Way of Life

T W O

♪ From Darkness to Light
by Simon Franglen ♪
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Chapter Two
The Belonging



"I... don't know."

His voice trailed off, barely audible, as if the weight of his thoughts had crushed his ability to speak. The contemplative boy I had seen moments earlier had vanished, replaced by someone who had surrendered to the burden of his mind. The way he uttered those three words carried a haunting, almost agonizing undercurrent. Did he truly not remember, or was the past too painful for him to revisit?

Since my exile, I hadn't spoken to another Na'vi. This was the first time I encountered one of my kind, someone who, in a strange way, mirrored my own isolation, though his was painted with a different shade of suffering. Outwardly, I told myself I didn't care for him, but deep down, I knew otherwise. Had I truly been indifferent, I wouldn't have saved him in the first place.

Still, I decided against pressing him with more questions—whether for my safety or his, I couldn't tell. Especially when he was involved with the sky people, indicated by the bullet wound of his chest. His exhaustion was palpable. His face bore the signs of weariness that evoked a deep sense of pity within me, despite my attempts to remain distant. After a long, weighted silence, I finally spoke.

"You need food," I said, shifting where I sat before rising gracefully to my feet. I noticed the subtle change in Neteyam's expression. Perhaps it was only now that he realized how hollow his stomach felt. "I gathered some fruits for you—they're nutritious. They help you gain strength."

I reached for a bowl crafted from a hollowed coconut shell, filled with sliced fruits, and handed it to him. A smaller shell, containing water, was placed beside it.

"Inside these fruits are seeds," I said, kneeling. "They do not taste the sweetest but they carry strong healing. They will help you from within."

Neteyam looked at the bowl, his eyes softening as though he was seeing kindness for the first time in a while. Without hesitation, he took it from my hands and began to eat. His movements were swift, almost frantic, a testament to how long he had gone without nourishment. Though his frame was still strong, his gaunt face betrayed just how deeply exhaustion and hunger had affected him.

In a matter of moments, the fruit was gone. He drank the water just as quickly, tipping the small coconut bowl to his lips, draining it in one long gulp. The thin braid that had clung to his face now fell back, revealing more of his delicate blue stripes that ran down his neck and shoulders. His features, which I hadn't truly observed until now, seemed to hold me captive. There was something compelling about the quiet strength in his face—the soft yet resilient beauty that made me stop and stare, almost involuntarily.

He growled softly, more a sound of satisfaction than anything else, and placed the bowl back down before lifting his gaze to meet mine.

"Irayo," he thanked. He bowed his head slightly.

The moment shook me from my trance. Flustered, I stepped back, my gaze dropping to the ground as I gave a small nod in response, although the gesture was small, it meant much more. I never necessarily had this kind of appreciation from someone. It felt new.

I lifted my gaze to meet his, a soft smile tugging at the corners of my lips before they pressed into a contemplative line. In response, his lips curved upward in a quiet, wordless exchange. Neither of us spoke, yet the silence between us was not entirely uncomfortable—rather, it felt like the air was thick with a gentle, unspoken understanding. Still, there lingered a sense of awkwardness, delicate and palpable, like the hush before the first drop of rain.