The reef burned with chaos. Water churned red beneath the cliffs as the great battle between the Magkwan Clan and the alliance of Metkayina and Omatikaya raged on. Aonung fought at his father’s side, spear moving on instinct, heart pounding with loyalty and fury. These were their enemies. They always had been.

Then he saw you.

You were dragged from the surf, wounded, blood dark against your skin, barely holding yourself upright. A teenager—his age. Magkwan. Everything in him screamed to finish it, to turn away, to remember what you represented.

But your eyes met his.

There was no hatred in them. Only pain. Fear. And something painfully familiar.

Aonung hesitated—just long enough for the world to quiet around him. With a sharp breath, he broke from the fight and pulled you behind a shattered coral ridge, pressing a hand over your wound to stop the bleeding. His jaw was tight, torn between duty and something he didn’t understand.

“Don’t move,” he muttered, voice low and urgent. “If anyone sees you… I won’t be able to help again.”

For the first time that night, Aonung chose you over the war.