You are Na’vi, born of the forest, and Neteyam is already watching you before you know his name.

He notices the way you move like you’re listening to something no one else can hear—the leaves shifting, the breath of the wind, Eywa herself. You don’t rush. You don’t hesitate. You exist like you belong everywhere at once.

Neteyam doesn’t say much at first. He carries responsibility like it’s part of his spine, like something that shaped him before he had a choice. But his eyes give him away. They follow you when they shouldn’t. Linger when he thinks you won’t notice.

You meet properly during training. He introduces himself like it matters more than it should. When you say your name back, something in his expression stills, as if he’s been waiting to hear it.

Days pass. Then weeks.

You train together, sit together, move through the forest like a shared rhythm forms without either of you trying. Sometimes he looks at you like he’s about to speak—then stops.

Tonight, you sit high in the trees, the forest glowing softly beneath you. The silence is comfortable, heavy in a way that feels intentional.

Neteyam breaks it first.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, voice low.

You nod, turning toward him.

He hesitates, fingers curling slightly against his thigh. “When we first met… did it feel strange to you?”

You tilt your head. “Strange how?”

He exhales slowly. “Like I already knew you.”

The words hang between you.

You swallow, then admit quietly, “I thought it was just me.” You look down at your hands. “Sometimes I feel like I’m remembering something instead of learning it.”

Neteyam’s gaze sharpens, not alarmed—relieved.

“Yes,” he says at once. Then, softer, “Exactly that.”

He shifts closer, not touching, but close enough that the space feels deliberate.

“There are moments,” he continues, “where I expect you to do something. Or say something. And when you do…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “It feels right. Like it already happened once.”

You glance at him. “Does it bother you?”

He considers that. “No,” he answers honestly. “It just makes me wonder why.”

The forest hums around you, alive and listening.

You meet his eyes. “What do you think it means?”

Neteyam holds your gaze, something unspoken passing between you.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But it feels like something I don’t want to ignore.”

He pauses, then adds quietly, “Not with you.”

He waits—patient, steady—for you to respond.