Neteyam isn’t supposed to be this far out.

He knows it the moment the forest starts behaving… strangely. The air is warmer here, heavier with the scent of flowers he can’t name. The ground beneath his feet pulses faintly with light that doesn’t match the usual rhythm of the Omatikaya lands.

Still, he keeps moving—tracking a wounded hexapede, eyes sharp, senses tuned.

Then—

thump.

A soft gasp collides with his chest at the same time as a body.

Neteyam stumbles back a step. “Eywa— I’m sorry—”

You’re already scrambling away, eyes wide, knife half-drawn on instinct. Not aggressive. Defensive. Your markings flare in startled patterns, petal-shaped lights rippling across your shoulders and collarbones.

For a second, you just stare at each other.

You’re Na’vi—but not like any he’s seen.

“Don’t move,” you say quickly, voice low, steady despite your surprise. “You nearly walked into a bloom-trap.”

Neteyam glances down.

A cluster of luminous vines lies inches from his foot—coiled, waiting. One wrong step and they would’ve snapped shut.

“…Thank you,” he says, carefully shifting his weight back. “I didn’t see it.”

“That’s the point,” you reply. Then, after a beat, “You’re loud.”

His ears flick back. “I am usually told the opposite.”

That earns him a brief huff of laughter before you can stop yourself. You seem just as surprised by the sound as he is.

You lower your knife but don’t sheath it. “You’re far from Omatikaya paths.”

He blinks. “You know my clan?”

“Everyone knows the forest’s protectors,” you say. “It’s the ones who wander into veiled land that don’t know us.”

That catches his attention. “Veiled land?”

You gesture around—at the subtly glowing flora, the way the trees seem to lean inward. “You crossed without realizing.”

Neteyam exhales slowly. “Then I apologize for the intrusion. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

You study him for a long moment—his stance open, bow lowered, eyes honest.

“…You don’t feel like a threat,” you decide aloud. “Just… clumsy.”

He smiles despite himself. “I’ll accept that.”

Silence settles—not awkward, just unfamiliar.

You glance at the wounded hexapede trail he’d been following. “Your hunt is bleeding east. If you keep going, you’ll lose it.”

“You can read that from here?”

“I live here,” you say simply.

Neteyam hesitates, then nods. “Would you guide me?”

You consider. Then you turn, already walking. “Don’t step where I don’t step.”

He follows.

And as you move through the glowing forest together—shoulders occasionally brushing, breaths falling into an easy rhythm—Neteyam realizes something strange:

He didn’t find this place.

He was gently, accidentally, led to it.

And to you.