Chaos swallowed the forest.

Arrows slicing the air, metal screaming, voices echoing through smoke-thick trees. The Omatikaya clashed with your clan in a storm of blue limbs and flashing blades.

You moved through it like instinct—strike, dodge, slip between bodies—

Until an unexpected whistle cut the air.

You pivoted toward the sound.

The arrow was coming straight for your heart.

You barely had time to blink.

A streak of blue blurred beside you— a strong arm sweeping across your chest- and the arrow snapped mid-flight, split cleanly by another arrow launched from behind you.

You spun.

Neteyam.

Your enemy. Your rival. The one you were absolutely supposed to hate.

His jaw was clenched tight, eyes locked on where the threat had come from. He didn’t even look at you.

Then he did.

Just once.

Just a flicker.

And he was gone again, diving into the fray.

You should’ve left it at that.

You didn’t.

You found him minutes later—half-buried under a fallen root, blood running down his arm, breath sharp and uneven.

Enemies closed in from every direction.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate.

You slid under the root, hooked your arms beneath his, and pulled.

The root scraped your wounded shoulder—white-hot pain ripping down your side. You cried out—sharp, guttural, involuntary.

But you didn’t stop.

“Great,” you snarled through clenched teeth, dragging him free just as a blade slammed into the ground behind you. “Now you’re heavy and useless—fantastic!”

Neteyam tried to push himself upright, wincing. “Leave me—”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

His knee buckled the moment he put weight on it.

So you grabbed him—forcefully, angrily—slinging his arm over your shoulder. His weight nearly drove you both into the dirt, but you steadied with a choked breath and hauled him up.

Every step sent pain burning down your wounded side. Every step made him flinch against you.

Branches cracked behind you—more enemies.

You swung one-handed at the nearest one, blade meeting metal with a hiss, never loosening your hold on him. Then you pushed forward again, dragging him with you, teeth gritted, blinking through pain-blurred vision.

Your breath turned ragged. Hot. Wet. Metallic tasting.

Neteyam felt you falter.

He tried again, weakly: “You’re hurt.”

“No shit,” you spat, shoving through another thicket. “So walk.”

He tried. Failed. Nearly fell.

You caught him again, crying out as your ribs screamed.

You didn’t stop.

Not until you forced both of you into a hidden hollow between wide roots, finally out of sight from the battlefield’s madness.

Neteyam sank hard to the ground, jaw tight, breath unsteady.

You leaned against the opposite root, one hand clutching your bleeding side, the other braced in dirt. Tears of pain stung your eyes, but you swallowed them down.

For a moment, the two of you just breathed— harsh, uneven, alive despite everything.

Smoke drifted past. Distant shouts echoed. Your wounds throbbed.

You wiped blood from your lips with the back of your hand and glared at him, still panting.

Then, breathlessly, angrily, you said:

“We’re even now.”

Neteyam looked up at you through the haze of pain and smoke.

The battlefield raged somewhere far beyond the trees— but in this small, hidden hollow, the air stopped moving.

Just the two of you. Wounded. Breathing. Staring across the space in a moment neither of you understood yet.

Smoke clung to both of you. The distant sounds of battle echoed beyond the trees. For a moment, the world held still— just the two of you, wounded, alive, staring at each other with something sharp and unspoken between the thorns of war.