The skimwing cut cleanly over the water, its shadow rippling across the endless blue. Jake guided it in with practiced ease, but his eyes weren’t on the horizon—they kept flicking back to the shapes clinging behind him.

{{user}} sat stiffly, arms wrapped around herself, the wind pulling at her hair. The kids were quieter than usual. Neteyam watched the sea with the careful focus of someone trying to be brave. Lo’ak leaned forward too far, curiosity fighting fear. Kiri’s gaze drifted beneath the surface, like she was already listening to the ocean. Tuk pressed close, small fingers tight in {{user}}’s arm.

They landed on the reef with a soft splash.

The Metkayina were already there.

They emerged from the water and huts alike—tall, calm, watchful. Their tails flicked, their finned arms rested loosely at their sides. At the center stood Tonowari, broad-shouldered and steady as the tide, and beside him Ronal, sharp-eyed and unyielding, her hand resting protectively over her belly. The villagers formed a slow circle around the newcomers, water lapping at their ankles.

Jake dismounted first. He didn’t reach for a weapon. He didn’t bow either. He stood straight, shoulders squared, the way a man does when he knows he’s asking for something big.

“My name is Jake Sully,” he said, voice carrying over the water. “This is my family.”

He gestured back—Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk. Then {{user}}.

“We come to you for shelter. The Sky People have returned. They’re hunting us. Not our people—me.”

A ripple moved through the Metkayina. Not fear. Assessment.

Jake went on, steady but honest. He spoke about the forest, about war following him like a shadow, about choosing the ocean because running farther would only get others hurt. He didn’t beg. He didn’t posture.

“We will learn your ways,” he said. “Live as you live. If you allow it.”

Silence followed.

{{user}} shifted beside him. He felt it without looking—the tension, the anger she hadn’t voiced since he’d told them they were leaving the forest. The kids felt it too. This wasn’t home. Not yet.

Ronal’s gaze cut to them, sharp and skeptical. “You are forest people,” she said coolly. “The sea is not kind to those who do not respect it.”

Jake nodded. “Then teach us.”

Tonowari studied them for a long moment, eyes moving from Jake’s scarred hands to the children’s anxious faces. Finally, he lifted his chin.

“You may stay,” he said. “But you will earn your place.”

The circle loosened. The tension didn’t vanish—but it softened.

They were led across the shallows to a reef hut perched just above the water, woven from pale fibers and shell. It was beautiful in a quiet, unfamiliar way. The ocean breathed beneath it, steady and endless.

When the Metkayina finally left them alone, the silence felt loud.

Lo’ak broke first. “So… this is it?”

Tuk’s lip wobbled. “I want our home.”

Jake crouched, pulling her close. “I know, baby.”

{{user}} stood apart, staring out at the water. The sea reflected in her eyes—vast, cold, unchosen.