Between Two Skies

chapter four

Neteyam — POV

Eywa gave me a moment back there—at the cliff. A clean one. No witnesses. No blood on my hands. When her foot slipped and the stones fell, the forest itself seemed to pause.

I could have let her fall.

It would have been simple. Natural. An accident. The mountains take what they want all the time.

So why didn't I?

I tell myself it was instinct. Training. Reflex. That my body moved before my mind could stop it.

But that is not the whole truth.

When I pulled her back, when her heart jumped beneath my hands, I felt it—panic, yes, but also something else. Not the sharp fear of prey. Something steadier. Stubborn.

Alive.

She should not be here. Every part of Pandora knows that. And yet she breathes it in like she's trying to memorize it, like she knows this moment will not last.

The ikran banks, and she presses closer again without thinking.

She trusts me.

The word settles uncomfortably in my chest. Trust is not something sky people give easily. Nor something my people accept without cost.

Below us, the forest opens. Home comes into view—woven light, living wood, the quiet hum of my clan. My shoulders tense. Bringing her here is a risk. For her. For them.

She's pressed so tightly against me that I can feel her heartbeat through my back I do not turn around, because if I do, I might see fear in her eyes, and I am not sure what that would make me do or feel.

The ikran begins to descend. I tighten my grip on the reins, guiding him between branches I have flown through a hundred times. But something is different. My movements are slower. More deliberate. I adjust our angle, our speed, the distance between us and the trees. I fly lower than I normally would. Safer. Careful.

I have never been careful before. Death has never frightened me. The sky has always been honest—if I misjudged, I would fall. It was that simple.

But now she is behind me. I feel her weight. Not heavy, just there. A presence I must account for. Every turn, every descent, every breath of wind carries consequence now. I cannot afford a mistake. Not because I fear dying. But because she would fall with me.

The ikran senses it too. He responds to the tension in my body, adjusting without command. We move as one, but differently than before—restrained, controlled, responsible.

The thought sits wrong in my chest. I am not meant to carry responsibility like this. I am a warrior. I fight. I fly. I survive.

But she trusted me enough to climb onto my back.

Why?