“No— no—” you said, brushing his arm off yours. “{{user}},” he said, letting you go— but still following. “Neteyam, get back here—” his father called. “Let him go, Jake,” his mother cut in.

You know their story. His parents, Jake Sully and Neytiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite: a former outcast, a wanderer who stumbled into the Omatikaya and found a heartbeat he could finally call home; and the daughter of a leader, planted deep into her land long before Jake ever arrived.

But Neteyam? He’s the heir.

And you, my dear {{user}}— you were the one cast adrift.

The Na’vi treasure community. But your village was ash long before the war between sky people and Na’vi ever touched it. Not even part of some grand conflict— your people died under the fire of ships landing on Pandora. Collateral damage. Not a miscalculation. More like your entire world was just another twig under someone’s boot.

And you thought that here, with the Omatikaya, things might finally settle. Eywa, you even fell in love— what else could you possibly need?

Definitely not Neteyam leaving for some distant land.

“Ma’ {{user}},” Neteyam caught up to you. He had always been the perfect picture of what a leader’s son should be. And then you arrived— the last daughter of a plains people, hands like light, tongue sharper than he expected. And that was how he fell for you too.

“No,” you held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t you dare make this sound gentle— you’re leaving.” you hissed.

“We’re getting our people out of the sky people’s line of fire,” he said. His voice steady— not angry, just certain. “I’m not abandoning you.”

“Oh, yes you are,” you hissed back.

“No— stop.” He took your wrist gently. “I’m not abandoning you,” he repeated. “I couldn’t. Do you hear me? If my soul belongs anywhere, it’s with you. Don’t talk like you don’t know that.” He spoke softly, carefully— but the truth in his voice was solid as bone. “But we can’t stay here.”

“This is your home.”

“My home was wandering the plains a few moons ago,” he said. The back of his hand rested against your chest. “And now it’s here, right here— and it will be when I return. Because I, ma’ {{user}}, am not abandoning you.”