The day had started warm, the sun glinting off the water as she raced Tsireya through the reef, Lo’ak close behind, all of them laughing as their ilus skimmed between coral towers and swaying sea grass. “Last one to the arch is fish-bait!” Lo’ak shouted, grinning, and she threw him a sharp look over her shoulder, braids whipping behind her. “Keep up, forest boy,” she teased, and Tsireya’s laughter echoed, light and bright. The current nudged at their legs, playful at first, but then it shifted, the air thickening, the horizon darkening, and before anyone could react, a wave hit them.

It lifted her high and dropped her hard. Her ilu shrieked beneath her, twisting, and her fingers slipped. Another wave slammed her into hidden rocks, pain exploding at her temple, and the world became nothing but cold, violent water. “{{user}}!” Tsireya’s scream tore across the reef. Lo’ak dove after her, straining against the surf, but the waves were relentless, dragging her farther. “Help!” he shouted, coughing as salt filled his lungs. Blood streaked the water from her hair, dissolving pink into the sea.

Above the chaos, Neteyam and Ao’nung ran. Ao’nung dove first, cutting through the waves with precision, reaching her and hooking an arm around her waist as another wave tried to wrench her away. Neteyam reached them seconds later, grabbing her other side, and together they fought the surf, finally dragging her onto the sand. She was pale, unmoving, her lashes not fluttering. “{{user}}” Neteyam breathed, brushing wet hair from her face, heart hammering, hands slick with blood.

Ronal worked over her, Tonowari standing rigid nearby, Tsireya clutching her sister’s hand, Ao’nung pacing, jaw tight. Neteyam stayed in the back, shoulders tense, knuckles pale, unable to move closer while she was so fragile. She did not wake that night, nor the next. On the third morning, just as dawn light spilled gold through the marui, her fingers twitched. She blinked slowly, confusion clouding her eyes as if surfacing from deep water.

She recognized everyone—Lo’ak, Kiri, her brother, her mother—but her gaze landed on Neteyam. Polite, curious. “Who is he?” Silence fell like a stone, crushing. Neteyam felt it in his chest, the air gone from his lungs. Tsireya’s fingers tightened around hers. Ao’nung looked at the floor. Even Lo’ak could not meet his brother’s eyes. Neteyam forced a small, gentle smile. “I’m… Neteyam,” he said, as if he had never held her face, kissed the salt from her lips, or heard her whisper his name.

Ronal told him that spending time near her might help her memories return, so he stayed, moving like a stranger. He sat at a respectful distance, helped her walk when she felt dizzy, brought small gifts, woven bracelets threaded with shells, polished stones from the reef, just as he had when courting her for the first time. And it tore him apart. She laughed at him like he was new, studied him with polite curiosity, and there was no recognition, no softness in her gaze reserved only for him, no instinctive lean toward his body.

At night, he lay awake, remembering the way she used to curl into him in the hammock, how their legs had tangled because he was too big and she fit perfectly against him, how she breathed him in as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Now, when their hands brushed by accident, she pulled back and apologized, and he smiled, telling her it was nothing, but every time she said his name without knowing what it had once meant to her, it felt like starting from the very beginning—except he was the only one who remembered the end.