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lortsyall · 22 hours ago

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Echoes of Eywa's Child.

chapter 4.

(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)

author's note: Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2025 brings you everything you wish for and more! I had a blast writing this chapter, and I’m so excited for you all to dive into it. But, as always, my exams are calling my name, so I’ll be back when I can. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter! ✨

Pending…Pending…

Date: August 17th,2174.

Location: Sully Marui,High Camp,Mons Veritatis,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.

Time: 1:28AM.

The stars always had a way of making me feel small. Not in a bad way, though—more like I was part of something much bigger, something infinite. My father once told me which one of those stars was Earth. He’d pointed it out during one of our rare quiet moments together, his voice low and steady, full of memories he didn’t share often.

“That’s Earth,” he’d said, his hand resting on my shoulder. “Where I came from. Where humans come from.”

I remember staring at the tiny dot of light, so far away, and thinking how strange it was that my blood carried a piece of that place. That tiny, distant star was supposed to be part of me, part of my story.

But I never felt it.

I never wanted to feel it.

The idea that I was part human always left a bitter taste in my mouth. It wasn’t shame exactly, more like... rejection. Like if I didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t be true. I could just be Na’vi. Fully Na’vi. The son of Toruk Makto, the son of the People. Not this... mix, this in-between thing that didn’t quite fit anywhere.

I think that’s why her words hit me the way they did.

“I don’t belong here,” she’d said last night, her voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the darkness around us.

I understood that. Too well.

I’d felt it the moment we arrived in Awa’atlu, surrounded by the sea clan with their skeptical eyes and quiet whispers. I’d been the golden boy back in the forest, the future Olo’eyktan, the one who had it all figured out. But in the reef, I was a stranger. A fish out of water. Literally.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t enough. Not strong enough, not skilled enough, not... enough.

I’d see it in their eyes sometimes, the Metkayina. That subtle shift when they looked at me. The respect was still there,yet the feeling lingered. Like I didn’t quite belong, no matter how hard I tried.

And now, here I was again, caught between worlds.

She reminded me of myself back then. That restless energy, that sharp defensiveness. She was trying so hard to figure out where she fit, just like I had. But she didn’t see what I saw in her: a spark, something unyielding, like she’d find her place no matter what it took.

That scared me, I think. The way I found myself wanting to be part of her story, wanting to help her figure it out. She wasn’t like anyone else I’d met.

She was... different.

And that terrified me.

Because I didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know how to handle the way my thoughts kept circling back to her, the way I noticed every little detail about her. The curve of her lips when she was annoyed. How she got so mad at me when I saved her,and I couldn’t help but feel amused,thanks to her fiery nature.

It was distracting, and I didn’t like being distracted.

I sighed, running a hand through my braids as I stared up at the stars again. The night was quiet, the village still. Somewhere in the distance, the soft hum of the forest blended with the faint whispers of the breeze.

I told myself to stop thinking about her. We’ve known each other for what,a few weeks?That is,if you count the fact that I didn’t see her for some time after the first ambush when Eywa sent the atokirina her way.

I need to focus. To focus on the tasks ahead, on my duty to my people, to my father. But it was harder than I wanted to admit.

Because she wasn’t just in my head anymore.

She was under my skin.

The morning came not with the rising sun but with the familiar pull of duty, a rhythm as natural to me as breathing. Sleep had been fleeting, fractured by restless dreams and thoughts I didn’t care to name. It wasn’t unusual—restlessness had been my companion since the day we left the Omatikaya forests for Awa’atlu. But today, it felt different, heavier somehow.

As the first hints of light crept over the trees, I stepped out of my tent, the cool morning air brushing against my skin. Tendrils of bioluminescence still lingered, fading with the approach of dawn.

I made my way toward the ikran rookery, my steps purposeful yet unhurried. Na’la was already awake, perched on a high branch, preening her bright green and blue feathers. She chirped as I approached, a sharp, almost impatient sound that made me smile.

“You’re eager today,” I said in Na’vi, running my hand along her neck. Her scales were warm beneath my palm, and she tilted her head toward me, demanding more attention.

“Na’la, we have work to do,” I murmured, though my tone was more affectionate than scolding. I untangled the leather reins and checked the straps carefully.

A familiar voice broke the quiet. “You talk to her like she’s your child.”

I turned to see Lo’ak leaning against a nearby tree, a teasing grin plastered across his face. He had the kind of ease about him that I envied sometimes, like the weight of the world hadn’t yet found a way to settle on his shoulders.

“And you talk like you’re not late,” I shot back, raising a brow.

Lo’ak laughed, stepping closer. “Father’s been asking about the perimeter check. You’re supposed to report in after.”

“I know,” I replied, securing the final strap on Na’la’s harness. “I’m heading out now.”

Lo’ak’s gaze lingered on me, his grin fading slightly. “You didn’t sleep again, did you?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, brushing off his concern.

“You’re always ‘fine,’” Lo’ak muttered, crossing his arms. “One day, you’re going to have to admit you’re not perfect, bro.”

“I’ll let you know when that day comes,” I replied, swinging onto Na’la’s back. “Now, are you coming, or are you just here to criticize me?”

Lo’ak chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve got my own tasks, thanks. I have to go over some strategies with Za'ruk for the next ambush. But try not to overthink everything, alright? You’re worse than Kiri sometimes.”

I ignored his jab, giving Na’la the signal to take off. The rush of wind and the sudden burst of speed cleared my mind, at least for a moment. The forest spread out beneath us, an endless expanse of green and blue, dotted with the faint glow of the morning’s first light.

As we approached the eastern perimeter, I scanned the ground below, noting the subtle signs of movement among the foliage. A small group of hunters was already out, their bows slung across their backs as they moved with practiced precision.

I landed Na’la near the group, dismounting with a fluid motion. The lead hunter, a tall Na’vi named Ayzek, approached with a nod of greeting.

“Neteyam. Oel ngati kameie,ma tsmukan.” he said, his voice steady,as he greets me in the Na’vi way. “Everything’s quiet this morning. No sign of activity from the Sky People.”

“I see you,brother.Good,” I replied, glancing toward the horizon. “But stay alert. They’ve been quiet for too long.”

Ayzek nodded again, his expression serious. “We’ll keep watch.”

I spent the next hour moving along the perimeter, checking for any signs of disturbance. The forest was eerily peaceful, the kind of quiet that always felt like the calm before a storm. Yet the storm never came.

By the time I finished, the sun was fully above the trees, casting long shadows across the ground. I guided Na’la back towards the village, my mind already shifting to the next task on my list.Grandmother asked me if I could gather some herbs for her,so I got to work.

I found the plants I needed, bending low to carefully pluck the delicate leaves. The task was simple enough, but my thoughts kept returning to the conversation we’d had last night. She had been so guarded, so closed off. But underneath that was something more—something I couldn’t quite put into words. It reminded me of the way the forest was sometimes: unpredictable, wild, full of life, but also dangerous.

As I landed back at base,I made my way quickly to my grandmother’s tent, the familiar scent of herbs and smoke greeted me. The Tsahìk was seated cross-legged near a low fire, her hands deftly mixing a paste in a stone bowl.

“Grandmother,I see you." I said, bowing my head respectfully.

“Neteyam,” she replied without looking up. “You are late.”

“My apologies,” I said, kneeling beside her. “The perimeter was secure.”

She finally looked at me, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “And yet your mind is elsewhere.”

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. My grandmother had a way of seeing through me, of pulling truths I wasn’t ready to confront.

“There is much to think about,” I said carefully.

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer,a small smile making its way on her face before she returned to her work. “Your father has asked for you. Go to him when you are done here.”

I nodded, rising to my feet. Her words stayed with me as I made my way toward his marui. There was always something to think about, always something to do. But lately, my thoughts kept returning to her—to the human girl who didn’t belong here, yet somehow felt like she might.

For now, though, there was work to be done. And work was the one thing I could always count on to keep my mind in check.

The low hum of the base was the only sound besides the soft padding of my footsteps as I made my way to my father’s marui. My mind was still spinning from the conversation I’d had earlier, the one that had gotten under my skin more than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t sure what it was about her that kept pulling my attention, but the more I saw of her, the harder it was to ignore the strange pull.

I rounded a corner, barely glancing up before—

Bam!

I felt the impact hard in my chest as she collided with me, sending a jolt through both of us. My body instinctively moved to catch her, but she was already stepping back, muttering under her breath.

“Dammit,” she hissed, her hand flying to her left shoulder, massaging the spot she’d rammed into me. “Fucking hell, watch where—”

Her voice faltered mid-curse as her eyes flicked up to meet mine. Wide and startled, her gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, we both froze. The air between us thickened, silent except for the faint hum of the base and the echo of her earlier words.

“Neteyam?” she said finally, her voice softer now, tinged with surprise.

I blinked, the initial shock fading as I took her in. Her cheeks were flushed—whether from embarrassment or irritation, I couldn’t tell—and her lips were slightly parted as if she wasn’t sure what to say next. Fucking hell, she’s so pretty.

“Syulang,” I said, letting out a breathless laugh and easing into a grin. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

She straightened up and let out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she muttered, then huffed in frustration. “I swear, I need to be more careful. My brain’s on autopilot lately.”

I chuckled, the sound breaking some of the tension. “No harm done. You sure you’re okay? That was a pretty solid hit.” I asked, studying her face. The frustration from earlier had softened, but I couldn’t help noticing how much more relaxed she looked.

She rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “I’ve had worse,” she said, rubbing her shoulder one more time before she gestured vaguely down the hall, a little too animated, her voice picking up speed. “I was actually heading to Unit 2—kind of a weird place, but cozy enough. I’ve already taken some blood samples, nothing too fancy, you know? Just figuring out some things with the new enhanced Avatar technology and—” She paused, blinking as if she hadn’t realized how much she was talking.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her. She was talking so fast, her words tumbling over each other like she was on a mission to distract herself, or maybe... distract me. She was so different from the defensive girl I had bumped into last night in the common room. Either way, I could feel my heart rate picking up in the strangest way.

“Blood samples?” I repeated, trying to focus on the words, though I couldn’t stop staring at how her lips moved when she spoke. “What... kind of samples?” Did I really just ask what kind of samples? Am I a fucking idiot?

"Oh, you know,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, “baseline stuff. Standard variables. I can’t really get into the fun experiments until I have a solid foundation to work with.” She grinned like she was sharing some inside secret, and for a moment, I found myself completely captivated by the spark in her eyes.

She was so different from anyone I’d met. So...alive, in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

“Right,” I said, quieter than I intended, distracted by the way her hair caught the faint light. “You’re settling in, I see?”

Her laugh was soft, disarming. “What else am I supposed to do around here? Besides, I’ve got to keep busy or else I’ll start thinking too much about... everything else.”

The way she said everything else stirred something in my chest. It was in her tone, the way her words seemed heavier than they should have been. I didn’t want to push, but I couldn’t stop myself. “What do you mean, everything else?”

She hesitated, a fleeting expression of vulnerability crossing her face. Like she hadn’t meant to let that slip. Then, with a small shrug and a half-smile, she answered, “It’s nothing, really. Just... adjusting. I know I’m not exactly welcome here, but I don’t have a lot of options right now,do I?”

Her voice softened toward the end, her posture shifting slightly, as though the weight of her words had finally settled on her shoulders. My eyes caught the way her fingers tugged at her cuticles—a nervous habit I’d seen around before. It was subtle but telling, the kind of gesture that hinted at something deeper bubbling under the surface.

She’s anxious... huh.

“I get it,” I said gently, my voice dropping in volume as though I didn’t want to break the fragile moment between us. “It’s... a lot to take in. But you’ll find your place. In time. You just have to trust the process.”

Her eyes flickered toward me, and for a second, something unreadable passed through them—an emotion too layered to pin down.The look lingered just long enough to make my chest tighten before she glanced away, letting her gaze drift to the floor.

That’s when I saw it again—the same vulnerable look she’d had last night. The mask she wore, the one that made her seem sharp and untouchable, slipped just a little. Beneath it was something raw, something almost fragile.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she let out a soft sigh. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke. “You’re right,” she said, her voice quieter now, thoughtful but distant, as if she was speaking more to herself than to me.

I didn’t press her, even though the pause felt heavy with unspoken things. I could sense the struggle she was having, the way she weighed every word like it might tip some precarious balance. Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, offering her the space to decide what she wanted to say—or not say.

But even as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor below, her fingers had stopped pulling at her cuticles. A small thing, but I noticed.

And just like that, the moment seemed to waver, as fragile as a thread. She stepped back, her attention shifting toward the path. “Anyway... I should get back to the lab. I’ve still got a ton of data to go through.”

I watched her pull away, feeling a sudden, inexplicable tightness in my chest. There was no reason for me to feel like this, no reason for the way my feet wanted to follow hers even as she moved further away. I don’t even know her that well.

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “I’ll see you later?”

She glanced back at me, her lips curling into a small smile. “Actually,” she said, a mischievous,yet shy glint in her eyes, “how about we meet in the common room tonight,around 11? You know, talk more. Like last night. I could use a distraction.”

Her invitation—casual, but somehow intimate—had my heart beating faster than it should have. For a split second, I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or panicked. There was something about her that pulled at me in a way that I couldn’t control. But I nodded anyway.

“Sure. Tonight. I’ll uh…I’ll see you there.” I said, my voice quieter and more shy than usual.

Her smile lingered for a moment, her gaze soft and warm, before she turned and walked off down the hall. I couldn’t stop watching her as she disappeared into the distance.

The moment she was out of sight, I exhaled sharply, trying to calm the racing thoughts in my mind. What is wrong with me?

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Between the two of us, something was changing—something I wasn’t prepared for. And I didn’t know whether to embrace it or run. But all I knew for sure was that I’d be in that common room tonight, just like she wanted.

Whatever happens then, I’ll deal with it.

I stood there for a few moments after she walked away, my mind swirling with the unexpected tension that had sparked between us. It wasn’t like me to get so... flustered. I wasn’t some teenager caught off guard by a fleeting glance or a playful smile. But the way she spoke, how she was so full of energy now that she was in her own element, and how the words seemed to flow out of her like she couldn’t stop herself—it made me feel... unsteady.

Shaking my head to clear the thoughts clouding my mind, I turned on my heel and continued my path toward my father's marui. There was no time to be distracted right now. I had duties to attend to, responsibilities I couldn’t afford to ignore.

I hadn’t been on my way for more than a few minutes before the weight of the moment caught up with me again. She had asked to meet later—tonight—and I hadn’t expected it. I had thought maybe it was a fluke, a casual comment. But the look in her eyes, the sincerity of her words, made it clear she meant it. And despite everything, part of me wanted to meet her. Wanted to see what would happen when we spoke more, when we spent more time together.

But now wasn’t the time for that. I had bigger things to worry about.

I reached my father’s marui, the familiar earthy scent of the woven structure greeting me as I stepped inside. The dim light of late morning filtered through the arched openings, casting intricate patterns over the floor. My thoughts were still scattered, each one vying for attention like a restless storm.

Dad was already there, sitting cross-legged at the center of the room, his posture as straight as ever, exuding a quiet authority. A map of the surrounding territories was spread out before him, his fingers tracing lines and markings that detailed our fragile hold on this land.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with mild reprimand. He didn’t look up; he didn’t need to. His tone carried enough weight.

“Sorry, Dad,” I muttered, lowering myself to sit across from him. The woven mat beneath me felt rough, grounding. “Got... distracted.”

At that, his eyes flicked up, sharp and discerning. Concern flickered briefly in his gaze, though it was hidden beneath his stoic exterior. “Distracted?” His brow furrowed. “You’re still thinking about those reports from yesterday?”

I almost laughed at that—those reports were the last thing on my mind—but I stopped myself, shaking my head. “No, not exactly.” My tone was too neutral, betraying nothing of the whirlwind in my head. The lab, the ambushes, the strange pull I felt toward her—all of it churned within me, just out of reach.

Dad’s gaze lingered for a moment, his keen eyes assessing me. “You’re sure? Because…whatever’s bothering you, we need to stay focused. We’ve got more problems than just the RDA and their new push for territory.”

“I know,” I said, nodding quickly, trying to appear more resolute than I felt. “I’m focused, Dad. It’s just...there’s a lot going on right now. Everything’s changing so fast, and I don’t think I’ve caught up yet.”

For a moment, silence stretched between us. Then, to my surprise, his expression softened. He leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “You know,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically reflective, “I’ve been where you are. When I came here as a human. When we moved to Awa’atlu, to live with the Metkayina. I felt like I was walking into another world,every single time. Everything I knew was stripped away. For the first time, I didn’t know where I fit.”

I blinked, taken aback. My father—so steady, so unwavering—had felt that way? I’d never heard him speak like this before.

“You?” I asked, skepticism coloring my voice despite myself.

He smirked faintly, but his eyes remained serious. “Yes, me. I was used to being in control, to knowing my role and what was expected of me,especially here with the people. Our people. But there, among the Metkayina... I was an outsider. Not to mention,back when I came here to Pandora,almost everyone looked down on me because of my…condition. I had to learn everything from scratch, adapt to a way of life that was completely foreign to me.”

“And you found your place eventually,” I said quietly, as though seeking confirmation.

“I did,” he said with a slow nod. “But it wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t always clear. Sometimes, finding your place isn’t about fitting in. It’s about carving out your own path, even if it’s not what you expected.”

His words settled heavily in the air between us. They were meant to reassure me, I knew, but they only seemed to magnify the doubts I hadn’t yet voiced.

“What if I’m not sure where I belong anymore?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. I could feel the regret seeping into my bones almost instantly.

My father’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. “You’re my son, Neteyam. You’ve always been destined to lead. But leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about making the hard choices when no one else will. And right now, you’re needed. By your family, by the clan. Don’t forget that.”

I nodded, his words hitting their mark. The familiar weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders again, grounding me even as the unease within me continued to churn.

“Got it,” I said, standing up, summoning a conviction I didn’t truly feel. My legs felt heavy, as if the weight of every expectation was dragging me down. I am so, so tired. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, that lingers even after the day is done. But I couldn’t let it show, not now. Not in front of him.

I glanced at my father’s face—strong, unwavering, the image of everything I was supposed to be—and felt the pressure tighten around me like a vise. I can’t let him down. I can’t let anyone down.

“I’ll handle it, Dad,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. I squared my shoulders, as if straightening my spine could bear the weight a little better. “I’ll take care of everything.”

But even as I spoke the words, they felt hollow, as though I was pouring from a well that had long since run dry. The weight of responsibility, of duty, of always being the one everyone relied on—it was crushing. Yet I swallowed the heaviness, shoving it down where no one could see, because that’s what was expected of me. That’s what I had to be.

“I know you will,” he replied firmly. “Now, let’s go over those raid reports from the Aranahe. Priya said Etuwa mentioned something important about their movements.”

We spent the next hour combing through the maps and plans, dissecting strategies and weighing risks. By the time we finished, my head was spinning with logistical details, but the unease hadn’t left me. It clung to me, stubborn and unrelenting.

As I stepped out of the marui, the mid-morning sun had risen higher, casting dappled light through the canopy above. The air felt thick with possibility and tension, the kind that promised change.

And tonight, I would talk to her. Maybe then I’d start to make sense of the storm inside me. Maybe then I’d begin to understand what it was about her that had shifted my entire world off its axis.

The soft glow of the lamps in the common room greeted me as I pushed open the door, expecting to see her sitting at one of the tables, waiting for me like we had planned. But the room was empty, save for a few scattered papers and a faint hum in the air. The silence felt heavier than it should have, and I couldn't help but feel a small knot form in my stomach. Had she changed her mind? Was I being too... eager?

I stood there for a moment, my gaze flicking from one corner of the room to the other, my thoughts racing. It wasn’t like her to ditch without saying something. She didn't seem like that kind of person. My hand lingered on the doorframe as I considered the possibility that I’d misread her intentions. Maybe she just didn’t want to talk tonight.

"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Did she forget, or did I get the time wrong?"

I lingered for a minute, debating if I should just call it a night, but something told me to check on her. Her room wasn’t far, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to swing by.

When I reached her door, I knocked softly. "You in there?"

There was a pause, then her voice came through, muffled but annoyed. "Yeah, come in."

I stepped inside and found her sitting on her bed, one hand digging into her left shoulder with an almost pained expression. Her hair was loose, framing her face, and she looked… tired. Not just physically, but like she was carrying something heavy.

“What’s going on? You okay?” I asked, stepping closer, my voice laced with concern.

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of her face as she gave me a weak smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you in the common room. My shoulder’s acting up, and I couldn’t drag myself out of bed.”

My brows knit together in a deep frown, the memory of her earlier bumping into me flashing in my mind. “Did you… did you hurt yourself when you bumped into me today?”

“What?” she asked, her expression confused before shaking her head quickly. “No, no, I—”

Her words trailed off, and for a moment, she hesitated. The confident, sharp-tongued girl I knew seemed to falter, her smile fading into something more vulnerable. Then, with a frustrated groan, she dropped the façade altogether.

“...Gah. A long time ago, I had an accident at the gym. Lifted before I warmed up and messed up my shoulder pretty bad,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “I got it fixed back on Earth, but sometimes it still flares up. I think it’s the pressure here, the mountains, the Flux Vortex. Everything feels heavier, and sometimes it just… hurts like hell.”

Her honesty hit me like a wave, and I found myself at a loss for words. For all her fire and wit, there was a fragility to her I hadn’t expected.

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” I asked, confusion—and maybe a hint of frustration—coloring my voice.

She sighed again, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket covering her legs. “I don’t like people fussing over me, okay? It’s… embarrassing. Makes me feel weird and emotional. And when the pain gets bad, I turn into a total asshole. Groggy, snappy, all that fun stuff. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to be around me then."

I tilted my head, smirking. "Paskalin, I’ve seen you pissed off at me for saving your life. I think I can handle snappy.’"

The term of endearment fit her so well, even better than syulang. She wasn’t delicate like a flower, something to be admired from a distance or sheltered from the wind. No, she was something else entirely. She had a resilience, a sharpness under her sweetness that reminded me of the wild berries that grew deep in the forest. Small, vibrant, and full of flavor, but with a tang that lingered.

Paskalin.

The word rolled through my lips like a whisper, soft and unassuming, yet it carried so much weight. Sweet berry. It was her—unexpected, unapologetic, and impossible to forget. Every interaction with her left a taste, something unique that stayed with me long after she was gone. She wasn’t just something pretty to look at; she had depth, layers, and a wildness that drew you in.

Calling her syulang like I did when I bumped into her wouldn’t have done her justice in this moment. She wasn’t fragile or fleeting. She was vibrant, alive in a way that commanded attention without trying. Paskalin. That was her.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized the name wasn’t just fitting—it felt like it had been waiting for her all along.

That made her laugh for real. For a moment,I could feel she didn't want to admit that I had saved her life. "...Okay, fair point. But still, it’s annoying as hell. Plus,I told you,I don’t like people fussing over me. I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to get attention.”

“Too bad,” I said firmly, moving closer and sitting on the edge of her bed without a second thought. Gosh,these beds are small. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She blinked at me, momentarily surprised, before letting out a soft, genuine laugh. It wasn’t the sharp, sarcastic sound I was used to—it was warm, unguarded. It made something tighten in my chest.

“Great,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Just what I needed—Prince Charming to the rescue.”

I smirked, leaning back slightly but keeping my gaze steady on her. “I’m serious, though. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. You don’t have to.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could see the faintest hint of gratitude in her expression. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve made your point.”

We spent the hour or so talking about the dumbest things—stories about the douchebags at her college back on Earth, our childhood memories, and random jokes that had us both laughing so hard my ribs hurt. To my surprise,it was so…natural. At some point, we decided we were starving, so we raided the common room for leftover snacks,and munched on them on the floor. It felt more comfortable sitting on the floor,given our…size difference.

I watched as she shifted uncomfortably, rubbing her shoulder again. I remembered how my grandmother used to massage my chest after I got shot, easing the tension on my back and helping the muscles heal. Before I could second-guess it, I asked her.

"Uh… do you want me to try something?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck.

She raised an eyebrow. "Try what?"

"My grandmother taught me a massage technique. It’s supposed to help with muscle pain. Worked for me when I, uh… got hurt." I didn’t elaborate. I couldn't open that part of myself to her. Not yet,at least.

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical,the sass dripping from her tone. “What, you suddenly moonlight as a masseur now?”

“Shut up and turn around,” I said, rolling my eyes.

She snorted but complied, sitting cross-legged on the floor and turning her back to me. I positioned myself behind her,trying to remember the technique. As soon as I started kneading the tight muscles,she let out a long,low groan of relief.

My ears twitched,and I fought to keep my focus. It’s just a massage. Relax. But fuck,the way she was melting under my touch wasn’t helping.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “That feels… really good.”

“You’re tense as hell,” I said,trying to lighten up the mood. “Do you ever not carry the world on your shoulders?”

“Ha ha,” she deadpanned,though her voice was softer. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

We stayed like that for a while,her groaning softly and me trying not to die of embarrassment. But somewhere in the rhythm of it,I realized something. We were becoming…friends. Real friends.

“Where were you when I needed this back on Earth?” she asks,a tinge of amusement present in her voice.

“Probably trying not to fall out of trees,” I said, grinning.

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You’re terrible.”

I chuckled, though my face felt a little warmer as her laughter turned into soft groans of relief yet again,which weren't exactly helping me stay focused as my mind started drifting to other places.

I froze for half a second, my face heating up before I forced myself to focus. "Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I charge for this kind of service."

She laughed, the sound muffled by another groan. "How much? I’ll pay whatever you want if you just keep doing that."

I couldn’t help but laugh as well, shaking my head. "You’re ridiculous."

"So are you," she shot back, her voice softer now. "Seriously, though. Thanks. I don’t... I don’t usually let people help me with this kind of stuff."

"Why not?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "I guess I don’t like feeling... vulnerable. Weak."

"That’s not weak,though." I said, my hands still working on her shoulder. "Just like your people have that saying. It’s human. Or,you know,whatever."

"Yeah. Or whatever." she said,her tone sarcastic,yet I could hear the faint smile in her voice.

We stayed like that for a while, the room quiet except for her soft breathing and the occasional sarcastic remark from her when I hit a particularly sore spot. By the time I finished, her shoulder was noticeably less tense, and she looked… lighter, somehow.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “I mean it.”

“Anytime,” I replied, meaning it more than I realized.

Her eyes lowered suddenly, a flicker of vulnerability creeping into her expression. “I guess... sometimes it’s hard for people to understand. They either see me as the tough, independent person,because that’s what I want them to see. Sometimes,I show them my softer part and I’m usually taken advantage of when I act like that. But… I’m not invincible,you know?”

I felt a knot tighten in my chest at her words. She was tough. She was smart. She was so much more than she seemed to give herself credit for. “You don’t have to apologize for being real and vulnerable,” I said, my voice low and reassuring. “You’re allowed to feel the way you do. You’re not alone here.”

She looked up at me, her eyes softening a little as she took in my words. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been hiding. I guess it just gets... exhausting sometimes. Pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not.”

I couldn’t help but feel a wave of empathy wash over me. I knew that feeling. The pressure of always having to be strong, to always hold it together, even when everything inside you was falling apart. I had been in her shoes, more times than I cared to admit.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I said, meeting her gaze with a kind of sincerity I wasn’t sure I’d ever expressed before. “I know we haven’t known each other for long but…I get it. You’re not the only one trying to find their place. Sometimes, it’s easier to hide behind walls. But you don’t have to do that with me. Not anymore.”

For a moment, she just stared at me, her expression unreadable, and then something shifted in her eyes. Maybe she saw the truth in my words, or maybe she just needed to hear them. Either way, the tension in the room seemed to ease, just a little.

“I’m not great at this whole... opening up thing,” she said, letting out a weak,quiet laugh. “But I think... maybe it’s worth trying. Right?”

I smiled at her, feeling something warm blossom in my chest. “It’s worth trying,” I agreed. “And maybe, we can help each other with that. Maybe we can even be friends.”

She raised an eyebrow at me, an amused smile tugging at her lips. “Friends?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice,but I could see the excitement behind her wide eyes. “You sure you’re up for it, Neteyam?”

I said, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Of course I’m sure. Better yet,I’ll even make sure you don’t murder anyone with your mood swings.”

Her lips twitched into a smile, and she rolled her eyes, but I could see the appreciation in the small way her shoulders relaxed. “You’re a real charmer, you know.” she muttered, though there was no heat in her words.

“Hey, I’m just speaking the truth,” I replied with a grin. “The world needs more of me, I’m just saying.”

She let out a laugh, the sound a little strained but genuine. “Maybe one Neteyam is enough. I don’t know if the world could handle two.”

“I think you’re just jealous,” I teased, nudging her good shoulder lightly with my elbow.

She snorted, shaking her head. “Please. I’d rather be in pain than deal with your ego any more than I have to.”

“Fair enough,” I said, giving her a mock pout. “I’m trying to be helpful here, and you’re rejecting my kindness.”

She smirked. “I’m rejecting your sarcasm. But thanks... for listening. And for not running off the second I started talking about how much of a pain in the ass I am.”

I didn’t know why, but that made me feel warmer than it should’ve. “You’re not a pain in the ass. You’re... pretty cool, actually.” I paused, then added, ��Pain or not.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in, like, an hour.”

I chuckled. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Slowly,we fell into a comfortable silence. The soft glow of the dim light casting shadows that danced gently across her features. The faint hum of the base filled the silence, but I barely noticed it. My attention was entirely on her.

She was leaning back on her palms, her head tilted slightly upward as she stared at the ceiling. Her hair, unbound and free, pooled around her shoulders and down her back like an ocean of soft waves. The light caught the natural sheen in it, creating an almost halo-like effect around her head. The strands seemed to ripple with her every subtle movement, and I couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly beautiful she looked—like a moment frozen in time, raw and unfiltered.

Her face, partially illuminated, carried an ethereal softness under the subdued light. The curve of her cheekbones, the delicate arch of her brows, and the faint shadow of her lashes against her skin—all of it felt magnified in this quiet, intimate moment. Her lips, slightly parted, caught my attention for a beat too long. Full and natural, they had a way of drawing my gaze without her even trying.

The dim light softened the sharpness of her features, making her look almost dreamlike. Her doe-like eyes, though unfocused as they traced patterns across the ceiling, seemed deeper somehow, like they held an entire galaxy behind them.

Her shoulders were relaxed, but there was a tension in the way her hands pressed into the floor, grounding her. The fabric of her loose shirt shifted slightly as she breathed, the neckline dipping just enough to reveal the faint outline of her collarbones. It wasn’t intentional—nothing about her ever seemed forced—but the simplicity of it only made her more alluring.

I watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, the steady rhythm hypnotizing me. Her posture gave her an air of quiet confidence, as if she was completely at ease in this moment. Yet, there was a vulnerability there too, something that made her seem so real and tangible, like the delicate balance between strength and softness.

She shifted slightly, her fingers curling against the floor, and the movement was so subtle, so natural, it sent a strange thrill through me. I realized then just how intently I’d been watching her, how I couldn’t seem to look away. Every little detail—the way her hair framed her face, the soft curve of her lips, the calm yet restless energy she carried—was pulling me in, bit by bit.

This was dangerous—this pull she had over me, so effortless, so natural, yet so completely overwhelming. It wasn’t just her beauty, though that alone was enough to make my thoughts scatter. It was the way she existed in this moment, unguarded and unassuming, as if she didn’t even realize how much space she took up in my mind.

And yet, the longer I looked at her, the harder it became to remember why I shouldn’t. Why I shouldn’t let my mind wander to the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall. Why I shouldn’t think about how her lips, slightly parted, seemed to invite thoughts I had no business entertaining. Why I shouldn’t dwell on the way she held herself—with a mix of strength and vulnerability that made me want to learn every story, every scar, every smile.

It wasn’t just attraction; it was something deeper, more insidious. A seed of something I couldn’t quite name yet but knew would grow if I let it. She was starting to take root in my thoughts, her laugh, her voice, her endless curiosity all lingering in the corners of my mind long after she was gone.

I found myself breathing as if the air between us had grown heavier. Something was shifting in me—something I hadn’t expected, something I wasn’t sure I wanted. This wasn’t part of the plan. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. And yet, she was becoming impossible to ignore.

The way she sat there, so perfectly unaware of the effect she was having on me, made it all the more dangerous. Because every second I spent watching her, every detail I memorized—the slight tilt of her head, the rhythm of her breathing, the way her fingers tapped absently against the floor—was another step toward something I couldn’t afford.

I wasn’t so sure about my loyalties anymore. That’s the thing with humans. They have a way of making you question everything.

And still, I couldn’t stop myself. Couldn’t stop the way my chest tightened every time she moved. Couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through my mind, each one more foolish than the last.

She was becoming a gravity I couldn’t escape, a quiet pull drawing me closer with every breath. And as I stood there, caught in the silent orbit of her presence, I realized with a sinking clarity that I was falling. Slowly, maybe, but undeniably.

Her voice brought me back to reality, soft and melodic, like a breeze stirring the stillness of the night. I hadn’t even realized how lost I had become in my thoughts until she spoke, her words cutting through the haze and pulling me back into the moment.

I blinked, forcing myself to focus on her. She was still sitting there, leaning back on her palms, her eyes flickering to mine.

“You know,” she said, staring up at the ceiling, “I think this might be the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

“Glad I could be of service,” I said, tossing a piece of fruit into my mouth.

Our conversation was then cut short by Norm as he stumbled in, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes and muttering something about needing stronger coffee around here, while we were sprawled on the floor, mid-laugh. We froze as his gaze landed on us, his sleepy expression shifting into one of confusion.

“What are you two doing?” he mumbled, scratching his head.

Never one to back down from an opportunity to tease,she turned to him. “Star gazing,” she said, deadpan, despite the fact that we were indoors.

Norm squinted, clearly too tired to argue. “Right. Well, carry on. Just… keep it down.” He shuffled over to the kitchenette, grabbed a glass of water, and disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

As soon as the door closed behind him, we burst out laughing again. I rolled onto my side, clutching my stomach. “Star gazing? Really?”

She grinned, unrepentant. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Shaking my head, I let the laughter fade and leaned back against the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The quiet hum of the outpost settled around us, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt completely relaxed. In a moment of confidence,I turned my head to look at her.

She turned her head to look at me as well,her cheek resting softly against the cool floor, and for a moment, I couldn't tear my gaze away. Her hair fanned out around her like a halo,tendrils spilling in all directions, catching the dim light in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly. In that split second, I was completely entranced, my heart doing a strange, sudden lurch in my chest. It was like everything around me went quiet, and all that mattered was the sight of her there, so effortlessly beautiful. I swear, my heart physically skipped a beat.

"You're staring," she said, her voice teasing, with a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to pull my eyes away from her. "Was not," I mumbled, but my voice betrayed me, the words coming out a little too quick, too defensive.

"Totally were," she shot back, poking me in the side with one finger, sending a small, unexpected jolt through me.

I let out a quiet breath, glancing at her with surprise. Her playfulness was so unexpected, and it threw me off balance more than I cared to admit.

"As if," I muttered, a small laugh bubbling up despite myself.

She smiled then, a small, genuine smile that seemed to warm the room, making my chest tighten in ways I couldn’t name. There was something about the way her expression softened, something that tugged at me. That simple, unguarded smile made the space between us feel both impossibly close and unbearably far, all at once. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt exposed under her gaze, and I didn’t want to look away—didn’t want to lose the moment.

"Okay, enough deep shit," she said with a dramatic flourish, flopping her back onto the floor like she’d just completed an intense workout. "Tell me something dumb. Like… what’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?"

I groaned, instantly feeling the weight of the question. "Oh, come on. That’s not fair."

"Fairness is overrated," she teased, smirking at me as if daring me to resist. "Come on, spill. I know you’ve got something good."

I sighed, running a hand through my braids, already regretting this conversation. "Fine. When I was like… ten, I tried to impress this girl by climbing a tree. Thought I was being all cool and smooth, y’know? But then I fell right out of it and landed in a pile of… well, let’s just say it wasn’t dirt."

She burst out laughing immediately, clutching her stomach like she couldn’t control herself. Her laugh was so contagious, I found myself cracking a smile, even though I was still cringing at the memory. "Oh my god! Please tell me she didn’t see the whole thing."

I grimaced, leaning back against the floor, trying to escape the embarrassment. "Unfortunately, yes. And she never, ever let me live it down."

She wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing uncontrollably. "Okay, your turn. Ask me something."

I thought for a moment, a mischievous grin slowly creeping onto my face. "Alright. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done to impress someone?"

She groaned and covered her face with both hands, clearly regretting her decision to play along. "Oh, you’re evil. Okay, fine." She sighed deeply, as if preparing to dive into the depths of embarrassment. "When I was fifteen, I had this huge crush on a guy, and he was obsessed with some TV series, so I… painted a triquetra on my wall in black paint to impress him. It’s like… a triangle symbol, I don’t know how to describe it."

I stared at her for a moment, speechless, before I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I burst out laughing, leaning forward in disbelief. "You’re kidding."

"Wish I was," she said, her voice muffled behind her hands, but I could still hear the faint edge of humiliation in it. "He didn’t even think it was that impressive, and my parents thought I was in a cult."

I doubled over in laughter, clutching my sides as the ridiculousness of her story hit me. It was almost too perfect. The image of her—who could be so effortlessly composed and sharp—doing something so… ridiculous to impress some guy was too much for me. I could barely breathe, still laughing so hard I thought I might pass out.

We kept trading stories like that for a while, our voices rising in fits of laughter, each ridiculous tale more outrageous than the last. By the time we realized how late it was, the sun had already begun to rise. Its soft glow filtered through the windows, casting long beams of pale light across the room, making everything feel a little softer, a little quieter.

"Shit," she said, looking around in sudden realization. "We pulled an all-nighter???"

"Looks like it," I muttered, stretching as a yawn escaped me. I was exhausted, but in that moment, it felt like the kind of tiredness you could sink into, not the kind that dragged you down. The kind that comes after a night spent with someone who makes everything feel a little lighter.

She groaned, glancing at the clock and then back at me, her expression still a mix of disbelief and amusement. "We seriously need to stop doing this. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that we stayed up all night or the fact that I actually enjoy it."

I chuckled softly, rubbing my eyes. "We’ll deal with that later. But right now, I’m pretty sure we both need coffee."

She shot me a grin, her eyes sparkling even in the early morning light. "Coffee sounds like a good idea. Let’s go make some bad decisions."

I helped her up, my hand steady as I offered her a small, teasing smile. But as soon as she stood, her eyes widened just slightly, and I couldn't suppress a chuckle at the look on her face. In that moment, the difference in our heights felt more pronounced than it ever had before.

Her gaze flickered up to me, a little self-conscious, and I could tell she was probably calculating how much taller I was than her. I couldn’t help but find it amusing—the way she looked up at me like I was some towering figure.

We both began to walk toward the kitchen, and her voice rang out, light and easy, bouncing off the walls as we moved through the quiet, stillness of the morning. “Thanks for tonight, Neteyam. For real. I didn’t think I needed this, but… I did.”

I turned my head to look at her,a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “I had fun too.”

She laughed lightly. “Fun, huh? Even with my bitching about my shoulder and my terrible jokes?”

I smirked. “Your jokes are pretty bad. But the shoulder thing? I get it. Everyone’s got their stuff. Doesn’t make you weak.”

As we walked side by side toward the kitchen, her words hung in the air, a soft echo I couldn’t quite shake. I didn’t think I needed this, but... I did.

Something inside me shifted. The usual weight of responsibility and expectations that always seemed to press down on me felt a little less suffocating in that moment. Maybe it was the simplicity of her gratitude, the way she didn’t try to hide the vulnerability in her voice. Maybe it was because I hadn’t felt this light in a long time—not in a way that wasn’t tied to duty or obligation.

I glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at my lips, and despite the teasing, there was something different in the way she looked at me. It wasn’t just the playful glint in her eyes or the way she always managed to make me feel like I was part of something bigger than the chaos of my life. No, this was something deeper—something that cut through the layers of expectation that had built up around me for as long as I could remember. It was like she saw me, really saw me—not just the son of Toruk Makto, not just the Olo’Eyktan-in-training, not the perfect older brother everyone expected me to be. She didn’t see the role I played or the image I projected for the world. She saw the person beneath it all.

She saw me beyond the weight of duty, beyond the endless training, beyond the constant pressure to be something I didn’t always know how to be. She saw the guy who almost lost his life to a bullet, the one who had doubts and scars that no one else seemed to notice. She didn’t flinch at the messiness of who I was or what I’d been through. She felt it, without even having to ask.

And for a split second, I wondered if maybe I was finally starting to feel seen too—really seen in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to be in so long.

The connection we’d shared over the past few hours—the jokes, the quiet moments, the easy conversation—had slowly started to weave something between us. A thread that was pulling tighter with every passing minute. And it made me realize just how much I didn’t want it to unravel.

I turned my head, watching her laugh, that light sound filling the space between us. There was something magnetic about her presence, something I hadn’t expected to find. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but she had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

“You’re annoyingly good at this whole ‘being supportive’ thing,” she said, her words almost a whisper, but they hit me harder than I expected.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that sort of compliment—being the strong, reliable older sibling had earned me a reputation for being the go-to guy when things got tough. But hearing it from her? It made me want to be better, to actually be the kind of person she thought I was. It made me want to do more than just live up to expectations; it made me want to live up to her expectations.

I chuckled softly, the lightness of the moment easing some of the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. "Comes with the territory of being the older brother. You learn to deal with people's shit." I said, shrugging casually, though I wasn’t so sure I believed it myself.

“Wow, way to ruin the moment,” she said, rolling her eyes, but there was a playful edge to her voice.

But as we reached the kitchen, I realized something else too. I wasn’t just the older brother anymore. I wasn’t just the guy everyone turned to. In that space, in the quiet moments we shared, I felt something else stirring inside me—something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time. Something that made my chest tighten and my thoughts race, but not in the usual way. It wasn’t pressure, or the weight of a thousand expectations—it was something lighter. Something hopeful.

And as we both stood there, exchanging the last of our banter, I couldn’t help but wonder if this—this—wasn’t just about being supportive. Maybe, just maybe, I was starting to feel something more. And it terrified me.

But for the first time in a long time, it felt like something worth chasing.

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