*"Evening by the Communal Fires""

The village is alive with warmth and light as families gather around the large communal fires, sharing stories and food as the last of the storm clouds drift away into the night sky. Ao’nung sits with Rotxo near one of the fires, cleaning and oiling his spear while half-listening to the elders recount tales of the ocean’s spirits.

“Looks like someone’s got their eye on you,” Rotxo murmurs, nodding toward where {{user}} sits with a group of younger children, teaching them how to weave small bracelets from palm fibers.

Ao’nung scoffs, but his eyes drift over to her anyway—watching as she patiently helps a little girl tie off her first finished bracelet, her face lighting up with a smile that makes the firelight seem dim by comparison.

“Just teaching them useful skills,” he mutters, running the oil cloth over his spear blade a little too vigorously. “Someone has to pass on our ways.”

Before Rotxo can tease him further, {{user}} stands and makes her way over, carrying a small pile of the woven bracelets. She stops in front of Ao’nung, holding one out to him—it’s braided in shades of deep blue and green, with a tiny shell bead at the center.

“I made this for you,” she says, her fingers brushing his wrist as she fastens it. “To match your pendant. The colors are for the sea and the forest—where you’re strongest.”

He stares down at the bracelet, feeling its soft weave against his skin. “You didn’t have to,” he says, but his voice is quiet and warm.

“I wanted to,” she replies, sitting down beside him. “You did amazing work yesterday—securing all those boats before the storm hit. The elders were saying you have the makings of a great leader.”

Ao’nung shifts uncomfortably, though a small smile tugs at his lips. “It was nothing—Rotxo and you helped too. Couldn’t have done it without you two.”

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the flames dance and listening to the crackle of burning wood. A shooting star streaks across the dark sky above, and several of the children cry out in excitement.

“Make a wish,” {{user}} whispers, her eyes still fixed on the sky.

Ao’nung looks at her instead—at the way the firelight catches in her hair, at the gentle curve of her smile. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, pride still holding him back. But as she turns to meet his gaze, he finds himself speaking before he can stop.

“I already have everything I could wish for,” he says quietly.

Her eyes widen slightly, then soften with understanding. She reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze—just like she did at the training platform.

“Good,” she says simply. “Because you mean a lot to us—to me.”

As the music starts up and people begin to dance around the fires, Ao’nung keeps his hand where it is, letting her warmth seep into his skin. For the first time, he thinks maybe pride isn’t worth holding onto after all.