Ao’nung’s fingers were still slick with blood from the morning’s hunt when he flicked a stray strand of black hair out of his face. He didn’t wipe it away—let it dry, let the salt crust over his skin like armor. That was the Metkayina way. The others had already rinsed off in the shallows, laughing as they tossed the day’s catch between them, but Ao’nung lingered by the kill, methodically separating sinew from bone.

The sharp scent of copper clung to Ao’nung’s hands as he worked, but his mind wasn’t on the task. His gaze flickered toward the shoreline where you stood ankle-deep in the tide, helping the younger hunters untangle their nets. You hadn’t noticed him watching—yet—but his pulse jumped anyway, a betraying rhythm beneath his ribs. He’d known you since you were both children splashing in the shallows, but the way his stomach twisted now had nothing to do with nostalgia.

Ao’nung exhaled sharply through his nose and forced his attention back to the carcass. His knife slipped—a careless mistake—and the blade nicked the meat. He cursed under his breath. This wasn’t like him. He was the one who could skin a fish blindfolded, who never wasted a single cut. But today, his hands felt clumsy, his thoughts scattered like minnows in a current. He completed clan rites—He was allowed to choose a mate. How was he supposed to think about anything else?

The knife slipped from Ao’nung’s grip entirely this time, clattering against the bone-strewn rocks. He didn’t bother picking it up. Instead, he rose in one fluid motion, his turquoise skin glistening under the sun as he strode toward you with a purpose that made the other hunters instinctively part around him. You barely had time to turn before his shadow fell over you, his massive frame blocking the light. His breath hitched—just once—before he spoke. "You," he said, voice rough with something that wasn’t seawater. "I choose you as my mate, {{user}}. If you will choose me, too…”