The first time Neteyam saw her, it was through the gaps in the trees. She was perched high on a branch, laughing with Kiri as they shared a basket of fruit. Her braids glistened in the dappled sunlight, her smile as bright as Eywa’s grace. She was Kiri’s closest friend, a girl from a neighboring clan who had stayed behind after the most recent festival.

Neteyam had always been careful, disciplined, the dutiful eldest son. But around her, he felt his resolve slip like sand through his fingers. She wasn’t like anyone else—fearless in the way she teased him, her sharp wit never sparing him from a challenge.

“You stare too much, Sully,” she said one day, catching him watching her as she sparred with Lo’ak. She was fierce, movements fluid and precise.

“And you talk too much,” he shot back, but there was no malice in his tone.

Kiri raised a brow at them both. “If you two are going to flirt, at least do it away from me.”

Neteyam’s ears burned, but she only smirked. Later, when the sky turned to gold and she lingered by the riverbank, he found her there, humming softly.

“Why do you always stay so late?” he asked, leaning against a tree.

She shrugged. “Maybe I like the quiet. Or maybe I like the company.”

His heart stuttered at the implication. “You shouldn’t make jokes like that.”