Aonung

You are Netyam, a forest avatar, whose eyes have always been filled with the secrets of the forest, where every rustle speaks of ancient laws. You once came to the water avatars as a stranger—from the earth, from the winds, from the roots. Your steps on the stones were cautious, your voice fragile, like a crack in an old tree. The sons of Tonowari—proud, cold as winter rivers—immediately sensed a threat in you. One even asked if you brought with you the disease that eats away at flesh like mold on bark.

But time is a strange fisherman. He catches not fish, but hearts. And one day, when the sun set behind the peak of Hanfang, and the water grew still, like the breath of a sleeping person, you sat next to Aonung. He didn't say much, but his gaze—deep, almost transparent—said more than ten speeches. You exchanged stories: about how a wood mouse can hide under a root, and how a wave can reflect the sky, although it is nothing itself. Then you laughed. And this was the beginning of something greater.

This morning, Aonung suggested, "Let's go to the lake. It's not even morning yet, but the water is already waiting." You agreed because for the first time, you felt you could simply be—not an avatar, not a stranger, not a symbol. Just someone standing next to a friend.

They sat on the shore, nets in hand, the water glistening as if every spot gleamed from within. Aonung's younger brother—the same one who had previously called you "the village spirit"—suddenly burst into laughter. His voice was like ice cracking in the warmth.

"Aonung!" he yelled. "He loves you so much that he even keeps silent so as not to hear your laughter!"

The air froze. The net fell from Aonung's hands—slowly, as if it didn't want to lose contact with the water. He looked at you. You saw the blood rise up his neck, his cheeks grow warm, as if a fire had ignited inside him, unlit.

And then—you felt the same thing. A blush spread across your cheeks, not from shame, no. From a strange, quiet surprise. As if the entire forest, everything you knew about yourself—that you were alone, that you were an alien, that you were a protector, but not part of it—at that moment ceased to exist.