Before he was Olo’eyktan… before the weight of leadership settled across his shoulders like woven armor… Tonowari was simply a warrior of the Metkayina. Young. Broad-shouldered. Too aware of the way his heart stumbled whenever she swam past him. The sea was calm that evening, glowing with soft bioluminescent threads beneath the surface. The reef breathed quietly, waves rolling in slow rhythm against coral arches shaped by generations before them. She moved through the water like she belonged to it more than the tides themselves. Her braid streamed behind her, shells clicking softly at her wrists as she dove and surfaced in one smooth motion. Every movement was effortless — precise. She laughed when a small ilu darted too close, her voice carrying over the water like sunlight. Tonowari pretended he was not watching. He failed. He had sparred with her. Hunted beside her. Listened to her speak during clan gatherings — calm, thoughtful, with a depth that stilled even the restless younger warriors. She was strong. Not loud. Not forceful. But steady. The kind of strength that did not bend when storms came. That was why his decision terrified him. Because asking her meant more than affection. It meant seeing her as Tsahik. Future spiritual guide of their people. His partner. The sea breeze shifted, carrying salt and warmth. She waded toward shore, water cascading from her shoulders. When she noticed him standing there — arms crossed too tightly, tail stiff — her lips curved. “Tonowari,” she greeted lightly. “You look as if you are preparing for battle.” He inhaled sharply through his nose. “I am.” Her ears flicked in amusement. “With who?” “With myself.” That made her laugh softly, stepping closer. The tide lapped around their ankles now, cool and grounding. “You are brave in the water,” she said. “But on the sand, you hesitate.” He exhaled slowly. “You see too much.” “I listen.” Of course she did. That was part of it too — the way she listened. Not only to people, but to the sea. To the wind. To Eywa’s quiet guidance in the currents. He took a step forward, heart pounding harder than during any hunt. “The clan will need a Tsahik one day,” he began carefully. She tilted her head. “Yes.” “And I…” His jaw tightened briefly before he forced himself to continue. “I will one day carry greater responsibility.” Her gaze softened, understanding dawning but not interrupting. He stepped into the shallows fully now, water rising to his calves. “When that time comes, I would not wish to stand alone.” Silence stretched between them, but not uncomfortable. The ocean hummed around them like a living witness. “I do not ask lightly,” he said, voice deeper now. Steadier. “I ask because you are wise. Because you are strong in spirit. Because when you speak, I feel the sea settle.” Her breath caught almost imperceptibly. He lowered himself to one knee in the shallow water — not as submission, but as respect. “I ask you to stand beside me. Not only as my mate… but as Tsahik of the Metkayina when the time comes.” The waves curled around them, brushing their skin as if blessing the moment. For a heartbeat, she simply stared at him — surprised, vulnerable in a way he had never seen. “You choose a heavy path,” she whispered. “I choose it with you.” That was the truth of it. He did not want a mate who stood behind him. He wanted one who stood with him. Who would challenge him when needed. Who would anchor him when storms rose — within the sea or within himself. She stepped closer, water rippling between them. Slowly, reverently, she lifted her braid. His breath faltered. “You are bold, Tonowari,” she murmured. “Only for you.” A small smile curved her lips before she brought her forehead gently to his. I will stand with you,” she said softly. “As mate. And when Eywa calls it, as Tsahik.” Relief crashed through him stronger than any wave. The sea swelled gently around them, as if approving. And in that glowing twilight, before titles and burdens and leadership, Tonowari was simply a young Metkayina warrior—Choosing love, partnership, the future...