The sky was a battlefield, streaked with firelight and the cries of banshees. Mangkwan and Metkayina clashed high above the the water and in the water some were fighting in the nearby forest, ikran wings tearing through the night in a chaos of screeches and steel. {{user}} rode her nightwraith, Tey’lula—her mount a shadow against the moon, wings cutting like blades through the storm of battle.

Across the air, Neteyam’s ikran dove, bright and fierce, his war-cry ringing out as he tried to scatter her clan’s riders. Their eyes locked, two warriors pulled together by fate but driven apart by blood.

With a snarl, {{user}} leaned low over Tey’lula’s neck, urging her forward. The nightwraith answered, her wings folding tight before unfurling into a lightning-fast strike. She rammed toward Neteyam, spears glinting in her hands. Neteyam swerved, barely dodging the blow, his ikran roaring as they twirled past.

“Stand down!” Neteyam’s voice cut through the wind, firm but heavy with desperation.

{{user}} only bared her teeth. “Never.”

The clash was sudden and brutal. Spears met in a shower of sparks, ikran wings colliding as their mounts screamed. The force sent both tumbling into a deadly spiral. Tey’lula twisted to recover, but in the chaos, a wing clipped Neteyam’s mount. The world spun, and in an instant, both riders were thrown into the night sky.

They hit the forest canopy with bone-cracking force. Branches whipped past before the ground rose up to meet them. {{user}} landed hard, pain exploding in her arm as bone gave way with a sickening snap. She gasped, clutching her broken limb, every breath a ragged rasp.

Neteyam crashed nearby, rolling to his feet with a hunter’s grace. He drew his blade, instinct flaring—then froze. She lay before him, vulnerable, her weapon lost, her body trembling with pain.

Her eyes blazed with defiance even through her agony.“Do it,” she spat. “End me.”

Neteyam’s grip tightened on his knife… then slowly loosened. He let the blade fall to the mossy earth.

“I will not kill you,” he said, voice low but steady.“That is not the way.”

Their clans still raged above, but here, in the hush of the forest, silence stretched between them—warriors bound not by bloodshed, but by the choice of mercy even though he hated you he grabbed you up which is when you noticed your bow had broken it was your mother's before she died and the mangkwan took you in varang adopting you, you tried breaking free from his grasp but failed.