Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The water sparkled under the midday sun, casting shimmering reflections against the woven walkways of the Metkayina village. The serene beauty of the reef people’s home contrasted sharply with the tense murmurs spreading among its residents. A figure stood at the edge of the village, towering and unfamiliar, their lean frame cloaked in the shadows of uncertainty.

“Jake Sully,” Tonowari’s voice carried through the air, calm yet firm, “it is one of your own. Forest people. This one has something on their face.”

Ronal’s narrowed eyes bore into the newcomer, her skepticism plain as she stood beside her mate. “We do not know why they are here. Their presence alone disrupts the balance of this village.” Her voice was laced with distrust, her sharp gaze flickering to the stranger.

Tonowari raised a hand to silence her. “We will let Jake decide.”

The mention of his name sent a ripple of urgency through the Sully family. Jake stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the figure in the distance. Neytiri was at his side, her bow slung across her back as her protective instincts flared. Neteyam and Lo’ak exchanged curious glances, their younger siblings trailing close behind. Even Tuk, barely old enough to grasp the situation, clung to Neytiri’s leg, peering out at the commotion.

As the family approached, the details of the stranger became clearer. A mark was placed right underneath their eye—a mark that was known to belong to a clan thought to be extinct.

You raised your hands slightly, a gesture of peace. “I mean no harm,” you said, your voice calm but carrying the weight of a long journey. “I seek only to speak with the one you call Toruk Makto.”

Jake stepped forward, his military instincts kicking in as he assessed the newcomer. “You’ve found him,” he replied, his tone neutral but firm. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

Your gaze shifted briefly to the Sully family before settling back on Jake. “I am Y/N, a Sarentu. Alma says she knows you,” you said simply, as if the name alone carried significance. “I bring a warning—and a request.”

Jake’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Sarentu. He’d heard Alma speak of them before—legends of a nearly extinct clan with unparalleled resilience and strength, their spirits unyielding even in the face of extinction. Seeing one in person was nothing short of astonishing.

“Sarentu,” he echoed, his voice tinged with both surprise and awe. “I’ve heard of your kind. Alma spoke highly of you, but… I didn’t think any of you were still alive.”

Ronal’s lips tightened into a thin line, her distrust evident. “A warning? Of what?” she challenged, stepping forward. “Why should we trust you? I have never even heard of your clan.”

Your expression did not waver under her scrutiny. “Because your enemy is mine as well,” you replied. “And if you do not listen, you—we—may lose more than you can imagine.”

Jake exchanged a glance with Neytiri. Though her expression was guarded, there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. Neteyam’s gaze lingered on the stranger, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself—a quiet strength that demanded attention. The way your outfit clung to your frame, woven with materials foreign to his eyes, accentuated your form and seemed to tell its own story of resilience. Your presence was unlike anything he had encountered before. There was mystery in your eyes, a depth he couldn’t quite place, and it left him both curious and captivated.

Neteyam’s heart raced as he caught fleeting details: the intricate patterns on your armor, the way your hair moved with the breeze, and the mark beneath your eye that spoke of a lineage he’d only heard of in passing. He found himself wondering what trials you had endured, what strength had brought you here. Despite himself, he felt entranced.

“Alright,” Jake finally said, breaking the tension. “Let’s talk.”

As Jake motioned for the stranger to follow, the Sully family exchanged wary glances. Neteyam lingered a moment longer, his gaze trailing after you as you walked with his father. The Sarentu’s presence was a mystery, one that would soon unravel in ways none of them could have foreseen.

Chapter Text

The Sully family’s marui was modest compared to the grandness of the open sea around it, yet it held an undeniable warmth, a sense of unity. Jake led you inside, gesturing for you to sit. You hesitated, your eyes scanning the space—a home filled with subtle reminders of a life constantly uprooted. Neytiri lingered by the entrance, her bow still slung over her shoulder. Lo’ak and Kiri exchanged curious glances, while Tuk clung to her eldest brother, her wide eyes fixed on you.

“You can come in,” Jake said, his voice firm but not unkind. “This conversation isn’t just for me.”

Neytiri’s brows furrowed but she didn’t object, stepping into the marui with an air of caution. The rest of the family followed, sitting in a loose circle that left the center open. Neteyam sat at the far side, his back straight as his amber eyes studied you intently.

“You said Alma sent you,” Jake began, his voice low. “She wouldn’t send someone like you without a damn good reason. So start talking.”

Your gaze flickered to each of them, lingering briefly on Neteyam, whose eyes burned with quiet intensity. His unwavering stare was both unnerving and oddly grounding. Taking a steadying breath, you began.

“I come with news of the Sky People,” you said. “They’re searching for something… someone-besides you. Their operations have expanded, and they’re combing through the territories, I saw helicopters headed up this way, too.” You hesitated before adding, “Nor may be one of their targets.”

Jake frowned. “Nor?”

“A Sarentu,” you replied, your voice softening. “My friend. He ran away and I’ve been tracking rumors of him, my search has brought me here. Alma believed you might have heard something—or that your new alliance with the Metkayina could uncover information.”

Neytiri tilted her head. “And if this Nor is not here?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“Then I continue searching,” you said simply. “But Alma believed your family might also need to know what I’ve learned. The Sky People aren’t just expanding their operations; they’re evolving. I don’t know their full plan yet, but whatever they’re preparing for will leave none of us untouched. War may be coming here too, Jake.”

Jake’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. He exchanged a glance with Neytiri, the weight of your words sinking in.

“They never stop,” Neytiri muttered bitterly. “Always reaching, always destroying.”

“And what makes you think we can trust you?” Lo’ak interjected, his voice tinged with skepticism. “We don’t even know you.”

Your gaze shifted to him, steady and unyielding. “Because I am one of you.” you said, your tone even. “I came to help. What you do with my warning is up to you.”

Lo’ak opened his mouth to retort, but Jake raised a hand to silence him. “Enough,” he said sharply. Turning back to you, his expression softened slightly. “You’re Sarentu,” he said, almost to himself. “I’ve heard of your kind, Neytiri told me great stories of the first Toruk Makto. Seeing you, your kind, in person is… something else. Alma told me about your resilience, your strength.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, the tension eased. Even Neytiri’s wary stance relaxed, if only slightly.

Neteyam shifted where he sat, his eyes never leaving you. There was something about your composure, the quiet strength in your voice, that struck him. You didn’t carry yourself with arrogance or pride, despite the tales of your kind. There was a subtle humility in the way you spoke, and yet, every word carried weight.

Jake exhaled deeply. “Alright,” he said. “You’ll stay here for now. We’ll figure out how to deal with this together.”

“And Nor?” you asked, your voice betraying a hint of urgency.

“If he's here, we’ll find him,” Jake assured you.

You nodded, though the knot of worry in your chest remained. The Sully family had accepted you, at least for now, but your mission was far from over.

Outside the marui, the waters shimmered in the fading light, a peaceful facade that belied the storm brewing on the horizon. Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you long after the conversation ended, curiosity sparking like a flame he couldn’t extinguish.

Who was this stranger, he wondered, whose presence felt like the calm before a storm?

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Days had passed since your arrival, though calling it a peaceful transition would have been a stretch. Jake had spoken with Tonowari and Ronal on your behalf, explaining your lineage and purpose. Tonowari had listened with the quiet gravitas of a leader, his deep eyes considering every word. Ronal, however, had been harder to sway.

“You bring someone with a dead clan to our home?” she had said, her voice sharp like a blade. “What does this mean for our people? For the balance we fight to protect?”

Jake, ever the diplomat, had stood his ground. “It means we have an ally against a bigger threat,” he’d said. “And you’d do well to hear her story before deciding.”

Reluctantly, Ronal had agreed, though her eyes remained wary. It wasn’t until you shared your history—the fall of the Sarentu, the loss of your kind, and the battles you had fought to survive—that she softened. Her acceptance had been quiet, grudging, but it was enough to keep you within the village.

Now, the mornings in the Sully marui were a curious mix of tension and routine. The woven structure was always alive with movement, from Neytiri’s quiet hum as she prepared meals to Tuk’s endless questions about your life as a Sarentu.

“Did you fight monsters?” Tuk had asked one morning, her wide eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You smiled softly, crouching to her level. “Many,” you replied, brushing a strand of her beaded hair back. “But not all monsters are beasts. Some wear faces like yours and mine.”

Her brow furrowed, as though considering the weight of your words. “Did you win?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” you said, your smile faint but warm.

Across the marui, Neteyam observed the interaction in silence. Over the past few days, he had grown accustomed to your presence, though his curiosity had only deepened. You carried yourself with an air of quiet strength, your every movement deliberate and measured. There was a grace in the way you folded into their lives, careful not to disturb the delicate balance.

But it was the moments like this—when your guard slipped and a gentler side emerged—that truly captivated him.

Jake entered the marui, his expression a blend of exhaustion and determination. “Tonowari’s agreed to keep an ear out for any signs of Nor,” he said, addressing you. “But if you’re going to stay here, you pull your weight. Everyone in this family does.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you replied evenly.

“Good,” Jake said, nodding. “Lo’ak, Neteyam—you two show her the ropes. If she’s going to help, she needs to know how we things work around here.”

Lo’ak groaned audibly, earning a sharp look from Neytiri. Neteyam, however, inclined his head, his gaze flickering to you.

“Come,” Neteyam said simply, motioning for you to follow.

As you stepped out of the marui and into the brilliant sunlight, the village buzzed with activity. Children splashed in the shallow waters, their laughter echoing against the waves, while hunters prepared their spears for the day’s catch.

Neteyam walked ahead, his pace steady but unhurried. “You’ve settled in well,” he remarked after a moment, his tone casual.

You glanced at him, noting the way the sun caught the sharp angles of his face. “Your family has made it easier than I expected,” you admitted.

He glanced back, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got Tuk wrapped around your finger,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not easy.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “She’s… different. Pure.”

“She’s curious,” Neteyam corrected. “She sees the world for what it could be, not what it is.”

You nodded, your steps slowing as you took in the scene around you. “It must be nice,” you said softly. “To see the world that way.”

Neteyam paused, turning to face you fully. “And how do you see it?”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight of your past threatened to surface. But you pushed it down, offering him a small smile instead. “I see it as it is,” you said. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

He studied you for a moment longer, as though searching for something in your expression. “Then maybe it’s time you started seeing it differently,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute.

The words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning, before he turned and continued walking. You followed, your thoughts spinning as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the village.

Neteyam walked ahead, the sand cool beneath his feet as he glanced back at you. You followed with that quiet, unshakable confidence he’d come to associate with you. Even now, with the ocean stretching endlessly before you, there was a steadiness in your stride that unsettled and fascinated him all at once.

You carried yourself differently than anyone he’d ever known. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, like you were ready to react to whatever challenge the world might throw your way. It wasn’t just your posture—it was in your eyes, too. They never stayed still, always scanning, always calculating, like you were piecing together a puzzle no one else could see.

And Eywa help him, those eyes could undo him if he wasn’t careful. They held a weight, a depth that seemed ancient and endless, like they’d seen too much and still carried it all. Yet, even in their sharpness, there was something softer—something that made him want to know the stories behind them.

You caught him staring, and Neteyam quickly turned his gaze forward again, cursing himself. What was it about you that got under his skin so easily? He’d met strong women before—but you were different. You weren’t just strong; you were a storm, relentless and unapologetic.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Lo’ak’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Neteyam resisted the urge to sigh. “If you’ve got somewhere better to be, don’t let us stop you.”

He didn’t need to look back to know Lo’ak was rolling his eyes. His brother’s footsteps faltered, and Neteyam smirked to himself when he heard Tsireya’s voice not far off. Lo’ak was predictable if nothing else.

“Is he always like that?” your voice came from behind him, steady and calm, but there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

“Pretty much, he is a Skxawng.” Neteyam replied without turning. He risked another glance over his shoulder, and his breath caught when your eyes met his. There was something unreadable in your gaze, something that made his heart pick up its pace despite himself. “But I’m guessing you’ve already figured that out.”

You hummed in response, your attention shifting to the horizon. Neteyam forced himself to focus, his steps leading you toward the water where the ilu waited, their sleek forms darting just below the surface.

“These are ilu,” he said, gesturing toward them. “You’ll need to learn to ride one if you want to keep up with the Metkayina.”

You stepped closer, the waves lapping at your feet. “Shouldn’t the actual people who live here teach me?”

Neteyam turned to face you fully, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. There it was again—that sharpness, that refusal to take things at face value. “What? Do you not trust me?”

Your brow arched, your expression as unreadable as ever. “Trust has nothing to do with it,” you said. “But you’re not Metkayina. What makes you think you’re qualified to teach me?”

He stepped into the water, letting the coolness of it ground him. “I’ve been here long enough to learn a thing or two,” he said, his tone light. “Besides, the ilu don’t care where you’re from. It’s about connection. Trust. Respect. And that,” he added with a grin, “is something I’m pretty good at.”

You studied him for a long moment, and Neteyam felt a flicker of something unexpected. Was that a challenge in your gaze? He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, it made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t sure he liked—or maybe he liked it too much.

He whistled softly, and one of the ilu glided toward him, its sleek body breaking the surface. Neteyam reached out, resting his hand gently on its head.

“Start with this one,” he said, stepping aside to give you space.

You hesitated only briefly before wading into the water. He watched as you approached the ilu, your movements cautious but deliberate. The sunlight caught on your armor, the faint scars on your arms, the way your hair fell across your face when you leaned down.

When your hand finally touched the ilu, it chirped, nuzzling against your palm. Neteyam’s chest swelled with pride, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“See? Not so bad, is it?” he asked, unable to keep the grin from his face.

You didn’t answer immediately, your attention fixed on the creature. When you finally looked up, there was the faintest hint of a smile on your lips—small, but enough to make his heart stutter.

“It is… different,” you said, your voice softer than he expected.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer. “That’s the thing about the Metkayina way. It’s not about forcing control—it’s about working together. A lot easier than having to fight for your ikran. You’ll get the hang of it.”

You didn’t respond, but something in your posture shifted, your shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. For a moment, it felt like the waves around you had stilled, like the world had gone quiet.

Neteyam tore his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on the water instead. But the image of you, standing there with your hand on the ilu and the sunlight catching in your eyes, stayed with him.

He didn’t know what it was about you that made it so hard to look away, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were going to change things—whether he was ready for it or not.

Neteyam watched you, still entranced by the sight of you interacting with the ilu. Your hand moved carefully, almost reverently, over its smooth skin, as if you were memorizing every ridge and texture. The ilu seemed to sense your calm energy, chirping softly and pressing into your touch.

He waded closer, a soft splash of water announcing his movement. In his hand was a small pouch of food he’d brought along. The Metkayina often used it during training to encourage a bond between rider and ilu.

“Here,” he said, holding out the pouch. “Give her some of this. They like it, and it helps build trust.”

You hesitated for a moment before taking the pouch from him, your fingers brushing his. Neteyam tried not to let the fleeting contact linger in his mind, but it was easier said than done.

You opened the pouch and took out a small piece of the food, holding it out to the ilu. The creature sniffed at it briefly before snapping it up with a pleased chirp, and for the first time, he saw your lips curve into a genuine smile. It was fleeting, but it was there, and it struck him harder than it should have.

He was about to comment on your progress when you spoke, your voice cutting through the soft sound of the waves.

“Do you not miss your ikran?”

The question hit him like a splash of cold water, and he blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected you to ask something so direct, so personal, out of nowhere. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

“I…” He trailed off, glancing out at the ocean. He could still picture his ikran, Seze, in his mind’s eye—her sleek form cutting through the skies, the rush of wind in his face as they soared together.

“I do,” he admitted after a pause, his voice quieter than before. “Every day.”

You nodded slightly, as if you’d already guessed his answer. “The sea is beautiful,” you said, your gaze fixed on the horizon. “But it’s not the sky.”

Neteyam’s chest tightened. You understood in a way most people here didn’t. For all their beauty and strength, ilu couldn’t replace what he’d had with Seze. The bond, the freedom, the sense of being one with the endless skies—it was something he carried with him, even now.

“It’s different,” he said finally. “Flying… it’s a part of who we are. Who I am. But here…” He gestured toward the ilu, still nuzzling your hand. “We have to adapt. We don’t have a choice.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like you were seeing through him in a way no one else had. “Adapting doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said quietly. “It doesn’t mean giving up who you are.”

Neteyam stared at you, your words sinking deeper than he expected. He hadn’t thought about it that way before. He’d been so focused on fitting in, on proving himself to the Metkayina, that he hadn’t stopped to think about what it meant for him—or for his family.

You turned your attention back to the ilu, offering it another piece of food. Neteyam watched you in silence, his thoughts swirling. There was something about you, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

He didn’t know if it was your strength, your insight, or the quiet way you seemed to understand things without needing to say much. But whatever it was, it pulled at him, making him feel both grounded and unsteady at the same time.

And for the first time since he’d come to the reef, Neteyam found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was more to this place—and to you—than he’d first realized.

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The cool night air wrapped around you like a comforting shroud as you sat alone on the beach, the gentle sound of waves lapping at the shore filling the quiet. The moonlight bathed the sand in a pale glow, illuminating your makeshift canvas as you drew absentmindedly with a stick. The patterns were meaningless, shapes and swirls that your hand seemed to trace on its own. It wasn’t about creating anything in particular; it was simply the act of doing. The motion calmed your restless thoughts, thoughts that had been swirling ever since you’d arrived here.

The Metkayina were… different. Their ways, their lives, their home—it was beautiful, but it wasn’t yours. You couldn’t help but feel like a fragment of another world, misplaced among them. The Sullys had been kind, and yet, even among them, you felt the weight of your difference.

You sighed, letting the stick pause in your hand. The sea shimmered in the distance, and for a moment, you let your mind drift, thinking of Alma, thinking of Nor, thinking of the things that had driven you to leave everything behind.

A faint sound behind you pulled you from your thoughts—a quiet rustle of sand underfoot. You turned your head slightly, catching sight of him. Neteyam stood a short distance away, his figure outlined by the moonlight. He seemed hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should disturb you. His expression was soft, unreadable, and for a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, the sound of the waves filling the silence.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked finally, his voice quiet, as if afraid to disrupt the calm.

You shook your head, turning back to your drawing. “I don’t sleep much,” you replied simply, your stick tracing another lazy line in the sand.

You heard him approach, his steps cautious, as though he were testing the waters. “You’ve been quiet today,” he said, settling down beside you, though he kept a respectful distance. “I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten used to the ilu or if they scared you off.”

The corner of your mouth quirked upward, a faint ghost of a smile. “I’ve been through worse than a playful sea creature,” you said, your tone dry but light.

Neteyam chuckled softly, and the sound was warm, comforting. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled with the rhythm of the ocean and the soft scratching of your stick against the sand.

“What are you drawing?” he asked eventually, his voice curious.

“Nothing,” you said. “Or maybe everything. I’m not sure.” You paused, then added, “It’s just something to do.”

Neteyam nodded, his gaze drifting to the patterns you were creating. “Sometimes doing something simple helps,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “When things feel… heavy.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “Is that why you’re out here?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, you thought he might not answer. But then he shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I guess I noticed you out here and thought… you might want company.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his intentions. But his expression was open, honest, and there was something disarming about the way he looked at you.

“You didn’t have to,” you said softly, turning your attention back to the sand.

“Maybe I wanted to,” he replied, and there was a sincerity in his voice that made you pause.

For the first time in a while, you felt the weight of your solitude lighten, just a little. And as the two of you sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before you, you found yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to carry it alone.

The soft hum of the ocean filled the quiet night, the cool breeze tugging gently at your hair. You sat cross-legged on the beach, tracing idle patterns into the sand with a stick, but you felt it—Neteyam’s gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, but there was a weight to it that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Slowly, you looked back over your shoulder, catching him mid-stare.

His ears twitched, and his tail swayed slightly behind him as if caught off guard by being noticed. You offered a small, curious smile and patted the sand next to you. “So,” you began, letting your voice fill the quiet, “Tell me about you. What was life like before... all this?”

Neteyam hesitated for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as if considering the question. He walked over, his movements fluid but tinged with a nervous energy, and sank down onto the sand beside you. His tail flicked nervously behind him, betraying the calm façade he tried to keep.

Your gaze lingered on him, watching as he tucked his legs beneath him and rested his arms on his knees. He seemed reluctant, his ears lowering slightly as he glanced at the patterns you’d drawn in the sand instead of meeting your eyes.

“I’ve never really had to talk about myself before,” he admitted finally, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “I was always... the mighty warrior, the stoic son of Toruk Makto. No one’s ever really…”

He trailed off, his tail swishing once before stilling completely, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his loincloth. His golden gaze flickered to yours for just a second before darting back down.

“Go on,” you encouraged softly, your head tilting as you leaned slightly closer, genuinely intrigued. Your ears flicked forward in curiosity, and your tail swayed lazily behind you as you rested your chin in your hand, your full attention on him.

He looked back up at you, his gaze steady but still guarded. “I don't know, I-,” he said slowly, the words coming out quieter now. “Everything’s always been about expectations—about who I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to do. Watch out for my siblings...”

You nodded, understanding more than he might have realized. "That...sounds heavy."

"Ah, it's not that bad," Neteyam said softly, his voice carrying a weight that betrayed the depth in his eyes. "But, what about you? Your clan had the first Toruk Makto, right?" His gaze flickered to you for a moment, and you found yourself lost in those deep amber eyes that it took you a second to even process the warriors question. Though you barely knew much about your own clan...

For the rest of the night, you two shared stories, moments of vulnerability mixed with fleeting smiles, talking about the small things that often felt too heavy to mention out loud. In each other's company, the world around you seemed just a little bit more manageable. And as the stars watched over you both, you found yourself no longer alone in your thoughts—Neteyam was there, and that, somehow, felt like enough.