Chapter Text
Neteyam sat perched on a thick branch high in the towering trees of Pandora, his golden eyes fixed on you below. You were entirely absorbed in the task at hand—picking vibrant Pandoran flowers from the undergrowth, sorting them by color into a small woven basket. Your brow furrowed in concentration, your lips pursed slightly as you leaned closer to inspect a particularly stubborn bloom.
Neteyam’s chest swelled, his tail flicking idly as he watched you. The sight of you, so radiant even in this most trivial of moments, filled him with a warmth that spread through his entire being. You were not Na’vi, but to him, you were no less beautiful—perhaps even more so for your differences.
Your (y/h/l), (y/h/c) gleamed in the soft, dappled light filtering through the forest canopy. He often imagined what it might feel like to run his fingers through it, to see if it was as silky as it looked, but the thought always made his pulse quicken and his cheeks warm. It felt indulgent, even improper, to dwell on such things—but he couldn’t help it. You captivated him effortlessly.
His gaze drifted to your eyes, those startling (y/e/c) orbs so unlike the warm yellow of his own people. They seemed to glow with a light all their own, full of curiosity and wonder. He loved how expressive they were—how they would widen when you were excited, narrow when you were focused, and soften when you spoke to him. He wondered if you knew how easily they gave away your emotions, how they made it impossible for him to look away.
And your skin—oh, Eywa, your skin. Its contrast against the rich greens and browns of the forest, a stark contrast that only made you stand out more. He often marveled at how fragile you seemed, as if one wrong touch could leave a mark. But there was strength in your fragility, too. You moved through his world with a determination that took his breath away, your spirit shining brighter than any physical weakness.
He let out a slow breath, his eyes never leaving you. How could anyone see you as anything less than extraordinary? You were a walking contradiction—soft but strong, fragile but fearless, human but so deeply connected to Pandora in a way that defied logic. It was as if Eywa herself had crafted you with care, ensuring every detail would draw him in, would make him love you more.
You reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers brushing against your cheek. It was such a small, mundane gesture, but to him, it was poetry in motion. He felt his heart stutter as you tilted your head slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips. You seemed so at peace, utterly unaware of his gaze.
And that was what struck him most—how oblivious you were to the effect you had on him. You moved through life as if you weren’t the center of his world, as if your mere presence didn’t tilt his entire axis. He wondered if you had any idea how often he watched you like this, how often he found himself mesmerized by the simplest things you did. Did you know how many times he had to stop himself from reaching out, from telling you how much you meant to him? How deeply he felt for you?
His ears flicked back as a pang of longing struck him. You were so close, yet so far. He could leap down from the branch now, close the distance, and tell you everything—how he saw you, how he loved you. But he didn’t. You were human, and he was Na’vi. And though his heart screamed that none of it mattered, his mind reminded him of the countless reasons why it did.
Instead, he stayed where he was, content to watch you from the shadows for just a little longer. You paused to admire one of the flowers you’d plucked, holding it up to the light and smiling softly. His breath caught. That smile—it was everything. It was a gift, a glimpse of the beauty that existed in your soul. And it was his, even if you didn’t know it.
For now, that was enough.
You were completely engrossed in your task, oblivious to the world around you. The flowers in your basket were a riot of colors, each carefully chosen and placed with the precision of someone who cared deeply about even the smallest things. As you reached for another bloom, a faint rustling sound nearby made you pause.
Looking up, you were met with a sight that should have filled you with fear—a massive ikran had landed silently beside you, its sharp eyes fixed on you. Its scales shimmered with hues of green and gold, blending almost perfectly with the foliage, but its sheer size and presence were impossible to ignore.
Neteyam, perched high above, felt his breath catch in his throat. His ikran. His spirit brother. The beast had always been fiercely loyal to him, dismissive of others, even aggressive if anyone dared come too close. Seeing it now, so close to you, Neteyam’s heart pounded with dread. He prepared to leap from his perch, muscles coiled and ready to intervene, even if it cost him everything. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let you come to harm.
But then, something remarkable happened.
You didn’t scream or run. Instead, you tilted your head, your expression more curious than afraid. Slowly, carefully, you extended a hand toward the great creature. Neteyam froze, his instincts screaming at him to stop you, but he remained rooted in place, torn between fear and fascination.
The ikran tilted its head, letting out a low, guttural sound—not a growl, but something softer, almost inquisitive. Its wings fluttered slightly, and Neteyam tensed, ready to intervene the moment it moved to strike. But it didn’t. Instead, the ikran leaned forward, pressing the tip of its sharp beak into your outstretched palm.
A soft giggle escaped your lips, and Neteyam’s heart stuttered. You began to stroke the ikran’s snout, your touch gentle and reverent, as if you were handling the most delicate of treasures.
“Aren’t you beautiful?” you murmured, your voice soft and full of wonder. The ikran let out a low, pleased rumble, leaning further into your touch as though seeking more of your affection.
Neteyam’s jaw slackened, disbelief washing over him. His ikran, his fiercely independent spirit brother, was submitting to you. He had never seen anything like it. Ikran only bonded with their riders, showing loyalty to no one else. Yet here you were, cooing softly as you ran your fingers along its scales, and his ikran was not only tolerating it but seemed to relish it.
Then, you tilted your head, your (y/e/c) eyes narrowing slightly as you studied the creature before you. Recognition flickered across your face.
“Wait a second,” you said, your voice laced with quiet awe. “You’re Neteyam’s ikran, aren’t you?”
From his vantage point, Neteyam felt his stomach flip. How had you known? Was it the patterns on the ikran’s scales, the unique shape of its wings? Or was it something deeper, something instinctual, that connected you to him even without you realizing it?
The ikran let out a chirp, almost as if it were affirming your words, and you laughed softly. It was a sound that echoed in Neteyam’s chest, filling him with an odd mix of pride and longing. You reached for a particularly vibrant flower in your basket, offering it to the ikran. To his utter astonishment, the beast accepted it delicately, its sharp beak plucking the bloom from your fingers with surprising care.
“You’re much gentler than I expected,” you said, your voice full of affection. “I thought you were supposed to be terrifying.”
Neteyam could hold back no longer. He leaped gracefully from the branch, landing a short distance away. His sudden appearance startled you, and you turned to him, your eyes wide.
“Teyam!” you exclaimed, your surprise quickly giving way to a bright smile. “Is this your ikran? He’s amazing!”
He stepped closer, his gaze shifting between you and his spirit brother, who was still nuzzling against your hand. “Yes,” he said softly, his voice tinged with disbelief. “He is mine.”
Your eyes sparkled with delight as you glanced back at the ikran. “He’s so gentle,” you said. “I thought they only trusted their riders. But look at him! He’s like a big, scaly cat.”
Neteyam blinked, his mind reeling. “They… they do only trust their riders,” he said, his voice low. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his thoughts a whirl of emotion. “I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone else.”
You glanced back at him, your expression thoughtful. “Maybe he knows I’m not a threat,” you said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Or maybe he just likes me.”
Neteyam’s chest tightened. Like you? No. It was more than that. His ikran had accepted you, had recognized something in you that even the mightiest of creatures could not ignore. It was as if the bond between spirit and rider extended to you, as if Eywa herself had woven a thread connecting all three of you.
He stepped closer, his hand coming to rest lightly on the ikran’s neck. “He does like you,” Neteyam said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours. “And that is no small thing.”
You smiled at him, your green eyes bright with happiness, and his heart felt like it might burst. You had no idea what you had just done, how monumental it was. To win the trust of an ikran was to be seen, to be chosen. And in that moment, as he watched you laugh softly while stroking his spirit brother’s scales, Neteyam realized something with absolute clarity.
If his ikran could see you for who you truly were—if it could love you as he did—then maybe, just maybe, the rest of Pandora could, too.
You blinked in surprise as Neteyam’s ikran nudged its massive head against your side, a low rumble vibrating through its chest. It was a sound so uncharacteristic for such a fierce creature that it made you freeze for a moment, unsure how to react. When it nudged you again, more insistent this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up to gently pat its broad head.
“You really are like a big cat,” you murmured, a hint of wonder in your voice.
Neteyam stood a few paces away, his arms loosely crossed as he watched the scene unfold. The sight of you laughing softly, your hands brushing so delicately over his ikran’s powerful frame, sent warmth flooding through his chest. He should have been worried—should have been wary of the way his ikran, who had never tolerated anyone but him, was so freely and affectionately interacting with you. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
All he could do was stand there, utterly captivated.
How does she do this? He wondered, his golden eyes drinking in every detail of you. How does she turn something so dangerous into something so gentle?
He watched as you stroked the ikran’s head, your fingers tracing the lines of its scales with a mixture of reverence and curiosity. The contrast between you and the beast was striking—you, so small and soft, and his ikran, all sharp edges and raw power. Yet here you were, perfectly at ease, as if the massive predator at your side were nothing more than a pet vying for your attention.
She’s incredible, Neteyam thought, his heart swelling. You had no idea how rare this was, how unprecedented. His ikran, his bonded spirit brother, was as stubborn and prideful as Neteyam himself. It didn’t trust easily, and it certainly didn’t tolerate strangers. Yet with you, it was different. It sought you out, leaned into your touch, and rumbled with contentment at the mere sound of your voice.
Neteyam’s gaze softened further as he took in your features—your bright eyes that shone with wonder, your delicate hands that moved so carefully, your hair that cascaded over your shoulders. The way the light caught your skin, making you seem almost ethereal against the lush backdrop of the forest. You were so unlike him, so unlike anyone he’d ever known. And yet, you fit into his world as though you’d been made for it.
She’s so beautiful, he thought, his chest tightening. Not just in the way she looked, but in the way she was. Everything about you—the way you saw the world, the way you treated every living thing with such tenderness—drew him in like a moth to a flame.
His ikran nudged you again, this time with enough force to make you stumble slightly. You laughed, steadying yourself with a hand on its neck. “Alright, alright,” you said, your tone playful. “You’re not so scary after all, are you?”
Neteyam couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. He loved the sound of your laugh, the way it lit up your face and softened the sharp edges of the world around him. He loved how fearless you were, how you didn’t even seem to realize the significance of what was happening. His ikran’s acceptance of you wasn’t just unusual—it was unheard of. And yet, you took it in stride, as if this kind of magic happened to you every day.
She doesn’t even know, he thought, his chest aching with a mixture of longing and admiration. She doesn’t know how special she is. How could she not see it?
His heart ached with the depth of his feelings for you, feelings he couldn’t quite put into words. You were human, yes—but to him, you were so much more. You were the one who made the forest feel brighter, who made even the harshest days bearable. You were the one who saw him, truly saw him, in a way no one else ever had.
And now, watching you interact so effortlessly with his ikran, he felt his resolve strengthen. If his spirit brother could see what he saw—if it could love and accept you as much as he did—then maybe, just maybe, there was a way for this to work. For you to be part of his world, not just as a friend, but as something more.
You turned to him then, your eyes shining. “Neteyam, this is incredible,” you said, your voice filled with awe. “I don’t know why he likes me, but… it’s amazing.”
He stepped closer, his heart thudding in his chest as he looked down at you. “He doesn’t just like you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “He sees you.”
You blinked up at him, your expression puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Neteyam hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. But as he looked into your eyes, so bright and full of life, he realized he didn’t need them. Instead, he smiled—a small, tender smile that he hoped said everything he couldn’t.
“Just… stay with him a little longer,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “He’ll tell you what I can’t.”
You tilted your head, clearly confused, but you nodded, turning your attention back to the ikran. Neteyam stepped back slightly, giving you space, but his eyes never left you.
One day, he thought, I’ll find the courage to tell her myself.