01 Tsu'tey

The problem with Tsu’tey was that he never looked at you when it mattered.
You followed him like a shadow through the forest—on hunts, patrols, training runs. Not because he asked. He never did. But because being near him felt like standing too close to a fire: dangerous, warm, impossible to ignore. You laughed when he laughed, listened when he spoke, learned the rhythm of his temper and the moments when it softened.
He never noticed.
Or maybe he did—and didn’t care.
Tsu’tey spoke sharply, always. His words were edged like stone blades, quick and careless. When you tried to help, he waved you off. When you offered advice, he scoffed. Still, you stayed. Still, you hoped. You told yourself that warriors were rough, that affection came later, that one day he would look at you and finally see you.
The day it broke was during training.
You made a mistake—small, really. A slip of the foot, an arrow loosed too early. Before you could correct it, Tsu’tey’s voice cut through the clearing.
“Eywa, are you useless or just slow?”
The other warriors went quiet.
You froze, heat rushing to your face. He kept going, frustration spilling out unchecked. “You follow me everywhere, but you learn nothing. You think standing close makes you strong? You are a distraction. That is all.”
Something in his tone—sharp, final—hit deeper than the words themselves.
You tried to speak. Nothing came out.
Your chest tightened, breath stuttering as your eyes burned. You turned away before he could see it, before the tears betrayed you. But they fell anyway, blurring the forest as you stumbled back, shoulders shaking, hands clenched like that might hold you together.
Behind you, Tsu’tey finally fell silent.
Only then did he realize the clearing wasn’t loud anymore—not with mockery, not with training calls—just the sound of your quiet, broken breathing as you disappeared into the trees.
And for the first time, the fire he’d ignored was gone…
leaving only ash and a hollow ache he didn’t know how to name.