hihiii... can i req for aonung? was listening to meddle about by chase atlantic and i feel like aonung has that vibe to him.. it could be anything really its up to u tnxxx mwaps
TIDEBOUND ๏ฝก๏ฝก ๐๐พ๐
๐ฝ ๐ป๐ ๐ผ๐๐๐๐พ๐๐๐๏ผ๐ฟ๐๐๐๐ฝ ๐ป๐ ๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐ You come to the reef burdened by exile, anger, and a war left unfinished. The water resists you, as does Aonung, whose hostility mirrors the clanโs distrust. Forced together, tide and breath teach you both restraint and truth. When the sea nearly takes you, prejudice gives way to understandingโand you learn that belonging can be found not by fighting the current, but by surviving it together.
๐บ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐!๐๐พ๐บ โถ ๐ซ๐ฅ๐ข๐จโโโโ ๐๐๐
๐
๐ ๐๐พ๐บ๏ผ๐บ๐๐๐๐๏ผ๐พ๐๐พ๐๐๐พ๐ ๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐พ๐๐๏ผ ๐๐พ๐บ๐ ๐ฝ๐พ๐บ๐๐ ๐พ๐๐๐พ๐๐๐พ๐๐ผ๐พ(๐๐พ๐ผ๐๐๐๐ผ๐บ๐
๐ฝ๐พ๐บ๐๐)๏ผ๐๐
๐๐ ๐ป๐๐๐๏ผ๐ฟ๐
๐๐ฟ๐ฟ๐ ๐พ๐๐ฝ๐๐๐ (honestly not meddle about related at all so sorry anon but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!)
The first thing you remember is the breath.
Not the calm, steady kind your mother once taught you beneath the canopies of homeโbut the sharp, involuntary intake that claws its way into your chest when something inside you snaps. You remember crouching low beside your siblings just outside the kelku, knees drawn tight, fingers digging into your palms hard enough to ache. Inside, your parentsโ voices rose and fell like thunder trapped beneath woven leavesโheated, desperate, afraid. You didnโt need to hear the words to understand them. You already knew what was being decided.
Kiri sat with her back to the doorway, her body curved protectively around Tuktirey. Your youngest sister whimpered softly, small hands clamped over her ears as if that might make the world kinder. Kiri murmured to her in a low, soothing rhythm, rubbing slow circles into her shoulders, as though she could press the fear out of her bones by force alone. Loโak paced, restless and sharp-edged, tail lashing. Neteyam stood too still, jaw set, carrying the weight of a future he never asked for. And youโ
You burned with helpless rage, with the sickening understanding that this was not a battle you were allowed to fight.
Running, your father said. Uturu. Safety. The Metkayina.
The sky people do not stop because you flee them. They do not soften. They do not forget. They take, they burn, they poisonโand then they come again. You believed, with a certainty that felt carved into your bones, that they must be driven out or destroyed. Anything less was surrender. Anything less meant more gunfire scattered into Eywaโs veins.
The journey away from Omatikaya territory felt endless, each flap of Ikran wings pulling you farther from the songs of your childhood. The forest thinned, the air changed, and the ground beneath your feet lost itโs familiar rhythm. The ocean came into view like a living wallโvast, breathing, indifferent. You had never trusted it. Water swallowed sound, swallowed strength, swallowed breath. It did not forgive hesitation.
Neither, you learned quickly, did the people who basked in it.
The first thing the Metkayina gave you was silence.
Their stares slid over your family like cold current over stoneโmeasured, assessing, sharp with something that made your spine prickle. You felt it immediately, that subtle shift in the air, the way your presence unsettled the careful balance of their reef. Whispers followed you, low and quick, like fish darting between coral.
Demon blood, their eyes seemed to say.
You felt it most keenly when their gazes lingered on your fatherโon the shape of his body, the memory of what he had been layered over what he was now. You felt it when their attention flicked to you and your siblings, as though you were echoes of a mistake Eywa should have corrected. Breathing the air of Pandora while carrying the stain of the sky people within you.
You kept your chin high. You always had.
A group of youths circled too close, their laughter sharp and bright as broken shells. One of themโbrazen, curious, cruelโreached out and tugged your queue. The sensation jolted through you, intimate and violating. They poked and prodded, eyes alight as if inspecting something counterfeit, something stolen. As if your body were not yours by right, as if Eywa herself had erred in shaping you.
Your fingers twitched at your sides. Old instincts screamed. You imagined the forestโhow quickly such a slight would have been answered there. But this was not your home. You were a guest. A burden. A risk your family had carried across the world.
You swallowed your anger with the salt-heavy air and let it settle deep, heavy as stone in your chest. You told yourself it didnโt matter. That survival required restraint. That belonging could be earned.
But you never truly forgot.
Not the way the salt burned your lungs the first time you were forced beneath the surface. Not the way your body betrayed youโflailing, stiff, panickedโwhile the Metkayina children cut through the water like it was an extension of their own blood. And certainly not the way Aonung made a spectacle of it.
He had decided, early on, that your familyโs adaptation to the reef would be his personal entertainment.
โAgain,โ he would say, grinning sharp as coral as you broke the surface too soon, chest heaving, vision swimming. โYou fight the water like it insulted you.โ
Laughter followed him everywhereโbright, cruel, effortless. He laughed when Loโak swallowed too much seawater, when you misjudged a dive, when Neteyamโs patience wore thin. He laughed as though struggle itself amused him, as though it were proof of something he had always suspected.
Tsireya tried to soften the blows. She offered gentle corrections, quiet encouragement, hands warm and steady when she guided your breathing. She spoke of the tide as something to listen to, not conquer. Of the sea as kin. You appreciated herโtrulyโbut kindness only went so far when it was constantly undermined by her brotherโs voice cutting in from the side.
โRelax,โ Aonung would sneer. โUnless your lungs canโt handle it.โ
Sometimes it was during training. Sometimes it wasnโt.
You could be minding your own businessโworking through the motions of a shallow dive, practicing the rhythm of breath Tsireya had taught you, counting heartbeats the way your mother once taught you to count arrowsโand still, somehow, Aonung would appear. Always too close. Always watching.
His eyes dragged over you with an appraising sort of contempt.
โYour tailโs too thin,โ he remarked once, flicking it without warning. The contact sent a jolt straight up your spine. โNo wonder you cannot swim.โ
Another time, he caught your hand mid-motion, turning it palm-up as though inspecting a flaw in craftsmanship. โLook at that extra finger,โ he said lightly. โHave you ever considered chopping it off?โ
You yanked your hand back, jaw tight enough to ache.
And then there were the comments he didnโt bother disguising as instructionโthe quiet remarks about your slimmer nose, the shape of your eyes, the way your body carried echoes of something other than Naโvi. The way he said demon-blood without ever using the word.
Each barb lodged itself somewhere deep, settling beside the stone of anger you carried everywhere now.
You learned restraint because you had to.
Respect here was not something you could demandโit was something you were expected to earn through obedience, through silence, through endurance. Your parents watched you closely, the unspoken plea in their eyes clear: donโt make this harder than it already is. Donโt give them a reason.
Every insult. Every laugh. Every look that lingered a second too long.
You imagined your fist connecting with Aonungโs jaw more times than you cared to admit. Imagined the satisfying crack, the sudden silence. But you never moved. Never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you break.
Instead, you threw yourself into learning. Into failing and trying again. Into letting the water fill your ears, your nose, your thoughts, until there was nothing left but the steady drum of your heart and the burn in your lungs.
There was something almost infuriating about the way he kept coming backโhow even when you trained alone, when you slipped away to the shallows at dusk to practice breathing where no one could see you struggle, he would surface nearby like a shark drawn to blood.
โYouโre stubborn,โ he said one evening, watching you from a rock as the sun bled into the sea. โIโll give you that.โ
It wasnโt a compliment. Not quite.
You didnโt look at him. You focused on the water instead, the gentle pull of the tide around your ankles, the way it whispered rather than roared when you let it.
If respect were not given so freely hereโif restraint were not the price of your familyโs safetyโyou would have struck him long ago.
But you stayed your hand.
You learned how to let the anger coil instead of strikeโhow to hold it tight and sharp inside your ribs while the world tested you. Days bled into weeks, and the ocean stopped feeling quite so eager to claim you. Your breaths grew longer. Your movements smoother. The panic that once clawed at your throat dulled into something manageable, something you could push through if you focused hard enough.
โThree minutes and fifteen seconds.โ
Tsireyaโs voice cut through the ringing in your ears the moment you surfaced, lungs burning in a way that felt earned rather than terrifying. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders without hesitation, all warmth and pride, her smile bright enough to chase away the lingering ache in your chest.
โThat was good,โ she beamed. โReally good.โ
Cheers followed from the shore. Tuktirey bounced on her heels, clapping wildly as if youโd conquered the ocean itself, while Kiri raised her hand and flashed a thumbs upโan oddly human gesture that still made your chest tighten with something fond. Loโak bumped your arm, an exaggerated eye roll failing to hide his grin, and Neteyamโs hand landed briefly on your head, affectionate and steady, like he was silently telling you heโd never doubted you.
You exhaled, a breath you hadnโt realized youโd been holding.
He stood a short distance away beside Roxto, water lapping lazily at his calves. He didnโt clap. Didnโt smile. He just watched you, eyes narrowed slightly, expression carved into something unreadableโlike he was weighing you against a standard only he knew.
Your gaze found his without hesitation. It always did.
For a fraction of a second, something flickered across his faceโsurprise, maybe. Or annoyance. Then his mouth curved, slow and deliberate, into that infuriating smirk.
โYour turn at the end was sloppy,โ he said, voice smooth and measuring, like a judge delivering a verdict. โYou lost momentum before surfacing.โ
Your eyes narrowed, lip curling as the satisfaction of the moment curdled into irritation. You didnโt bother answering him with words. Instead, you lifted your hand and flipped him off cleanly, the gesture sharp and unmistakable before you turned and kicked toward the shore.
Behind you, Aonung stiffened. His brows furrowed, gaze snapping to your retreating form, clearly struggling to decode the meaning of a gesture he had seen more than once from you and Loโakโbut still had yet to understand.
Tsireya sighed and shot her brother a look, murmuring something sharp and reprimanding, but her voice faded with distance as you hauled yourself onto the sand. The cool air hit your skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat racing through your thoughts.
Your jaw ached from how tightly you clenched it.
You paced a few steps away from the water, shaking droplets from your hair as violent images flashed unbidden through your mindโyour fist connecting with Aonungโs mouth, the look of shock finally wiping that smirk away. Your fingers curled and uncurled at your sides as if itching for something to break.
The ocean whispered behind you, tide rolling in and out with infuriating calm.
You had done well. You knew you had. You could feel it in your muscles, in the steady rise and fall of your chest. You had earned that time. Earned the pride shining in your siblingsโ eyes.
And yet, somehow, Aonung still managed to burrow beneath your skin.
It was absurdโtruly, maddeningly soโhow easily hatred came to some people. As if blood were a choice. As if bone and breath and the shape of your hands were sins you had committed deliberately. You had not asked to be born the way you were. You had not chosen the sky people, or the scars they carved into your familyโs name. And yet, here you were, paying for it anyway.
You sank down beside Kiri, letting the sand cool your palms. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, that quiet, knowing look she had perfectedโone that said I see it too without needing words. Tukโs voice bubbled happily between you, animated and bright as she rambled about a new braiding technique your mother had tried, about how long her hair had grown, about how she thought it made her look older.
You listened without really hearing.
Still, you hummed at the right moments, murmured questions you already knew the answers to, just to watch Tukโs smile widen every time she got to explain something new. That smile mattered. It grounded you, even as the anger continued to churn low and restless in your gut.
The others returned to shore soon after. Loโak splashed up beside you, scowling as he shook the water from his hair. โI almost had you,โ he muttered, irritation poorly disguised.
You snorted, pushing yourself to your feet and brushing sand from your loincloth. โYou never had me.โ
He shook his head, lips twitching despite himself.
That was when Aonung passed.
โMaybe try drowning next time,โ he said casually, already walking past you. His shoulder clipped yoursโnot hard, but deliberate. โOops,โ he added, a half-hearted apology dripping with insincerity before he did the same to Kiriโexcept this time, his foot came down squarely on her tail.
Something inside you snapped.
It wasnโt audible. It wasnโt dramatic. It was the quiet, final break of a thread pulled too tight for too long.
You moved before thought could catch you.
Two long strides closed the distance between you and Aonung. Your hand fisted in his shoulder, yanking him around, and your other hand connected with his face in a clean, solid punch. The impact jarred up your arm, pain blooming across your knucklesโbut the look of pure shock that spread across his features was worth it.
Loโakโs muffled laughter burst out behind you. Tsireya gasped, hand flying to her mouth, Tuk echoing the sound in startled horror.
You barely registered any of it.
He snarled something sharp and furious before dropping low and tackling you by the legs. The ground slammed into your back, the air knocked clean from your lungs as sand and grit filled your mouth. He was on you in an instant, weight pressing down as you twisted, claws scraping, tails lashing.
You fought like you always hadโdirty, relentless, fueled by everything youโd swallowed until now.
Fists flew. Elbows struck. You rolled, trading blows, the world narrowing to heat and motion and the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You caught him across the jaw again; he answered with a sharp hit to your ribs that made your breath stutter. Somewhere nearby, voices shoutedโTsireya calling his name, Neteyam barking for you both to stopโbut neither of you listened.
Aonungโs eyes burned as he pinned your wrists briefly, teeth bared. โYou think you belong here?โ he spat, breath hot against your face.
You bucked hard, knee driving up between you, forcing him back just enough to tear free. โI donโt need you to decide that,โ you snarled, shoving him off with everything you had.
You scrambled to your feet at the same time he did, both of you breathing hard, chests heaving, eyes locked like predators sizing each other up.
The moment didnโt last.
He stepped in front of you without hesitation, broad shoulders blocking your line of sight as if he could physically place himself between you and the consequences. His hand brushed your armโnot to restrain you, but to remind you where you were. To remind you who you were fighting for.
โBack,โ he murmured, low and urgent.
Across from you, Tsireya reached her brother, fingers gripping his arm as her gaze flicked anxiously between his bruised jaw and your bloodied knuckles.
โAonungโstop,โ she said, breathless. โPlease.โ
Aonung let himself be pulled back, though his eyes never left yours. The fire in them hadnโt gone outโonly banked.
The space between you widened.
Your siblings gathered around you instinctively. Kiri hovered close, her presence steady and quiet. Tuk clutched Loโakโs arm, eyes wide. Loโak, of course, looked almost pleased.
โDid you see his face?โ he stage-whispered, grinning. โYou beat the hell out of that skxawng.โ
You snorted despite yourselfโbut the sound died quickly when Neteyam shot him a look. The weight of what had just happened settled heavily over the group, an unspoken understanding passing between you and your eldest brother.
The walk back was silent.
By the time you reached your familyโs marui, the adrenaline had burned away, leaving behind a dull ache in your knuckles and ribs. Your father was already waiting, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.
He didnโt raise his voice at first.
Neteyam straightened immediately. โI shouldโve stopped it sooner,โ he began.
โNo,โ you cut in, sharp. โDonโt.โ
Your fathers eyes flicked to you. โYouโll speak when I say so.โ
You clenched your jaw but said nothingโfor exactly three seconds.
Jake paced once, then stopped in front of the two of you. โI leave you alone for one afternoon,โ he said, voice tight, โand you start a damn fight with the Oloโeyktanโs son?โ
โHe started it,โ you snapped.
Jake turned fully toward you now. โYou threw the first punch.โ
โAnd heโs been throwing insults since the day we got here,โ you shot back. โYou just donโt see it.โ
He exhaled slowly through his nose. โYou think I donโt know that?โ
โThen why are we still here?โ Your voice crackedโnot with fear, but fury. โThey donโt want us. They never did. You dragged us across Pandora just to be treated like freaks.โ
โThatโs enough,โ Jake said sharply.
โNo,โ you fired back. โIโm done pretending this was the right call. We ran. We hid. And now weโre supposed to smile and take it while they remind us we donโt belong?โ
Neteyam shifted beside you. โDadโโ
Your father raised a hand, cutting him off, eyes never leaving you. โI made the call to come here because it keeps you alive,โ he said, voice low and dangerous. โNot because itโs comfortable. Not because itโs fair.โ
โAnd what about him?โ you demanded, gesturing at Neteyam. โYou blame him for everything. You always have, itโs nothing new. Heโs not our parent. He isnโt responsible for doing your job.โ
His jaw tightened. โNeteyam is the eldest. That comes with responsibility.โ
โAnd thatโs not his burden to carry alone,โ you snapped. โIf anyoneโs at fault, itโs meโand even thatโs a stretch.โ
Silence stretched tight between you.
Then your mother stepped forward.
โEnough,โ she said, voice calmโbut final.
Both you and your father went still.
Jake ran a hand over his face, the fight draining out of him as he turned away for a moment. When he faced you again, his voice was steadierโbut heavier.
โI will speak with the Oloโeyktan,โ he said. โThere will be consequences. One you will share.โ
Your shoulders stiffened.
โYou donโt have to like each other,โ He continued. โBut you will learn to coexist. We need them. And whether you like it or not, that means learning restraint.โ
You met his gaze head-on. โAnd if he keeps pushing?โ
He held your stare. โThen you come to me. Not your fists.โ
The words settled like chains rather than comfort.
Even as he turned away, you felt the anger still simmering beneath your skinโunapologetic, unrepentant.
Because deep down, you knew one thing for certain:
If this punishment forced you back into Aonungโs orbitโthe ocean wasnโt the only thing about to test your limits.
The following days passed in an uneasy hush.
Tsireya was assigned to assist you during training on her own, her presence a gentle constant at your side. She corrected your form softly, praised your progress without backhanded remarks, and never once laughed when you faltered. The absence of Aonung was so sudden, so complete, that you allowed yourself to believeโbrieflyโthat Eywa had intervened.
Your relationship with your father remained strained, conversations clipped and careful, but the lack of open conflict was a balm you hadnโt realized you needed. You trained. You swam. You breathed. You existed without having to brace yourself for the next insult.
The Metkayina still stared. Their looks followed you wherever you wentโcold, assessing, unwelcomingโbut silence was a mercy you learned to savor. No whispered slurs. No pointed laughter. No cutting remarks designed to remind you of what you were not.
You were almost at peace.
Though, that fragile calm shattered one morning before breakfast could even settle in your stomach.
You were seated with your siblings, absently picking at your food while Loโak complained about the texture of dried fish, when the air at the maruiโs entrance shifted. Your head snapped up instinctively.
Tonowari stood just outside, posture composed, authority radiating from him in quiet waves. Beside himโtoo close, too realโwas Aonung.
His gaze remained fixed on the woven flax beneath his feet, jaw set, shoulders tense in a way that told you he hated this just as much as you did.
Jake rose immediately, exchanging a few low words with the Oloโeyktan. You barely heard them. The sound in your ears roared too loudly, drowning everything outโuntil your father turned to face you.
โIn response to your childish altercation along the shore,โ Your father began.
โYou and Aonung,โ he continued evenly, โwill be working togetherโโ
The rest of his words blurred into meaningless noise. Heat rushed to your face as revulsion curled in your gut. You had expected thisโof course you had. Your father was determined to make this work, determined to plant roots where none wanted to grow, to clasp hands and play footsies with the Metkayina rather than bare his teeth like a true Oloโeyktan of the forest.
Spending the day alone with him? Tasked to hunt alongside him, work with him?
Your feet felt unsteady, like the ground itself had tilted beneath you.
Loโak, traitor that he was, stifled a laugh beside you. He triedโand failedโto hide his grin, eyes flicking between you and Aonung with barely contained delight. For once, someone else was in trouble.
You shot him a glare that promised retribution later.
Across the marui, Aonung finally lifted his head, eyes flicking to yours for the briefest moment. The shared look of disbelief was almost comicalโtwo enemies united by mutual outrage.
You both opened your mouths at the same time.
Jake and Tonowari turned their gazes on you in perfect unison.
The message was unmistakable.
Your jaw snapped shut, teeth grinding as you swallowed every argument clawing to escape. Aonung mirrored the motion, shoulders tightening as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
โTsireya will not be present,โ Tonowari added calmly. โYou will learn cooperation.โ
You resisted the urge to scoff.
The marui sank into silence, thick and suffocating. You fixed your father with a glare sharp enough to cut, and he met it without flinching, his own expression steady, unyielding. The space between you felt smaller than it should have, heavy with all the things neither of you would say out loud.
With a quiet, bitter huff, you pushed yourself to your feet.
You reached for your bow firstโfamiliar, comfortingโthe smooth wood carved from the home tree of Omatikaya fitting perfectly into your grip. Your fingers brushed the fletching of your arrows, the weight of them grounding you. Your knife followed, just as familiar, just as yours.
You had nearly turned toward the entrance when a hand settled on your shoulder.
โNot today,โ Jake said.
Before you could react, his free hand slid the bow from your grasp, then the arrows, moving with practiced ease. He leaned them carefully against the wall near the entrance, deliberate in the way he did itโfinal.
โYouโll learn to hunt with a spear,โ he continued evenly. โItโs Metkayina custom. And itโs better suited for the water.โ
Your jaw tightened so hard it ached.
The thought alone made your head feel like it might burst. You didnโt care about reef customs. You didnโt care about what was โtraditionalโ here. And you certainly didnโt care to be taught by a fish-lipped skxawng who couldnโt go five minutes without belittling you.
For a heartbeat, you considered arguing anyway.
One look at your fatherโs eyes killed the idea.
There was no room for protest thereโonly warning. Push this, and youโll make it worse.
A low snarl slipped past your teeth as you shrugged his hand from your shoulder, refusing to look at him as you turned and followed Tonowari and Aonung out of the marui.
The air outside was heavy with salt and early morning heat. You caught up just in time to hear Tonowari explaining the task, his voice calm, authoritative.
โYou will hunt for the communal gathering,โ he said. โFlate skate. Bouyfish. Hammerbrow. All can be found beyond the outer barrier reef.โ
You glanced toward the water instinctively, the vast expanse stretching endlessly beyond the shallows. That far out, the currents were stronger, the depths darker, the creatures largerโand far less forgiving.
Beside you, Aonung shifted, jaw tight, gaze fixed forward. He said nothing. Didnโt smirk. Didnโt taunt.
Which somehow made it worse.
โYou will return before dusk,โ Tonowari finished, eyes flicking briefly between the two of you. โAnd you will do this together.โ
The word landed like a challenge.
As the Oloโeyktan turned away, leaving you standing at the edge of the shore with your unwanted partner, the ocean rolled in, foaming around your feet.
You stared out at it, pulse thrumming, anger and unease twisting together in your chest.
Hunting the outer reef was dangerous enough.
That was going to test every ounce of restraint you had left.
Which, you learned quickly, was not much.
The outer barrier reef was nothing like the shallows. The current pulled and twisted with a mind of its own, water surging in conflicting directions that knocked your balance loose the moment you tried to settle into it. Your queue brushed the iluโs tendrilsโconnectedโthen slipped free barely seconds later, the bond snapping like wet cord.
You surfaced with a sharp gasp, salt stinging your eyes as your ilu veered away, confused.
It took far longer than it should have to even hold tsaheylu, your body tensing instinctively every time the current surged beneath you. The reef loomed darker here, the water colder, heavierโdemanding surrender rather than force.
That, somehow, was worse.
Each time you failed, you felt his gaze sharpen. Not mockingโno laughter, no tauntsโbut narrowed, irritated, like watching something malfunction repeatedly. As if your struggle itself offended him.
You broke the surface once more, breath coming hard, ilu nowhere in sight.
You turned on him immediately. โIf you expect this to get done today,โ you snapped, water dripping from your lashes, โitโs in your best interest to offer some actual guidance. Otherwise you can do all the hunting yourself while I watch from here.โ
His eyes flicked to you, slow and unimpressed.
Aonung rolled his eyes. โYou talk too much for someone who canโt stay mounted.โ
He clicked his tongue sharply, calling your ilu back with practiced ease. When it surfaced beside you, he gestured curtly. โAgain. Slowly.โ
You scowled. โI know how to do tsaheylu.โ
โNo,โ he corrected coolly, โyou know how to fight it.โ
You bristled. โI am not a child.โ
His mouth twitched. โCouldโve fooled me.โ
You moved to mount anyway, hands gripping instinctivelyโbut the current shoved sideways, throwing your alignment off. Before you could correct it, Aonung nudged his ilu closer.
Then his hands were on you.
Cool. Webbed. Firm at your hips.
Your body locked instantly, muscles going rigid beneath his touch.
โRelax,โ he muttered, clearly annoyed. โYouโre stiffening. The waterโs reading it.โ
You shot him a glare over your shoulder. โRemove your handsโโ
โDo you want to learn or keep sinking?โ he cut in sharply.
His grip adjusted, fingers pressing just enough to shift your center of balance. โYouโre fighting the pull. Stop trying to stay uprightโlean into it. Let it carry you sideways before you cut through.โ
You swallowed, jaw tight, acutely aware of how close he was now. Of the heat at your back despite the cold water. Of the steady confidence in his touch that contrasted violently with the way your heart kicked against your ribs.
You stiffened again despite yourself.
โEywaโโ Aonung hissed, pinching sharply at your side. โI said relax.โ
You jerked, sucking in a breath. โDonโt pinch me!โ
โThen stop locking up like a dead fish,โ he snapped back. โThe current isnโt your enemy. Treat it like one and itโll throw you every time.โ
For a moment, you and Aonung simply stare at one anotherโyour eyes sharp with lingering defiance, his gaze flat and unreadable, like still water before a storm.
Then you grunt softly and let go.
You force your shoulders to drop, unclench your jaw, loosen the death grip you hadnโt realized you were keeping on your own body. You signal to your ilu and draw in a deep breath, filling your lungs until they ache.
The current still grabs at you, tugging hard, trying to pull you off-courseโbut this time, you donโt fight it. You let it slide along your side, guide you just long enough before you angle through it. Your bond holds. Your ilu responds instantly, body flowing with yours as you cut cleanly through the water.
Not perfectlyโbut well enough that the reef no longer feels like itโs trying to tear you apart.
When you resurface, breath steady, thereโs a small smile on your lips before you can stop it. Not triumph. Not arrogance. Just quiet, earned pride.
His expression hasnโt softenedโstill deadpan, still irritatingly composedโbut his brows are no longer drawn tight with irritation. If anything, he looksโฆ neutral.
You gesture forward with a jerk of your chin. โCome on. If we want to be back before dusk, we should move.โ
You barely have time to dip beneath the surface again before his voice stops you.
โYou know how to use a spear?โ
You pause, just long enough to roll your eyes. โNo.โ
Aonung groans, tilting his head back briefly as if asking Eywa for patience. โGreat.โ
โWhat?โ you snap. โI wasnโt exactly raised hunting fish.โ
โNo,โ he mutters. โYou were raised shooting things from trees.โ
You bristle. โAnd it worked.โ
He swims closer, movements efficient, practiced. From the strap along his back, he pulls free a long, smooth-shafted spearโbalanced, wickedly sharp at the tip. He holds it out to you, handle-first.
You hesitate, then grab it, immediately feeling the unfamiliar balance shift in your grip. Itโs heavier than your knife, longer than anything youโve wielded before. Awkward.
โYou donโt throw it,โ Aonung says, already irritated by the way youโre holding it. โYou guide it. Water slows fast movements. Precision matters more than force.โ
โI know how physics work,โ you mutter.
โThen stop gripping it like youโre about to stab the ocean.โ
He reaches out before you can protest, fingers closing around your hands to adjust your grip. He shifts your wrists, angles the spear slightly downward.
โLead with the point,โ he instructs. โYour body follows the weapon, not the other way around. And donโt aim where the fish isโaim where itโll be.โ
You glance at him sidelong. โYou always this charming when you teach?โ
He snorts. โYou always this difficult when you learn?โ
Before you can retort, a shadow moves beneath youโsleek, fast.
Aonungโs voice drops. โBouyfish. See it?โ
โGood,โ he says. โNow donโt think. Just move.โ
You tighten your grip, heart pounding, the ocean humming around you as you angle your body with the currentโjust like he taught you.
The bouyfish scatter at the disturbance, silver flashes darting in every direction. Your pulse spikesโbut you donโt chase blindly. You narrow your eyes, track the arc of one fish as it veers left, then lead it, just as Aonung said.
The spear cuts cleanly through the water.
The jolt travels up your arms as the fish goes still, impaled clean through. You still your ilu and move quickly, grasping the shaft and pulling the fish free before the current can steal it away. You pause only long enough to bow your head, murmuring a quiet prayer to Eywa, fingers brushing over the fishโs eye ridge before you close them gentlyโgratitude given, life acknowledged.
Your expression is neutral, calmโthough something warm settles low in your chest. You glance toward Aonung just in time to see him and his ilu glide past, effortless, the shifting current seeming to part for him rather than fight. He slows when he notices the fish in your grasp.
For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he gives a short nodโsharp, controlled. The smallest acknowledgment.
Itโs the only praise he allows.
Without another word, he dives again.
Hours pass like thatโmeasured not by words, but by breath and movement. By the steady rhythm of dive, hunt, gather, surface, repeat. You speak only when necessary, exchanging brief gestures underwater, pointing, signaling, switching roles without discussion. One of you hunts while the other gathers, then you trade places seamlessly.
No insults. No arguments. Just the work.
By mid-day, your muscles ache pleasantly, lungs tired but strong. You haul yourselves onto a stretch of sun-warmed rock near the outer reef, laying out the catch between you. Flate skate. Bouyfish. A hammerbrow large enough to feed several families.
You set to work immediately, cleaning the fish with practiced efficiency despite the unfamiliar tools. Blood washes away in the surf as you focus, methodical, grounded.
He sits a short distance away, spear resting across his knees, elbows braced on his thighs as he stares out at the open water. The breeze ruffles his hair, lifts the edges of his songcord. He doesnโt look at youโnot once.
Normally, it would irritate you.
Instead, it feelsโฆ neutral. Balanced. Like the quiet between waves.
You finish cleaning one of the fish and set it aside, wiping your hands in the sand. When you glance over at him again, his gaze is still fixed on the horizon, expression unreadable.
You donโt know why you speak.
Maybe itโs the quiet. Maybe itโs the exhaustion. Maybe itโs the way the ocean has stripped you both down to something honest. Whatever it is, the words slip free before you can stop them.
โWhy do you hate me?โ
The question hangs between you, fragile and sharp all at once.
You donโt look at him when you continue, voice lower, steadier than you feel. โI didnโt do anything to you. Not to you, not to your clan. You hated us the moment we arrived. And Iโโ You exhale through your nose. โI held it in. Every look. Every comment. I didnโt touch you until you made it impossible not to.โ
The silence that follows is heavy.
For a long moment, Aonung doesnโt answer. He shifts slightly, then glances at you from the corner of his eye. This time, he doesnโt look away immediately.
And it annoys him more than he expects.
Because he doesnโt see a demon. Doesnโt see a sky-personโs echo wearing Naโvi skin. He sees a girlโtired, sharp-edged, stubborn. A girl who has carried far too much blame for things she never chose. A girl who fought the ocean and stayed anyway.
He scoffs quietly, gaze returning to the water. โYouโre danger,โ he says bluntly.
The words arenโt cruel. Theyโre factual. Certain.
โTo my clan. To my people,โ he continues. โThe sky people follow your father. Everywhere he goes, they burn. You brought that here.โ
You donโt interrupt him.
โSooner or later,โ he adds, voice low, โweโll pay the price.โ
The honesty of it settles into your chest like a familiar weight.
And to your own surprise, anger doesnโt come.
You stare down at your hands, still faintly stained with blood and salt. โI know,โ you say quietly.
You swallow. โWe shouldnโt have run. We shouldnโt have left our clan. We should have stayed and fought.โ
The words taste bitter. Heavy.
โFor all I know,โ you continue, voice tightening, โtheyโre already gone. The Omatikaya. Burned because the sky people came looking for my father.โ Your fingers curl into the sand. โAll those livesโฆ because of us.โ
Your fingers curl tighter into the sand, knuckles paling as the weight of it all presses down.
You fall quiet againโnot because thereโs nothing left to say, but because saying it feels like peeling yourself open. When you finally speak, your voice is lower, heavier, stripped of its edge.
โFor what it counts,โ you murmur, eyes still downturned, โI want to leave too.โ
The admission sits raw between you.
โThis placeโโ you exhale sharply. โYou people remind us every day that we donโt belong. Not just to the clan. To Pandora. Like weโre intruders just for breathing.โ Your jaw tightens. โIf it were up to me, Iโd be long gone.โ
Gone from the constant feeling of being tolerated rather than wanted.
Aonung doesnโt answer right away.
He turns fully toward you, studying your face instead of the sea. This time, he doesnโt look irritated. He looksโฆ thoughtful. He sees it all laid bare on youโthe longing, the coiled frustration, the resentment pulled tight like a bowstring.
For surviving when others maybe didnโt.
โYouโll never belong,โ he says quietly.
The words donโt cut like they once did.
Thereโs no sneer. No cruelty. Just certainty. Truth spoken without ceremony.
You nod, letting out a small, bitter scoff. โI know.โ
The ocean sighs beside you, waves rolling in slow, patient rhythm.
Aonung shifts, gaze flicking back to the water. โThat doesnโt mean I hate you,โ he adds after a moment.
You glance at him then, surprised.
He frowns faintly, like the words themselves irritate him. โI canโt stand anything that brings harm to my people,โ he says. โAnything that puts them at risk. Thatโs all this is.โ
Silence settles between you againโdifferent now. Not sharp. Not hostile. Justโฆ there. The ocean breathes beside you, steady and endless, and every so often you catch one another in stolen glances that neither of you acknowledges.
Aonung has never lingered on you before.
Before, his eyes had always gone straight to what set you apartโthe flatter planes of your face, the extra finger, the traces of your father written into your body like an accusation. He had treated you like proof of a mistake Eywa had made. Something flawed. Something dangerous.
He had never noticed the patterns etched across your skin, how they curve softly along your arms and ribs. Never noticed the single bioluminescent freckle glowing faintly at the tip of your nose. Never noticed the thin, pale scar tracing your cheekboneโso faint it disappears when you smile, so easy to miss unless youโre really looking.
โHow did you get that scar?โ he asks quietly.
His voice is low, carefulโas if heโs afraid the wind might steal the question and carry it back to the clan. To the others. To his mother. To the people who expect him to keep his distance, his judgment intact.
Your hand rises without thought, fingers brushing the scar with something almost reverent. The touch grounds you. Anchors you to a memory that doesnโt hurt.
โMy Iknimaya,โ you say.
His brows lift slightly. You donโt miss it.
โI bonded with my ikranโSeze,โ you continue, and your voice softens despite yourself. โIt wasโฆ easy. She chose me fast. Faster than I expected.โ A quiet smile ghosts your lips. โI was careless after. Got clipped by her wing edge when we took off.โ
You let out a soft huff. โThatโs it. Thatโs all I got.โ
You tell him about the flightโthe rush of air tearing laughter from your chest, the way the forest had stretched endlessly beneath you, alive and singing. About the fear that turned into exhilaration. About the moment Seze answered your call, not because she had toโbut because she wanted to.
As you speak, your shoulders relax. Your posture loosens. For a brief, fragile moment, the war fades. The migration fades. The ocean fades.
You havenโt felt that light in a long time.
Not like someone waiting for his turn to speak. Not like someone searching for flaws. He listens the way the sea listensโto everything.
His gaze doesnโt leave your face. And somewhere between your words, something in him shifts.
He sees you thenโnot as demon-blooded, not as a threat carried on the tideโbut as a girl who earned her place in the sky. A girl who smiled just once without reservation. A girl shaped by courage, not corruption.
The thought unsettles him.
Because all this time, all he had allowed himself to see was the blood in your veins.
Not the life you lived in spite of it.
You rise without another word, brushing sand from your palms as if standing will keep the moment from lingering too long. You call for your ilu and gesture sharply for Aonung to do the same.
โWeโve taken too long,โ you say, voice steady. โLetโs finish this.โ
He nods once, no argument, and mounts his ilu as you do the same. Silence stretches between you as the water closes over your shoulders. Above, the sky has begun to changeโlight dimming beneath a slow-moving blanket of clouds, heavy and bruised with promise.
Aonung dives without hesitation.
Something tightens in your chest as you look up at the darkening sky, a prickle of dread crawling along your spine. Storm. The word presses into your thoughts uninvited. Still, you draw in a deep breath and dive after him.
Finish the duty, you tell yourself.
You angle your body into the current, chasing the familiar rhythm, reminding yourself that you are not weakโthat stares do not define you, that blood does not erase skill. You are a hunter. A warrior. You have survived worse than this.
Itโs subtle at firstโa tug that pulls harder than it should, water pressing in unfamiliar patterns. You adjust, try to compensate, but the sky above darkens further, clouds churning as thunder rolls low and distant.
The water surges violently, slamming into you from the side. Your bond with your ilu flickers, faltering as water rushes up your nose and steals the breath from your lungs. You struggle to steady yourself, heart pounding, fingers trembling as you cling to tsaheylu.
Ahead, Aonung turns sharply.
He struggles tooโless than you, but enough that his movements grow urgent. He signals for you to resurface.
The moment you break the surface, regret crashes into you.
The waves are no longer small. They rise fast and heavy, slamming down with bone-jarring force. Rain pelts your skin, thunder cracking overhead so loudly it rattles your teeth. You barely hear Aonung shouting your name over the roar of the storm.
A wave rears up and crashes into you.
Your ilu is thrown under, dragged violently by the current. You choke, lungs burning as panic claws its way up your throat. You try to calm yourselfโfor your ilu, for yourselfโbut the sea does not care.
You see Aonungโjust for a momentโbefore he and his ilu are dragged under as well, tumbling end over end. Your eyes widen, terror sharp and absolute.
You reach for him instinctively.
Your fingers barely brush water.
Your lungs scream as you and your ilu surge upward, desperate for airโ
and then something snaps.
The world lurches violently as a massive wave slams down, ripping you away from the surface and forcing you deep. You kick, clawing uselessly against the current, but it drags you further down, pressure crushing in from all sides.
Your strength bleeds away frighteningly fast.
Your vision blurs. The roar of the storm dulls into a distant thrum. You fightโuntil you canโt.
Above you, Aonung is barely holding on.
His chest burns, every instinct screaming at him to surface, to breatheโbut his eyes lock onto you as your movements slow. As you begin to sink.
The word tears through him, swallowed immediately by the sea.
Your world has narrowed to pressure and darkness, to the dull ache in your chest that blooms into something distant, almost peaceful. The roar of the storm fades until there is only the hum of the oceanโlow, steady, beckoning. Your lashes flutter. Your body feels heavy. So tired.
Let go, something whispers.
A growl rips from his chest, primal and wordless, vibrating through the water as he fights the current like it is a living thing trying to keep you from him. The sea resistsโbarriers of pressure, dragging hands of tideโbut he pushes harder, rage burning hot and focused.
The thought hits him with brutal clarity.
The way he decided who you were before you ever spoke.
He sees it all nowโyour silence, your restraint, the way you endured. Not weakness. Never weakness. Strength forced inward, compressed until it nearly broke you.
Your body hits the sea floor with a soft, awful thud, fantail drifting around you like a shroud.
โNo,โ he thinks again, more fiercely. Not like this.
He reaches you at last, hands shaking as they grab hold of you, pulling you against his chest. Youโre limp. Too still. Your skin is cold beneath his fingers, bioluminescent freckles faint in the gloom.
Beautiful. Terrifyingly so.
Aonung doesnโt hesitate. He kicks hard, muscles screaming as he launches upward, clutching you to him as if the ocean itself is trying to steal you away. His lungs burn. Spots dance in his vision. Still, he does not slow.
When he breaks the surface, he gaspsโa raw, desperate soundโwaves crashing over his shoulders as rain lashes his face. He calls for his ilu with a sharp cry, voice cracking, and when it answers, he hauls himself up with you still in his arms.
โHold on,โ he mutters, more plea than command. โPlease.โ
The ilu surges forward, cutting through the water with powerful strokes as Awaโatlu comes into viewโlights blurred through rain and distance. Aonung doesnโt take his eyes off you. He tilts your head back, presses his forehead briefly to yours.
โStay with me,โ he whispers, breath uneven. โYou donโt get to leave. Not like this.โ
By the time they reach the shallows, his movements are frantic. He slides off the ilu and wades through crashing waves until his feet hit sand, then drops to his knees, laying you down gentlyโso gently it hurts.
โHelp!โ he shouts toward the village, voice breaking through the storm. โSomeoneโhelp!โ
He tilts your head, clears water from your mouth, hands trembling as he presses his lips to yours and breathesโonce, twiceโagain. His chest heaves as he pulls back, searching your face for any sign, any movement.
โBreathe,โ he begs softly. โPlease. Breathe.โ
Another breath. And another.
The world around him blurs until there is only you beneath his hands.
His arms burn, muscles trembling from strain and cold, but Aonung doesnโt stop. He canโt. His palms press firmly against your chest, counting under his breathโslow, deliberateโjust as Neteyam had once shown him after Kiri had gone limp in the water. Again. Again. Eywa, please. He bows his head, braids dripping rain into the sand, a prayer slipping from his lips before he can stop it.
Tsireyaโs gasp cuts through the storm.
She drops to her knees beside you, hands hovering uselessly, eyes wide and glassy as she watches her brother work. โAonungโโ Her voice cracks.
Ronal arrives a heartbeat later, sharp and commanding even as rain lashes against her skin. โMove, child,โ she snaps, shoving Aonung aside just enough to assess you, her fingers pressing to your throat, your chest, your jaw. Her expression tightensโbut she doesnโt tell him to stop.
โAgain,โ Ronal orders quietly. โDo it again.โ
Aonung obeys instantly, hands resuming their rhythm, jaw clenched so tightly it aches.
Then your motherโs scream breaks the air.
She stumbles to your side, collapsing into the wet sand, cupping your face between her hands as if she can anchor you to the world through sheer will alone. โNoโno, maโiteโplease,โ she sobs, forehead pressing to yours. โEywa, please donโt take my baby.โ
Jake stands just behind her, one arm wrapped tightly around Tuk as she cries into his chest, the other held out to keep Neteyam and Loโak back. His face is carved from stone, but his eyes betray himโwide, fearful, locked on the faint rise and fall of your chest that refuses to come.
The Oloโeyktanโs voice rumbles through the gathered Metkayina, cutting through murmurs and rain alike. โEnough. Give them space.โ He steps forward, broad frame blocking curious eyes as he motions firmly for the crowd to disperse.
โCome on,โ Aonung whispers hoarsely as he leans closer to you, rain dripping from his nose onto your skin. โPlease. Breathe.โ
Another compression. Another breath forced into your lungs.
A wet, broken cough tears from your throat, water spilling from your mouth as your chest finallyโfinallyโheaves on its own. The sound is weak, ragged, but it is life.
Your heart continues to beat, stubborn and strong, but your mind drifts somewhere far gentler. You are weightless there. Whole. The sky stretches endlessly above you as Seze cuts through the air, her wings powerful beneath your legs. Wind rushes past your ears, laughter trailing behind youโLoโakโs reckless whoop, Neteyamโs steady call urging you faster. The forest welcomes you home, and for a while, there is no war, no water, no storm.
You wake two days later to the quiet hush of a marui.
Your throat burns. Your body feels heavy, foreign, as if it no longer quite belongs to you. When your eyes finally flutter open, the first thing you see is your motherโslumped beside your sleeping mat, exhaustion carved deep into her features. Her hair is unbraided, her hands raw from worry.
Your father notices first.
He straightens near the entrance, arms unfolding as his breath catches. โHey,โ he says quietly, like heโs afraid to scare you away. โHey, kid.โ
Your name leaves his mouth, rough and unsure.
Your mother jerks awake with a sharp gasp, eyes widening as she looks down at you. โOhโEywaโโ Her voice breaks as she cups your face, laughing through tears. โYouโre awake.โ
You barely have time to react before your siblings swarm you. Tuk clings to you like a lifeline, sobbing into your shoulder. Kiri presses her forehead to yours, whispering something soft and reverent. Neteyamโs hug is careful, protective. Loโakโs is too tight, like heโs making sure youโre real.
Itโs overwhelming. Comforting. Too much.
Outside the marui, just beyond the woven doorway, Tsireya stands frozenโhands clasped, eyes shining. Beside her, Aonung shifts his weight, gaze fixed on the ground. Neither of them steps forward. Neither of them is sure theyโre allowed to.
The moment doesnโt last.
โOut,โ The Tsahik snaps as she storms in, rain still clinging to her braids. โAll of you. She needs air.โ
Your family hesitatesโbut they listen. Your mother lingers the longest, brushing her thumb across your cheek before being gently ushered away. Your father casts one last conflicted glance over his shoulder before the marui empties.
Ronalโs voice cuts through the space, sharp and efficient as she checks your pupils, your breathing, the faint bioluminescence beneath your skin. Most of her words slide past you, your thoughts still fogged, still heavy with the memory of water and dark.
Your attention snaps back.
You lift your gaze to meet Ronalโs. She studies you intensely, searchingโnot for weakness, but for understanding. โHe was worried,โ she says at last, tone clipped, almost begrudging. She presses a shell cup into your hands. โDrink. For your throat.โ
Before you can respond, she turns and leaves.
Then Aonung steps inside.
He pauses just within the entrance, uncertainty etched into the set of his shoulders. His usual confidence is goneโstripped away, leaving something raw behind his eyes. He crouches beside you, clearing his throat as if he doesnโt quite know what to do with his hands.
โHow do you feel?โ he asks quietly.
You swallow, throat protesting, and manage a raspy, dry, โLike I lost a fight with the ocean.โ A pause. โAnd maybe won.โ
The corner of your mouth quirks.
Aonung lets out a soft scoff, shaking his head. โSkxawng,โ he muttersโnot unkindly. He reaches out, taking the cup from your hands and setting it aside before his gaze drifts back to you.
His eyes trace your face, lingering longer than necessary, dropping to your chest as if counting breaths, checking that youโre still here. His jaw tightens.
His eyes trace your face, lingering longer than necessary, dropping to your chest as if counting breaths, checking that youโre still here. His jaw tightens.
Aonung exhales through his nose, gaze slipping to the woven floor beneath you. โYou scared me,โ he admits quietly, like the words might fall apart if he speaks them too loudly.
The weight of it presses in on your ribs, heavy and damp, and despite everythingโdespite the storm, the water, the days lostโyou feel an almost irreverent urge to puncture it.
โYou did tell me to drown a few weeks ago,โ you rasp, voice rough but unmistakably you.
His head snaps up, brows drawing together. โI didnโt mean it like that,โ he says immediately, the edge of panic fading as his eyes search your face. โI was angry. I wasโโ He stops, jaw working. โI didnโt mean literally.โ
Silence settles between you again, but itโs different now. Not sharp. Not hostile. Itโs the kind that breathes, that lets the sound of waves and distant voices seep through the walls of the marui.
Then his voice breaks it.
The words are simple. Bare. They hang there, unguarded.
Aonung finally looks at you fully, really looksโno smirk, no scorn, no practiced cruelty. Just him. His shoulders tense, like heโs bracing for rejection, for you to laugh or lash back or tell him itโs too late.
You study him for a long moment, the boy who once made it his mission to tear at your resolve, who now looks like he hasnโt slept in days.
โโฆYouโre bad at apologies,โ you say softly.
A flicker of somethingโrelief, maybeโcrosses his face.
โBut,โ you continue, shifting carefully on the mat, โyouโre not wrong.โ
His breath stutters. He nods once, accepting it without pushing.
โI donโt hate you,โ he says after a moment, quieter still. โI donโt think I ever really did.โ
Your chest tightensโnot painfully this time.
โGood,โ you murmur. โBecause drowning again sounds exhausting.โ
Aonung lets out a short, breathy laugh before he can stop himself, quickly sobering as his hand liftsโhesitantโhovering near yours.
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