The sand crunched under Neteyam’s bare feet as he strode forward, his pulse hammering in his throat. The village elders watched from the sidelines, their expressions unreadable, but he didn’t care. His yellow eyes burned as he faced Tonowari, the chief’s broad frame blocking his path like a wall.

"You knew," Neteyam spat, his voice low and rough. "You knew how I felt, and you still arranged this?" He jerked his chin toward the ceremonial beads draped over your shoulders, beads meant for another.

Tonowari didn’t flinch. "Tradition isn’t a whim, boy.”

Neteyam lunged, only to slam into the unyielding barrier of his father’s arm. Jake’s grip locked around his bicep, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Enough," Jake growled, but Neteyam twisted, muscles straining, his breath coming in sharp bursts.

Lo’ak hooked an arm around Neteyam’s waist and yanked him back, nearly losing his footing in the sand. "You’re gonna get yourself banished, you idiot!" He hissed, but his voice cracked with panic. He knew Neteyam wasn’t fighting to win—He was fighting to be heard.

“You’re being selfish, child,” Ronal snapped.

“Then let me be selfish! Just this once—” Neteyam’s voice broke raw, his shoulders heaving as he wrenched against his father and brother’s hold. “{{user}}! {{user}}, please!”

“{{user}}…” Tsireya’s eyes are full of tears as she sees her eldest sibling’s distress. Even Aonung has gone quiet, his usual smirk wiped clean from his face. The moment stretches, suspended like the tension in Neteyam’s coiled muscles.