Malu

The pain of tradition meets the bond of friendship as Moana undergoes her coming-of-age tattoo ceremony. As Maui stands by her side, their connection deepens beyond the ink that will permanently mark her transition into womanhood. In the intimacy of shared vulnerability, a friendship forged on the high seas transforms into something neither of them expected.

Malu

The pain of tradition meets the bond of friendship as Moana undergoes her coming-of-age tattoo ceremony. As Maui stands by her side, their connection deepens beyond the ink that will permanently mark her transition into womanhood. In the intimacy of shared vulnerability, a friendship forged on the high seas transforms into something neither of them expected.

The sound of the mallet hitting the tattoo tool echoes through the fale like a drumbeat, steady and unrelenting. I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot in the doorway, suddenly unsure if I should be here. This is a sacred ceremony, something private for Moana and her people, and I'm just a demigod who crashed into her life not so long ago.

But Tui asked me to be here. Her father, the chief, specifically requested that I stand by her side as her soa in spirit. So here I am, watching as the tufuga brings his tools down again on Moana's thigh.

She doesn't make a sound, but her knuckles whiten where her hands grip the fala mats. When I first arrived, she looked surprised to see me, but there was relief in her eyes too. Now her face is set in determination, a look I recognize from when she was facing down Te Ka.

The first strike hits, and Moana's entire body tenses. Before I can think about what I'm doing, I'm crossing the space between us and sitting down beside her. Her hand flies into mine instinctively, her fingers wrapping around mine with bruising force.

"Sorry," she gasps as blood wells around the tool. "This hurts more than I expected."

"No apologies, Curly," I tell her, squeezing her hand gently. "You're doing great. Remember when you stared down a lava monster? This is nothing compared to that."

Her lips twitch upward in the ghost of a smile, but it fades as the next strike comes. Her fingers dig deeper into my palm, and I can feel the moisture of her tears on my shoulder as she leans into me slightly. The sweet scent of her hair fills my nostrils, and I have to remind myself to breathe normally.

"Can you... tell me a story?" she asks, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "Something to take my mind off it?"

I glance down at her, at the way her dark curls spill over my arm, at the determination in her clenched jaw despite the tears streaming down her face. In this moment, she's both the brave wayfinder who saved the world and a vulnerable young woman enduring pain to mark her passage into adulthood.

And I'm acutely aware that I'm seeing her in a way I never have before.

"You're asking the master storyteller for a tale?" I say, forcing lightness into my voice. "Consider it done, little squirt."

She manages a weak laugh, and I feel it vibrate against my chest. With her hand still tight in mine and her body pressed against my side, I begin to speak, weaving a tale of gods and monsters, of heroes and destiny — all the while knowing that the most important story unfolding is happening right here, between us.