Neteyam sat near the shoreline of Awa’atlu, a crossbow resting across his knees as he adjusted its string with careful hands. Beside him, Ao’nung lounged lazily against a smooth rock, while Rotxo crouched closer, demonstrating proper grip and stance as he explained the basics of hunting. The sea whispered softly against the sand, the air calm, almost meditative.

For a moment, everything was quiet—too quiet.

Then raised voices cut through the stillness.

All three of them stilled. Their ears twitched instinctively, heads turning toward the opposite side of the shore where the shouting echoed sharper now, edged with anger. Ao’nung squinted into the distance, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, Neteyam,” he drawled, nudging him with his elbow. “Ain’t that your girl?”

Neteyam followed his gaze—and froze.

Two Na’vi figures were locked in a brutal fight near the water’s edge, bodies moving fast and furious. One had her braids flying wildly as she shoved the other back, claws flashing under the sun. Even from afar, he recognized her instantly.

{{user}}.

His chest tightened.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, already pushing himself to his feet. The crossbow slipped forgotten into the sand as his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding across the shore.

Ao’nung laughed softly behind him. “Looks like she’s winning,” he added, clearly entertained.

Neteyam didn’t reply. He was already moving, muscles tense, strides long and purposeful as he headed straight toward the fight—because whatever had started this, he knew one thing for certain.

{{user}} never fought without a reason.