"Payakan. It is Payakan."
"He's said to be dangerous. A killer. They blame him for the massacre of reef boys and young bulls far to the south."
Lo'ak's eyes widened.
I gave him a sympathetic smile, though the truth pained me. "I know. But by the tulkun way, he is a killer. They don't condone violence of any kind—not even in defense. He was their leader. So, he bears the guilt."
"No," Lo'ak said firmly, shaking his head. "There's no way. He saved my life." His voice broke, almost pleading. "Tell me you don't believe it?"
I looked at him, seeing not just his stubbornness but his grief for a creature who had given him mercy. "I don't believe Payakan should carry that guilt forever," I admitted softly. "But the others... they will always see him as outcast."
Lo'ak's jaw tightened, sadness shadowing his expression. He was young, but his heart had already bound itself to Payakan's pain. It nearly broke me to think what the tulkun must have endured in silence all these years.
I touched his shoulder gently. "Come on. Let's go home, yea?"
He nodded, and together we walked back to my marui, both of us heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Inside, the others were already preparing for sleep. Kiri was spreading out her mat, Neteyam rolling his near the wall, Tuk playing with a shell until Jake hushed her. Lo'ak slipped down beside his brother, and I unrolled mine near the edge of the line.
Jake approached quietly, his gravelly voice stirring a shiver through me. "Hey."
I looked up, meeting his golden eyes with a smile. "Hi, Jake."
"Thank you," he said lowly, his hand brushing up my arm in a soothing stroke. "For saving Lo'ak today."
"It was my pleasure," I said honestly. "I just want him safe with us."
Something flickered in his eyes at my words. He stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him seemed to swallow the air between us. Without a word, he took my mat from my hands and set it down beside his. "Next to me tonight?"
My ears twitched, heat rushing to my face. I could barely find the words, so I simply nodded, grateful for the cover of dim firelight.
By then the children were already curled up, some breathing steady in sleep. Jake and I lay side by side, staring at the woven ceiling. Silence stretched. Then, his hand found mine, warm and grounding. We stayed like that until sleep pulled us under.
⸻
Morning came too soon. I stirred to the solid press of a broad chest beneath my cheek—Jake. My stomach flipped. Surely nothing had happened—I was too exhausted to remember.
He grunted awake, eyes blinking half-shut. "Morning, sleepy."
I grinned at his messy braids and tired face.
"Morning, sweets."He mumbled, eyes already closing again. Thank Eywa it was my rest day. I nestled back into the mat.
The next time I woke, the roof greeted me, but a heavy arm was draped across my body. Jake was still asleep, but the kids were stirring. Tuk played noisily with shells, Lo'ak pestered Neteyam about something trivial, and Kiri was only just beginning to stir.
I poked Jake on the nose. "Jake. Jake. Jake."
Finally his eyes cracked open. "What?"
"It's past sunrise. Time to get up."
He groaned, collapsing against my shoulder.
"Come on," I teased. "The kids have training soon. You can nap after."
Another groan, but he rolled away and began to rise. Together we gathered the children, meeting Ao'nung and Tsireya at the shore before they headed off down the beach.
⸻
The rain had cleared, the sun high again when Jake came to find me at the shore.
"The kids are back." His jaw was tight.
My brows lifted. "How was everything?"
"They're in trouble."
I sighed, shaking my head. "Of course they are. Let's go."
We entered Tonowari's hut to find Lo'ak already kneeling, fire in his eyes.
"...son of a great warrior, who has been taught better," Tonowari growled.
"Payakan saved my life, sir! You don't know him."
My stomach clenched. So this was about Payakan.
"No, Lo'ak," Tsireya pleaded softly.
"Sit," Tonowari commanded. Lo'ak obeyed, though reluctantly.
Tonowari's booming voice shook the hut. "Hear my words. In the days of the First Songs, tulkun fought each other—over territory, revenge. But they came to see that killing, no matter how justified, only brings more killing. So all killing was forbidden. This is the tulkun way. Payakan is a killer. So he is outcast."
I had already warned Lo'ak before, but he could never leave well enough alone.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said, defiance in his voice, "but you're wrong."
"Lo'ak," I hissed softly from behind, warning him, but he ignored me.
"I know what I know."
Ronal hissed, turning away in disgust. Jake stepped forward then, his presence cold and heavy.
"That's enough," his voice rumbled, sending a shiver through the air. He caught Lo'ak by the arm. "I'll deal with this one."
They left, and silence fell.
Ronal finally snapped, "You may leave."
The kids scattered, but Tsireya stayed by my side, her eyes brimming with tears. I took her hand, leading her away.
"Hey," I whispered once we were clear. "You did nothing wrong. Your parents just have to uphold the law—for the village, not just you."
She nodded miserably, but smiled faintly. "Thank you, Ayla."
Later, I returned to my marui and found Jake sitting alone, staring at the floor. I joined him, placing a hand over his.
"Talk to me," I said gently.
He sighed, turning his head. "I just don't get why he's so stubborn." His voice cracked, frustration and worry warring inside him.
"He's just a kid, Jake. He'll learn—probably the hard way, but he'll learn."
I squeezed his hand, steady and warm. His shoulders eased slightly. Then he leaned his head against mine, voice quiet. "Thank you for being here. For treating my kids like your own. Tuk practically calls you mom already."
A laugh escaped me. "I'm honored. I love your kids. And you've been a joy to have here."
My words carried more weight than I intended. I love you. The thought lodged in my chest, dangerous, unshakable. He was nearly twenty years older, an outsider bound to me by circumstance. And yet... both he and his children had become a part of me.
I didn't know what to do with these feelings, or who I could confess them to. Most would frown, call it wrong. Only Tsireya, I thought with a small smile, would squeal in delight at such a secret.
