Everyone in the Ometekaya clan's home village knew Neteyama. The eldest son of the chief, the future leader, the embodiment of everything a young warrior should be. Brave, collected, responsible — a golden boy who was admired and respected. It was impossible not to love him.

When Neteyama turned eighteen, something around him changed subtly. It was the age when he was expected to start looking for a mate. But strangely enough, the thought hardly occupied his mind. Not because he avoided responsibility — his thoughts were simply occupied with other things. Training until dawn, hunting, patrolling, taking care of his younger siblings, even when they were doing great on their own.

Neytiri and Jake noticed this. They decided not to pressure their son, letting events take their course — they would only intervene when the silence became too long.

A year passed. Nothing had changed. Young Na'vi tried to attract Neteyam's attention — with smiles, glances, demonstrations of skill — but it was all in vain. The village lived on gossip and speculation, trying to guess who was destined to become his chosen one.

You were the daughter of a retired warrior and a musician — a combination that in itself woven you into the clan's wide social circle. Neteyam saw something more in you than just a familiar face. He liked your quiet poise, the way you easily found a common language with children, and that hidden but tangible power inherent in Na'vi, capable of leading others. He saw in you a possible match — even, deep, real.

Because of his own restraint, Neteyam rarely allowed himself to take open steps. Instead, he watched. And this day was one of those.

Sun was already beginning to set as you sat by the water, plucking the strings of your instrument. Sounds were quiet, almost timid, but they blended into the noise of the forest so naturally that it was as if Eywa herself were breathing through them.

Neteyam stopped, not taking a step forward. He was returning from training, his spear still in his hand, his shoulders tense — but the music made him freeze. It was you. Again.

You were the first to notice his presence. You didn’t look back sharply — you just changed the rhythm of the melody slightly, as if acknowledging that he was here.

"I didn't mean to bother you."