Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Hilina'i

Kamaile

Kililau descended the mountain after saying goodbye to Alohi, his chest still humming with the weight of her hug and the brightness of her smile. He hadn't meant for their time at the waterfall to last so long, but it had. Far longer than he intended. If Tutu Hali'i had returned home sooner than expected... Alohi would have been caught. The thought pressed against him like a stone, but he shook it off.

Still, there was no denying the truth: trying to uncover the mystery of Alohi's visit was proving far more difficult than he thought. Every time he tried to think straight, those eyes of hers—wide, brown, full of unspoken secrets—unraveled him.

It's like she sees right through me... straight into my bones.

"C'mon, get a grip on yourself," he muttered, laughing under his breath. But even his own voice sounded unconvincing. He had never felt this way before, and it both terrified and thrilled him.

Watching Alohi discover new places filled him with something he didn't yet have a name for. Her awe made the world shimmer, as though even the most ordinary rock or tree had hidden magic waiting to be revealed.

He knew why, of course. She'd grown up in seclusion, cut off from the villages, the bustle of life, the laughter of strangers. Every sight, every sound was new to her, and he found himself caught up in her wonder.

But he had come into this with a purpose: to learn why she was here, why Kamaile was forbidden to his family. That mission was slipping through his fingers like water, replaced with something else entirely.

Because of my feelings.

He clenched his fists. No. I can't let this happen. I can't let this distract me.

"What the hell am I thinking? Why am I thinking like this? Kili, you idiot... focus!" he hissed to himself. His words disappeared into the trees.

And yet, deep inside, he knew there was more to Alohi than the story she had told. Something unspoken. Perhaps something even she didn't know about herself. A hidden reason, waiting like a shadow at the edge of the forest.

Just as that thought struck him, footsteps crunched on the trail ahead. Kililau froze, heart pounding. Instinctively, he crouched behind a tangle of brush. A figure approached, slow, deliberate.

Tutu Hali'i.

Her pace was unhurried, but sharp, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air like a hunting lioness. Her eyes swept the path with quiet ferocity, as though listening to the whispers of the mountain itself.

Kili didn't breathe. The leaves around him seemed to hold their breath too, shadows stretching long. He swore he saw a faint shimmer ripple around her—a kind of silver haze, alive with mana—as if the mountain itself cloaked her.

Finally, she paused. Looked straight in his direction.

Kili's chest seized. Did she see him?

Then, with a final glance, she turned and continued on toward her home. Only when her figure had vanished into the grove did Kililau dare to exhale. Relief flooded him, though unease trailed behind like smoke.

⸻

Wainiha

"Kililau!" His mother's voice cut through the air as he approached the hale. Her tone clawed at his chest—urgent, afraid.

"Mom?" he called back, sprinting forward. "What's wrong?"

"It's your sister," Malanai cried, tears streaking her cheeks. "She fell from the tree—her arm—"