Carried by the Water: pt 7
Genre: fluff, angst if you squint
Over the past week, something quiet and steady had shifted between them all.
What began in suspicion had softened into something warmer. Shared hunts. Shared laughter. Even shared silence.
The Sully children no longer watched _____ with guarded eyes. Neteyam had started greeting him with an easy nod. Kiri spoke to him freely now, curious and thoughtful as ever. Tuk followed him around some afternoons, asking endless questions about reef life. Lo'ak treated him like a brother more often than not.
_____ held nothing against them.
And, slowly, they seemed to hold nothing against him.
Jake Sully, however, had yet to speak a single word to _____.
His gaze lingered sometimes β assessing, measuring β but no words ever followed.
When she looked at _____, there was something distant in her eyes. Not anger. Not blame.
As if she were searching his face for something that was not there.
_____ did not know what to do with that.
Still β peace had settled.
No one would have believed it a month ago.
They were nearly inseparable now.
Teasing. Racing ilus together. Arguing over nothing. Laughing over everything.
Even Rotxo and Tsireya had admitted it was easier this way.
Like the tide had finally turned.
It was still dark when _____ woke.
Not the soft blue of early morning β but the deep, endless indigo that came just before dawn, when the world felt suspended between breaths. The stars were fading slowly, their reflections trembling across the calm surface of the sea. The air was cool against his skin, tinged with salt and the faint scent of woven sea-grass from the marui.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
The ocean never truly slept. It shifted and whispered beneath the woven walkways of the village, gentle waves lapping against the stilts. Somewhere in the distance, an ilu surfaced with a soft splash. Wind brushed lightly through hanging nets and shells, making them clink together in quiet harmony.
A call that rolled through the water like distant thunder beneath the earth.
_____'s heart tightened in his chest.
Beside him, Aonung slept heavily, warmth pressed solid and reassuring along his side. One strong arm was thrown lazily across _____'s waist, fingers loosely curled against his hip as if even in sleep he refused to let him drift too far away.
Carefully β so carefully β he shifted just enough to turn toward him.
Aonung's braids were loose from sleep, beads resting against his cheek. His breathing was slow, steady. Peaceful in a way he rarely allowed himself to be during the day, when pride and responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders as the son of the Olo'eyktan of the Metkayina.
_____ reached up and brushed a stray braid from Aonung's face.
Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
Aonung didn't so much as twitch.
_____ huffed quietly in amusement and pressed another kiss β this time along the sharp line of his jaw.
_____ shifted closer, letting his lips brush the corner of Aonung's mouth, lingering just long enough to make it intentional.
Golden eyes cracked open slowly.
"What are you doing?" Aonung muttered, voice thick with sleep, words barely formed.
_____ grinned against his skin. "Ma yawne."
The effect was immediate.
The irritation vanished from Aonung's expression as quickly as it had appeared. His eyes softened, something warm and unguarded flickering there.
"My love," Aonung translated quietly, thumb tracing absent circles against _____'s side.
_____ leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to Aonung's. "The tulkun have returned."
Aonung's body went still β then rigid β then he shot upright so quickly the woven bedding shifted beneath them.
"What?" His voice was sharp now, alert. "You're certain?"
"I heard the calls before dawn."
Another low rumble echoed faintly beneath the water, as if to prove his point.
It vibrated through the stilts of the marui. Through bone. Through memory.
The sound of giants returning home.
Aonung inhaled slowly, reverently. His eyes had changed β no longer clouded with sleep but bright, almost boyish in their excitement.
"Not long. They're still beyond the outer reef. The currents carried the sound inward."
Aonung was already moving, reaching for his chest strap and fastening it with practiced efficiency. Sleep had completely abandoned him now.
"We need to find him," he said.
_____ laughed softly at the urgency, grabbing his own gear and securing it quickly. "I know."
Tulkun were not simply creatures of the sea.
And for Aonung β Akura was more than tradition. More than ritual.
They stepped out of the marui together, the woven flap shifting behind them as they emerged into the predawn air. A few early risers were already stirring, silhouettes moving along the platforms. The eastern horizon had begun to pale faintly, silver light threading through the darkness.
Another call rolled across the water.
Aonung stilled at the edge of the platform, eyes scanning the dim expanse beyond the reef.
He reached for _____'s hand without looking.
_____ laced their fingers together.
The water embraced them in cool silence.
Bubbles rushed past _____'s ears as they descended briefly before leveling out, the world shifting into deep blues and muted shadows.
He called for his ilu first β sharp and clear.
A sleek shape darted toward him almost immediately, clicking in recognition.
Beside him, Aonung did the same.
Within seconds they were mounted, bodies leaning forward in perfect balance as the ilus surged toward the open sea.
The reef slipped behind them in a blur of coral and darting fish. The water deepened gradually, darkening as the seabed dropped away.
A shadow moved beneath them.
His ilu circled gently as something enormous rose from the depths.
Akura breached slowly, water cascading from his ridged back like rain sliding down stone. His massive fin cut through the surface, sending ripples across the glassy sea.
The tulkun's golden eye rolled toward Aonung.
Aonung slid from his ilu without hesitation, swimming forward with reverence that stripped away every trace of arrogance he carried on land.
"My brother," he breathed.
Akura released a low series of clicks and vibrations that thrummed through the water between them.
_____ watched from a short distance, heart tight.
At the same time, another immense shape surfaced nearby.
_____'s own spirit sister.
Her skin bore familiar scar patterns, curved and intricate β marks of migration, of survival, of long journeys through open ocean.
She surfaced beside Akura, the two tulkun brushing fins lightly in greeting.
_____ smiled and swam forward.
Her eye softened at the sight of him, a low hum vibrating through her chest.
_____ placed his hand against her skin, feeling the warmth beneath the cool water.
She answered with a gentle pulse that echoed in his bones.
Above them, the first true light of dawn broke across the horizon β gold spilling into blue, illuminating the sea in shimmering bands of color.
Akura and Sahri circled one another lazily, massive forms moving in synchronized arcs.
Aonung swam back toward _____, water beading along his shoulders, eyes bright with something close to awe.
"They stayed together," Aonung murmured.
"Of course they did," _____ replied softly.
Their tulkun always traveled side by side during migration.
Aonung looked at _____ then β really looked at him β and for a brief second the weight of expectation, of lineage, of Tonowari's shadow fell away.
Their spirit siblings rising from the deep.
And the quiet certainty that no matter what storms came β above or below the surface β they would face them together.
Another distant tulkun call rolled across the water.
The rest of the pod was arriving.
Aonung's grin returned slowly, fierce and bright. "The others will want to see."
Together, they mounted their ilus once more, riding alongside Akura and Sahri as the sun finally broke fully over the horizon β the sea now alive with returning giants and the promise of something new carried on the tide.
Later that morning, the reef buzzed with energy.
The return of the tulkun had transformed the entire coastline into something alive and electric. Songs rolled across the shallows in deep, layered harmonies β vibrations that shimmered through the water and into bone. Metkayina families gathered along the woven walkways and in the surf below, calling out greetings, weeping openly, pressing hands to massive, scarred skin as spirit siblings surfaced one by one.
Calves breached in playful bursts of foam, their smaller bodies twisting clumsily in the light. Ilu darted between them like silver arrows. Laughter carried easily on the wind.
_____ stood waist-deep in the water beside Aonung, watching as Akura swam a wide arc around the outer reef, Sahri gliding not far behind. Their fins brushed briefly in passing β familiar, constant.
But not every tulkun was surrounded.
Beyond the brighter cluster of reunited pods, a single massive shadow lingered at a distance.
That was when Lo'ak slipped away.
It was subtle at first. A shift in posture. A glance toward deeper water. Then he turned, slipping between two groups of Metkayina without drawing attention.
She went still mid-sentence, eyes narrowing slightly as she tracked his movement.
"He's going to him," she said softly.
They all knew who she meant.
There was no mistaking the direction Lo'ak was headed.
Aonung followed Tsireya's gaze, jaw tightening. Rotxo muttered something under his breath. Neteyam stiffened almost immediately.
Then, one by one, they followed.
Not close enough to be seen.
But close enough to intervene if necessary.
They moved through the water in silence, weaving between tall strands of swaying seaweed near the deeper trench. The vegetation rose in long, ribbon-like curtains, thick enough to conceal them if they stayed low and still.
_____ positioned himself slightly behind Aonung, eyes fixed ahead.
The water darkened gradually as the seabed dropped.
Broader through the shoulders. His skin bore deeper scars β jagged lines and pale ridges that told stories no one fully spoke of anymore.
He did not circle the others.
He simply floated near the trench, massive and silent, as if separated not just by distance β but by choice.
Lo'ak swam straight toward him.
"He's really doing it," Rotxo muttered under his breath, barely audible through the water.
Neteyam's fingers tightened around a strand of seaweed beside him.
They watched as Payakan's enormous head tilted slightly, one golden eye narrowing at the approaching boy. The size difference was almost absurd β Lo'ak looked impossibly small against the tulkun's towering form.
The movement sent a slow current outward, brushing past their hiding place.
Then the great tulkun opened his mouth.
The interior was cavernous β shadowed and vast, lined with ridges that could swallow Lo'ak whole in a single careless motion.
Neteyam inhaled sharply beside them.
There was no humor in his voice.
He hovered just outside the opening for a brief moment β as if listening β then swam forward again.
He disappeared into the darkness of Payakan's mouth.
Neteyam surged forward instantly.
Aonung caught him around the waist before he could break from cover.
Neteyam struggled against him. "What if something goes wrong? What if heβ"
"Wait," Aonung repeated firmly, tightening his grip.
Neteyam's chest was heaving now, eyes locked on the massive tulkun's still form.
Bonding with a tulkun was sacred β but it was also dangerous. To connect tsaheylu in that way required trust beyond instinct. To step willingly into the mouth of something that large...
Moments stretched like pulled rope.
The water around them felt unnaturally still. Even the distant songs of the other tulkun seemed to quiet, fading into the background.
He simply remained there β open, waiting.
Neteyam's hands were shaking.
"Let me go," he whispered hoarsely.
It radiated outward from Payakan like a ripple of light beneath the surface. The water vibrated, a low resonance echoing through their chests.
The massive form shuddered faintly β not in anger, but in something deeper. Something awakened.
He burst from the tulkun's mouth with a gasp, pushing himself backward into open water.
And grinning so widely it was almost blinding.
Neteyam sagged in Aonung's grip, breath leaving him in a rush.
Payakan released a low series of clicks β not mournful, not distant.
Lo'ak hovered there for a moment, forehead pressed gently to the tulkun's skin.
The invisible thread between them.
Neteyam slowly stilled, staring at his younger brother as if seeing him for the first time.
"You idiot," he breathed β but there was no anger in it now.
Aonung released him gradually.
None of them moved from their hiding place just yet.
Watched as Payakan swam in a slow circle around Lo'ak β protective, deliberate.
Watched as Lo'ak followed easily, perfectly aligned with the massive creature's rhythm.
Something sacred had just happened.
Something the clan would not approve of.
Tsireya pressed a hand lightly over her mouth, eyes shining.
Rotxo shook his head in disbelief.
_____ felt it too β that shift in the current. The undeniable truth that this was not reckless defiance.
Payakan was no longer alone.
Lo'ak turned slightly then β scanning the water.
For a brief, heart-stopping second, _____ thought they had been spotted.
But Lo'ak only smiled to himself and swam closer to Payakan's flank.
"He did it," he murmured.
Not quite disapproval either.
Because they all knew what would come next.
The clan would not see what they had just witnessed.
They would see broken law.
But here, in the quiet sway of seaweed and filtered sunlight, there was no fear anymore.
Payakan released a deeper call β softer than the others', but no less powerful.
It vibrated through the trench and out toward the open sea.
And Lo'ak answered with laughter that bubbled through the water like light.
None of them spoke as they finally began to drift backward from their hiding place.
Because there were no words that could capture what they had just seen.
A bond forged not from tradition.
And whether the clan accepted it or notβ
They were summoned before noon.
The call traveled quickly through the reef village β firm, unmistakable. By the time they reached the central gathering circle, most of the clan had already formed a wide ring in the sand. The sea breeze carried the lingering echoes of tulkun song, but here, on the shore, the mood had shifted into something more serious.
Just steady and expectant.
At the center stood Tonowari, Olo'eyktan of the Metkayina. His shoulders were broad, posture unyielding, though his expression was more controlled than thunderous. Beside him stood Ronal, hands folded neatly before her, chin lifted with quiet authority.
And so did the rest of them.
Aonung to one side, jaw set but calm. Tsireya with her hands clasped behind her back. Rotxo shifting his weight awkwardly. Neteyam standing tall, every inch the eldest son.
And _____ β just slightly behind Aonung's shoulder.
Tonowari's gaze swept over the group slowly before settling on Lo'ak.
"You let him bond with this outcast," he said, voice carrying clearly across the sand.
Lo'ak lifted his chin, stubbornness flickering across his features. "You don't understand, sir. Payakan isn't like thatβ"
The word cut through the circle sharply.
A brief beat passed β just long enough for Lo'ak to hesitate.
That time, there was no mistaking it.
Every single one of them dropped immediately to their knees in the sand.
The sand was warm beneath _____'s palms. The sound of shifting beads and shallow breathing filled the space between them.
Tonowari stepped forward, not pacing, not storming β simply grounding himself before them.
"Listen carefully," he said, voice lower now but no less commanding. "In the Time of the First Songs, when the tulkun first swam beside our ancestors, there were laws."
His gaze moved slowly from face to face.
He did not rush his words.
"The tulkun are not weapons. They are not soldiers. They are thinkers. Dreamers. Keepers of memory."
Ronal nodded faintly beside him.
"Payakan broke those laws," Tonowari continued.
Lo'ak's hands curled into fists in the sand.
Tonowari did not miss it.
"He led his entire pod into war against the sky demons," he said. "He defied the will of his elders. He acted from rage."
A murmur rippled lightly through some of the older Metkayina standing at the edges of the circle.
"And because of that defiance," Tonowari finished, "they were hunted."
The wind shifted, tugging lightly at braids and beads.
"His pod was slaughtered."
The words settled β not like a hammer, but like a weight placed carefully between them.
Lo'ak swallowed, but he did not look away.
Tonowari studied him for a long moment, then let his gaze shift slightly.
"I am disappointed in you as well."
Tonowari said evenly. "You understand the balance between tulkun and Metkayina. You understand why the laws exist."
_____ held Tonowari's gaze steadily.
"And yet," Tonowari went on, "you stood by while this bond was formed."
The truth of it rested plainly in the air.
"I did not stop it," _____ admitted quietly.
Tonowari inclined his head once.
_____ had seen something in Payakan's eye.
And he had seen something in Lo'ak, too β not rebellion for its own sake, but understanding.
Tonowari folded his hands behind his back.
"You are old enough to know," he said carefully, "that compassion does not erase consequence."
The phrasing was deliberate.
"I expect better from you."
That stung more than any public reprimand could have.
Beside _____, Aonung's hand brushed subtly against his in the sand β barely noticeable, but grounding.
Tonowari turned back to Lo'ak.
"This bond changes nothing," he said firmly. "Payakan remains outcast among his kind."
Lo'ak opened his mouth β then seemed to think better of it.
Tonowari raised a hand slightly.
Lo'ak inhaled, clearly fighting the urge to argue outright.
"He saved my life," he said instead. "More than once."
There was no bravado in his tone.
Tonowari's expression shifted β not softening, but considering.
"That may be so," he acknowledged. "And gratitude is honorable."
He stepped closer to Lo'ak, not looming β simply firm.
"But honor also requires discipline. You do not decide which laws apply to you."
"You are a guest here," Tonowari continued. "And guests show respect to the ways of their hosts."
Tonowari's gaze flicked to Aonung next.
Aonung straightened instinctively despite already kneeling.
"You are my son. The future of this clan. You do not hide behind seaweed and observe forbidden bonds like a curious child."
A few younger Metkayina at the edge shifted guiltily.
Aonung dipped his head. "No, Father."
Then he addressed them all.
"You are young," he said. "You believe the world can be reshaped simply because you feel strongly enough."
A faint ripple of restrained smiles passed between Neteyam and Rotxo.
"And perhaps," he added, not unkindly, "sometimes it can."
That caught them off guard.
"But not without wisdom. Not without patience."
His gaze returned to Lo'ak.
"You will not be punished for forming this bond," he said clearly. "The tulkun choose for themselves."
A quiet wave of relief moved through the group.
"But you will respect the boundaries placed by this clan."
Lo'ak nodded again, more firmly this time.
Ronal finally spoke, her voice cool but steady. "And you will not sneak away as though we are blind."
Tsireya's shoulders tensed.
Ronal's eyes softened just slightly at that.
"We were young once, too," she added.
That earned the smallest flicker of amusement from Tonowari.
Finally, Tonowari stepped back.
The tension that had been coiled tight in the circle loosened all at once.
They rose carefully, brushing sand from their knees.
But neither did anyone look crushed.
As they began to disperse, Aonung leaned slightly closer to _____.
_____ let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Not entirely," he admitted.
Aonung's shoulder bumped lightly against his.
"You stood by him," Aonung said quietly. "That matters."
_____ glanced toward the horizon.
Beyond the reef, two massive shapes swam side by side β Akura and Sahri, their fins cutting steady lines through sunlit water.
And somewhere further out β
The sea had shifted before.
Traditions, too, had once begun as something new.
And as they walked back toward the water β together β it didn't feel like the end of something.
It felt like the beginning of a change none of them fully understood yet.
The tide had turned once already.
Perhaps, in time, it would again.
