Chapter Text
The salt air was thick with laughter.
From the marui pod, Läk could see the distant flicker of the communal fire, a golden breath in the dark. Shadows danced along the sand as Metkayina children ran past with woven bowls and salt-stained fingers. The scent of grilled reeffish and sweet sea berries drifted in with the wind, curling around her nose like a coaxing whisper.
Her stomach gave a hopeful grumble.
“Ey’ona,” she said softly, tugging on her sister’s arm. “Can we go?”
Ey’ona was seated cross-legged on their mat, shoulders stiff. She was sharpening her knife again. She always sharpened it when she didn’t want to talk.
“We have fish here,” her sister muttered.
“But it’s cold,” Läk replied, trying to sound casual. “And it’s quiet here.”
Ey’ona said nothing. The blade scraped against stone, again and again.
Läk knelt beside her, resting her chin on her sister’s arm. “Please? Just tonight. I… I want to see.”
That earned her a glance. Wary, protective, and tired. There was a long pause before Ey’ona stood, letting out a low exhale like it pained her. She didn’t sheathe the knife. Just slipped it into her sash.
Läk’s heart soared as she grabbed her own small satchel. “We don’t have to stay long,” she offered brightly.
“We won’t,” Ey’ona said.
But even so, she followed.
The path to the fire was lit by glow-lanterns, their blues and greens pulsing like heartbeat ripples in water. They walked quietly. A few villagers looked their way. A brief tilt of a chin, or a whisper behind a cupped hand. Ey’ona didn’t flinch, but Läk could feel the change in her walk: more upright, more guarded.
The fire crackled as they arrived. It was warm. Not just in heat, but in the way it felt. Kids were seated in circles, legs crossed or stretched out, passing woven platters of food. Lo’ak was there, laughing too loudly at something Kiri had said, while Tuk rested in Neytiri’s lap and chewed on roasted fruit.
Jake was standing slightly off to the side, arms crossed. Not exactly relaxed, but not tense either. Watching. Always watching.
Tsireya was there too, beside her father. She smiled when she saw Läk. Not a forced smile, but a real one, gentle as the tides.
“Come,” she said, waving them over. “There’s room.”
Ey’ona hesitated, just one step behind Läk. The silence between them was a weight, but Läk ignored it, choosing instead to step forward even if her sister didn’t.
The sand was warm beneath her as she sat. A bowl was passed to her carrying plump sea berries inside, glistening like tiny pearls. She reached for one, then paused as a boy her age — Metkayinan, with tide-braided hair and a bracelet made of polished shells — leaned in slightly to pass it.
Their fingers touched.
He blinked at her, then smiled soft and crooked, like it had surprised even him. “You like berries?” he asked.
Läk nodded. “Yes.”
“They’re best when you bite them slow,” he said, handing the bowl off to the next kid. “Otherwise the juice gets everywhere.”
She blinked. “Thanks.”
He nodded, then leaned back without another word but his eyes lingered for just a second longer than needed.
Ey’ona sat beside her now, jaw tight. She hadn’t touched the food.
“You don’t have to glare at him,” Läk whispered.
“I wasn’t,” Ey’ona murmured back, eyes on the fire.
“Yes you were.”
A smirk tugged at Ey’ona’s mouth, quickly buried.
Across the fire, Neytiri was tucking Tuk’s hair behind her ears, humming something soft. Lo'ak passed a carved bowl to Kiri, who raised a brow.
“Where’d you learn to cook?” she teased.
“I didn’t,” Lo’ak replied. “Neteyam did.”
Neteyam made a mock bow. “You’re welcome, peasants.”
Kiri threw a berry at him. Tuk giggled, and for a moment, everything felt less… heavy.
Läk leaned against Ey’ona’s side. Her sister didn’t lean back, but she didn’t pull away either.
Tsireya stepped away from her father and made her way to them. She crouched, careful not to block the firelight.
“Is it okay I sat here?” Läk asked, nervous now that Tsireya was right there.
“Of course it is,” Tsireya said warmly. “I’m glad you did.”
Then, her gaze drifted to Ey’ona. “And you?”
“Läk wanted to come. I don’t make habits out of group dinners,” Ey’ona shrugged amd replied evenly.
Tsireya didn’t press. “Still… it’s good you’re both here. We’ve missed your presence.”
Ey’ona said nothing.
“I’ll walk you back when you’re ready,” Tsireya offered gently.
Ey’ona gave a small nod. That was enough.
The fire popped as more kindling was tossed in. Shadows stretched along the beach, and the tide sang its eternal lullaby.
Läk watched the kids around her — their easy laughter, their joy. She wanted to learn their games. She wanted to be part of it.
The Metkayinan boy caught her eye again. He mouthed, “juice,” and tapped the side of his chin where a streak of berry juice now lived.
Läk smiled in spite of herself and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. He noticed.
Ey’ona followed her gaze and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “You’re a baby.”
“I’m not,” Läk whispered back.
“Still too young for flirty fish boys,” Ey’ona grumbled.
Läk bit back a grin. “You’re just mad no one passed you the berries.”
Ey’ona gave her a mock glare... but she nudged Läk’s elbow gently, the way she used to when they played keep-away with the other Tipani children back home.
Jake was speaking with Tonowari now, voices low. Across the fire, Neytiri met Ey’ona’s eyes. Just a glance. But in that look, something unspoken passed.
Respect, maybe. Or understanding. Or a shared grief neither would say aloud.
Ey’ona’s shoulders loosened just a little.
Läk didn’t know. She just knew her sister's shoulders lightened a little.
Tsireya was talking now with Kiri, her voice mingling with the sounds of crackling fire and gentle waves. Laughter came and went like tides.
Then someone brought out a reed drum. Not to perform, just to play casually, weaving soft beats through the night air.
Läk leaned forward, entranced. Her fingers itched to learn it. Maybe she could ask... maybe later.
“Hey,” Ey’ona said suddenly. “Remember that song mother used to hum when it rained?”
Läk blinked, surprised. “The one about the sleeping shellfish, I think?”
Ey’ona nodded slowly. “I heard someone humming it yesterday. I thought I imagined it.”
“It’s real,” Läk said quietly. “I remember.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Ey’ona picked up a berry and finally, finally ate it.
The fire burned lower.
With her belly full, Läk leaned into Ey’ona once more, this time a little sleepier.
“I’m glad we came,” she whispered.
Ey’ona didn’t answer at first.
Then, quietly: “Me too.”
It wasn’t a loud night. There were no grand speeches, no fights, no declarations of belonging.
But there was warmth. A boy’s crooked smile. A cousin’s gentle hand. A mother braiding her daughter’s hair underneath starlight. And a sister — quiet, fierce, and still trying — sitting beside her.
It was enough.
For now.
---
The sun hadn’t fully risen — just a pale suggestion across the reef-line, casting a soft silver sheen over Awa’atlu’s still waters. The clan still slept, lulled by the rhythmic hush of the tide. But Ey’ona was already standing knee-deep in the shallows, arms taut at her sides, staring down an ilu tethered to a coral post.
It blinked at her, sensing her tension.
She hadn’t wanted anyone to see. She didn’t need lessons. She had trained her entire life to ride direhorses bareback, to leap between trees, to balance on vines slick with dew and blood. The sea didn’t frighten her. Not really.
But water… moved differently.
Her hands hovered at the creature’s side, breath caught. Her legs were too heavy for the sea. Her lungs, too shallow.
She clicked her tongue, a mimicry of what she had heard the others do, and gripped the ilu’s fin. The beast shifted beneath her as she straddled its back awkwardly. Her queues connected, and a small gasp escaped her lips at the shock of communion. Different from a pa’li. Slipperier. Softer.
The ilu waited.
Ey’ona gave the signal.
They leapt and immediately lurched into chaos. Saltwater slapped her face. Her grip slipped. The connection strained. She managed to stay on, barely, as they dove under and surged forward, but her balance was all wrong. She tumbled into the sea, arms flailing, air stolen from her lungs.
She came up coughing.
“Ey’ona?” a familiar voice called gently from the shore.
Ey’ona froze.
She didn’t need to look to know. Tsireya’s voice carried like the sea itself: warm, calm, always watching.
“I told no one,” Tsireya added. “I promise.”
Ey’ona swam to the edge and dragged herself onto the reef. Water clung to her braids. She refused to meet her cousin’s eyes.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice low and rough.
“I know,” Tsireya said. She knelt beside her and offered a shell-wrapped cloth. “But you look like you just got kissed by a spiral eel.”
Ey’ona couldn’t help it, her mouth twitched. “You’re not funny.”
“I used to be,” Tsireya smiled softly. “You used to laugh.”
Ey’ona blinked. That voice wasn’t teasing. It was quiet. Careful.
“You remember?” Tsireya asked.
Ey’ona shook her head, but it wasn’t quite true. She remembered vague flickers. Small bare feet running over sun-warmed driftwood, soft hands grabbing hers in play. Bubbles blown underwater. Little braids wound with seashells by clumsy fingers.
"You made me eat sea grapes until I puked," Ey’ona muttered.
Tsireya laughed. “That was one time.”
They sat in silence. The sun was rising now, scattering light in fragmented gold across the water’s surface.
Ey’ona looked down at her fingers calloused from wood, not sea. “The ilu doesn’t like me.”
“It’s not that,” Tsireya said. “You ride with tension. You lead it like a direhorse. But the ilu… wants you to move with it, not command it.”
Ey’ona stared out at the open water. “The sea makes me slow.”
“No,” Tsireya replied. “The sea makes you listen. That’s harder.”
She said it with no superiority, just the truth of someone raised by waves.
After a pause, Tsireya stood and offered her hand. Ey’ona hesitated...then took it.
They walked back to the shallows, where the ilu waited patiently, bobbing gently.
Tsireya climbed on behind Ey’ona. “I won’t take control,” she said. “Just hold balance. You lead.”
Ey’ona looked back at her, uncertain. “Why are you helping me?”
Tsireya blinked. Then, softly: “Because when I was five, I tripped on a coral root and cried for hours. And you, Ey’ona, punched a boy in the stomach because he laughed.”
Ey’ona’s eyes widened. “That was you?”
Tsireya nodded, grinning. “My hero.”
Ey’ona groaned, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“I was smaller then,” Tsireya added. “You made me feel safe.”
The memory landed like a warm shell in her chest. She remembered that day now. The blood on the boy’s lip. The furious protection swelling in her.
She sighed, breathing in the salt-soaked morning.
With Tsireya steady behind her, Ey’ona reconnected her tsaheylu. The ilu responded calmly this time, fluid and familiar. They slipped into the water again, and this time, she let her body relax. She let the current guide instead of resist. Her cousin whispered the cues gently behind her ear. Their bodies moved in tandem.
The ilu curved around coral arches and danced beneath early sunbeams.
Ey’ona felt… not like she belonged. Not yet. But not like a stranger, either.
And for the first time since leaving the forest behind, she laughed.
---
The sunlight fractured across the water’s surface in golden ribbons as Ey’ona stepped onto the warm, rippling shallows. Her toes sank slightly into wet sand, the tide curling around her ankles like a soft breath.
She adjusted her armband, glancing toward the others gathered ahead. Lo’ak, Neteyam, Tuk, and Läk were already waist-deep, their silhouettes shimmering beneath the surface like moving shadows. Off to the side, Kiri stood ankle-deep, her fingertips drifting just above the waterline as though she could feel the current in her skin.
This was their second dive.
The first had gone… poorly.
At least for the Sullys.
Lo’ak had sputtered, coughing up sea salt with a wounded sort of pride. Neteyam’s breathing had faltered. Even Kiri—graceful and strange—had overextended herself in a tunnel too narrow, surfacing only when Tsireya had gone after her.
Läk, on the other hand, had emerged breathless and giddy, her eyes blown wide with awe. And now she was already in up to her chest, swaying in the shallows like seagrass caught in tide, arms out for balance. She pointed at a swirl of yellow sea fans beneath the surface and signed something simple and slow:
["Beautiful."]
Tsireya caught the sign and smiled, echoing it back with ease.
The way she moved, fluid and unhurried, reminded Ey’ona of the reef itself. The ocean didn’t ask. It moved how it pleased. And Tsireya had learned its rhythm.
“Everyone ready?” Tsireya signed broadly.
Lo’ak and Neteyam exchanged blank glances. Tuk raised her hand enthusiastically, her little head bobbing. Läk, beside her, mirrored the motion tentatively but eager.
Ey’ona made no move. She didn’t need to.
Her stillness was its own answer.
Half-Metkayina blood ran silent and deep. She had never lived by the reef, never swum alongside ilu, but the memory lived in her bones. It belonged to her in ways she couldn’t explain. Her lungs had always stretched wide beneath water. Her body had always understood how to float, how to listen.
Still, she stood unreadable. Only her eyes moved. Watching. Measuring.
Tsireya dove. A single movement, clean and graceful.
The others followed, some smooth, some chaotic, but all committed.
Ey’ona let them go ahead. She adjusted the blade tied at her waist, bent at the knees, and disappeared below the surface.
The world fell silent, save for the pulse of the ocean.
Sunlight filtered through in rippling gold sheets. The reef below stirred with motion, schools of ribbonfish darting through waving fronds, corals blooming open like underwater lungs.
Every crevice seemed alive. Every shadow whispered.
Läk swam beside Tuk, pausing at a glowing patch of anemone. Her hand reached forward, hesitant, hovering just above the soft, delicate fronds. A juvenile creature translucent and petal-limbed, drifted toward her palm like a curious spirit.
She gasped silently, clamping her mouth shut.
Tsireya drifted over, smiling with her eyes. She gestured calmly:
["Gentle. It remembers."]
Läk nodded, heart thudding in her chest. She didn’t know how to reply in sign yet but her wide-eyed gratitude said enough.
Lo’ak and Ao’nung had pulled ahead, darting between rock formations. Lo’ak kicked too fast, cutting sharp turns, spraying up bursts of sand. Ao’nung laughed silently, then flicked his finlike arms and left him behind with practiced ease.
Rotxo trailed behind, casually pointing out tiny creatures nestled in coral cracks. A sting snail. A nest of striped sea-mice.
Neteyam was trailing mid-group, scanning the reef but clearly watching Lo’ak’s antics from the corner of his eye. When his brother vanished behind a dark tunnel, Neteyam slowed, hesitating, then turned back toward the others.
And collided with someone.
Ey’ona.
Their arms brushed. His breath caught.
She hadn’t been beside him a moment ago.
She looked at him — steady, unbothered — and for a moment, neither of them moved.
He raised his hands awkwardly and signed something rough:
["You okay?"]
It was clumsy. Crooked fingers. Shaky form.
It was bad. Really bad.
Ey’ona tilted her head. Then after a pause she swam closer and reached toward him, adjusting the angle of his fingers gently.
Not a correction.
An offering.
She moved with the confidence of someone who had learned this not in school but in silence.
["Breathe with your chest. Not fearfully."]
Neteyam watched her hands, then her eyes.
Tried again.
It was better this time. Not perfect. But enough.
A stream of bubbles rose between them, lazy and silver.
He smiled.
Ey’ona gave a faint nod, barely more than a shift of her eyes, and turned, her tail flicking softly behind her. She swam low along the reef wall, slipping into the light like a reef eel.
Neteyam hesitated then followed.
Farther back, Kiri had gone quiet again. She drifted alone through the coral forest, her arms wide, her fingers brushing kelp strands like wind chimes.
Everything around her responded. Slow movements, tiny pulses of bioluminescence and dormant sea-plants blooming awake under her presence. She spun slowly in the water, hair fanning out behind her like ink.
Ey’ona paused, half-hidden by the reef’s edge.
She could see Kiri through a gap in the coral head tilted, eyes half-closed, lips moving silently.
The reef sang around her. The rhythm was slow, ancient. Not something learned. Something felt.
Ey’ona stayed there a long time. Watching. Listening.
She could’ve called.
Could’ve alerted the others.
But she didn’t.
Something about this felt sacred. Like interrupting it would break the balance.
So she turned away. Not out of indifference. Out of respect.
And maybe, somewhere inside her chest, she understood that Kiri didn’t need saving.
Not right now.
Above, Lo’ak surfaced in a flurry of splashes, gasping. His chest heaved, his hands rubbing salt from his face.
Ao’nung surfaced nearby and puffed out his cheeks dramatically, pinching his nose. Rotxo snorted and joined in, mock-flopping like a dying fish.
Body language laughter.
No sound. Just sharp movements.
Tsireya glanced at them, expression unreadable. She didn’t scold them. Just turned and swam calmly toward Läk.
Läk surfaced a few moments later, cheeks blue with laughter. She held something tiny in her cupped hands.
“Look!” she whispered to Ey’ona, who had just joined her. “It crawled into my hand!”
A speckled reef crab, no bigger than her thumb.
Ey’ona took it gently, examining the tiny legs tucked beneath the shell. Then she handed it back.
From behind, Neteyam popped up, water dripping from his braids, blinking against the sunlight.
He opened his mouth to speak but Läk cut him off with a gesture.
A clumsy sign:
["Try again. Slower."]
Neteyam stared.
“That was… sign?”
Läk grinned, a little shy. “Sort of.”
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’re better at this than me.”
“Duh,” Läk replied, and with a cheeky grin, dove again with her feet disappearing into the foam.
Ey’ona chuckled under her breath. Just once.
The others were starting to gather near the shore again, shadows moving toward the shallows. The dive was nearly over.
But Ey’ona lingered.
She floated on her back, arms spread wide, letting the water cradle her.
Above her, the sky shimmered pale blue through the surface, crisscrossed with sunlight veins. The water around her was warm, heavy with salt, the currents slow and sleepy.
She felt her breathing steady.
It wasn’t safety.
It wasn’t home.
Not yet.
But for the first time in weeks… maybe longer…
It wasn’t war either.
And that was something.
She let her eyes close, just for a moment, and let herself drift.
---