Everyone thought he was dead. Shot down by the Sky People and left to die, his body floating away against the gentle water. His family mourned his dead, a part of their soul stolen from them.

However, here Neteyam was, his head pounding as he leaned up on his elbows, seemingly lying down on a hammock, bandages wrapped around his chest where the bullet wound was. The light returned to his gaze as he looked at his surroundings, A small igloo in the middle of the snow…?

“What the hell…” he muttered, in pain.