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He Lives In You

019 | Remember Your Virtue, Redemption Lies Plainly in Truth

PAIRING: Aonung/Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan

SUMMARY:

“Jake,” he cried out, trying to lunge forward despite Ti’ol’s unshakeable grip on him. But like all of Neteyam’s attempts before this, he didn’t get very far, instead being met with a rude awakening as Ti’ol slammed him back against his own chest “I’m sorry, Sir. This is all my fault. I knew they would come eventually, and I didn’t say anything. I should’ve done more to prepare you.” “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Neteyam. Everything’s going to be okay,” Jake shushed him, his words a delicate coo regardless of the situation they were in. Because, regardless of the inevitable death that was waiting for him, all that mattered to Jake was Neteyam and what would happen to him. “We’re going to get through this like we always do. Sully's stick together after all.” “Right,” Neteyam muttered, nodding numbly as he did his best to listen to Jake’s words and hope for the best. It was fine. They would be fine. Neteyam would find a way to make this right. Jake wouldn’t pay for his mistakes. “Sully’s stick together.” Hearing those words come from Neteyam’s mouth immediately brought a smile to Jake’s face. That was all Jake wanted, after all, to get his son back and be a complete family again.

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ummmm why was I updating the tags of this fic the other day, only to find out BAMF Neteyam wasn't a tag??? Or at least not a popular enough one for it to show up in the suggested column? That has got to be a hate crime. We need more BAMF Neteyam in the world

Chapter title: Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths

TAG LIST: @zzma-rs @nantii14

Can also be read here

The world around Ao’nung felt numb, almost as if Eywa herself had stolen Ao’nung’s senses from him and, in her wake, left him with nothing but a conch shell horn blaring in between his ears, sounding the alarms a few minutes too late.

Neteyam had just been kidnapped. The Mangkwan had come back for their own, and he had done nothing to try to stop them, watching as the boy of his dreams was once again taken away.

With every second that Ao’nung remained standing on the sandy bank of that beach, surrounded by a graveyard of pearls that he had meticulously scoured the ocean floor and every mollusc that he could get his hands on, a forgotten bow and arrow, and a depleting number of warriors as they were ushered back to their homes, his father trying to bring back even a thread of normalcy to Awa’atlu, Ao’nung felt the weight of what had just happened settle into his bones.

They should’ve been more prepared, heading Neteyam’s initial warning when he had first proclaimed that his clan would come for him instead of handling it as if it were only a mere hysterical outburst. Maybe then, if they had treated his prediction seriously, as a prophecy instead of a fable, then maybe Neteyam would still be by his side.

But they hadn’t. Instead, they brushed him and his threats off and did the bare minimum to ensure his safety, calling a bluff that never existed to begin with. And now, he was gone. Trapped in the presence of Na’vi and Sky People who believed they could use him for whatever he was worth.

The only evidence they had to signify that Neteyam had ever even been in Awa’atlu, was the charred remains of a mauri now ruined.

When Ao’nung thought about it like that, and how the only physical mark Neteyam had been able to make on his home was one he played no part in, Varang laying waste to Metkayina culture as she left a path of destruction and carnage wherever she stepped, he felt his heart tear into two. Neteyam had never wanted this; instead wanting to be seen as strong and kind, yet it was the legacy he left behind unbridled.

Even as he had been manhandled away, his body weak from the tsaheylu he was forced to undergo and unable to fight off the hands of a man he despised, Ao’nung couldn’t see him as anything but brave, fighting with every ounce of strength while the rest of them stood around uselessly, letting one of their own be taken without so much as a struggle.

The clan was disgraceful. The Metkayina were pitiful.

But worst of all, he was pathetic. Because even though Neteyam shouldn’t have had to fight when there was an entire army of warriors at his disposal, he chose their peace over his comfort, and Ao’nung had just allowed for that to happen, only stepping in for his own selfish gain when his claim had been challenged.

He was undeserving, and because of that, it was warranted that Ao’nung remained there in the ruins of a battlefield that never quite got to be, wallowing in what he could’ve done differently. Even as the number of warriors surrounding him dwindled, the crowd growing smaller and smaller until it was just him, he couldn’t find it in himself to move, not when one of the few promises he had made Neteyam had just been broken so easily. It was a shame that Tsireya had other plans for him, though.

“You must rest, Brother,” she softly called as one of her hands brushed against Ao’nung’s shoulders, her fingers curling into the skin there as she attempted to gently coax him in the direction of their family mauri, a home that no longer felt as though it belonged to him anymore. “It’s been a long day, and the events of tonight have been devastating. Please, go home and speak to Mother about this.”

“I can’t,” Ao’nung said, his voice trembling as he shook his head with an agony that had Tsireya’s lips thinning together, her face falling at the sight. Extracting Tsireya’s hand from him, Ao’nung stumbled back, moving for the first time since Neteyam had been stolen away. “Not when he’s out there all alone.”

“Ao’nung, think rationally about this,” Tsireya begged, following after her brother and desperately trying to reach out to him, hoping to be the grounding support that he needed. Ao’nung didn’t let her, though, smacking her hand away from him before she could even get close enough to make contact. But she didn’t let that deter her, instead doubling down as she called out to him, “There’s nothing that you can do to help him. Neteyam is strong. He will find his way back to us.”

“No,” he shouted, as if letting those words hang in the air for too long would make them come true. “There has to be something I can do. I already failed him once, I can’t let that happen again.”

“Brother, please,” Tsireya tried pleading again, her ears folding against her head as she watched the distress grow on Ao’nung’s features. Although it pained her to have to say this, wanting more than anything to see Neteyam and his father return safely to their shores, she, as well as the rest of Awa’atlu, had learned of the danger that the Sky People posed. “You must listen to me.”

“I can’t, Tsireya,” Ao’nung scoffed, his brain finally kicking itself back into gear as he took in his surroundings in more detail. Not too far from him was his spear, the same one that he had threatened Ti’ol with, and dropped not too long after witnessing Neteyam being taken away from him. With his mind made up, Ao’nung declared, “Not until I have him back.”

Before Tsireya could properly understand what he was doing, Ao’nung kicked his foot under the weapon, hitting it up into the air, where he tightly grasped onto it, securing it in his hold before he was running, Tsireya becoming nothing more than a distant figure as she cried, “Brother!”

Ao’nung didn’t stop, though. Not at her startled shout, not at the burning in his lungs, and not at the ache he could feel starting to grow in his legs.

To him, none of that mattered, not when he was being guided forward by the breaking of his heart.

Like the moon cycles, Ao’nung found it to be no surprise when he wound up at the Sully’s family mauri. In fact, it was only natural that he ended up there, returning to the place where his and Neteyam’s official love story began.

Bursting through the entryway as if he had any right to be in their home, Ao’nung’s eyes darted around the space, hoping to spot a particular Na’vi. Out of all of the Sullys, apart from maybe Lo’ak, though he was knocked out, so he didn’t count, there was only one of them who would be crazy enough to let him embark on a journey across the sea in an attempt to get his beloved back.

Neytiri.

Stalking around the mauri as if time were on her side, Neytiri strapped a quiver to her hip, tightening the leather bands beyond what was needed to secure the fabric in place before grabbing hold of a metal storage entrapment and pulling it out from its disclosed location.

Clicking the lid of the Sky Person unit open, Neytiri pulled out an arrow, the head of which had been moulded. Taking a closer look at it, his eyes squinting to try and make out what it could possibly be, Ao’nung noticed another device of those demons strapped to it, the handiwork of which had clearly been done by Jake, as it didn’t seem to be the most secure, or even reliable, weapon that a Na’vi would make. Just the sight of Neytiri holding it was a shock in itself.

Slipping the arrow into the quiver at her hip, the Sky Person end facing upwards, it didn’t take long for Neytiri to fish out a few more arrows of the same design, her handling of the arrows being scarily gentle, telling Ao’nung that just like many things created by the Sky People, there would be great destruction in its wake.

As she worked, she paid no mind to Ao’nung, not even daring to glance in his direction, because if she did, she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it together. She had only just gotten her son back, steadily working their way up until Neteyam had fully adjusted into their family, and just as he seemed ready, he had been ripped away from her once again. But this time, he didn’t go alone. Jake had been taken as well, a gruesome fate waiting for him. That’s why, for that exact same reason, she hadn’t gone yet to retrieve Kiri and Tuk, or to check in on Lo’ak, knowing that by doing so, she’d lose the strength she needed to get out there and be strong for her family. For those who couldn’t be strong right now.

“I want to go with you,” Ao’nung declared when he realised that standing there and waiting for Neytiri to offer him her attention would get him nowhere. With a puffed-out chest and the length of his spear put on display, Ao’nung forced himself to look the part of the warrior he was meant to be.

“Don’t be foolish, 'Evengan (Boy),” Neytiri coldly said, brushing past Ao’nung as she slung her bow over her shoulder, keeping it there for safekeeping as she made her way out of the mauri. Not allowing the woman to leave his sight for a moment, knowing that she only needed a second to disappear without a trace, Ao’nung stormed after her, trying not to huff like an insolent child who hadn’t got their way. “You will be of no use to me. Stay with your people and your reef.”

“But I can help you,” Ao’nung prattled from a step behind her, his jaw clenched in determination. Ao’nung had already failed to be there for Neteyam once; he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again. So, whether Neytiri liked it or not, he wasn’t going to allow her to leave without him. “I’m a warrior just like you, signalled by the completion of my Iknimaya and the tattoo that I bear. It’s my right to go after him. You can’t deny me that.”

“Your right?” Neytiri scoffed, rounding on Ao’nung, finally allowing him a peek at her devastated golden eyes as they glowered down at him, not even bothering to hide her animosity for him. “You have no rights. Not with my family.”

“I do,” Ao’nung argued, practically looking death in the eye as he stood up to Neytiri, pushing forth into his rightful duty despite her insistence on shutting him out. Swallowing thickly and forcing himself not to waver under Neytiri’s unrelenting glare, Ao’nung raised his chin and stated, “As Olo’eyktan in waiting and Neteyam’s chosen future mate, I have every right to come with you.”

The silence that followed Ao’nung’s claim was thick, neither he nor Neytiri wanting to back down as they both stood firmly behind their beliefs. While Neytiri had every right to forbid Ao’nung from going, having more years of experience as a warrior than he had been alive, he was more than justified in wanting to retrieve his soon-to-be mate, only following in Neytiri’s own footsteps.

Due to that, it caused tensions to rise and forced Ao’nung to not submissively cower before her. If he did that, though, it would be a done deal. Ao’nung would be forced to stay in Awa’atlu, once again useless while Neteyam struggled. So, with the persistence of a hungry Pxazang (Akula), Ao’nung refused to retreat.

Fixing his posture and shooting Neytiri a glare of his own, Ao’nung doubled down, ready to argue even further if that’s what the woman before him required in order to let him come. But then, by some miracle, Neytiri relented. With an annoyed scrunch of her face, her features twisting together in a grimace, as if to tell Ao’nung she knew she couldn’t fight his claims, she backed away from him, wordlessly declaring her defeat as she turned away and let out a shout of annoyance.

Really, it was times like these that Ao’nung would like to quickly thank Eywa for giving him a mother as fierce as Ronal, because without that, he truly didn’t know what he’d do with himself otherwise.

“Ugh, arguing with you is useless, you only waste time,” she huffed, snapping around and continuing her walk until she was perched on the woven pathway directly outside of her mauri, stopping there and expectantly looking towards the village. Only, her gaze didn’t peer into the lined up housed, but instead over them, glancing further than what Awa’atlu had to offer. “How would you even get there? Your Tsurak (Skimwing) can only fly so far without water.”

Fuck. Ao’nung hadn’t thought about that.

He had been far too caught up with just being allowed on this mission that he hadn’t even considered how he was going to get there.

And Neytiri was right, not that she was wrong often. Despite his Tsurak being able to take to the skies, Vurpay (Story of Water) would eventually have to dive back into the depths of the sea. Even if that wasn’t an issue though, there would be nowhere for his mount to stay and rest while he and Neytiri took to the base, forcing him to be left to flail around uncomfortably away from where he was safest until Ao’nung returned. That was, if he even survived that long out of the water.

Thinning his lips together, Ao’nung felt his hands clench into tight fists at his sides as he was once again faced with another obstacle in his quest to bring Neteyam home. If only he had acted when he had the chance instead of being just as useless as Neytiri claimed he was, then maybe none of this would be happening, and he wouldn’t need a reason to be able to fly–

“Telisi,” Ao’nung exclaimed as soon as Neteyam’s winged beast of a companion popped into his head, his face abruptly lighting up with a brilliant smile as if he had just come up with a solution for all of Pandora’s problems. “I can fly with her.”

“Has Neteyam taught you nothing?” Neytiri, however, hissed immediately in response to that, clearly not liking the idea that Ao’nung had posed. With her tail lashing crazily behind her, her face morphing into an expression that told Ao’nung that Neytiri found what he had just said to be incredibly stupid. “An Ikran bonds for life. They only allow for one rider to connect with them and see the world as they do. Telisi will not allow for you to form tsaheylu with her.”

“What if I didn’t have to bond with her?” Ao’nung suggested in return, trying to think of anything possible that could work in getting him in the air and to wherever Neteyam was being held. After all, flying on the back of an Ikran couldn’t be so hard. He’d already mastered an Ilu and a Tsurak; what was one more animal to the list? “If Telisi allowed me to sit on her back without tsaheylu, could that work?”

Staring at Ao’nung in horror for a few moments, never meeting someone crazy enough to ride on an Ikran while remaining unbonded to it, Neytiri took a moment to contemplate her own rate of survival if she allowed this skxawng (moron) to come with her. Then, with an exasperated exhale, her hands coming together momentarily to pray, she muttered, “Great Mother, give me strength.”

“So you think it’ll work?” Ao’nung hesitantly asked in response to Neytiri’s dramatic display, feeling some of that confidence he had gained earlier slip out from underneath him.

“I think if you want to be foolish enough to try, then that’s not my problem,” she grunted, turning away from Ao’nung before he got any more stupid ideas and decided now was the time to congress them. “Already, we have wasted enough time discussing this. We must act now.”

Nodding, despite Neytiri not being able to see it, Ao’nung felt his stomach swoop with pride for all of two seconds, a gut-churning sickness quickly replacing it when Neytiri let out two clicking whistles. One of them, he didn’t recognise, the foreign sound of her voice sailing through the air as she called out for her own Ikran, while the second, he did, having heard Neteyam create that noise far too many times in the past. Though, whenever he did it, it was much deeper, almost sounding like music to Ao’nung’s ears.

With fluttering wings, two Ikran came sailing over the top of the village, Telisi letting out a loud screech once her beady eyes locked onto Ao’nung and Neytiri, instantly noticing the absence of her bonded companion. While Neytiri’s Ikran (Sa’ata, he thinks he remembers Neteyam telling him that was what she was called) gracefully landed on the thin walkway, Telisi harshly swooped into the space, almost bulldozing into Ao’nung as her jaw snapped a few times experimentally.

Not even sparing Ao’nung a glance, Neytiri ran her hand along Sa’ata’s beak, letting out a soft coo that broke off near the end as she made tsaheylu with the creature. Wordlessly, all of her sorrows from the past hour were expressed to the Ikran, her pupils dilating as she felt Neytiri’s pain, sharing it for the time being.

Flinging herself onto Sa’ata’s back, Ao’nung noticed for the first time that neither of the two weren’t adorned with saddles, panicking slightly as he saw Neytiri easily make herself comfortable before taking to the skies.

“Wait,” Ao’nung tried helplessly calling out when Neytiri showed no signs of pausing and allowing for Ao’nung to mount Telisi. Instead, she pushed forward, Sa’ata’s wings flapping in the last known direction the Mangkwan and Sky People had been heading. Still, Ao’nung attempted to get her attention again, hoping for the best as he hesitantly shouted, “Neytiri?”

But just like before, he was ignored. Leaving him behind. Alone. With Telisi by his side. An Ikran he often referred to as crazy in his mind.

Oh, he was so screwed. Eywa help him now.

Cautiously turning to the beast beside him, Ao’nung made the foolish mistake of making eye contact with Telisi, almost meeting his end when the Ikran snapped her jagged teeth at his face. Stumbling back with a less-than-dignified shout, Ao’nung raised his hands in surrender, trying to calm her.

“Whoa, Telisi,” he fumbled out, trying to offer her a smile, though he thinks the creature probably just took it as some form of animalistic warning. “You remember me, right? You helped me talk to Neteyam the other night despite him trying to run away.”

At the mention of Neteyam, Telisi let out a pained cry, her head rushing back and forth as she tried to catch sight of him. The action, however, brought a great ache to Ao’nung’s chest, knowing that no matter how hard she looked, she wouldn’t be able to find Neteyam, at least not here. But maybe, and just maybe, Telisi’s own anguish at not seeing her rider was a good thing. It would give the two of them some common ground, a reason for her to trust Ao’nung beyond tsaheylu so that they could somehow make this work and bring Neteyam home. Together.

“He’s not here, Telisi. The Mangkwan and Sky People took him,” Ao’nung dejectedly called to her, his own face falling as he voiced the reminder of his failure. “But Neytiri knows where they’ve taken him… or at least I think she does– anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is that we can get him back. But to do that, I need your help, Telisi.”

His words easily caught Telisi’s attention, her head twitching from side to side every time he finished a sentence or jumped between thought processes.

“I can’t help Neteyam with my Tsurak, or even my spirit brother,” he confessed, quietly glad that neither of the two creatures was anywhere nearby to hear him talk down on them, even if it were the truth. The last thing Ao’nung needed, after all, was a grumpy Tsurak or Tulkun who’d make him swim everywhere himself. “They can’t take me to him. But you can. You can fly further than they can swim, so please, Telisi, give me this one chance to save Neteyam. Otherwise, I’m not sure if we’ll ever see him again.”

A loud squawk tumbles from Telisi’s mouth at that, bristling as Ao’nung put the idea of never being able to fly with her chosen companion again into her head, clearly making her heart drop as she grappled with it. As much as he hated to do it, Ao’nung, facing his own demons and trying to battle past them in favour of staying strong and getting to Neteyam before something bad happens, it needs to be said if they want to pull this off.

“Let me fly with you,” Ao’nung practically demanded, his hands extending before him in a peace offering, copying the same actions he had seen Neteyam do countless times before when trying to soothe the Ikran. “Trust me for a few hours and follow Neytiri’s lead while I sit on your back, and I promise you, I will bring Neteyam back to you.”

For a few moments, Telisi stared at Ao’nung, allowing him to make eye contact with her as she searched what felt like his soul for an answer to a question he didn’t know.

During this time, Ao’nung stood there obediently, half dragging his hopes down so he wouldn’t be too crushed by her rejection when it finally came, while simultaneously worrying about how far away Neytiri had gotten, not wanting to fall behind any more than they already had.

But just as all hope was about to abandon him, Ao’nung’s head already dropping and his shoulders slumping forward in defeat, two seconds away from letting all the negative emotions of the evening catch up with him and pour out from his body in whatever means they deemed necessary, Telisi did something that Ao’nung had never dreamed of happening.

She pushed her beak into his hands, allowing for him to cradle her head.

Almost gasping at the contact, his eyes positively bulging out of his head at what was occurring before him, Ao’nung couldn’t help but grin, quickly running his fingers along the side of Telisi’s face as he pulled her closer, bumping her snout into his chest.

“Thank you, Telisi,” he whispered, his eyes growing glassy as the weight of the Ikran’s actions settled within him. This was his one chance, something that was only happening because of his and Telisi’s shared love for Neteyam. He couldn’t mess it up. He wouldn’t mess it up, not even if Eywa herself intervened and decided that the Mangkwan was where Neteyam was supposed to stay. He’d make this right. “Now, let’s go and get our boy.”

The grip Ti’ol had on Neteyam’s waist was tight. In fact, it was bruising, making an already horrid flight across Pandora even worse.

If Neteyam had things his way, which he doubted would be happening for a very long time after the fiasco of his Iknimaya, he would’ve flown with anyone but Ti’ol. He would’ve even walked to whatever base Quaritch had been referring to back on the beach if it meant not having to put up with Ti’ol and his insisting hold on him.

Even sitting behind Ti’ol instead of having his back pressed up against the warrior's chest would’ve been a step up from the positioning he was currently forced to be in, because then, at the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about Ti’ol’s hands dipping too low or his teeth ‘accidentally’ grazing his neck. But then again, there wasn’t much use in allowing a hostage to sit behind their captor, not when it allowed them to have easy access to their defenceless kuru. So, unfortunately for Neteyam, he had been stuck like that for the entire flight to the Sky People’s base.

A few times throughout the flight, when Neteyam let his mind wander as Ti’ol’s touch would grow too much, Neteyam quickly learning that hissing and snapping at the other would only spur his movements on, he would wish that he had been strapped down in one of the helicopters that whirled through the air, similarly to how his father had been.

Because at least then, Neteyam didn’t have to be brave. He could fall apart and not have to worry about the unwanted hands that were wrapped around him.

Fortunately, though, that flight would be coming to an end very soon, or at least Neteyam believed it would be. Since when he opened his eyes next, previously having closed them to bite down the urge of trying to shove Ti’ol off his Ska'avum (Nightwraith) at an offhanded comment he had made, already having tried and failed that once, Neteyam came face to face with a large concrete wall that seemed to stretch higher than what he had imagined Hometree to.

Feeling his lungs give out as they approached the giant wall, Neteyam’s heart dropped when he noticed the snipers that lined it, watchtowers with anti-air turrets immediately powering to life and aiming their guns at their inbound flock of metal and beasts.

Right, this was it. This was the part where Neteyam died because the Mangkwan had been stupid enough to trust the RDA and got themselves all killed because of it. The Sky People had no use for them now since they had captured Jake, because let's face it, it had always been about him: Toruk Makto. A manhunt that had driven the Sullys from their home, forcing them to flee their clan, the Omatikaya, in order to seek uturu with the Metkayina.

And because of that, because his father had somehow managed to betray an entire race of Sky People, and because Neteyam had somehow been caught in the crossfire due to his temporary stay with the Mangkwan, he was going to die. Right now. In the arms of a Na’vi he loathed. Riding a creature that wasn’t his Telisi.

Eywa, there were so many things he wanted to do before he died as well.

Like, get his memories back, apologise to his family for all the distress, anguish, and sorrow he had caused them, thank the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk for their hospitality towards him, and finally make Ao’nung his mate after so many months of dancing around one another.

There was probably more than that, too. Or at least he thought there was. He couldn’t really remember what his old self wanted to accomplish before finally kicking the bucket.

Neteyam would never find out what was on that list either as they approached the wall, bracing for impact as he saw the barrels of guns point their way, knowing that it would be a bloody way to go, but also hopefully a quick one.

But then, before a single bullet could touch his skin, his shoulders already hunched up to his ears and his eyes squeezed shut tightly, nothing happened. The Ska'avum’s (Nightwraith’s) wings kept beating, and he and Ti’ol kept flying through the air, never once feeling the aching pierce of a bullet shredding through him, or the slap of wind smacking against his face as he was dislodged from the Ska'avum’s (Nightwraith’s) back and forced to plummet to his death with no means of saving himself.

In fact, before Neteyam knew it, Ti’ol and the rest of the Mangkwan army that had accompanied Varang on this raid, and the RDA helicopters that had come with them, were being guided down to a strip of cement where a few thousand Sky People were waiting for their arrival, some more egar than others as they shoved small blue devices forward, trying to capture the sight of their prisoners.

Upon seeing them, Neteyam immediately tried to shrink back, although Ti’ol didn’t allow him to get far, reminding him of the bruising hold he currently had on his waist as it only tightened now that they were descending towards the ground, preparing himself for any tricks Neteyam might try to play on him.

Harshly commanding his Ska'avum (Nightwraith) to the cement landing strip that had been cleared out just for them, Ti’ol didn’t even try to be gentle as he tore Neteyam away from his mount's saddle, adjusting his hold so he had both hands on clutching onto Neteyam’s own from behind, disallowing him any wiggle room as he dragged him over to where Varang and Quaritch had landed, keeping himself close by in case any orders were barked his way.

Coming to a stop slightly behind the duo, Neteyam immediately tried struggling out of Ti’ol’s grip, thrashing as if his life depended on it, which… it might, and not caring for any of the jeering shouts that were coming from the Sky People as they enjoyed the show.

“Stop this at once, ma’itan (my son),” Varang hissed at the commotion, her eyes flaring with anger as she witnessed the shame Neteyam was bringing to their clan, his foolishness disgracing them in front of the Sky People and their superior warriors. When Neteyam paid her no mind though, her words only seeming to make him fight harder, her anger flashed to Ti’ol, her upper lip curling into a snarl that had him shuddering beneath it. Quickly, she snapped, “Get him under control, Ti’ol.”

“Yes, Tshaìk,” Ti’ol cried out before he could think twice, letting go of one of Neteyam’s arms to instead grab onto his kuru, his grip tightening until Neteyam was momentarily blinded by a white searing pain. Yanking his head back until Neteyam’s ear was directly next to his mouth, Ti’ol spat, “Stop struggling, you kalweyaveng (son of a bitch / child of a poisonous spider). You’re going to ruin everything I’ve been working towards.”

“Good, kurkung (asshole),” Neteyam scoffed, not at all batting an eye when Ti’ol pulled on his kuru harder, forcing him to bear his neck in submission and expose one of the most vulnerable parts of his body to the Sky People. In retaliation, Neteyam quickly raised his free elbow and rammed it back into Ti’ol’s face, making blood gush out from his nose, and a groan of pain erupt from his lips, as he grunted, “Why would I ever want to see a txanfwìngtu (bastard) like you succeed?”

At his words, a manic laugh fell from Ti’ol’s lips, small puffs of air smacking against Neteyam’s face as he did. For a moment, Neteyam thought Ti’ol had truly lost it, that one act of defiance making the remainder of his sanity slip away, before he was harshly being thrown back, Ti’ol spitting out, “Oh, now you’ve done it, you–”

“Watch yourself around my son,” Jake’s voice cut through the air like a knife, making Ti’ol momentarily freeze as he turned to face the Na’vi.

Now, everyone knew who Jake Sully was, the great uniltìrantokx (Avatar / Dream Walker) who led the clans to victory against the Sky People. But, as he stood before them with his arms bound behind his back, two Sky People on either side of him in metal suits that made them taller, Jake didn’t look like a warrior who should be feared. Instead, he seemed every bit of the exhausted father that he was, looking out for Neteyam even when his own life was in danger.

And because of that, Ti’ol laughed. He cackled right in front of Jake’s face as if he were some form of joke. Which, to Ti’ol and every other Na’vi and Sky Person present, Jake was a joke. A very bad one that would be put to rest soon enough.

Neteyam didn’t care for Ti’ol’s mockery or the embarrassment he was making out of himself, not when his father was so close, but at the very same time, too far away for him to do anything tangible; anything worthy of a last-ditch effort to break free and reach out to him. But just as Neteyam said before, he didn’t care, so he tried anyway.

“Jake,” he cried out, trying to lunge forward despite Ti’ol’s unshakeable grip on him. But like all of Neteyam’s attempts before this, he didn’t get very far, instead being met with a rude awakening as Ti’ol slammed him back against his own chest, making his teeth clank tightly together at the rough handling. Still, Neteyam tried and tried again, painfully uttering out as he did, “I’m sorry, Sir. This is all my fault. I knew they would come eventually, and I didn’t say anything. I should’ve done more to prepare you.”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Neteyam. Everything’s going to be okay,” Jake shushed him, his words a delicate coo regardless of the situation they were in. Because, regardless of the inevitable death that was waiting for him, all that mattered to Jake was Neteyam and what would happen to him. His child’s safety and comfort being his top priority. “We’re going to get through this like we always do. Sully's stick together after all.”

“Right,” Neteyam muttered, nodding numbly as he did his best to listen to Jake’s words and hope for the best. It was fine. They would be fine. Neteyam would find a way to make this right. Jake wouldn’t pay for his mistakes. So, with that in mind and a slight grimace to his face, Neteyam echoed him, “Sully’s stick together.”

Hearing those words come from Neteyam’s mouth immediately brought a smile to Jake’s face, uncaring for the world around them as he heard his boy finally consider himself as family again. That was all Jake wanted, after all, to get his son back and be a complete family again.

But all good things eventually come to an end, as Neteyam had learned. Tonight, despite the grief he had already been put through, was no exception.

Whatever conversation Varang and Quaritch had been having with the Sky Person leader before them, her tiny body engulfed by metal to make her seem stronger than she actually was, had come to a close with not only pleasentaries, but Jake’s fate being decided. The two Sky People soldiers on either side of Jake sprang to life as a signal was shot their way, their mechanical legs marching forward and forcing Jake to go with them.

“No, wait,” Neteyam tried, doing his best to switch to the Sky People’s language so they could understand what he was saying, but either Neteyam had translated the wrong word in his head, or the humans just didn’t care, as they pushed on forward, ripping Jake away from him. Helpless, as the last piece of Neteyam’s world slipped away, he called, “Jake?”

At the mention of his name, Jake tried to smile Neteyam’s way, refusing to take his eyes off of him, even if it had his neck craning back at an odd angle. The sight alone, however, sent Neteyam’s mind reeling, though. This could be it. Neteyam might never see his father again. They were hundreds of miles away from home in a heavily fortified Sky Person base; even if salvation did come for them, there was no promise that they would be rescued, not when there were humans and Mangkwan warriors alike crawling all over the place. Jake was going to die, and it would be all his fault.

No. No, no, no, no, no. They were going to slaughter him, and just like Lyle, his blood would be on Neteyam’s hands. He might as well be holding the weapon that delivered the final blow because it was due to his ignorance that they were here.

If he had just said something instead of choosing to be selfish, there was a chance that Neteyam would be home in Awa’atlu right now instead of being imprisoned by the RDA. In fact, he would bet his kuru that he would’ve turned in for bed by now, having Ao’nung untie the precious pearl shawl he had made for him, before slipping into his hammock for the night. Neteyam would be rocking back and forth, somewhere safe and comfortable, while the Mangkwan failed at whatever they were planning.

But he hadn’t done that. And because of that, everything that had gone wrong was his fault.

The white paint traced across his skin in honour of his healing was a waste. The flower crown that Tuk had woven together lay wilted from where Varang had discarded it. The gift Ao’nung had spent hours crafting for him was ruined. The father he had ignored for so long would soon be put down, rotting for all the Sky People to see. And the only person Neteyam could blame for that, was himself.

Neteyam couldn’t let that happen, but the further Jake was pulled away from him, his smile dimming and his golden eyes growing even more tired by the second, that far-off promise was quickly becoming a reality, one he wanted no part in.

In a desperate plea that almost had Neteyam collapsing into Ti’ol’s arms from how much raw emotion he had pushed into his voice, all the devastation, horror, and fear he had been feeling for the last few hours pouring out of him all at once, bringing a wet sheen to his eyes that was threatening to spill at any second, Neteyam cried for all to hear, “Dad!”

The single utterance of that word alone brought a catastrophic reckoning to the Sky Person’s base like they had never seen before, the delighted hollering of their live audience only egging Jake on as he rounded on the RDA soldiers flanking him, not caring for how their extended metal arms twisted and screeched due to the overexertion of trying to keep him in place. Because really, how could Jake give two damns about them or anyone else when his boy needed comfort?

Attempting to surge forward, Jake was able to cover about three metres of land before three new sets of Sky People in Skel Suits were on him, grabbing at whatever parts of his body they could get a proper grip on as they tried to haul him back in and get him under control.

That didn’t deter Jake, though. Instead, it gave him the fighting spirit he needed to ensure his son walked away from this mess unharmed. He didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he was even going to make it happen, but Neteyam would get out of this in one piece. And if that meant he had to somehow defeat a whole army of Sky People for a third time, then so be it.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Babyboy,” Jake reassured Neteyam, even as his knees momentarily gave out from under him, the crushing weight of five metal bodies forcing him to the ground as he inspiritingly looked up at Neteyam, trying to think of anything he could say to soothe the tears away from his eyes before he could let them drop. “I’m going to be okay. I promise you, nothing bad is going to happen to me.”

“Please don’t go, Dad,” Neteyam begged, the hands supporting him finally letting him go and dropping him to his own knees, where he grovelled before Jake, trying to stop the hiccups from overtaking his body as the first few tears slipped out from his eyes. “I need you.”

“I know, Babyboy. I know,” Jake said, trying to console him, his hand shooting out in a vain attempt to try and grab hold of Neteyam. “I’m going to get you out of here, I swear it. You just got to stay strong for me until then.”

“But I can’t,” he sobbed, turning into every part of the weak Na’vi Varang had seen in him before she had sent him off to complete his Iknimaya, hoping that his mission would purge him of all his troubles. Instead of that, attempting to kill the Sullys had done the exact opposite of what Varang had hoped, bringing out Neteyam’s weaknesses and teaching him that it was okay to feel, and love, and fear. And right now, all Neteyam knew was the fear that was consuming him as he watched his father be pulverised into the ground. “I–”

Neteyam never got to finish that sentence, though. The words dying on his tongue before they could even form a coherent sentence, as his body was once again encased by hands that he didn’t want touching him. Being yanked up onto his feet, the last thing Neteyam saw before he was being pulled from the scene was Jake’s enraged face, before his senses were once again filled by Ti’ol.

“Ti’ol stop,” Neteyam tried to plead, already knowing that his heartache would fall on uncaring ears. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m sorry, Yawntutsyìp (Darling / Little loved one),” Ti’ol muttered, the misery in his voice almost making Neteyam believe for the first time that he meant it. Still, Neteyam was torn from the scene without an ounce of care for his well-being, quickly washing away those thoughts as Ti’ol finally ushered him to where he belonged: a tent filled with fur and bones that would be his cage. “But I’m just following the Tsahik’s orders.”

Marching Neteyam over to the small section of the base that the RDA had offered to the Mangkwan, Ti’ol did his best to smoothly get him from point A to point B. Although that was much easier said than done, especially when faced with a distraught Neteyam.

But eventually, when Jake’s fighting figure could no longer be seen, his shouts eventually being drowned out by the buzzing of machinery and the distance that grew in between them, Ti’ol was finally able to secure Neteyam in the tent he had set up himself, a few hunters following him to make sure their troubled Tsakarem actually stayed in place.

Releasing Neteyam upon entry, Ti’ol almost thanked Eywa for the quick thinking of those extra warriors, as Neteyam tried to make a break for it before Ti’ol could even fully retract his hand.

Crashing into one of them haphazardly, Neteyam didn’t even get the chance to see the outside world before he was being forced back inside, two more Mangkwan Na’vi flanking him until he stood trapped with a warrior on every side of him. For a short, almost blissful, second, the scene reminded Neteyam of Awa’atlu and his rotating number of guards. That thought was quickly pushed from Neteyam’s mind, though. Dying before it could fully form and bring a new wave of tears to his eyes.

Throwing himself out of the warrior’s hold, not even bothering to spare them a glance as he shook their hold off of him, Neteyam stomped forward, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides. With a rattling hiss tearing through his throat, Neteyam forced himself to abandon his sorrow, fueling that empty void with rage as he rounded on Ti’ol, openly seething at him.

“You had no right to do that,” Neteyam spat, his lips downturned into a deep frown as he glowered at Ti’ol. His anger did nothing to deter Ti’ol, though. Instead, it only spurred him on. Any previous empathy he had been feeling was being torn away, and instead replaced by a prodding grin, taunting Neteyam to do his worst. “Those could’ve been my last moments with my father, and you ruined it.”

“Oh, please,” Ti’ol scoffed, rolling his eyes at Neteyam’s dramatic flair. Staring down at Neteyam as if he were a misbehaving child, Ti’ol couldn’t help but crowd into Neteyam’s space, testing the limits of his annoyance, even if it cost him in the long run. “The second you started crying was the moment that all went to shit. Don’t try to blame this on me.”

“Ugh,” Neteyam screeched, physically having to restrain and force himself to move away from Ti’ol lest he wanted to attack the man. Which, despite the clear odds that were stacked against him, Neteyam wouldn’t mind adding a bit more blood to Ti’ol’s face. But, since Neteyam couldn’t do that, he settled for hissing, “I should’ve outcast you when I had Varang’s favour.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve lost your chance,” he snorted in response, always able to find amusement at the expense of others. Turning his back on Neteyam and strolling through the yurt before Neteyam had the chance to respond, Ti’ol casually made his way over to a small basket that had been shoved into the corner, tugging what Neteyam thought was a loincloth out of it before chucking it his way, huffing out an amused, “Now dress yourself properly. Despite your failure, you’re still Tsakarem. Act like it.”

“I don’t want anything to do with this clan,” Neteyam snarked, despite catching the piece of fabric thrown his way. Ti’ol, and the other three Na’vi stoically watching over Neteyam, seemed to pay no mind to his outburst, instead carrying on as if he had said nothing at all. This brought a slight frown to Neteyam’s lips, especially since they were claiming he was still their Tsakarem. If that was true, then they should’ve been offering him their response, not bossing him around as if he were a child. With that in mind, Neteyam tried to demand in a last-ditch effort, “Let my father and I go.”

“No can do, Yawntutsyìp (Darling / Little loved one),” Ti’ol laughed, as if Neteyam had told him some sort of joke. “You’re my only entry way into becoming Olo’eyktan. I ain’t giving that up easily.”

“Like Varang would ever let you be her successor,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at the absurd idea. Varang already had trouble with the idea of Neteyam one day taking her place, and it had been her idea to appoint him as Tsakarem. She’d rather pray to Eywa again than even consider the idea of Ti’ol taking her place as the Mangkwan’s leader. “I have a better chance of becoming Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya than you do of the Mangkwan, and I’m dead in their eyes.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Ti’ol mused, though there was no humour to his words. If anything, his face was scarily serious now, as if this was something he had put a lot of thought into and had been planning for a while. Which, knowing Ti’ol, he probably had been. Plotting his rise to Olo’eyktan from the second he gained some steady footing in the clan, and only streamlining that idea when Neteyam fell from the sky and gave him an easy way in. Well, easy if Ti’ol had actually been able to win over the boy. “Now get dressed. Not all of us can afford to piss off the Tsahìk.”

Not giving in to Ti’ol’s demand immediately, Neteyam watched him for a moment, narrowed eyes openly observing him as he let his words settle within him.

Ti’ol had no real interest in Neteyam, not outside of securing the title of Olo’eyktan for himself. That he had made perfectly clear. Just as he had been with Varang, he was a pawn in whatever game Ti’ol was playing. A piece to be won when the time was right.

Still, that didn’t explain Ti’ol’s ever-present hands on him, not when Neteyam had made it known that he wanted nothing to do with the other Na’vi. If he were trying to win Neteyam over, it would’ve been in his best interest to step back and slow down instead of doubling down and invading his personal space whenever the opportunity arose. But then again, Neteyam never categorised Ti’ol as the smart type.

It must’ve just been lust then. A stomach-churning, face-twisting, bile-rising urge to at least enjoy himself if he was going to commit to the act and vie for a role at the head of the clan. The thought made Neteyam sick. To Ti’ol, he was just a body. A body that would lift him up in the world until he got what he wanted. A body that would either be disregarded as soon as he got what he wanted, or made to suffer further as Ti’ol tested the bounds of his title as Olo’eyktan, only stopping when Neteyam either broke or he got too bored with him. Whichever came first.

“A little privacy would be nice then,” Neteyam rasped, doing his best to keep the remnants of his lunch down. At his request, the three additional Mangkwan warriors turned their backs to Neteyam, at least having the decency to offer him that. If it were done because of the kindness in their hearts (he doubted), or the fact that he was still their acting Tsakarem, Neteyam didn’t know. But, of course, there was one who didn’t turn. One who made their watching eyes known. “Or has my full from grace robbed me of that decency as well?”

“Unfortunately, you’ve proven that you can’t be trusted, so someone’s got to keep an eye on you, Yawntutsyìp (Darling / Little loved one),” Ti’ol brazenly announced, striding impossibly closer to Neteyam to eliminate any extra room that he had originally gained for himself. With a smirk, and his face only a few inches from Neteyam’s, he cooed, “We can’t have you trying anything while our backs are turned.”

In growing horror, Neteyam stared at Ti’ol, his jaw growing slack at the repulsive situation he had just been backed into. Some Tsakarem he was. “You’re vile, you know that?”

“I do,” he murmured, not at all put off by the accusation. In fact, it almost seemed as if Ti’ol was welcoming Neteyam’s disgust, his smirk growing prideful as he towered over Neteyam. “But don’t worry, you’ll grow accustomed to it eventually. Especially since we’re going to be spending more time together now.”

Neteyam didn’t dignify that with a response, mainly because he thought that if he opened his mouth for more than a second, he’d end up spewing all over the man. So, instead, to make it look as if to make it look like Neteyam wasn’t on the verge of either breaking down or crashing out, he turned his back on Ti’ol with a hmph. If Ti’ol wanted to be disgusting, fine. But Neteyam wouldn’t make it easy for the pervert.

Feeling a new type of exposure that he had never felt before in his life, Neteyam’s fingers reached back to where his loincloth was tied around the base of his tail. Undoing it slowly, Neteyam took one deep, steadying breath, fighting the urge to fight more on the topic, before he let the tewng go. The fabric fell quickly to the ground, useless where it lay in a small pile at his feet. But it didn’t stay like that for long, though. Neteyam hurriedly stepped out of it and into the new article of clothing, tying it into a knot at the base of his tail before he could stand there vulnerable for too long.

As he secured the loincloth into place, though, Neteyam quickly realised that the piece of clothing didn’t belong to him. In fact, he could vaguely remember seeing a certain someone wearing it the day he had set off to complete his Iknimaya.

Biting back a groan, Neteyam slowly turned back to face Ti’ol, noticing the way his eyes had been stuck on his body from the waist down. Feeling his face immediately flush for all of the wrong reasons, Neteyam forced himself to get angry instead of upset, his top lip curling into a snarl as he sneered at Ti’ol, “There. Happy?”

“Oh, I’m ecstatic,” Ti’ol said, looking it too as he gleefully drank up the sight of Neteyam in his own clothes. The confession made Neteyam feel sick, but if he wanted to somehow get out of here so he could get to Jake, or at least wait until Jake somehow found a way to get to him, since that seemed to be more probable, Neteyam would just have to grit his teeth and bear it. As if that wasn’t enough, though, Ti’ol muttered as he walked back to the same basket he had originally gotten the loincloth from, “But that’s not the only thing you need to get changed into.”

“What now?” Neteyam groaned, not caring at all for if he was perceived as whiny.

“So impatient, Yawntutsyìp (Darling / Little loved one),” he chuckled, the noise sounding sick and grated against Neteyam’s ears. Lifting a hand triumphantly as he made his way back over, Ti’ol showed off a small leather armband, the sight of which made Neteyam’s stomach drop. “We just need to make sure you look the part, even if we all know you painstakingly don’t fit in.”

Now that Neteyam had seen the accessory, he couldn’t help but think of what Ti’ol had said back in Awa’atlu when he had been faced with Ao’nung. He wanted Neteyam to wear his mark.

“I’m not wearing that,” Neteyam spat as soon as he could get control over his mouth. Listen, he was all for doing what he had to do in order to survive, even if that meant putting on the Mangkwan facade for a little bit, if that would win him some favour with Varang and the clan. What he wouldn’t do, though, was betray Ao’nung. He would much rather go down streaming and fighting than bear the mark of another. Especially if that mark belonged to Ti’ol.

“Yes, you will, Yawntutsyìp (Darling / Little loved one),” Ti’ol argued, not accepting ‘no’ for an answer. Stepping up to Neteyam, invading his personal space in an attempt to intimidate him, Ti’ol hissed, “Unless you don’t want to say a final goodbye to your Sempu (Daddy), you’re going to put this on.”

“Ti’ol, stop this,” Neteyam pleaded, shaking his head in refusal. Just the mention of his father brought a fresh wave of sorrow to Neteyam’s being, his bottom lip wobbling as he was reminded of the fate that was awaiting the man. “You’re just being cruel.”

“No, you’re just being weak,” Ti’ol growled in retaliation. Snapping a hand forward, Neteyam’s kuru was seized before he could even react, Ti’ol’s nails digging in to the sensitive tswin as he wrangled Neteyam’s body into a more malleable position. At his mercy, Ti’ol yanked Neteyam’s arm forward, struggling to try and curl the armpiece around his bicep with only one hand. “You must’ve forgotten that our clan does not take kindly to weakness. For your own good, I’d shed any affection you have for Toruk Makto and instead prepare yourself to step back into your duties.”

“Get off of me,” Neteyam hissed as soon as the blinding pain coming from his head settled, its ache ever-present as he thrashed in Ti’ol’s hold. Despite the warning jolt of his head that he’d receive every time he acted out, Neteyam made it as difficult as possible for Ti’ol to even attempt to put that arm band on, never stilling his arm for even a second.

“There is nothing to worry about, calm down,” Ti’ol stressed, as if his assurance would somehow soothe Neteyam’s worries. “I’m only decorating you.”

“I don’t want your mark,” Neteyam continued to wail, Ti’ol’s words not ever registering in his mind. All Neteyam knew was that he couldn’t let this happen. That he would much rather be stripped of whatever rights he had left in favour of staying true to Ao’nung and the connection they had made. His heart was reserved for Ao’nung, and Ao’nung alone. Nothing else would be placed on his body that would ever make him or another Na’vi think otherwise. “As Tsakarem, I order you to stop.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Ti’ol huffed, Neteyam knowing he was rolling his eyes despite not having a clear view of his face. If the man didn’t have such a tight hold on Neteyam, he’d give him a real reason to roll his drab eyes by throwing his skull back and headbutting him in the face. “Dan’iew, get over here and help me.”

At the mention of his name, one of the warriors nervously standing guard by the yurt's entrance seemed to pale. Nerves clear as day crept into his features at being so openly called out, the man not wanting to get involved in whatever squabble was going on between Ti’ol and Neteyam. But at the nasty glare that was shot his way from both of the imposing and highly ranked figures on the other side of the tent, the warrior, Dan’iew, knew that he was helpless to defy their wishes.

Stepping up to the pair cautiously, Dan’iew was at a loss for what to do. On one hand, there was Ti’ol. He was one of Varang’s most trusted warriors, having been with the clan for many years now. With just the flick of his wrist, Ti’ol could very easily make Dan’iew’s life miserable if he refused to help him, especially if he ever did achieve his goal of becoming Olo’eyktan. But then, on the other hand, there was Neteyam, their Tsakarem. To defy him would be treason. Even if Varang had temporarily granted Ti’ol control over the boy, stripping him of any authority that he previously had, Neteyam was still an important enough Na’vi that betraying him should be seriously considered. He was, after all, Varang’s chosen successor; he had to have some sort of grit to achieve that.

“Stop just standing there, you buffoon,” Ti’ol spat, taking away Dan’iew’s agency as he thrust Neteyam into his arms, the smaller boy throwing his hands out and latching onto Dan’iew on instinct in an attempt to steady himself. “We need to make sure he’s ready before Varang or Quaritch returns.”

“Right,” Dan’iew startled, his hands clutching onto Neteyam and keeping him in place just as Ti’ol had previously been doing. At the tightening of his grip, Neteyam’s head shot up to face him, expression annoyed at Dan’iew’s betrayal, but not surprised. He had, after all, dishonoured the entirety of the Mangkwan clan. Still, that didn’t stop him from hoping, no matter how minuscule it was. “Forgive me, Tsakarem.”

“Fuck you,” Neteyam spat, not exactly sure who he was aiming the Sky Person insult towards. Maybe it was aimed at the two warriors standing idly by the yurt’s entrance, watching the entire scene unfold, but not caring for what happened. Maybe it was aimed at Dan’iew, who was going along with Ti’ol’s demands instead of growing a backbone for himself. Maybe it was aimed at Ti’ol, who was a sick bastard who didn’t have any regard for anyone but himself. Or maybe, and just maybe, it was aimed at himself for letting this happen.

“Whatever,” Ti’ol muttered, though Neteyam doubted he could understand what was just said. From the way he focused entirely on undoing the armband and wrapping it around Neteyam’s bicep instead of rising to the bait of another argument, Ti’ol only confirmed it as much. Tightening the leather accessory more than what was necessary, Neteyam’s skin gave way under the thick arm piece, disfiguring his limb slightly as a growing pain began to settle there, only intensifying every time Neteyam’s body flexed.

Taking a step back to admire his work, Neteyam wasn’t offered any semblance of peace for very long, Ti’ol’s infuriating hold on his kuru coming back a few seconds later before he was being marched across the yurt and forced to sit on a pile of furs.

There, Ti’ol made quick work of tying a few red feathers into Neteyam’s hair, weaving in far more than what was deemed customary for everyday use. That could only mean one of two things, then. Either a ceremony would be held, which Neteyam highly doubted, based on the circumstances that everyone was operating under. Or…

War was coming.

Awa’atlu wasn’t safe. The Metkayina weren’t safe. The Mangkwan would return, and this time, just as Neteyam had predicted so long ago, they would burn the village down, leaving nothing in their wake. Retrieving Neteyam was only the first step of this plan, but with the Sky People involved and Toruk Makto out of the way, there would be hell to pay.

And for some reason, or at least a reason unbeknownst to Neteyam, they wanted him there. They wanted him on the front lines, otherwise they wouldn’t have been dressing him up. They would’ve left him to rot back at Ash Village if stealing him back had been their sole reason for threatening the Metkayina, but no, they wanted Neteyam there. Varang knew that no matter what she did to Neteyam, the only punishment that would stick would be seeing those he loved be wiped out. And really, what was a worse punishment than that?

“There,” Ti’ol uttered when he had tied the last of his feathers into Neteyam's hair, lacing every few of his braids with a fiery ornament. “We’re almost done. See, it’s not that bad when you cooperate.”

Neteyam didn’t answer, his body, mind, and heart growing too numb to even think of something that could be said to Ti’ol in response. His thoughts were far too occupied with the innocent village that would soon face a kind of destruction it had never seen before. There was no way of warning the Metkayina either, not when they were hundreds of miles away and believed that the Mangkwan had gotten what they wanted, leaving them safely behind. Would Ao’nung–

“You know,” Ti’ol murmured as his fingers trailed over the pearl that was woven into Neteyam’s hair, rolling it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. His touch immediately made Neteyam tense up, eyes zeroing in on the way he was toying with Ao’nung’s promise gift to him. “I always did think this was pretty.”

Holding his breath as those words were spoken, Neteyam didn’t dare move, preparing for the worst as he had learned to do whenever Ti’ol was involved.

Creeping his hand down to the waistline of his loincloth, Ti’ol’s fingers curled around the blade he had stolen from Neteyam back on the beach. Adjusting his hold on its handle, ready to pull it from its sheath at any second, Ti’ol pulled Neteyam’s braid taut, the pearl glistening in the low firelight. With a tsk, Ti’ol grumbled, “It’s a shame you can no longer wear it, though.”

Slicing the blade up, Ti’ol’s eyes were fiercely locked onto his target, aim precise as he went in to cut the pearl straight from Neteyam’s hair, uncaring if one of his braids was drastically shorter than the other.

But the knife never made contact.

Neteyam had whipped around before the blade could ever meet his hair, an unwavering hand gripped around Ti’ol’s wrist as he let out a deep, guttural hiss, stopping Ti’ol from stealing the one thing that Neteyam had that still belonged to him. Before Ti’ol could even blink, Neteyam was up on his feet and wrenching his arm back, twisting it at an odd angle that had him gritting his teeth together in an attempt to not let his pained cries fall from his lips.

Luckily for Ti’ol, though, he didn’t stay like that for long. Curling his fingers around the base of the knife, Neteyam yanked it out from Ti’ol’s hold, reclaiming the blade that his parents had gifted him as he glowered down at Ti’ol, only releasing him when the limb in his grasp began to tremble.

“I am your Tsakarem,” Neteyam spat, holding his head up proudly as he accusingly pointed the dagger towards Ti’ol, uncaring for how the man withered slightly, clutching at his shoulder to try and soothe it. Ti’ol was lucky that all Neteyam did to him was put some light strain on it. If he had been a worse man, he would’ve actually done some damage, wedging the blade in until it met bone. “How dare you think you can lay your hands on me and try to remove the mark of my future mate.”

“He’s not Mangkwan,” Ti’ol rasped, never knowing when to keep his mouth shut and admit that he had lost. It was pathetic, really. “You have no place with him.”

“Maybe not,” Neteyam murmured, thinking back to all the wrong he had done since waking up with the Mangkwan and embracing their culture, following after Varang blindly. He had committed some heinous sins, but despite that, Ao’nung still chose him, and Neteyam would never be the one to turn him away. “But he’s set to be Olo’eyktan, making him a greater man than you’ll ever be.”

“Ao’nung?” Ti’ol spat, immediately making Neteyam hiss at the mere mention of his lover’s name, the wretched man before him having no right to say it. In disbelief, Ti’ol asked, “Olo’eyktan?”

“Yes,” Neteyam couldn’t help but gloat, his chest filling with pride at Ao’nung’s accomplishment, even if it were his birthright. From what Neteyam could see, Ao’nung had blossomed into a fine warrior for his clan, always taking everything on with a kind and reassuring smile, even when Lo’ak purposely tried to get under his skin. He would make a mighty leader one day. But Neteyam couldn’t focus on that. Not now. “Now, I demand that I be treated with respect as your Tsakarem. I do not want my position in this clan to be forgotten simply over an argument with… my Sa’nok (Mother). Am I understood?”

At his question, the three additional warriors that had followed Neteyam and Ti’ol into the yurt straightened their spines, their heads snapping down in a quick nod before positioning themself at a lower level than Neteyam, crouching before him to show their submission. Ti’ol, however, remained as he was, staring at Neteyam in annoyance, his usual cocky smirk being wiped from his face, as he watched Neteyam with a newfound recognition.

Neteyam offered Ti’ol leeway for a few moments as he gave him the benefit of the doubt, waiting patiently for the man to submit to him as well after grappling with the change in situation and the extra knowledge that had been offered to him. But when he made no move to repent for his troubles, Neteyam knew he had to take matters into his own hands, especially if he were to be granted the respect he was demanding.

“I said,” Neteyam snarled, starting towards Ti’ol with the blade being thrusted out towards his neck, the curve of its smooth edge coming into contact with Ti’ol’s neck, where Neteyam fiercely held it, a dribble of blood spilling. The sudden attack had Ti’ol’s eyes widening, almost bulging out of his head, as he stared up at Neteyam in umbrage, top lip curling up in an act of defiance. That didn’t deter Neteyam, though. Instead, it pushed him to lean closer into Ti’ol’s face, digging the blade a little deeper as he nastily demanded, “Am I understood?”

In those moments, as Ti’ol’s eyes turned from smug to yielding, Neteyam felt as if he finally had the man’s respect. Or, at least, something akin to respect. Neteyam doubted Ti’ol would ever fully regard him in such a high honour, but he was at least certain that the Mangkwan warrior knew he wasn’t one to be pushed around and take it.

Ti’ol had finally done what he set out to do: find Neteyam’s breaking point. But with that came the spillage of his own blood.

“Yes, Tsakarem,” Ti’ol finally relented, lowering his eyes to the floor in resignation. As he did so, it looked as if he was fighting the urge to recoil at his own actions, his natural instinct being to protest what was happening now that he wasn’t in control and detest everything that Neteyam was saying. But by some miracle, or perhaps Ti’ol just wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be, he kept his rebuttals to himself and bowed his head. “Loud and clear.”

“Good,” Neteyam sighed, relieved. He had finally been able to do something right since being kidnapped by his adoptive(?) mother, although it probably would’ve been better if he had done that an hour ago. It’s fine, though. He just had to keep making progress. And the one way to do that was to get out of this yurt. Turning to the warrior who had aided Ti’ol during their scruffle, Neteyam addressed him with a raised brow muscle, “Now, you, Dan’iew, was it?”

“Me?” the man spluttered, clearly not expecting to be picked upon by Neteyam. Giving the warrior a sharp nod of his head in answer, the man straightened, never holding eye contact with Neteyam for more than a few seconds. “I mean, yes, Tsakarem?”

“Escort me outside,” Neteyam ordered, not giving Dan’iew a choice in the matter as he grabbed hold of the warrior's arm, securing himself an alibi in case any other Mangkwan hunters or RDA soldiers decided they wanted to act out of line and test Neteyam’s patience. Pushing him towards the tents' flapping entrance, Neteyam announced to no one in particular, “I can’t stand being in this yurt for another second.”

“Neteyam,” Ti’ol attempted to call out, quickly pushing himself to his feet while a hand absentmindedly clutched at his neck, willing the tiny cut there to quickly stop bleeding. “Wait–”

Whatever he had been able to say fell on nonexistent ears, the yurt’s fabric door slipping shut before Ti’ol could finish his train of thought, trapping whatever nonsense he was about to spew. Neteyam was glad for that too, not wanting to hear another word from the man’s mouth after having to deal with him for hours straight.

Dragging Dan’iew through the small camp that the Mangkwan had set up, Neteyam wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for. He had no idea where Jake was being kept, not that he really thought he’d be allowed to freely walk around until he found him, Dan’iew and the other hunters in Ti’ol’s yurt clearly being a one-time thing. On top of that, he still had to be cautious of Varang and wherever she was hiding.

In all honesty, Neteyam was surprised he hadn’t run into her yet, or more accurately, been hunted down by her after making a fool of himself and the clan. Don’t get him wrong, though. Neteyam was not complaining. He’d actually like to keep it that way, with Varang being as far away from him as possible, since he knew, when the time finally came, their meeting would be filled with nothing but pain and regret, his old Tsahìk easily reminding him why the Mangkwan were so well known across Pandora, and why they were feared even more.

But as Neteyam strolled past a small fire that had been set up, Dan’iew being held at arms' length to ward off anyone who dared to even try and step up to them, Neteyam noticed something about this fire pit. Something that none of the others had.

Now, seeing a bonfire surrounded by Mangkwan clan members was never a surprise. That was normality in Ash Village, with Neteyam spending his own fair share of time sitting around the dancing flames, mesmerised by its flickering light. But this firepit was different. Why, you might ask? Well, this firepit had a few Na’vi that Neteyam was very personally acquainted with, having spent quite a bit of time with them before departing for his Iknimaya.

Altering his current course, Neteyam pushed himself and Dan’iew over to the bonfire currently being surrounded by his old friends.

As he walked, quite a few questions jumped to the forefront of his mind. Why did they pretend to be his friend? Why not just tell him the truth so they didn’t have to live out a lie? What did pretending to know who he was help them gain? What orders did Varang give them before meeting Neteyam? Why would they do that to him?

His head felt like a live wire as he approached the small circle, buzzing with dread as with every step he took, Neteyam grew closer to unravelling a truth that might be better if it remained a secret.

He didn’t let that deter him, not when he was so close to finally getting some answers from people he trusted, no less. So, with a confident lift of his head, showing off the diadem that Neteyam had refused to take off through all of his strife, marking his final connection to the Mangkwan as he clung to the life he thought he knew, he marched over to them, showing no signs of uncertainty or shame as he intercepted their group.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Neteyam said, immediately regretting his choice of words as soon as they left his mouth, the light grimace his features settled in making that clear to everyone who was around him. As he spoke, though, Neteyam couldn’t help but notice the way all of his friends' heads snapped towards him, varying degrees of shock, dread, and hope flashing across their faces. Neteyam tried his best not to spare any of them a particularly nice glance, since he wasn’t here for them; they didn’t deserve his kindness. Quickly turning to Dan’iew, who was still at his side before fully indoctrinating himself into the circle and taking a seat, Neteyam uttered, “You can go now.”

Scampering away as soon as Neteyam released him from his hold, Dan’iew turned and fled with his tail tucked between his legs, leaving Neteyam to the Palulukans (Thanators) as he unbashfully looked around the circle, expressing his anger, but more importantly, his sadness, to the Na’vi known.

Following Dan’iew’s departure, there was silence. A thick, weighing tension that hung in the air and refused to settle as Azay, Ma’eve, Set’kal, Zen’ho, and Kowa were faced with the aftermath of their lies and deception. Faced with the aftermath of what they had done to Neteyam and how they had helped make his life harder than necessary.

Because of that, Neteyam refused to crack. Apart from his initial greeting, he would not be the first to speak and release the small circle of the strain that was building. That would be up to them to decipher and prod at, making up for all the times that Neteyam had let them off easily.

Once this seemed to click in all of their heads, some worried and sceptical glances were shared around the group, Ma’eve’s usual ease disintegrating, Set’kal’s grouchiness turning desperate, and Zen’ho’s unbothered demeanour shifting into something reluctant. And from the way that they all seemed to avoid Neteyam’s eye as they silently tried to communicate amongst themselves, reminding Neteyam of his first interaction with them, they all knew they were in the wrong. They were just trying to figure out a way they could shoulder the blame to someone else.

“Hey, Neteyam…” someone finally cracked, the boy in question turning his head to be met with Kowa’s pained eyes as he tried not to fidget in his seat, watching as everything unfolded. A deep regret seemed to have settled across Kowa’s features from the way his usual boisterous grin wasn’t present, guilt eating away at him as he tried to do what he did best and break the ice. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine,” Neteyam shrugged, his voice perfectly pieced together. “Actually, I’ve been great. I got to reunite with my real family, explore my real home, and fall in love with my mate all over again. No thanks to any of you.”

The tension in the air seemed to thicken even more after Neteyam’s statement, Kowa’s eyes shamefully darting to the ground, nibbling on his bottom lip in silent regret while Ma’eve, Set’kal, and Zen’ho exchanged an uneasy look. Good, Neteyam thought. They didn’t get to breezily walk through this interaction after making Neteyam live a lie.

Azay, on the other hand, did her best to swallow down the new information without visible guilt. Ever the diplomat, she asked tensely, “Your mate?”

“Future mate,” Neteyam clarified, receiving a cautious glance from Zen’ho at his words. If Neteyam had to guess, it was probably due to the clan knowing about Ti’ol’s running interest in him. Which, if Neteyam didn’t have more pressing matters, was another thing he’d interrogate his friends for answers on, because why on Pandora would they ever let a creep like Ti’ol near him if they knew there was no history there? “If I hadn’t lost my memories and wasted two months being stuck in Ash Village and attempting to kill my family, then we probably would’ve mated by now.”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Set’kal scoffed, finally having had enough with the rigid atmosphere as he stared at Neteyam from across the fire, his face void of any emotions other than irritation. Typical. Neteyam should’ve expected as much, especially from him. Set’kal had never been one to filter his words or lighten his blows, why would he change now? “You’re making it sound worse than it is.”

“Oh, really?” Neteyam sneered, openly staring at Set’kal with disapproval, practically daring him to utter those words again. When Set’kal seemed to lose his nerve at Neteyam’s scoff, the Omatikayan boy scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance, letting the others know how unbelievable he found this whole situation to be. “Because to me, having your memories stolen from you and being made to live a lie is pretty bad. Especially when you pair being tricked into trying to murder the people I love.”

“Set’kal didn’t mean it like that,” Ma’eve said, coming to his defence. When one of her hands reached out to gently cradle Neteyam’s arm, an act meant to soothe, his glare snapped towards her, fixing her for the first time with a look of hatred that she had never been privy to before. “It’s just, we’ve all done stuff similar to that. This is the Mangkwan after all.”

“Maybe,” he glowered, making a show of leaning back and out of Ma’eve’s reach, her hand limply falling to her side. That small move had the girl’s eyes widening, allowing her to realise for the first time just how upset their actions had caused Neteyam to be. “But you joined the Mangkwan willingly. You were aware of what you were doing. I didn’t get that choice. I was lied to by everyone, made to believe I was someone I’m not, and then used as a puppet for Varang’s personal interest. Our situations are not the same.”

“You can’t blame us for that,” Zen’ho attempted to reason, his calm and collected composure slipping away from him with every passing second, allowing Neteyam to bear witness to a side of him that he didn’t often see. “The Tsahìk ordered us to play along with her lies. We can not defy her.”

“That doesn’t make what you did right, though,” Neteyam exclaimed, not understanding how these Na’vi, his friends, were refusing to see how they had wronged them. Not understanding how they could sit there and pretend that everything was fine and that he was the one blowing this out of proportion. “I had a life, and you all took that from me. My family was out there looking for me while I was off playing pretend with all of you. And then, when they did find me, they were made out to be my enemy.”

“Because they are our enemy,” Set’kal snapped, his eyes rolling as if Neteyam were a child who wasn’t yet ready to be let into adult conversations. “Like it or not, you’re Mangkwan now. You’re our Tsakarem now, and there’s nothing that can change that.”

“But I will,” Neteyam stressed, making sure to harden his expression and stare each of his friends down so that his words were understood clearly. If they didn’t want to listen to Neteyam, then fine, that was their problem. But he would not allow this conversation to end without it being said. “One day, I’m going to leave the Mangkwan behind and live the life that Eywa had planned for me.”

“Neteyam, come on,” Kowa sighed, looking truly exasperated by what was going on and like he just wanted it all to end. Neteyam couldn’t blame him for thinking like that, since he himself was done with this conversation, but that was because of some very different reasons. He was done with not being listened to and overlooked, while Kowa and the rest of them were only upset because they were being called out. Shifting in his seat, Kowa leaned over to Neteyam, uncaring for how the fire burned hotly against his skin as he tried to bend around Azay to get a better look at him. “Be smart about this. The Mangkwan are good for you. Pandora is changing. You might as well position yourself so that you’ll be secured for when the planet is no longer recognisable.”

Be smart about this… Be smart about this? Neteyam had been nothing but smart. He had played Varang’s game, becoming the best Tsakarem he could, even though it had never been in his nature. He had learned their customs, completed their rituals, and wanted to be one of them. But now, now that he knew the truth, now that he knew of all their lies and tricks, now that he knew that the Mangkwan were nothing but cruel, and would never be anything but cruel, he wanted nothing to do with them. And that was the smartest thing Neteyam could do.

If he stayed with them, he would never truly be one of the people, and that wasn’t just because Neteyam would much rather cut his own kuru than go through with his Iknimaya. He would never be one of them, because deep down, he now knew who he was.

He was a warrior of the Omatikaya, the youngest to ever complete their rites and take to the sky so he could assist in the battle against the Sky People. He was the firstborn son of Toruk Makto and Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite, carrying their legacy with him wherever he went. He was the older brother of Kiri te Suli Kìreysì'ite, Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, and Tuktirey te Suli Neytiri'ite, their protector.

And because of that, he would never be Mangkwan. Not when he had so many things waiting for him at home; so many things to discover and finally complete.

So because of that, Neteyam couldn’t be smart. Not in the way that Kowa wanted him to be, and definitely not in the way that the clan expected him to be. Instead, he’d do what he knows is right. He may not be able to make up for the part he played in the Tlalim clan’s wipeout, but he would make sure that the same thing didn’t happen to the Metkayina. Not as long as he lived.

“When I eventually get out of here, and war comes,” Neteyam croaked out, his words a subtle threat as his eyes danced around the circle, the raging fire sat in the centre being reflected in his golden irises. For the first time since arriving at the RDA’s base, Neteyam felt like the Mangkwan Tsakarem that everyone thought him to be. His orders in Ti’ol’s yurt had been a fluke, but this… this made him realise in another life, if he had truly been born to Varang or had decided to flee from his home, he could’ve been what the Mangkwan wanted him to be. “I'd better not see any of you on the battlefield. Because I know I might hesitate to take the shot, but my family won’t.”

No one dared say anything in response to Neteyam’s warning, knowing that if they did, they’d only be testing whatever affection he still held for them. In saying that, Neteyam’s care for them had already begun to wear thin, not being able to look past their insistence on him forgiving their wrongs without change and how they wanted him to keep playing his part as Tsakarem without strife.

But what the six of them had together, although it was built on nothing but a lie, had been good. They had made the Mangkwan clan feel less like a death sentence and more like a home that could’ve worked out in the long run. And because of that, Neteyam couldn’t bring himself to hate them. Not yet.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that none of his old friends dared to look at him. That didn’t change the fact that none of them could stomach what they did, looking for the easy way out.

Azay had her sadly folded against her head, her hands buried in her lap as she picked at her nails. Kowa wore a deep frown on his face, staring into the fire as if that would burn away his misdeeds and wipe the slate clean. Set’kal sat with his face pulled into a grimace, almost as if he had eaten something sour, as he looked at the space next to Neteyam’s head, not being able to properly face him, but also not wanting to submit before him. Zen’ho had his head turned to the side, eyes tightly sealed shut as he reckoned with what he did. Ma’eve, ever the warrior, seemed as if she wanted to fight Neteyam’s claims, but couldn’t exactly bring herself to do so.

They weren’t going to change, Neteyam had realised that from the moment he sat down with them and instead of being met with an apology, had been met with reluctance. They were too deeply rooted in their Mangkwan ways to ever see differently, and because of that, the best thing Neteyam could do for them, and, more importantly, for himself, was to let them be. He could only hope that when it came time for war, they’d heed his warning.

But before Neteyam could do anything to signify his departure, both physically from his friends and emotionally, an imposing figure came strolling towards them, demanding the attention of everyone present as five heads turned to face the looming entity that was stood behind Neteyam.

Sucking a quick breath in, Neteyam did his best to compose himself: straightening his spine to make himself seem taller, schooling his features into a painfully neutral expression so as to not give anything away, and attempting to slow his rapidly beating heart as the impending feeling of doom grew closer. This was fine. Neteyam would be fine. He knew his luck would eventually run out, so he might as well get it over with now and face whatever punishment was planned for him so he could begin looking for Jake without the constant need to look over his shoulder.

As Neteyam turned to look over his shoulder though, expecting to come face to face with the Mangkwan’s ruthless Tsahìk, he was instead met with the slightly unsure face of the Colonel, his eyes glued to Neteyam as if he alone was the answer to all of his questions. Feeling himself shift uncomfortably under Quaritch’s stare, Neteyam returned his gaze with his own filled with a varying degree of uncertainty.

Meeting Neteyam’s gaze head-on, Quaritch searched his eyes for a few moments, looking for something that Neteyam couldn’t even begin to decipher. But it seemed that after a few seconds, the Colonel found whatever it was he was looking for, inviting himself into the ever-growing circle just as Neteyam had done earlier, ruggedly setting himself down in the space next to Neteyam.

Looking around the circle sceptically, Quaritch’s eyes landed on a small bowl of kava that was sitting discarded on the floor, the group’s activities prior to Neteyam’s arrival obvious. Picking up the wooden bowl hesitantly, Quaritch shot Neteyam a raised brow, silently seeking his guidance. He offered him no help, though. In fact, Neteyam purposely looked the other way, making Quaritch struggle on his own for a few moments as he attempted to navigate Na’vi customs.

Letting out a low huff at Neteyam’s grouchiness, the Omatikayan boy swearing that he could hear a hint of amusement in the noise, Quaritch bravely turned to face the five pairs of eyes that were eagerly watching him, glad for the distraction he offered.

“We are the fire,” he gruffly called out, parading the drink around in front of him as he raised it slightly to each of the Na’vi watching him. Quaritch even raised it to Neteyam, his eyes dancing over his sulky expression. When Neteyam saw this, he huffily turned away from the Colonel, turning his nose up slightly into the air as he brought his focus to anything else. That didn’t deter Quaritch, though. Instead, he just rattled on, “Mangkwan!”

At the sound of their clan’s name, Azay, Kowa, Set’kal, Zen’ho, and Ma’eve let out a few whooping cheers, their voices crying out into the night's air as they echoed the Colonel’s words, “We are the fire, Mangkwan!”

As Quaritch lifted the bowl to his lips, taking a large gulp of the intoxicating drink before letting out a victorious hiss, the others copied his actions as they picked up some cups of their own, shrugging down the kava. Neteyam, however, sat there with a deep frown etched into his features, purposely ignoring what was going on around him as he attempted to wait Quaritch out, not wanting to be the one who turned tail and fled.

But as some of the excitement from Quaritch’s indoctrination settled down, the man’s eyes found their way back to him.

Wordlessly reaching into a pouch that sat attached to his loincloth, the Colonel pulled out a few plants that he passed over to Azay, the girl taking one look at them before recognising what they were and silently getting to work on grinding them up and adding water to make them into a paint-like liquid.

“You know,” Quaritch drawled, turning his body towards Neteyam and fixing him with the entirety of his attention. Trying not to falter under the subtle intensity that sat within his artificial eyes, Quaritch always housing an forceful aura about him that he couldn’t turn off no matter how much he tried, Neteyam slowly looked back over at him, tilting his head in question as he sat under his calculating gaze. With a lazy grin on his face, the Colonel mused, “Varang has told me a lot about you, Neteyam.”

“I wouldn’t trust anything she has to say,” Neteyam bitterly spat, bristling slightly at the Colonel’s confession. Already, Neteyam could feel his tail eratically lashing behind him, not even making it two seconds through the conversation before his body was already betraying him. “She has the tendency to lie.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Quairtch said, switching to the Sky People’s language. For a few moments, Neteyam sat there confused as to why the Colonel would make such a drastic switch. They were, after all, in the man’s territory. But then his eyes landed on the way the Mangkwan Na’vi around them exchanged curious glances, not being able to understand what Quaritch was saying. And as the Colonel spoke up again, Neteyam realised why he wouldn’t want them to: “I knew from the second she claimed you were her son that she’d be a tricky one. And while I must admit, she’s a fierce… companion, I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

“Okay?” Neteyam muttered after carefully thinking out what words he wanted to use and translating them into English in his head, not exactly understanding what any of this had to do with him. “Good for you, I guess?”

“Yeah, it is. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make here,” he chuckled, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts of whatever he and Varang got up to whenever no one was around. Neteyam grimaced lightly at that, his mind betraying him as he was supplied with an image of his adoptive mother and the Colonel spending time together despite Varang’s initial want to sacrifice him. “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve got a lot of potential. You inherited that from your father.”

“My father?” Neteyam couldn’t help but question, his eyes widening.

“Jake Sully, or as you Indigenous folk like to call him, Toruk Makto,” Quaritch said, some of his distaste for the man poking through as he spoke. Before he could fully grimace though, Azay hesitantly pulled his attention away from Neteyam, extending a few cups that had previously been filled with kava to him, now filled to the brim with paints in the colours of the Mangkwan clan. Taking it from her with a nod of his head in thanks, Quaritch turned back to Neteyam, showing them to Neteyam in a peace offering.

Staring at the paint for a few moments, Neteyam pondered what accepting this silent truce could mean for him. It was obvious that the Colonel had information about Jake, something that Neteyam was desperately vying for. If playing pretend for a few more hours helped Neteyam find out where he was being held, or even how he could save him from the execution he would be facing soon, then Neteyam would gladly adorn those paints once again.

With a careful nod of his head, Neteyam opened his body up to Quaritch, allowing him access as the man dipped his fingers in the red paint and added his own war designs to Neteyam’s skin.

“You know, me and him go way back, before either of us were blue,” he muttered, his eyes growing far away as he thought back to his time as a human. “He worked under me, acting as a spy for the RDA to help us infiltrate the Omatikaya Hometree. It’s a shame he fell for your mother. Lost a good soldier because of her.”

Neteyam didn’t say anything in response to that, not knowing what could even be said. So, instead of focusing on the way the Colonel spoke about a past Neteyam couldn’t remember, knowing that he would’ve been told the tale of how his parents met, he put his attention to how Quaritch was coating his skin in paint. As he did so, though, Neteyam couldn’t help but feel a bitter spike within him. The patterns that Kiri and Tsireya had traced into his skin that morning were still there, Quaritch not even bothering to remove it, but just painting over it as if they had never been there to begin with.

It made Neteyam silently resent what was happening, inwardly seething as he watched their efforts be brushed off and replaced by something Neteyam didn’t even want. Something that signified cruelty and destruction.

“I don’t want the same thing to happen to you,” Quaritch said, undeterred by Neteyam’s silence. His admission made Neteyam’s brow muscles furrow in confusion, almost earning him a blob of paint in his eye as Quaritch made quick work of decorating his face. At his expression, the Colonel clarified, “You're a proficient warrior, Neteyam. I saw how you handled Lyle, even while he held you at gunpoint. That takes guts.”

“Varang did most of the work back then,” Neteyam muttered, shaking his head so that he wouldn’t take all of the glory for killing that uniltìrantokx (Avatar / Dreamwalker). Besides, Neteyam couldn’t even begin to understand why Quaritch was prasining him for the death of Lyle. He was, after all, one of the Colonel’s men. “She was able to distract him for me. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything otherwise.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Quaritch huffed, a small smile brewing on his face at Neteyam’s modesty. “And now, since the Mangkwan and RDA are working together, you have the opportunity to be one of the best warriors that Pandora has ever seen.”

Neteyam felt his breath hitch at that. ‘The best warrior that Pandora has ever seen.’ For so long, that had been all Neteyam wanted. To be a warrior. For a while, he thought that meant completing his Iknimaya and fighting by Varang’s side, allowing her to shape him into what the clan needed. But now, he knew that his dream of being a warrior had been with him ever since he was little. From the moment he was old enough to learn about Toruk Makto and the First Pandoran War and the Battle of Ayram Alusìng, Neteyam knew he wanted to be just like his father.

An opportunity like this didn’t occur often, especially when most of the clans on Pandora were against war, only stepping in when it was absolutely necessary, or they were called to do so by a greater force. The Mangkwan, and by extension, the RDA, could give him that chance. They brought bloodshed wherever they went, calling for battle as they made their presence known.

But could Neteyam do that? He would be a traitor to all Na’vi. He could claim his place in history, but it would be at a great cost: a legacy tainted by those who had ruined Pandora.

“But in order for me to help you achieve that,” Quaritch continued, not at all caring for Neteyam’s internal dilemma as his hand’s movement across Neteyam’s body came to a stop, his job of covering him in red, white, and black paint complete, signifying his allegiance to the Mangkwan, even if he hadn’t yet decided who he was loyal to. “I’m going to need to be able to trust you, you got that? That means no running off, listening to your Tsahìk, and following any orders that I give you.”

Observing the Colonel with narrowed eyes, Neteyam waited for any cracks in Quaritch’s offer to show themself, knowing that a deal like that sounded far too good to be true. But when none did, Quaritch’s sincerity shining through, as if this was something he truly believed in, a hill that he would die on if it meant having a second chance at a prodigy, it left Neteyam at a loss for what he should do.

“I believe in you, kid,” Quaritch confessed, reaching a heavy hand out and letting it land on Neteyam’s shoulder, the weight seeming to pull him down as a whole new set of responsibilities was passed over to him. Squeezing his digits into Neteyam’s skin, the Colonel looked at Neteyam as if he were faced with an old friend, a shared history that Neteyam was not privy to coming to the front of Quaritch’s mind. Tensly, as a result of whatever he had seen, the Colonel warned, “Don’t make the same mistake that your father did.”

Neteyam couldn’t really care for that, though. Not when Quaritch had given him something far more important to him than betraying his species for another. He had solidified Neteyam’s determination to do whatever he could to find his dad and see him walk free.

Because really, what kind of warrior would Neteyam be if he couldn’t save those who needed him the most?

“Oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” Ao’nung pathetically murmured as he clung to Telisi for dear life. Ever since they had taken off, Ao’nung has had a festering pool of dread circulating in his stomach that threatened to rise up and spill from his lips every time Telisi sped up in the slightest, or he got a glance at just how high up they were flying.

Like right now, as Ao’nung sat far too close to the Ikran’s neck, his arms haphazardly wrapped there instead of her antenna-like reins, he couldn’t help but think this was one of the biggest mistakes he had made in his life. What he would give right now to feel his feet on the ground again, or even better, have the water engulf him from all sides as he drifted through its currents. In the end, though, Ao’nung had to deal with the fact that he was one misstep away from falling to his doom, his only hope being an Ikran that got cranky when she hadn’t seen her ride in a few hours.

And last he checked… it had been a few days since Telisi was last graced with Neteyam’s presence.

“Whoa, Telisi,” Ao’nung cried, tightening his grip even more as the beast veered sharply to the right, following Sa’ata’s lead, even if her rider was much more experience then the one currently sitting on her own back. Feeling his heart lurch into his throat, Ao’nung quickly tried to use some of the breathing practices he had been doing since he was a kid, hoping that one of those techniques would do the trick and help him survive this flight. “When someone says they’re gonna be sick, that doesn’t mean you start diving.”

A loud, tittering squawk fell from Telisi’s lips in response to Ao’nung’s outburst, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought she was laughing at him. Just as Ao’nung was about to let his protest be known once more, a quick bump in the flight path had him scrambling on Telisi’s back, a shout falling from his lips as the two of them rocked with his movement.

“Enough,” Neytiri snapped before Ao’nung could get another word out, her golden eyes glaring back at him from over her shoulder. Feeling her scrutinising gaze on him, Ao’nung’s shoulders instinctively bunched up towards his ears, somehow making his broad frame look small. Neytiri didn’t care for that, though. Not when she was carefully pulling her bow out from where it had been slung over her shoulder, preparing herself for a battle Ao’nung couldn’t even see. “We’re approaching the Sky People’s territory. You must be silent.”

“Sorry,” Ao’nung whispered, his words sounding more like a yelp, even as they were drowned out by the wind. With a less-than-pleased frown, Neytiri turned her attention back to the skies in front of her, her eyes locking on a small campfire not too far away while Ao’nung glowered down at Telisi, silently reprehending her for getting him in trouble.

With his eyes on Telisi instead of what was happening in front of him though, it left Ao’nung greatly unprepared for when Telisi suddenly deviated from the original trail they were following once more, speeding up slightly as she stuck close to Sa’ata as they travelled over foreign lands.

Unlike before, Ao’nung did his best to remain quiet, his lips thinning together tightly as he prepared for the worst.

But when Neytiri and Sa’ata silently touch down on charred grass, he and Telisi not being nearly as graceful as they went blundering into the ground, he felt a bit of his earlier hope return, even if their arrival almost blew their element of surprise.

Letting an exasperated huff fall from his lips, Ao’nung slumped away from Telisi’s neck, relief flooding him. In quick succession, Ao’nung threw himself from Telisi’s back, never having felt happier to be met with the stable ground, practically falling to his knees as he celebrated his return. Never again, after he’s retrieved Neteyam and gotten him home safely, would he ride on the back of an Ikran. He doesn’t care if it was an incredible feat that he made this far; he’d be happily sticking to the water once he returned home.

“What did I tell you?” Neytiri hissed, rounding on Ao’nung from where she had been silently watching something in the distance, her face twisted into an annoyed scowl. If Ao’nung hadn’t seen Neytiri blissfully smiling a few hours ago, basking in Neteyam’s presence, he would’ve been scared that her face was permanently stuck in that expression. “We must be quiet, like a Yerik (Hexapede). There are Mangkwan warriors just beyond those trees.”

“Mangkwan?” Ao’nung gulped, head snapping in the direction that Neytiri had been previously looking in. Faintly, he could make out the subtle glow of fire, its flames licking at the air as three bodies sat huddled closely around it. For the third time that night, Ao’nung felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach, his face falling as the realisation of what was inevitable dawned on him.

Rescuing Neteyam was no longer a far-off duty for him to complete. He had flown miles across Pandora with nothing in his mind but the boy he had set out to save, and now he was here, faced with the reality of his quest.

This was no simple task, a burden that he could put off until the last moment. This was a rescue mission, a war that he had blindly signed up for without ever having properly fought in his life. The only battle that he ever won had been ones against his friends, light roughhousing that didn’t need much skill to partake in, just the brute force to throw the other Na’vi off. Eywa, he had even lost against Neteyam and Lo’ak when he had gotten into a scruffle with them, and he and his friends outnumered them. And despite that, despite not being a warrior in any other way apart from the completion of his Iknimaya, he had signed up to fight not only the Sky People, but the deadliest clan to walk Pandora.

Eywa, give him strength.

“Yes,” Neytiri said, a bit less force behind her words as she took in the frightened look on Ao’nung’s face. Lest she forget that the boy was still merely a child, younger than she was when she thought in the First Pandoran War. Some room to falter could be given, though it must happen now, beyond the RDA’s walls, where the only ones at risk were themselves. “Now, if you want to live, either stay here and wait for my signal, or follow my lead.”

Without any warning, Neytiri whirled around, slinking away from Ao’nung without another word as she headed directly for where the enemies sat, abandoning Ao’nung and giving him hardly any time to think over his decision. If he wanted to act, it would have to be now or never; this being his only chance to get cold feet before it would result in inescapable death.

Swallowing thickly, Ao’nung fixed himself, not even giving himself a second to doubt himself. He had come here to do one thing, and he wasn’t going to leave until he did it. Or, at least die trying to. No hesitation, or lack of experience, or fear was going to get in the way.

So, with that in mind, Ao’nung started after Neytiri, making sure to be extra quiet as he followed in her footsteps.

As the pair of them stalked forward, Neytiri’s bow stretched out in front of her as she took aim while Ao’nung clutched his spear tightly, its sharpened head aimed at one of the unsuspecting Mangkwan scouts that were currently stationed on lookout duty, they held their breath, making sure that everything was lined up perfectly before all hell broke loose.

Releasing the drawstring of her bow, Ao’nung heard the exact moment Neytiri’s arrow made contact with one of the Mangkwan scouts across from them, a thick thwack sounding out through the dense forest as the weapon pierced through the Na’vi’s chest, their body crumbling to the ground as blood began to spill out from the wound. Feeling the world drop out from beneath his feet as he stared at the now lifeless body, Ao’nung didn’t even notice the remaining two warrior’s turning their attention to where he and Neytiri were hiding, only snapping out of the numbing sensation that took over him when they let out matching battle cries.

Darting his eyes over to the nearest Na’vi to him, Ao’nung reeled his arm back, momentarily adjusting his aim as his target came hurdling towards him, before launching his spear forward. The weapon sailed through the air almost as if it weighed nothing, plunging deeply into the Mangkwan scout’s stomach and sending them to the ground.

Neytiri took care of the last remaining soldier quickly, her arrow flying through the air before Ao’nung could even blink, a loud hiss echoing off her lips as she did so.

When their body hit the ground, their movement ceasing altogether as a few stray bullets were shot into the air by the gun the Sky People had gifted them, Neytiri wasted no time rushing over to the scene, her eyes skimming over the bodies of the fallen as she looted them for anything that could be of use.

When her gaze fell on a faintly glowing tag, its red light flickering every few moments, she picked it up to inspect it, golden eyes raking over the device. Now, Neytiri wasn’t like Jake; she had not lived a past life where Sky People technology was of use to her. She was also not Norm, who had dedicated his entire life to the science that they practised on Earth, or Lo’ak, who had a deep fascination with the humans’ metal.

But she had encountered the devastation that the Sky People brought with them wherever they went, dealing with their funky devices more than once. That made her astutely aware of the importance that this small beeping device could hold.

Checking over the other bodies while Ao’nung retrieved his spear and started rustling through the camp they had set up, Neytiri found matching tags on each Mangkwan scout. Curling her fingers around a second one, she ripped it from the Na’vi’s neck, intending on giving it to Ao’nung so that whatever protection it was offering these warriors, they could have the same.

But as Neytiri turned around to face Ao’nung, she was met with his sheepish smile and a chest with red paint smeared across it.

“Uhhh,” he started, fumbling over his words as a thick blob of paint fell from his lips and smacked into the ground beneath him. Feeling his ears fold back against his head as Neytiri’s eyes washed over him, drinking in the curve of red that covered his pecs, Ao’nung lost all of his critical thinking skills momentarily. Being reduced to nothing more than a fish out of water as his mouth opened and closed a few times. “I thought if we were trying to blend in, then we should probably dress the part.”

Nodding her head along to his words, a silent gesture to tell Ao’nung that she could see that, a proud glimmer sparked to life in Neytiri’s eyes as she walked over to him. Softly, she murmured, “Good thinking.”

“Really?” Ao’nung ventured desperately, his eyes as wide as Pandora’s moon as he stared over at Neytiri before quickly catching what he was doing and shaking himself out of whatever funk he had wound up into. Clearing his throat and almost choking on his own saliva in the process, Ao’nung corrected, “I mean– Thanks. They’ve got some leftover white and black paint as well.”

Giving Ao’nung a sharp nod of her head in response, Neytiri quickly picked up a bowl of black paint and quickly got to work covering her body with the liquid, taking a glance over at one of the lifeless female bodies every couple of minutes so she could copy the design that had been painted there.

And, after a couple of minutes of trading colours with Neytiri and helping the others print their chosen designs onto the others' backs, was how Ao’nung found himself head to toe in Mangkwan body paint, feeling ridiculous as he waited for it to dry.

As he did though, Neytiri seemed to take her disguise one step further, pulling the chest piece of the woman she had killed off and sliding it into place over her own breasts, tightening the leather until it was firmly imprinted into her skin. Ao’nung let out a small grimace at the sight, feeling silently blessed at that moment that the men in the Mangkwan didn’t wear much; their loinclothes kept simple so that all the attention was brought towards their heavy scarring and the remnants of animals that they wore.

“Here,” Neytiri called, chucking a necklace that she had pulled off one of the other bodies to Ao’nung. Throwing his hands up to catch the accessory, his spear falling to the ground in the process, Ao’nung was met with a thin leather strap that had a chipped skull hanging from it, the shape of which Ao’nung had never seen before. “Put this on as well.”

“But it’s a skull,” Ao’nung stressed, holding the necklace as far away from his body as he could manage without touching the decayed head that was attached to it.

“A Nantang (Viperwolf) skull,” Neytiri clarified, as if that would do anything to wipe away Ao’nung’s disgust. If anything though, that only made Ao’nung’s face scrunch more, having heard enough stories from Lo’ak about the creature to know they were of great annoyance, even if not particularly big. “You will look the part if you wear it. We can not have them questioning why you look so plain.”

“I’m not plain,” Ao’nung huffed, deeply offended by the comment. He was not plain. Far from it. His tattoo, although covered right now, only existed on two other faces. See? Definitely not plain. “And last time I checked, I didn’t see any reef Na’vi among them. So I’m the opposite of plain, actually.”

“Do not argue with me,” Neytiri said, though Ao’nung couldn’t help but hear a smidgen of amusement in her tone, her scowl light as she began walking back to the two Ikran. Hurrying after Neytiri after he fumbled to put the necklace over his head, grimacing slightly at how the skull sat on his chest, and snatching his spear up off the ground, Ao’nung fell into step beside her, silently taking the RDA device that she passed him, handling that with even more disgust than the Nantang (Viperwolf) skull. “It’ll be morning soon. We must act quickly.”

Just like before, Neytiri seamlessly mounted Sa’ata, taking to the skies quickly and without trouble as she directed her Ikran to the towering fortress that sat much closer than anyone or creature in their little rescue team would’ve liked. Ao’nung, however, stared at Telisi as if he were about to sign his life away.

Raising a hand and running it soothingly along Telisi’s snout despite her being completely calm, Ao’nung postponed their flight by as many seconds as he could, knowing deep down that it would only do him more harm than good, since when they got up into the air, Telisi would only speed up, flying faster than what Ao’nung was comfortable so she could cover the distance between her and the other Ikran.

“Hey, girl,” he mused, trying to make light of the situation before his entire being was filled with dread once more. Scratching his fingers along Telisi’s neck as he slowly made his way down the expanse of her body, Ao’nung gulped down his nerves. He had already done this once. The second time should be much easier… right? If not that, then at least it would be shorter. “Just one more flight, then Neteyam will be with us, and he can take control.”

Snapping her jaw shut a few times, Telisi bristled slightly at Ao’nung’s words, her wings twitching as if she couldn’t bear another second being on the ground away from her rider.

“Yeah, I know,” Ao’nung sighed, his ears folding back for a few seconds. They both wanted Neteyam back so badly that it was all they could think about, consumed by a guilt that continuously ate away at them as they shouldered some of the blame for not being there for him when he needed them. “We just got to last a little bit longer without him.”

With determination coursing through his veins, Ao’nung clambered onto Telisi’s back, mindful of his spear and making sure it wouldn't unintentionally stab at her while they were flying through the air. As soon as Ao’nung was secure with his arms once again incorrectly wrapped around her neck, clinging to her for dear life, Telisi took off without warning, sawing through the air at an impeccable speed as she raced to catch up with Neytiri and Sa’ata.

The entire time they flew, Ao’nung sat with his teeth harshly biting into his bottom lip, trying not to let any fear-induced noises slip from his tongue. On top of that, he was also trying to keep his eyes forced open, knowing that if they slipped shut, he would feel that familiar nausea take over him again.

It was only when the small squad began to approach the RDA base that Ao’nung forced himself into a coherent state, his eyes blinking over to Neytiri rapidly to try and gauge how she was reacting to the entire situation. Instead of being faced with the slightly amused and caring mother that he was so often used to seeing, Ao’nung lay witness to the fierce and protective warrior that Neteyam had told him stories about, her face chillingly calm as she held up the blinking Sky Person device she stole from the dead Mangkwan Na’vi they had taken care of.

Fumbling for his own piece of metal, Ao’nung quickly held it up as if it would protect him, its tiny light flickering against his painted skin. For the most part, it seemed like the device did just that as well. Because as soon as they began to approach the towering wall that separated the Sky People from the rest of Pandora, the unholy weapons that lined it turning to point at them, not a single one went off, giving them clear access to sail overhead without even the bat of an eye.

Swooping down towards a walkway of pipes, Sa’ata and Telisi touched down quite a bit away from the Mangkwan mounts that had been left to fend for themselves, hanging off metal walls and towers until they were needed again.

Dismounting from Telisi, Ao’nung stood with his shoulders pushed back and his head held high, acting with an air of confidence that he didn’t have. Neytiri could be found in a similar manner, materialising an arrow void of Sky People junk as she silently put it into place against her bow's drawstring, ready for any altercations that came up.

“Watch for me,” she whispered to Sa’ata, running a hand briefly down the side of her neck before looking at Ao’nung and nodding towards a walkway, signalling for him to follow. Not wasting any time, Ao’nung saddled up to Neytiri’s side, holding his spear at the ready while trying to ignore the blood that clung to it. Speaking softly as they approached a looming warehouse, she stated, “On the other side of this building is the Mangkwan camp.”

“How do you know that?” Ao’nung couldn’t help but ask, squinting at the other end of the large room where he could vaguely see a few tents set up.

“I saw it while we were flying,” Neytiri huffed, rolling her eyes as they stepped into the building. Raising a hand, Ao’nung came to a quick stop at Neytiri’s gesture, letting her take the lead as she stalked forward, using one of the Sky People’s aircraft as cover. Poking her head around the corner, her eyes fell on a small group of humans, some of whom were wearing Skel Suits.

Hurridly making her way back to Ao’nung, Neytiri took a deep breath, preparing herself for what they would have to do. Unless Neytiri wanted to blow that place up and bring every Sky Person’s attention to where they were, she only had one arrow, nowhere near enough to take out the group that was waiting just beyond their cover. Even with Ao’nung’s spear, they were all equipped with guns, their bullets flying quicker than they could retrieve their weapons. As much as she hated it, the only way they were going to get past them, was to act as if they belonged there.

“When we get over there, you need to find Neteyam and bring him back here without being seen,” she continued to say as if there was no issue at all, not letting Ao’nung on to their small dilemma. Besides, he was good at following orders. Neytiri was sure he’d be able to catch on quickly and not do anything stupid enough to get them instantly killed. “They are most likely keeping him close to home in case he tries to escape.”

“Okay,” Ao’nung whispered, nodding to himself as he digested Neytiri’s plan. His part was doable. More or less. Finding Neteyam was probably going to be the easy part, even if the entire Sky Person base was a maze. Getting him away without anyone noticing… now that was going to be hard. But that was an obstacle they could overcome when they were reunited. “What about you? Do you need help finding Jake?”

“No,” Neytiri muttered, shaking his head quickly as she straightened her spine and forced the rest of her body to relax. Fixing her arrow to make sure it was secured in place before turning to face the warehouse’s exit, Neytiri nodded her head once, Ao’nung hurrying to comply and follow after her as she whispered, “I’ll be able to handle my husband. You must focus on Neteyam, and Neteyam alone. Do not get caught.”

Stepping out from behind their shelter, Ao’nung didn’t dare say a word in response to her, trusting that the woman knew what she was doing and that everything would work in their favour, because if it didn’t, well, Ao’nung was definitely going to annoy her when they went to Eywa.

Walking a step behind Neytiri, his spear in the hand closest to the Sky People, Ao’nung didn’t even look over at the RDA soldiers, but it was clear that they had taken notice of them if the way their conversation died out was anything to go by. Feeling their eyes glued to them, tracing the lines of their bodies and sizing them up, Ao’nung couldn’t help but try to make himself bigger, puffing his chest out and tightening his grip on his spear so his arm would flex, letting the actions hang in the air as a quiet warning.

“Check this out,” someone said, the words undecipherable to Ao’nung. Still, even though it sounded like mush to him, Ao’nung couldn’t help but try and listen in, Neytiri very clearly doing the same thing, only she could actually make out what was being spoken. Calling out to them, the same person as before said, “What’s up, Cutie?”

“Dah!” Neytiri quickly barked as soon as the Sky Person had finished speaking, startling Ao’nung as she snapped her head towards the RDA soldiers, her teeth on display.

None of them seemed to care for her threat, though. Instead of cowering like Ao’nung most certainly would’ve if he had been on the receiving end of Neytiri’s intense stare, a round of chuckles filled the air, none of them taking Neytiri’s crazed eyes or the bow that sat in her hands seriously. “I think she likes me.”

“No way, man,” one of them scoffed, the noise sounding bitter to Ao’nung.

For a few moments after that, none of the Sky People said a thing, Ao’nung mistakenly thinking they had had their fill of the exotic world that Pandora could offer them. Even though he could still feel their eyes boring into him, Ao’nung felt less pressure to act natural when he couldn’t hear them speaking their gibberish. But just as Ao’nung thought he had escaped them, the air was filled with a gravelly voice once more.

“Look at that one,” the same Sky Person who had called out to Neytiri said after Ao’nung breezed past them, his ears straining to try and pick up what they were saying, comparing their words with the very limited vocabulary he had been taught by the Sullys. “He’s super beefy. I wonder what they were feeding him.”

Unfortunately, Ao’nung had not a clue of what words were leaving the man’s mouth. But, quite frankly, he wouldn’t mind it staying that way. Other than the terms of affection he had begged Lo’ak to teach him, trading some insights about Tsireya for the information so he could test them on Neteyam and see his reaction, he’d rather not learn more about the Sky People than what was strictly necessary.

At least after whatever comment had just been made, Ao’nung didn’t have to hear another word out of the Sky People as they exited the warehouse. Now, however, they faced a much bigger problem: finding Neteyam and Jake.

“Remember what I said,” Neytiri lowly murmured, capturing Ao’nung’s attention one last time before the two would split and attend to their respective roles. How Neytiri was even going to find Jake when they didn’t know anything about the layout of the RDA base, he had not a clue. But he did know that he was glad that Neytiri had personally escorted him to the Mangkwan’s camp, knowing he’d probably get lost, if not discovered, before he even got two steps away from Telisi. “Do not get caught.”

“I’ll try,” Ao’nung called out, but it was already too late, Neytiri having turned away and beginning to briskly make her way through the Mangkwan camp, leaving Ao’nung alone.

Feeling his ears deflate at that fact, Ao’nung’s eyes drifted across the different yurts that had been set up, gulping a breath of air down as he took in the array of bones that decorated them, the numerous firepits that were littered across the grounds, and the swarm of Mangkwan Na’vi that were going about their duties.

Trying to channel that feigned confidence that he was feeling earlier, Ao’nung forced his nerves down, refusing to let them get the best of him. Now was not the time to be scared, not when Neteyam needed him. So, with a brazen step forward, Ao’nung pushed himself to one of the larger tents that had been set up, a Zakru skull hanging above its entrance.

Even if the yurt's appearance disgusted Ao’nung, not personally understanding the appeal of having a dead creature's remnants used as decorations, he couldn’t help but be drawn to it, the structure screaming ‘power’ due to how much bigger it was compared to the other tents that had been set up. Neteyam had, after all, been the Tsakarem of the Mangkwan. It only made sense that even if the yurt didn’t belong to him, Neteyam would be kept among Na’vi of considerable status.

Steeling his nerves and stepping up to the tent's entrance, Ao’nung peered inside, his eyes scanning the space for a familiar figure. Not initially seeing anything of interest, Ao’nung is about to turn away when his vision snags on a silhouette at the very back of the yurt, engulfed by a few shadows. Squinting to try and get a better look at the Na’vi, Ao’nung is able to make a few thick braids, the same Mangkwan paint that he was currently wearing, and tight garments that seemed to constrict more than anything else.

Not being able to see their face though, Ao’nung couldn’t make out who it was. One thing was for certain, though. That was not Neteyam. Neteyam preferred to wear his hair in much thinned braids, the style almost imitating what it would look like if he wore his hair out, not that Ao’nung had ever been privy to that sight. Not yet, at least. Their build, while not being as broad as Ao’nung’s, wasn’t as lean as Neteyam’s, housing quite a bit more muscle mass as they sat hunched over themself. If Ao’nung had to guess, he would also probably say he was taller than Neteyam, not that it was hard to achieve that.

Overall, the more that Ao’nung looked at whatever Na’vi was hidden away inside of that yurt, the more he realised he definitely wasn’t going to find Neteyam within its fabric walls, and that he was most likely staring down some highly ranked warrior that would crush Ao’nung if they caught wind of his presence.

With that in mind, Ao’nung quickly stepped away from the tent's entrance, letting its curtained door slip shut as he let out a deep sigh.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been that easy. Ao’nung was stupid for thinking he would stumble upon Neteyam on his first try. Still, that didn’t stop him from feeling disappointed as he deflated slightly. It was fine, though. He could just keep trying again until he was lucky enough to stumble across the boy… or the Mangkwan found him. Hopefully, it didn’t result in that, but if the worst-case scenario did ever arrive, at least he’d have Neytiri and Jake lurking somewhere around the base.

Stealthily walking away from the yurt he had just been peering inside of, Ao’nung makes his way to the next closest one, thinking it would probably just be better to look through all of them rather than picking and choosing which ones he investigates, not wanting to miss Neteyam’s presence entirely. This one, although still heavily decorated with scattered bones, was much smaller than the last, but still just as imposing nonetheless.

Stepping up to it, Ao’nung’s ears flickered atop of his head as he tried to listen for any noise coming from inside the tent. When nothing of great interest could be heard rattling around inside, Ao’nung pulled back the curtain, his fear of walking into someone diminishing greatly.

But just as Ao’nung was about to peek his head inside, wanting to do a quick scan of the room, he heard it:

“Ao’nung?” a sweet, slightly unsure, angelic voice called out, immediately ridding Ao’nung of all of his worries as he felt his body relax, and his mind be brought to peace. It looks like Ao’nung wouldn’t have to look very far, or hard, to find the one he had been searching for, because just like always, he had a way of finding his way back to Ao’nung, even if he wasn’t trying to.

Without even having to turn around, Ao’nung knew who that voice belonged to. From the second his heart lifted from within his chest, and his body flooded with relief, Ao’nung knew with so much certainty that it was Neteyam. His Neteyam.

Turning to face the Omatikayan boy, Ao’nung’s face split into a large grin as soon as his eyes landed on Neteyam, uncaring for the way he was concealed in paint or wore accessories that no longer seemed to suit him. He didn’t care, not when Neteyam was beautiful as ever, standing there fiercely with an acquired grace and an aura of power that radiated around him. The sight almost gave Ao’nung déjà vu, reminding him of when he had stumbled across Neteyam back in Awa’atlu’s thin forest when the other had first arrived back at their shores. Only, this time it was Neteyam who was finding him.

“Ma’nung,” Neteyam gasped this time, certainty lacing his words as he rushed over to Ao’nung. Not slowing down for even a second, Neteyam went barrelling into Ao’nung, his arms thrown out so they could wrap themselves securely around Ao’nung’s neck. And, like always, Ao’nung welcomed him with open arms, helping Neteyam fit himself against Ao’nung’s body as he called him in.

Cradling a hand to the back of Neteyam’s braids, Ao’nung lightly guided Neteyam’s face towards his chest. Hooking his chin over Neteyam’s head, a soft sigh fell from his lips as he finally had the boy with him.

Unfortunately, though, they didn’t stay like that for long. Because as soon as Neteyam seemed to get over the shock of seeing Ao’nung standing there, he shoved his hands into Ao’nung’s shoulders and forced himself out of the Metkayina’s embrace, his face set into a hard frown as his eyes darted all over Ao’nung, taking him in for himself.

“What are you doing here?” Neteyam interrogoated, not getting as far from Ao’nung as he would’ve liked, as the reef Na’vi kept his arms slung loosely around Neteyam’s frame in a hold that was easy to break, but nonetheless grounding as he was kept close. Still, the pleasantries that Ao’nung offered Neteyam weren’t enough to keep his own body from being filled with stress, his eyes wide with panic as he looked around the clearing they were standing in. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“I’m here to save you,” Ao’nung said, as if it were obvious. The confession only had Neteyam’s head snapping back towards him, clear fear overshadowing his dazzling golden irises as they soaked Ao’nung in, the pieces easily falling into place inside his head after that.

“You’re what?” Neteyam cried, his head beginning to shake on instinct, almost as if not believing Ao’nung was in front of him would rewrite what was currently happening to them. Because Ao’nung couldn’t be in Bridgehead City. It was one of the most heavily secured RDA bases to ever be built on Pandora, and to think that Ao’nung would recklessly waltz into it for him almost made his heart stop beating momentarily. “No, you can’t be here. You need to leave.”

“It’s okay, Ma’Teyam,” he quickly reassured, moving one of his hands from Neteyam’s waist to instead soothingly run it across his upper arm, some of the paint there flaking at the contact. It must’ve been applied at least an hour or so ago, he thought. And from the way there were no visible injuries on Neteyam, it looks like he had shown up at a good time before any could be added. “Neytiri is here looking for Jake. We’re going to get you both out of here.”

“My mum’s here?” Neteyam asked, some of the dread that had been rapidly building within him slipping away at Ao’nung’s affirmation. Although a slight prickle of annoyance stabbed at Ao’nung for not being the one who was able to bring Neteyam comfort, he was at least glad that Neteyam was able to find some peace of mind in their current situation. Nodding to himself, Neteyam mumbled, “Okay, that’s good– wait. How did you even get here?”

“Oh, you’re never going to believe this, Ma’Teyam,” Ao’nung smiled almost giddily, his tail giving an excited flick behind him as he got ready to share the news. Seeing Neteyam’s eyes light up curiously before him, Ao’nung took the boy's hands into his, running a thumb over the back of his palm before announcing, “I was able to fly with Telisi.”

“What?” Neteyam almost screeched, eyes blown wide as his gaze immediately took to the sky, attempting to catch sight of her while his mind tried to catch up with what Ao’nung had just said. “How? She would’ve never have allowed you to make tsaheylu with her.”

“We didn’t need tsaheylu,” Ao’nung quickly said, not wanting any thoughts of betrayal to arise in Neteyam’s mind. He knew a bond with an Ikran was sacred, especially among the Omatikaya. But not only was it important to his clan, but it was also important to Neteyam. And there isn’t a single thing in the world that would make Ao’nung want to take that away from Neteyam. It would almost be like if Neteyam had randomly decided to bond with his Spirit Brother, not that Ao’nung knew if that was even possible. “I just… kind of clung to her neck the whole time and hoped she wouldn’t decide to throw me off.”

Dragging his gaze back down to Ao’nung, Neteyam stared at him with a mix of scepticism and awe, seemingly unsure which of the two emotions to lean into. “She let you do that?”

“For you, she did,” Ao’nung lamented, knowing that Telisi would’ve much rather eaten her own tail than let Ao’nung ride her alone if it wasn’t for a good cause. And what better cause was out there than saving their Neteyam? “She doesn’t normally let me near her without you present, but the knowledge of you being in danger seemed to knock he into shape.”

“You two did that for me?” Neteyam asked, growing quiet now as he blinked up at Ao’nung with what could only be described as adoration brimming in his eyes. He looked almost shy as the question was poised, as if, despite Ao’nung just announcing it, he couldn’t bring himself to get too hopeful and believe what he had just said.

“Of course we did,” Ao’nung said, cocking his head to the side as he gazed down at Neteyam, bringing a hand up to cup his face. As soon as the contact was made, Neteyam leaned into his touch, taking up a soft hold on his wrist as he listened. “And we would’ve done it a hundred times over if–”

Ao’nung never got to finish that sentence as a hand was quickly pressed against his lips, silencing him as Neteyam looked over his shoulder, his ears flickering like crazy as he picked up on something that Ao’nung had clearly missed. Feeling his stomach drop as he tried to pick up on what Neteyam had discovered, all of Ao’nung’s senses went into high alert, his body screaming at him to move as he caught wind of a few pairs of footsteps heading in their general direction.

Without having to signal anything to Neteyam though, Neteyam hurriedly removed his hand from Ao’nung’s mouth and instead took hold of his wrist, giving it a quick tug as he began dragging Ao’nung away from where they had been previously standing. Tugging him in between the different yurts until they stood in a slightly more secure and secluded location, Neteyam didn’t let go of Ao’nung until he was sure there were no prying eyes or figures too close for comfort.

Taking up a post between two of the yurts, Neteyam silently watched from the shadows as a small group of Mangkwan Na’vi walked by, purposely keeping Ao’nung behind him despite his smaller frame not doing much to conceal the Metkayina.

Staying there a few seconds longer than necessary once the group had passed, Neteyam let his shoulders sag forward with a sigh, a quiet relief filling him as he stepped away from the small opening and allowed himself to be fully blanketed by the cover the tall tents offered them.

When Neteyam turned back to face Ao’nung though, he was promptly swept off his feet, Ao’nung not being able to contain himself as he dropped his spear to the ground and wrapped his arms around Neteyam’s waist, pulling him into his chest once again so he could lift him off the ground and spin the two of them in a few quick circles as he was overcome with happiness.

He had done it. He had found Neteyam. Or, better yet, Neteyam had found him.

They were together again at last, and Ao’nung sure as hell wasn’t going to let anything get between them again. Not even the overpowered, filled-to-the-brim RDA base that they were currently standing in as Sky People and Mangkwan warriors alike strolled through the metal city.

“Ao’nung,” Neteyam softly hissed as his hands came down to plant themselves on Ao’nung’s shoulders, steadying himself as his body was tossed around as if he weighed nothing. Still, despite the outwardly strong demeanour that Neteyam was trying to put on, Ao’nung could hear the faint telltale signs of laughter bubbling up in his voice, his tail flicking behind him excitedly as his hold turned from grounding to embracing, practically melting into Ao’nung. “Now is not the time for this.”

“You’re right,” Ao’nung quickly agreed, though he remained nosing at Neteyam’s collarbone for a few extra seconds before finally ceasing in his childish antics and setting Neteyam down. Making sure his feet touched down on the ground gently, Ao’nung made no move to pull away from the Omatikayan boy, keeping his hold on the other firm. Still, he lightly murmured, “Sorry, Ma’Teyam.”

“It’s alright, Ma’nung,” Neteyam smiled, cupping Ao’nung’s face and bringing it up so it could meet his. Leaning his forehead towards Ao’nung, Neteyam brought the two of them together in a gentle embrace, content to just hold him for a few seconds, even if now was desperately not the time to be doing this.

That fact was made painfully clear to the pair as well when a low whistle sounded out through the air, slicing through their moment and taunting them as it called for their attention.

Peeling away from one another instantly, as if they had been caught in the middle of something scandalous (which, perhaps not what they were doing was, but where they decided to celebrate definitely could be considered as much), both Ao’nung and Neteyam whipped around to find a figure they had both unfortunately grown familiar with, one of them having quite a few more encounters than the other.

In all of his annoyance and the great distaste he brought wherever he went, Ti’ol stood before the two of them with very little glory circulating around him, a convincing smirk plastered on his face as his eyes raked over the pair, his amber eyes staying glued to Ao’nung and the getup he had found himself in for a few seconds longer than necessary. At the sight of him, Ao’nung felt himself grow tense, getting reminded of just where exactly they were and who they were dealing with as they were faced with the embodiment of the Mangkwan clan.

“Aw, how sweet is this,” Ti’ol’s sickening voice mockingly cooed as he took in the sight of them, slowly stalking towards the pair with hungry eyes. Ao’nung didn’t even wait a second to crouch down and retrieve his spear, not when Ti’ol was watching them like a hungry Slotsyal (Stormglider), prowling for his next kill. “Please, don’t stop on my account. I’d hate to be the one getting in the way of such a cute reunion.”

“Ti’ol,” Neteyam hissed sharply, his ears flattening against his head as he positioned himself in front of Ao’nung, coming between him and Ti’ol. Ao’nung felt a tremor shoot down his spine at the noise, his eyes flickering over to Neteyam in awe before hurriedly sliding back over to Ti’ol, remembering that the enemy was among them and he couldn’t get sidetracked with how fierce his lover was.

“Enough of that, Yawntutsyìp (Darling / Little loved one),” Ti’ol groaned, exasperated by the sight of Neteyam flashing his small fangs and whipping his tail back and forth behind his back. Taking a step too close to them, Neteyam quickly pulled the blade he had previously stolen back from Ti’ol out from the sheath on his loincloth, holding it up to Ti’ol in warning. Surprisingly, or at least to Ao’nung, Ti’ol seemed to falter, swallowing thickly as he stared down at the weapon, before forcing himself forward as if nothing had happened. “What have I told you about hissing? You need to stop. You’re nowhere near as threatening as you think you are, and the act is getting old really quickly.”

“Maybe if you actually listened to him, then he wouldn’t have to hiss at you,” Ao’nung snapped, pushing himself out from behind Neteyam and taking up the space at his side, his bloodied spear threateningly pointed at Ti’ol and keeping the Na’vi at least ten feet away from them. With a growl, he barked out, “Stand down, Ti’ol. Neteyam will be leaving Bridgehead City with me.”

“You won’t be going anywhere,” he spat quickly in response, pulling his own knife from his hip, clearly not equipped for a proper fight. Holding it up before him, the blade's curved edge tapping against the sharpened edge of Ao’nung’s own weapon, Ti’ol prepared for a fight despite his disadvantage. The fact that Ti’ol was outnumbered and out-armed didn’t even seem to register to the Mangkwan Na’vi, the man instead rising to his full height and grinning sharkishly at the two. “The Tsahìk has yet to punish him, and I have yet to claim the Tsakarem as my mate.”

As soon as those words left Ti’ol’s mouth, Ao’nung let out a deep, guttural hiss, thrusting his spear towards Ti’ol once, forcing him to stumble back unless he wanted to be impaled, earning an amused laugh from the Na’vi despite the situation he was in. Once again bringing his blade up to rest it against Ao’nung’s, Ti’ol looked ready to strike at any second, goading Ao’nung to make the first move with a small nod of his head.

And, never being one to back down from a challenge, Ao’nung was hopeless but to give into Ti’ol’s demands, reeling his shoulder back so he could plunge his weapon forward with a snarl, “You will do no such thing–”

Before either of them could make contact, a fiery boom sounded through the air, shockwaves shaking the ground as the aftermath of an explosion rattled through the ground, throwing everyone off balance from its unexpected arrival. Fumbling forward, the spear fell out of Ao’nung’s hands before he could stabilise himself, dropping to the floor and clattering loudly.

Trying to lean forward to pick it up, Ao’nung’s fingers never even came in contact with its wooden shaft before a spiked body was slamming into his, throwing him off course until he was landing on his back. Spluttering slightly after being tackled, Ao’nung threw his hands up to catch Ti’ol’s wrist before he could drive his knife down into Ao’nung’s head, the tip of his blade mere inches away from his right eye.

Distantly, Ao’nung could hear a loud whoop be let out into the air, a matching shriek being clicked back, but Ao’nung couldn’t really focus on that, not when he was two seconds away from having his eye plucked out as Ti’ol shoved all of his weight down onto him.

Tightening his hold on Ti’ol’s wrist to keep the blade in place away from his face, Ao’nung bucked his hips up, lurching Ti’ol forward and off balance, giving him enough time to shove Ti’ol’s leaner body off from on top of him. Pushing himself onto his knees whilst Ti’ol scrambled to right himself, Ao’nung closed both of his finned hands into firm fists and knocked one square into Ti’ol’s face when his head snapped around to try and keep Ao’nung in his line of sight.

“Kalweyaveng (Son of a bitch),” Ti’ol spat, blood beginning to spill from his nose. Before he could even compose himself after a hit like that, and before Ao’nung could get in his head about making the man bleed, he sent another quick hit hurtling Ti’ol’s way, smashing his knuckles into the side of his chin.

“If I ever hear you talking about Neteyam in that way again, or see you near him,” Ao’nung started, not giving Ti’ol enough time to compose himself as he settled a hand at the junction between his neck and shoulder, holding him in place so he could deliver another quick punch, his knuckles beginning to swell from the contact. “I’m going to–”

“You’ll what?” he jeered in response as he finally threw his hands up and blocked one of Ao’nung’s punches, the shift in pace throwing Ao’nung off guard as Ti’ol smacked his arms away before diving back into him, trying to wrestle him to the ground. It was only when Ao’nung felt his back slam into the floor, Ti’ol’s knees digging into his shoulders to limit the range of movement in his arms, did his earlier confidence began to slip away. “You’re not going to do anything. You’re going to die here as a failure. And then, in a few days, before we fly back to your precious little home and kill every single Na’vi there, Varang will allow me to mate with your precious little boy.”

With Ao’nung restrained, Ti’ol hastily reached out to his discarded blade not too far away from their crash site, his fingers curling around the leather wrap on its handle as he slowly dragged it forward, its sharpened edge scraping against the floor and letting out a deafening screech as he tauntingly pulled him up to Ao’nung’s face. Holding the knife above his face, similarly to the initial position they had been in when everything went sideways, Ti’ol let it rest there for a few moments, enjoying the way Ao’nung began to struggle.

“I’d get a good last look at him now if I were you,” Ti’ol slyly advised, his head cocking to the side at where Neteyam’s last known location had been. “Because once we’re done with him, Eywa isn’t ever going to let him back into her embrace– Argh!”

Before Ti’ol could finish that sentence, before Ao’nung could even blink, really, he’s cut off by his own pained yell, his lips quivering and eyes wide as he turned his head to the side to see what had happened. And there, Ao’nung thought with a grimace taking over his face, bile rising to his mouth as he stared at the sight, was a truly disgusting image waiting for him.

“What the fuck?” Ti’ol shouted as his eyes landed on the spear that had been plunged through his shoulder, its sharpened edge sticking out through the skin of his chest as a few dribbles of blood began to slip from where the wound was still tightly packed.

Dropping his knife, the weapon almost clattering into Ao’nung’s face if he hadn’t quickly craned his head to the side to avoid it, Ti’ol raised a trembling a hand to his shoulder, his fingers twitching as they hesitated slightly before the wound, not knowing what to do as he tried to keep himself composed and from crumbling at the pain that was blossoming through him. Ti’ol wasn’t offered much of a choice, though, because before he could even make up his mind, the spear was being yanked out from his body, thick clots of blood following its absence as they began to excessively ooze out from the puncture.

Quickly shoving the man back before he somehow found a way to fight through this, and before any more of his blood could drip down onto his skin, Ao’nung knocked Ti’ol off from him and scrambled to his feet, his head whipping around to face where the spear had come from.

There, with an annoyed glower plastered on his face, and his lips curled slightly up into a snarl, stood Neteyam, Ao’nung’s bloodied spear held fiercely in his hands as its sharpened head stayed threateningly pointed at Ti’ol despite his withering state, not allowing for any of the Mangkwann warrior’s movements to go unnoticed and catalogued by him.

And oh, what a sight that was.

Feeling his jaw go slack at the sight of Neteyam, Ao’nung couldn’t help but stare. Because really, how could Ao’nung not when Neteyam seemed so in his element? With his body covered in the different Mangkwan colours, his stance wide as he prepared to finish the battle Ao’nung had started, hair wild as blazing red feathers stuck out from his braids, and his face set in a determined scowl, Ao’nung was helpless to do anything but admire him.

Then, as if Neteyam needed anything else to make him look deadlier, like the warrior he had righteously become, Telisi came storming in from behind him, landing on the metal ground with a loud screech, her wings flared out beside her as she let her fury be known.

“Are you okay?” Neteyam breathily asked, tearing his gaze away from Ti’ol to instead acknowledge his amazed lover. Eyes immediately noticing the blood that had splattered on Ao’nung’s midsection, he quickly abandoned his post and came rushing over to him, taking Ao’nung’s lack of answer as a bad sign. Reaching his fingers out, he gently prodded at where Ti’ol’s blood had fallen onto him, testing the skin there for any injuries as he called out, “Ma’Nung?”

“Never better,” he dreamily sighed in response, taking his spear from Neteyam’s hands so he could rid him of the burden it now carried, quickly wrapping his free arm around Neteyam’s waist instead to draw him in, nuzzling his nose into the Omatikayan boy’s cheek to show just how much he appreciated his aid. “I think that was actually the hottest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

“What?” Neteyam spluttered, taking a hesitant step back from Ao’nung as he stared at him with uncertainty, wondering if he had to check the Metkayina’s head for any injuries there.

“Mhm,” Ao’nung hummed, smiling when Neteyam shyly tried pulling away from the contact, even if there was a growing purple hue to the tips of his ears. “You were amazing, Ma’Teyam. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Turning his head so that he could peer into his eyes, Neteyam silently watched Ao’nung for a moment, assessing the words that were falling from his lips. Knowing that he probably sounded like a madman, Ao’nung only grinned down at him, doing nothing to help his case as he gave Neteyam’s waist a light, reassuring squeeze before sliding his hand down to his hip, giving it a light pat. Narrowing his golden irises, Neteyam slowly murmured, “...You have weird taste.”

“Only for you,” Ao’nung shot back before he could even think, revelling in the way Neteyam dramatically rolled his eyes in response. He couldn’t blame him for it, though. Not when he hadn’t even fully won back his freedom yet, as they stood trapped in the towering walls of the RDA’s base. Ti’ol’s pained groans were quick to remind Ao’nung of that, his eyes darting over to where the Mangkwan warrior was trying to pull himself away, and the chaos that was raging on beyond their secluded little spot. “Now, can we get out of here? This place is giving me the creeps, and Ti’ol’s withering body isn’t making me feel much better.”

“Of course,” Neteyam quickly nodded, pulling himself from Ao’nung’s hold so he could instead clasp their hands together, leading him over to Telisi, where she sat impatiently waiting for Neteyam to return to her, not yet getting the proper reunion that they deserved. Then, almost in a whisper, as if he didn’t really want Ao’nung to hear it, Neteyam said, “...Tìyawn (Love).”

Feeling his spine shoot straight at the name, Ao’nung’s face broke out into a dazzling grin. He didn’t comment on it, not when Neteyam looked to be fighting for his life as the previous purple hues on his ears travelled down to the rest of his face, though it was hard to see under the paint that had been smeared there. Ao’nung did, however, make his appreciation known as he clambered onto Telisi after Neteyam, his arms winding their way around Neteyam’s waist and holding him close.

In seconds, as Neteyam made tsaheylu with Telisi and easily took control of the Ikran, they were skybound, Telisi’s green wings stretching wide as they made quick work of abandoning the Mangkwan camp in favour of returning to Awa’atlu.

While they were in the air, and more importantly, while Ao’nung clung to Neteyam in hopes of not slipping from Telisi’s back, the both of them kept their eyes peeled for the nearest exit, neither of them being ready to take on any RDA or Mangkwan soldiers, as all they had was a spear and a small knife. But, luckily for them, it didn’t seem like they would need to, as Ao’nung caught sight of some familiar faces not too far away from them.

“Look,” Ao’nung announced, pointing a hand past Neteyam’s face in hopes of guiding his attention over to the Ikran sailing through the air, three distinct bodies sitting on its back. Squinting his eyes momentarily, Ao’nung couldn’t help but grin as he noticed Spider wedged in at the front of Sa’ata, looking as if he were having the most fun he had ever had in his life. “Over there.”

“Perfect,” Neteyam breathed a sigh of relief after turning to see what all the commotion was, his body relaxing as soon as he noticed Neytiri and Jake safe and already heading towards them. “Let’s get out of here.”

With a snort, Ao’nung muttered, “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

Neteyam could feel his body beginning to slowly slump forward, exhausting eating away at him as the sun began to rise over the forest they were flying through, marking a new day and the end of a sleepless night.

With every passing second, Neteyam could feel a peaceful slumber attempting to creep up on him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and pull him into its clutches so he could finally rest after running on autopilot for so long after the stress he had been put under. But at the slightest jolt from Telisi below him as she powered on after Sa’ata, or the subtle tightening of Ao’nung’s arms around him as he, too, tried to fight off sleep, Neteyam was reminded why he couldn’t afford to give in to his body's needs. Not yet, at least.

But, as Neteyam saw Neytiri begin to guide her Ikran down to the bank of a river whose stream followed a similar direction of their flightpath, Spider snuggly pressed against her back while Jake held him in place, he felt relief begin to flood him as his mother’s movements could only be interpreted as one thing: they were taking a break.

A break that was very much needed, not just for his own sake, but also for the sake of Telisi, who had been flying for longer than she had in days, Neteyam’s absence leaving her to grow lazy as she waited for her favourite, and only (though Neteyam wasn’t sure how true that statement stood anymore after being told about her and Ao’nung’s little adventure), flyer to return.

Still, Neteyam wouldn’t be the one to pass up on this opportunity instead of capitalising on it, not when he was in desperate need of a moment to stretch his legs and to wash off the paint and blood that was staining his skin.

Guiding Telisi until she was following after Sa’ata and the cluster of Na’vi (and Sky People) who were sitting on her back, they landed smoothly by the river's edge, her wings practically dropping off from her body as she no longer needed to keep them in continuous use.

Only sparing a second to make sure there was nothing truly wrong with Telisi, parting from her the moment Ao’nung had removed himself from her back and she was taking small sips from the river, Neteyam was whirling around to where Sa’ata had landed. Already seeing Spider struggling to get the Sky People's clothes that the RDA scientists had forced him into, and Neytiri running a soothing hand along her Ikran’s neck as she took after Telisi and began to drink from the endless supply of water, Neteyam’s eyes darted over to where Jake stood.

Feeling his breath catch at just the mere sight of him, Neteyam’s feet were moving quicker than his mind as he began speeding over to the man, his gaze raking over him for any signs of injuries. When he saw nothing though, only an expanse of blue skin and his dreadlocks framing his head, he felt his thundering heartbeat ease.

Jake was alright. He wasn’t dead, and there had been no harm brought to him outside of some light bruising that had begun to form back when he was struggling to escape the Sky People’s grasp in favour of comforting Neteyam.

With that realisation, and with Jake’s eyes boring into him, a small smile tugged at his lips as he watched his son sprint over to him, Neteyam felt some hesitation creep its way into his mind, making his pace slow until he was stood directly in front of his father, his hopeful yet closed-off gaze peering up at Jake as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to approach.

Fiddling his fingers together, Neteyam pulled at the skin there as he picked at the black paint Quaritch had smeared across his skin, he tried not to look too obvious with his intentions as he stood before Jake. Bashfully, and in an attempt not to look away or shrink in on himself in regret, Neteyam mumbled, “I’m glad you’re alright–”

Only, he never got to finish that thought, as before he knew it, two strong arms were embracing him into a tight embrace, pulling him close and holding him dear as if Jake couldn’t even bear the thought of letting him go again. It took a second for Neteyam to fully relax into Jake’s hold, well, maybe more than a second as he stood there stiffly, body going dangerously still as he was held with such a deep intensity of care, but when he did, Neteyam threw his arms out to cling to Jake just as tightly, burying his head against Jake’s chest and letting out a shuddering breath.

“See?” Jake whispered into Neteyam’s ear, his voice hushed so that it would stay just between the two of them. Bringing a hand up to rest against Neteyam’s braids, Jake cradled the back of his boy’s head, not allowing him to slip away just yet. “I told you everything would be alright. You have nothing to worry about, not when me or your Mum’s around.”

“You’re right,” Neteyam shakily sighed, somehow pushing himself deeper into Jake’s hold. Jake, who was just happy to finally have Neteyam in his arms after living through weeks of thinking his son was dead, days of being pushed away from him at every corner, and hours of thinking something terrible had happened to him, felt himself smiling into the contact, waiting until Neteyam was ready to pull away. Which, unfortunately for him, was happening a bit sooner than he had hoped as Neteyam slowly began to pry his head away from Jake’s collarbone, sounding completely unsure of himself, as if he couldn’t buy his own words, as he murmured, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“That’s alright, you know for the future now,” Jake laughed, using his hold on Neteyam’s head to mess up his braids as he rustled the hair there. He rightfully got an annoyed huff aimed his way from Neteyam in response to the action, not at all feeling guilty, as he only flashed Neteyam a grin. “Say, why don’t you go and join so you can wipe that junk off your skin? It won’t be long until we take off again, and it’s probably for the best that none of you turns up to Awa’atlu wearing Mangkwan war paint.”

“Okay,” Neteyam almost reluctantly agreed, surprising Jake as Neteyam was almost always rushing to escape his presence and replace him with the Metkayina boy. But as Jake squinted his eyes at Neteyam, restraining himself from reaching a hand out to check his son’s temperature, he noticed the way Neteyam’s tail had curled itself around his own thigh, stopping it from repeatedly twitching as he nervously glanced at Jake. “I… I’m glad you’re okay, Dad.”

“Me too, Babyboy,” Jake felt his body relax at the simple confession, ready to drag Neteyam in for another hug if that was what he needed to feel better. He didn’t push though, leaving that decision to Neteyam. “I’m not sure what I would’ve done if something had happened to you.”

Thinning his lips together, Neteyam stared up at Jake with eyes slightly wider than they had been moments before, quickly blinking back a wet sheen to them as he nodded his head, accepting Jake’s word without further explanation. Still, the lurking need to be close to Jake silently persisted, not allowing him to make the first move to back away, not until he was sure Jake was fine, despite him already insisting he was.

“But go,” Jake murmured, lightly nudging Neteyam in the direction of Ao’nung, where he sat already scraping the paint from his skin. Feeling their eyes on him, Ao’nung cautiously looked over at the two, giving them a shy wave in case they were conspiring against him. “Get over there and spend some time with Ao’nung before we go. Eywa knows I’m not going to let the two of you out of my sight when we get back.”

“Wait, what?” Neteyam gasped, his head whipping around to face Jake. Feeling his stomach drop and his face flush at his statement, Neteyam was only met with Jake’s teasing smirk, clearly enjoying Neteyam’s outburst. Spluttering, he demanded, “You can’t do that.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake asked, cocking his head to the side with an already victorious grin on his face. “Watch me.”

Narrowing his eyes up at Jake, Neteyam tried to see just how far he could push Jake’s resolve. Dropping his ears down until they were flat against his head, Neteyam stuck his lips into a pout, his eyes batting up at Jake. Only, Neteyam wasn’t met with the face of a man whose plan was crumbling, but a raised brow instead, his pleading look clearly having no effect on Jake. When that was made clear after a few seconds of hoping to witness Jake’s facade break, Neteyam spun around on his heel, his tail lashing behind him as he groaned, “Ugh!”

“I’ve seen every trick in the book, Son,” Jake let out a hearty chuckle as Neteyam stormed off, throwing his head back when he saw him huffily wave him off, his ears a dusty purple. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Not dignifying Jake with a response, Neteyam marched into the river, not stopping until he was stood by Ao’nung’s side, with his arms crossed over his chest. Glancing over his shoulder before even acknowledging Ao’nung’s presence, Neteyam watched as Jake spoke with Neytiri with a small frown on his face, eventually giving Neteyam a pointed look, silently telling him to do as he was originally told.

So, like the good son he was, Neteyam flashed his teeth at Jake for a few seconds before turning his back on him, finally putting his attention on Ao’nung and seeing just how far along he had gotten with removing his skin of the paint he had stolen.

Noticing the way only his arms and legs had been scrubbed clean, the Metkayina boy making quick work of trying to get the remainder of the paint (and blood, thanks, Ti’ol) from his stomach and chest. For the most part though, Ao’nung’s back had been neglected, the poorly designed pattern already having a few droplets of water smudging the paint there. Taking the initiative into his own hands, Neteyam crouched down beside Ao’nung, scooping some water into his hands before helping to pour it down his back.

Glancing over his shoulder at the contact, Ao’nung’s face broke out into a small smile at the sight of Neteyam, not being able to help the warmth that spread through his chest at the simple act. In a soft murmur as he momentarily stopped his own scrubbing to turn to Neteyam, he cooed, “Thank you, Yawne (beloved).”

“Do not thank me,” Neteyam scoffed, lightly pushing Ao’nung’s head away until he was once again focusing on his own task. If Neteyam had to be in the water to wash the paint off his body, then fine, so be it. But he would do so as quickly as possible, so he didn’t need to waste another second with the persistent tide pulling at his legs, and in order to do that, he needed to make sure Ao’nung actually did his job. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, if you’re looking for ways to repay me,” he cheekily responded, the trifling undertone to Ao’nung’s voice almost making Neteyam forget about his own mission to scold him for how foolish he had been. “I’m sure I can think of a few.”

“I will not be doing you any favours, Ma’Nung,” Neteyam grumbled, rolling his eyes even though Ao’nung could see the action. If anything, Neteyam should leave Ao’nung to suffer alone and struggle with removing his body of his Mangkwan paint by himself, but just like Jake, Neteyam almost couldn’t bear to do that, not when he had risked so much just to see him safe. So instead, he settled for saying, “What you did today was incredibly stupid, and I hope you never do something like that again.”

“I know,” Ao’nung sighed, actually seeming guilty for half a second as Neteyam continued to run his hands along his back, washing away almost all of the additional colour that had been there. “But you must understand I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I can’t bear to lose you again, Neteyam. If there’s something I can do to prevent bad things from happening to you, then I will do it.”

Neteyam felt his lips thin together at that, not exactly knowing what to say in response to Ao’nung’s sincere confession. Once again, Ao’nung was too good for Neteyam. Risking his life without a second thought, flying on an unbonded Ikran because his own aquatic mounts couldn’t get him where he needed to go, and stepping into uncharted enemy territory just for him. It was too much.

But Neteyam couldn’t help but adore it, greedily soaking in every word that the Metkayina boy spoke, happily leaning into his touches, and waiting for the next surprise to be aimed his way.

Perhaps it was just some sort of power that Ao’nung had, making Neteyam carefully give in to him no matter what. Giving in to his whims when it mattered the least, and following along with all of his silly plans as they fell into a rhythm that Neteyam hadn’t even realised had been set. Maybe, and just maybe, it was a gift from Eywa, if you would.

It’s why, as Neteyam finally washed away the remnants of the paint on Ao’nung’s skin, he kept his hands firmly planted on Ao’nung’s back, not even daring to pull away if he was able to steal a few extra moments of contact before he’d have to work on himself.

“Then I guess I must just prevent those things from happening to begin with,” Neteyam finally exhaled after a few silent moments, shaking his head to himself as he thought about all the trouble Ao’nung could so easily get him into if he really tried. But he knew, unless it was harmless fun, that Ao’nung would never even dare to purposely upset Neteyam. So, he had nothing to worry about, a feat he symbolised by finally removing his hands from Ao’nung’s broad back after a light pat, “There, all done.”

“Thank you,” Ao’nung murmured, in response to what, Neteyam wasn’t sure. But as he slowly turned around, shifting onto his knees as he came to face Neteyam, he could tell that Ao’nung meant it in regards to everything. “Here, let me help you in return.”

Without haste, Neteyam gave Ao’nung a slow nod of his head, taking a second to soak in the familiar teal skin that had been hidden from him for too long, before his back was facing the Metkayina boy.

With most of the paint already having been washed off of Neteyam due to the river that was racing against his legs and the water he had been using to run along Ao’nung’s back, it didn’t take long for him to completely rid himself of almost all traces of the Mangkwan’s presence. Snapping Ti’ol’s arm band off from his bicep and chucking it into the water, letting its currents push it to somewhere new, Neteyam turned back around so he could sit facing Ao’nung, more than happy to spend a few minutes with his charming smile in his face.

Only, as Neteyam positioned himself to face him, his hands reaching up to his braids to begin unwinding the red feathers that had made themselves a home there, he noticed Ao’nung’s soft baby blue eyes already boring into him with a lovesick grin plastered across his face.

“What?” Neteyam amusedly huffed from under Ao’nung’s watchful eye, already knowing something ridiculous was going to come out from his mouth, but still expectantly waiting to hear what it was.

“Nothing,” he softly mused, not being able to help the giddy glimmer in his eyes. Not believing Ao’nung in the slightest though, Neteyam cocked his head to the side, one of his brow muscles suspiciously waiting for Ao’nung to continue talking, as he knew it was never really ‘nothing’ when it came to him. At the look, almost as if he were waiting for an invitation, Ao’nung sighed, pretending to be exaggerated for all of two seconds before he was beaming at Neteyam, “Fine, I was just thinking about how I’ve met the most perfect Na’vi in all of Pandora.”

“Have you met someone that I don’t know about?” Neteyam feigned a gasp, momentarily stopping his attempts to get a particularly tricky feather out from his hair as he instead planted it on his chest, right over the scar left by his bullet wound, as he stared over at Ao’nung with a look of betrayal. “If so, I’d love to meet them so I can warn them about what a handful you are.”

“Me? A handful?” Ao’nung scoffed, not believing what he was hearing. Grumbling under his breath half-heatedly, Ao’nung lent Neteyam a hand with the remaining feathers in his braids when he noticed his telltale signs of annoyance beginning to blossom. Even as Ao’nung did that though, he couldn’t help the sly smirk that split across his face as he gleefully recalled, “Last time I checked, you were the one who I was handfeeding dinner to.”

“That was an accident,” Neteyam practically screeched, almost batting Ao’nung’s hands away at the accusation. He just couldn’t believe that Ao’nung would dare say such a thing, especially when Neteyam was sure he could think of a handful of things that would have Ao’nung spluttering the same way that he was now. “My hands were busy, and I wasn’t thinking straight. Besides, you were the one who insisted on continuing to hand-feed me after that.”

“Of course I would,” he hummed in agreement, not at all being embarrassed by the confession, even if Neteyam’s navy skin grew a noticeable purple hue. “Anything for Ma’Teyam.”

“You–”

“Alright, pack it up, you two,” Jake cut in before Neteyam could even get a coherent sentence out, his voice echoing across the river’s surface as it travelled to where Neteyam and Ao’nung were sitting in the middle of it. As the two turned to face him, they quickly saw the noticeable frown that was on Jake’s face as he stood with his hands crossed over his chest, his eyes boring into Ao’nung. “We need to get going before we waste too much daylight.”

“Coming, Dad,” Neteyam easily called back, quickly pushing himself up onto his legs, attempting to shake some of the droplets of water clinging to his legs. Taking a few steps in the direction of Jake, Neytiri and Spider, who, just for the record, seemed to have gone through the five different stages of grief while Neteyam was talking to Ao’nung, stopped before he could get too far. Throwing a taunting glower over his shoulder at the Metkayina, he huffed, “Don’t think we’re finished with this conversation either. Just wait until we get back to our mauri.”

And with that being said, Neteyam happily turned back to shore, more than ready to go home so he could hopefully get some sleep before the inevitable doom that they had just escaped came knocking at their doors for round two.

But before Neteyam could even lift a foot towards his parents and adoptive Sky Person brother, his face lit up and a slight spring ready to make itself known with every step that he took, he felt a wet splash against his back, his entire body going rigid as he was soaked to the bone with the raging water that was surrounding him. Feeling the freezing cold droplets of the crime scene roll down his spine, Neteyam felt his tail lash behind him, very slowly turning to face Ao’nung with a glare that could kill.

“Whoops,” he noncommittally called out, shrugging his shoulders as if it had been a mere accident and he didn’t just completely drench Neteyam in water. “Sorry, Yawne (Beloved). I noticed a spot of paint that I had missed.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Neteyam said, waving Ao’nung off as if it were no big deal. In fact, Neteyam actually made his way over to Ao’nung, reaching out a hand to try and coax him to step forward and walk beside him. Did it matter that Neteyam knew Ao’nung was a terrible liar? No. Did Neteyam also know Ao’nung didn’t believe his joyful act? Also no, because if he wanted to play that game, then Neteyam could very easily play it as well, only better.

After a few seconds of pondering, Ao’nung clearly waited to see if Neteyam would do anything, only to be met with the wiggling of his fingers and an annoyed cough from Jake, trying to discreetly get them to hurry up, Ao’nung relented, finally saddling up beside Neteyam to get moving.

Only, Neteyam wasn’t quite ready to forgive and forget so easily, a devilish smirk appearing on his face as soon as Ao’nung was in range. Before the Metkayina boy could react (which probably wasn’t a good thing since they were meant to be in his natural domain), Neteyam dug his hands into the water and flung as much of it as he could manage at Ao’nung, giggling as he did, “It was just an accident.”

Watching as Ao’nung’s face quickly morphed from hesitant to flabbergasted, Neteyam’s soft chuckles turned into full-blown laughter as he clapped his hands together a few times, not at all caring for the stares they were receiving from the river’s bank.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that one,” Ao’nung playfully growled as he scrubbed a hand down his face, blinking the droplets of water out from his eyes. Upon hearing those words though, Neteyam didn’t wait for Ao’nung to somehow fix himself, quickly yaking off in the direction of the shore, a giddy laugh spilling from his lips as he heard Ao’nung start after him, exclaiming, “Get back here!”

From the sidelines, where Spider stood in between Jake and Neytiri with an amused smile on his face, he could feel his body urging him to run over and join in on the fight, only if it was just for fun. After the morning that Spider had had as well, almost being taken out by the man he saw as a father, he’d say he deserved a bit of fun in the water as well.

But just as he was about to take a step forward, Neteyam’s squealing laughs and Ao’nung’s throaty chuckles being contagious, Spider felt a hand fall onto his shoulder, resting there as he was held in place.

Looking up to see who it belonged to, he found Neytiri gazing over at the scene with a serene smile on her face as she watched it unfold. Furrowing his brows slightly at the contact, Spider couldn’t help but stare, half-worried that Neytiri had changed her mind and decided she didn’t want Spider around her family again. But as the woman looked down at him, her expression never wavering, his worries were washed away.

“Do not interrupt them, Spider,” She murmured softly, almost cooing at the scene. “We must let young love run its course.”

“Young love?” Spider spluttered, his head whipping back around to face Neteyam and Ao’nung, and, now that he was looking at the scene with that in mind, Spider’s will to join in quickly died down, finally understanding that, despite their circumstances, this was just a way that the two had decided to flirt with each other. That was made even more painfully clear as Ao’nung practically tackled Neteyam into the water, his arms quickly securing themselves around Neteyam’s smaller frame as he cushioned their fall while Neteyam burrowed into his hold, not caring at all about being caught as he laughed. “Ohhh.”

“What? No. We can’t let young love run its course,” Jake huffed, growing fiercely protective as he watched Ao’nung and Neteyam slowly sit up from the stream, Neteyam leaning into Ao’nung heavily as he tried to get his laughter under control, using the Metkayina boy as support until then. Intervening before his wife could stop him, Jake yelled out, “Hey, I said ‘get over here,’ not ‘let’s play cat and mouse.”

“Sorry, Toruk Makto,” Ao’nung quickly said, jumping to his feet and pulling Neteyam with him at being called out.

“Yeah, you will be sorry if you don’t get your hands off my Babyboy,” Jake growled, already stalking towards the two so he could separate them. It was a shame that the only two rides that they had there were Sa’ata and Telisi, because if Jake had it his way, Ao’nung would very quickly be booted. Actually, perhaps there was a way Jake could still make that happen if he pushed Ao’nung to ride with Neytiri and Spider instead. Though, he was sure if he did do that, he’d definitely be in for a stern talking to when they got home. “What happened to our ground rules, Ao’nung?”

“Dad,” Neteyam whined quickly, his ears folding back with a purple hue as that nickname was used so openly instead of just between the two of them. Then again, Jake could just be misreading it, and his son’s embarrassment was from having his crush yelled at. “We don’t need any rules, we’re going to mate soon anyway–”

“You are most certainly not mating soon,” Jake quickly butt in, his nostrils flaring at even the idea of Ao’nung getting his hands on Neteyam. He would definitely have to have a more serious talk with Neteyam about mating later on. He’d have hoped his son would be the most reasonable when it came to the topic, but clearly not. Shooting an accusatory finger Ao’nung’s way, he hissed, “If you even try to mate with him before you get my permission and go through the proper courting procedures, you can bet your tail I’ll set Lo’ak onto you to keep you in check. Are we understood?”

“Yes, Toruk Makto,” Ao’nung quickly barked, straightening his spine. He almost dared to salute the man, having seen Lo’ak do that a few times, but quickly thought better of it since he only normally did that when he was being playful or annoying.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I almost considered splitting this chapter into two but overall just thought it would be better if it remained as one.

Also, I've got this idea for a fic that I'm itching to write but I also have my modern au and Moana au that I need to get through first 🥲🔫 I'm gonna need to write like I'm running out of time

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