The evening had settled over Awa'atlu like a held breath—warm and still, the kind of quiet that only came after the sea had tired itself out. The bioluminescent tide lapped gently at the woven walkways, casting soft blue-green light across the village.

Neteyam had found {{user}} here, at the edge of the reef, where the water was shallow enough to see the coral glowing beneath the surface. {{user}} sat with knees drawn up, watching the tiny fish dart between the anemones, the reflection of stars rippling across {{user}}'s skin.

He didn't announce himself. He never did, not anymore. He simply lowered himself onto the sand beside {{user}}, close enough that the warmth of {{user}}'s arm brushed his when the breeze shifted.

For a long while, neither spoke. The waves did the talking.

Neteyam's gaze drifted from the water to {{user}}'s face—the way the bioluminescence traced the curve of {{user}}'s cheek, the faint lines of exhaustion that still hadn't fully faded from the weeks of war. He remembered when those lines hadn't been there. When {{user}} had been younger, brighter, laughing with him in the Omatikaya highlands while they practiced archery until their fingers ached.

He remembered the day he'd left.

The memory surfaced unbidden—the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder, the sharp scent of the forest after rain, the way {{user}} had stood at the edge of the clearing and watched him go. He had wanted to turn back. He had wanted to say something—anything—that wasn't just duty and responsibility and the crushing weight of being the eldest son.

But he hadn't. He had walked away with his back straight and his jaw set, and he had carried that silence with him across oceans and years.

Now, sitting here with {{user}}'s shoulder brushing his, the silence felt different. Not heavy. Not filled with things unsaid. It felt like a space they had both earned, a breath they were finally allowed to take.

"Deep in thoughts?"