The air between your clans had been tense for seasons—border disputes, clashes in the forest, old wounds that never healed. You grew up hearing the Omatikaya were arrogant, dangerous, untrustworthy. Neteyam grew up hearing the same about you.

And yet somehow, you kept crossing paths. Always in the shadows, always on the edges of conflict, always with a weapon drawn and a sharp tongue ready.

But this time, it wasn’t a skirmish. It was war brewing. Your clans were preparing to clash openly, no more hiding it.

You found Neteyam at the border, arms crossed, eyes shadowed. He didn’t look at you at first.

“So,” you said flatly, stepping closer. “I hear your people want mine gone.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t deny it.

“You going to follow that order?” you asked, forcing a smirk, though your pulse thudded.

Silence. Neteyam’s shoulders rose and fell—slow, heavy, controlled.

When he finally met your eyes, the fire you expected wasn’t there. Instead, there was something sharp, cold, hurting.

“I don’t want this,” he said quietly. The honesty in his voice knocked the breath from you.

“Oh?” you scoffed, taking another step. “Since when do you get to want anything?”

His lips twitched—almost a smile, almost a wince. “You think this is easy for me?”

“You’re the golden son,” you said. “The warrior who does everything right. This should be simple.”

He flinched. A tiny break in him.

“Do you think I enjoy choosing sides?” His voice was rougher now, lower. “Do you think any of this is what I want?”

You stared at him. At the tension in his jaw, the frustration in his shoulders, the guilt tightening his throat.

“How long,” you asked softly, “have you been keeping this from your family?”

His eyes flickered. Silence.

“So they did tell you to cut ties,” you said. “To abandon me.”

That silence—from him—was your answer.

Neteyam’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t tell them about you,” he said finally. “I won’t.”

A dangerous promise. A stupid one. A brave one.

You stepped closer, close enough that you could see the storm behind his eyes. “Why?” you whispered.

His breath hitched, just slightly. He didn’t move back. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t explain.

Instead, he said quietly, fiercely:

“I will not abandon you.”

You froze. Every heartbeat loud, too loud, overwhelming.

He exhaled shakily, looking at you like a decision had already been made, one he couldn’t undo. One he didn’t want to undo.

You opened your mouth— to argue, to warn him, to ask him if he understood what this meant— but the words never left.