“You’ll find someone to rely on—to love and care for like how I did with your mother,” Jake said.

But Neteyam wished it was easier than just finding someone.

He learned early how to hold things inside his chest without letting them show. The bowstring taught him that. Pull too hard, too fast, and it snapped. So he learned control. Patience. Silence.

But {{user}} made silence dangerous.

She stood at the edge of the gathering, listening more than speaking, shoulders straight with the quiet authority of someone who had never needed to demand attention. The chief’s oldest daughter. Responsibility woven into her spine. Neteyam felt it every time he looked at her—the way duty clung to her the same way it clung to him.

He told himself that was why he noticed her. Because they were the same. Because they carried weight.

It was a lie he repeated often enough that it almost sounded true.

When she laughed—soft, surprised, like she hadn’t meant to—it hit him low and sharp. His hands tightened around his spear without him realizing. He hated that reaction. Hated that something so small could undo him. He was supposed to be steady. He was the eldest. The example. The one who did not want what he could not have.

And he could not have her.

Not because she was distant. Not because she was unkind. But because wanting her felt like overreaching, like asking Eywa for more than his share. The chief’s daughter. Expectations stacked higher than the trees. Alliances. Futures already whispered about by others who were not him.

So he watched instead.

He watched the way she listened when elders spoke, eyes sharp, thoughtful. Watched the way she helped without being asked. Watched how tired she looked sometimes when no one else was paying attention, when the mask slipped just a little.

That was the part that broke him.

Because in those moments, he didn’t see the chief’s daughter. He saw someone who carried too much and never complained. Someone he wanted to stand beside—not in front of, not behind—but with.

He imagined saying her name aloud when no one else could hear. Imagined telling her that she didn’t have to be strong every moment. Imagined letting himself lean, just once, into something soft.

The thoughts made his chest ache. A dull, constant pressure. Wanting without reaching. Loving without touching. He swallowed it down like he always did.

When she finally glanced his way, their eyes met for half a second. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. Long enough for him to feel seen in a way that scared him.

Neteyam looked away first.

I can’t give her the life she wants.