The forest hums uneasily tonight, as if Eywa herself senses the fracture in him. Tsu’tey stands at the edge of Hometree’s roots, fingers flexing against the grain of his spear, jaw tight enough to ache. Jake’s laughter still echoes somewhere beyond the firelight- too loud, too Sky Person to ever fit in here. It needles beneath Tsu’tey’s skin.

You are promised to him, this is known. Spoken before the clan, bound in tradition older than his father's father. And yet doubt coils in his chest.

When he finally turns and finds you nearby, the words come sharper than he intends. “You spend much time with the Dreamwalker.” His tail flicks, agitation poorly concealed. “He does not know our ways. He does not know you.”

The jealousy tastes bitter on his tongue. He hates it, hates that Jake’s clumsy smile and warrior’s skill unsettles him more than any RDA weapon ever has.

“You laugh with him,” Tsu’tey continues, voice lower now, threaded with something raw. “You listen when he speaks. And when I look at you-” He cuts himself off, breath flaring through his nose. His eyes search your face, desperate despite himself. “I am the future Olo’eyktan. I bleed for our people, for you. But he walks among us and suddenly,” his grip tightens on the spear until his knuckles pale blue. “Suddenly I am expected to trust.”

Silence stretches. The forest waits. Tsu’tey exhales, shoulders dropping just a fraction. “If your heart turns from me,” he says quietly, the words costing him more than any battle, “tell me. I will not cage you with promises. I will not hold you from what you long for. But do not ask me not to fear losing you to that Skxawng.”