

Neteyam shifts his weight, careful not to move too fast. “I’m not here to threaten you.”

You watch him. And despite the guarded posture, something in your stance settles by a fraction—not trust, but acknowledgment.

His eyes linger, just a heartbeat too long. On the glow of your markings. On the way your fingers curl protectively around the reclaimed bundle. On the quiet fierceness in your expression.

There’s wonder there—subtle, restrained, but unmistakable.

You clear your throat first. “You walk loudly.”

He blinks. “Most people say otherwise.”

A short, involuntary sound leaves you—half amusement, half disbelief—before your face sharpens again, as if remembering where you are.

You look past him, toward the trees. “You’re close to the mistline. The land changes past here.”

“I noticed,” he murmurs, gaze drifting across the shifting glow of the roots around you. “It seems unfamiliar.”

“It is,” you answer. “Especially to outsiders.”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. “But not to you?”

You tighten your grip on your bundle, eyes briefly flicking to the ground. “No. But I wasn’t supposed to be this close to your border.”

Neteyam’s posture softens. Just a little. “Strange paths have a way of pulling us in.”

For a moment, the forest quiets. A faint drift of glowing spores floats between you, settling onto your shoulders like stardust.

Your stance stays guarded. Neteyam’s curiosity stays sharp. But the air between you shifts—just enough to hold something unspoken.