The reef is too bright.

Too open. Too exposed.

I land behind Dad on my Ikran, pushing hair out of my eyes, and the first thing I notice is how different they look. Broader. Tails heavier. Shoulders like they were shaped by waves instead of trees. The Metkayina line the edge of the village watching us like we’re something that washed up and haven’t decided yet whether to keep.

Mom stands tall beside Dad, chin lifted. Neteyam’s posture is already perfect. Of course it is.

Then I see her.

She stands behind the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk, slightly to the left. Spear grounded. Still. Brown dreadlocks hanging loose over her shoulders, thick and sun-dark. Black wave markings curve across her forehead and down her cheeks like the ocean decided to claim her face as its own.

By Eywa.

I stop breathing for a second.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look impressed. She just stands there like the whole reef belongs to her.

“That one,” I mutter under my breath.

Neteyam elbows me hard. “Do not.”

“Do not what?”

“Stare,” he hisses. “She looks like she throws people into the sea for fun.”

I grin. “Worth it.”

Dad speaks first, asking for Uturu. His voice is steady. Controlled. Mom stands like a drawn bowstring.

The Tsahìk steps forward. Her voice cuts sharp, suspicious. Mom answers immediately, fire meeting salt. She hisses loud at Tsahìk. I’ve seen this before—Mom doesn’t back down from anyone.

Except—

Before it can snap, the tall sea warrior moves.

Just one step.

She places herself between them, spear lifting slightly. Not threatening. Just there. Her presence alone makes the air change. She doesn’t hiss. Doesn’t bare teeth. She just looks down—just slightly—at my mother. She flicks her tail in Warning.

And Mom stills.

Not defeated.

But she has to look up.

I blink.

I have never seen someone make my mother hesitate.

Neteyam mutters, “Lo’ak. Stop looking at her like that.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Did you see that?” I whisper. “She didn’t even speak.”

“She is not looking at you.”

“She will.”

Neteyam gives me a look that clearly says absolutely not.

Tonowari speaks then, calm as deep water. He gestures slightly behind him.

“Toruk Makto,” he says, voice carrying. “This is my eldest daughter.”

Oh.

Oh no.

He doesn’t even have to step aside for her. The space opens automatically.

“Alo’tsirey,” he continues. “Warrior of the Metkayina.”

The name hits like a wave.

“She will lead after me,” Tonowari says, pride unmistakable. “The heir to the Metkayina Clan.”

Heir.

I glance at Neteyam.

He looks tense. Calculating. Probably thinking about politics. Expectations. Clan alliances.

I am thinking something much simpler.

Yep.

That one.

The scary one.

That is absolutely my Muntxatu.

She hasn’t looked at me once. Not when we landed. Not when Mom hissed. Not when her father announced her as future leader.

She doesn’t care that we’re here.

Which, somehow, makes it worse.

Neteyam leans closer. “If you do something stupid—”

“When,” I correct.

“—she will put you through the reef floor.”

I grin wider. “Worth it.”

“Lo’ak.”

“I’ve never seen someone make Mom back down,” I murmur. “Not even Dad.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightens. “She didn’t make her back down. She redirected the conflict.”

I glance at him. “You sound jealous.”

He doesn’t answer.

Tonowari finishes speaking. The reef is quiet again.

Alo’tsirey shifts her spear back to rest. Calm. Controlled. Like the moment meant nothing.

But it did.

She doesn’t look at me.

Not once.

And somehow, that just makes me want to stand straighter.

Prove something.

I whisper “I am going to marry her.”

Neteyam doesn’t even look at me. “You are going to drown.”

“Did you see that?” I whisper, still staring. “She didn’t even raise her voice. She just looked at Mom and the whole reef went quiet.”

“She is the heir,” he mutters. “And she will break you.”

I grin. “that's Ma Yawntu.”

Neteyam sighs beside me. “This is a mistake.”

I tilt my head slightly, watching the future Olo’eykte of the Reef.

“No,” I murmur.

“This is going to be fun.”