The closer Kauã got, the more he understood what was happening.
They despised her for being different.
Yara was thin — too thin by the tribe's standards. Only a few days remained before her Awakening, and her body had not yet accumulated the fat that, for women, was seen as a sign of beauty, fertility, and spiritual blessing. In the tribe's mindset, full curves meant prosperity. Thinness meant weakness. It meant bad omen.
And they never missed a chance to remind her of that.
When one of the boys grabbed a piece of wood and raised his arm to strike her, something inside Kauã snapped.
He ran.
The impact of the first punch echoed sharply. The boy holding the wood fell backward with a bleeding nose, dropping the stick onto the dirt. Kauã did not hesitate. He twisted his body and delivered a precise kick to another attacker's stomach, sending him down with a groan as the air fled his lungs.
The other three stepped back instinctively.
They took fighting stances but did not advance.
They knew who he was.
Kauã had always stood out in combat. His father had trained him since adolescence — discipline, precision, controlled strength. Among the youths his age, no one could defeat him. He did not fight for fun. He fought to end it quickly.
And that built a reputation.
"Leave," he growled, fists still clenched. "Before I break you too."
They hesitated for only a moment, long enough to measure the risk. It was not worth it.
"The shaman will hear about this!" one of them shouted while helping his friend to his feet.
"After my Awakening, I'll pay you a visit, Kauã!" another threatened, trying to salvage what little pride he had left.
Kauã did not respond.
It was not the first threat.
It would not be the last.
When the boys disappeared among the trees, silence returned. Only Yara's ragged breathing remained.
She was still on the ground.
Kauã approached slowly and extended his hand.
She lifted her face. Her green eyes were glassy, but no tears fell. There was something else there — resilience. Wounded pride.
She took his hand.
She stood up with difficulty, her body trembling slightly from the blows.
"Thank you, Kauã…" she said softly. "They always do this. But today… it was worse. I tried to defend myself… but…"
The sentence died in the air.
Kauã felt his heart skip a beat.
He understood.
He knew what it was like to be isolated. He knew what it was like to carry crooked looks and whispers behind his back. Since his parents' death, he had not been seen the same way either.
He forced a half-smile, trying to ease the weight of the moment.
"What's your name?"
She blinked, surprised by the sudden change.
"Yara."
"Yara…" he repeated, as if testing the sound. "It's a beautiful name."
She looked away, unsure where to place her hands.
"Beautiful."
The silence that followed was different.
Yara stood still, clearly unsettled. Her face, already marked by dust and scratches, now flushed as well. Perhaps it was the first time anyone had complimented her.
In the tribe, praise was reserved for those who fit the standard. For those whose bodies were considered "blessed."
Kauã had never understood that.
To him, strength was not fat. Beauty was not measured by tradition.
Yara seemed to search for words.
"I… thank you…" she murmured, almost stammering.
She was still holding his hand.
And for the first time that day, the weight of the world felt just a little lighter.