A full week had elapsed since Nussudle had gone out with the Metkayina hunters and warriors. Seven days since the water had foamed with blood and panic. Seven days since the Akula had surged up from the depths and chosen him as its quarry.
Time did nothing to dull the memory. It refined it. Each passing day stripped away distraction and left the incident sharper, cleaner, and more difficult to ignore.
When the hunting party returned to the shallows, the reef did not greet them as it always had. There were no triumphant calls echoing across the platforms, no laughter carried on the water, no ritual marking success and survival. Celebration never arrived. Anxiety did.
Parents reached the hunters the instant they surfaced. Hands shook as they traced familiar limbs, checked torsos and tails, counted fingers and toes with frantic precision. Mothers pulled their children close with desperate strength, palms pressing into wet skin as if the act itself could keep them anchored to the present. Fathers spoke in urgent murmurs, eyes searching for blood, for scars that were too fresh, for absences that could not be explained away. Children said nothing. They wrapped themselves around legs and tails and watched, sensing rupture without yet understanding its shape.
The reef felt wrong. Normally alive after a successful hunt, it sat in a strained stillness that pressed inward, tight and suffocating. Sound carried too clearly. Movement felt watched. Even the water seemed uneasy, lapping and pulling with restless intent around the platforms.
As the story spread, carried from dwelling to dwelling in low voices, judgment followed close behind.
Those who had never trusted Nussudle spoke first.
Some claimed the Akula had sensed an imbalance, that it had known he was not of the sea and responded accordingly. Others said less with fewer words and more certainty. Their voices were sharp, unguarded, unconcerned with who might be listening.
He brought it here.
He does not belong among the waves.
He belongs in the forest.
Nussudle heard every word.
He did not respond.
Tonowari did.
He placed himself among the growing crowd, shoulders set, stance unyielding. His voice carried across the reef as he explained what had happened beneath the surface. The Akula had been wounded long before that day. It had recognized Nussudle. Memory, not provocation, had driven it.
It was not summoned, Tonowari said. It was not invited. It chose to come.
For a brief moment, uncertainty rippled through the crowd.
Then Arvak stepped forward and voiced his support. Quietly. Firmly.
The elders began to arrive.
They emerged from the deeper paths of the village, movements slow and measured, faces carved by years of salt, sun, and unshared decisions. No one spoke as they gathered. No one needed to. Their presence alone carried weight, and before any verdict was given, Nussudle understood the direction it would take.
Now, he waited.
Inside the hut assigned to him, he sat in his hammock and rocked in a steady rhythm. The motion was small and habitual, learned during nights when sleep refused to come. The woven fibers creaked faintly beneath him.
Outside, the reef was muted. No laughter. No splashing. Even the sea seemed to pause, as if holding itself in reserve.
Tonowari stood near the entrance, arms crossed tight against his chest, posture rigid with restrained fury. Ronal stood beside him, jaw clenched, tail snapping once before settling again.
Tonowari spoke at last. His voice came out lower than usual.
It was not your fault. I know it. The hunters know it. But the elders are pressing my father to remove you as a guest. They believe the Akula will follow you if you remain.
Nussudle did not stop rocking.
I understand, he said after a moment. His voice stayed level, though something drew tight beneath his ribs. They are protecting their people.
Ronal turned sharply toward him. That does not make it right.
Before either could continue, a shadow crossed the threshold.
An elder stood there, older than most, skin marked with pale scars that spoke of decades spent at sea. His eyes held no malice. They held something colder and far more decisive.
Nussudle of the forest, the elder said. You will come with me.
Ronal moved first. No. This is not acceptable.
Tonowari stepped forward as well. You cannot simply take him.
The elder raised one hand.
The decision has been made.
Silence settled.
Nussudle rose from the hammock and inclined his head.
I will come.
He followed the elder without another word.
The elder set a steady pace, neither hurried nor slow. The path curved away from the platforms and dwellings, toward the higher ground where woven walkways met forested earth. Whether the pace was mercy or formality, Nussudle did not ask.
Voices followed behind them.
At first they were distant, softened by coral and water. Then they grew clearer as word spread. Nussudle heard his name more than once.
Some voices carried anger. Others confusion. A few held something like grief.
Lungoo appeared from between two huts, jogging hard, braid loose, eyes wide. What is happening.
Sílfa and Syren followed him, expressions tight with disbelief. They slowed when they saw the elder but did not turn back.
Ronal's voice cut through the growing noise. This is wrong. You treat him like a threat instead of acknowledging him as an ally.
Tonowari walked beside her, jaw set. If the Akula returns, it will not matter where he is. It came once. It can come again.
The elder stopped and turned to face them.
This is not punishment. This is protection. For the reef. For the children.
And what about him, Sílfa asked. Her voice shook despite her effort to steady it. He saved lives.
He did, the elder replied. And we honor that. But honor does not outweigh risk.
The words struck harder than any accusation.
Nussudle stepped forward. It is alright.
Every gaze shifted to him.
I knew this was possible when I came here, he said quietly. You welcomed me anyway. You taught me. You trusted me.
That does not mean we let you leave alone, Lungoo said.
I will not be alone, Nussudle replied. He managed a small smile. I have Nova. I know how to survive.
Ronal looked prepared to argue further, but Tonowari placed a hand on her arm.
This is not finished, he said to Nussudle. You did nothing wrong.
Nussudle nodded once.
The elder resumed walking.
Eventually the paths narrowed and the sounds of the reef faded away entirely. The elder raised his hand and signaled the others to stop.
This is far enough.
Goodbyes were brief and heavy.
Lungoo clasped Nussudle's forearm and held it tight. You will come back.
Sílfa hugged him quickly. Syren pressed her forehead to his in quiet respect.
Ronal said nothing. She met his eyes, sharp and bright, then turned away.
Nussudle followed the elder into the trees.
The forest closed around them. Water sounds disappeared. Moss and salt filled the air. They reached a clearing where other elders waited.
Inside the hut, the verdict came without ornament.
The Akula still circled their waters.
The children were afraid.
Nussudle was not of their clan.
He accepted the judgment.
Not because it was just. Because it kept others safe.
No ceremony followed. Only supplies and a direction that led away from the reef.
At the forest's edge, the elder stopped.
This is as far as I go.
Tell them I understand, Nussudle said.
He turned inland.
Nova waited, wings folded, eyes bright with concern.
We are leaving, Nussudle said softly.
They lifted into the sky. The reef diminished below them, distant and intact.
Faces passed through his thoughts. Friends. Allies. Voices raised in protest that had not been enough.
Then Nayat'i.
He set the thought aside and looked forward.
The forest stretched ahead, broad and uncertain.
They flew on, carrying with them everything that could not be set down.
(This was set on a timer so when i comes out idk 20 days or sm boom)