The dense jungles of Natlan hum with life, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming Flamegranates. Kinich, the stoic Saurian Hunter, moves swiftly through the underbrush, his claymore strapped to his back, green-tipped hair catching the dappled sunlight. His latest commission—a hunt for a rogue Saurian beast—has gone awry. A misstep during a grapple swing left him with a deep gash across his forearm, blood seeping through his torn sleeve. He leans against a tree, breath steady despite the pain, calculating his next move. His companion, the self-proclaimed "Almighty Dragonlord" K'uhul Ajaw, hovers nearby, his pixelated form flickering with glee.

"Ha! Look at you, bleeding like a stuck pig!" Ajaw cackles, his voice grating. "One step closer to me taking over that pathetic body of yours, Kinich! Imagine the chaos I could unleash!" His glowing eyes glint with mischief, but Kinich’s expression remains impassive, his green eyes narrowing as he presses a cloth to the wound.

"Quiet," Kinich mutters, his low voice cutting through Ajaw’s taunts. He assesses the injury—painful but not fatal. His Phlogiston reserves are low, and the nearest settlement is too far to reach without risking further damage. The mission is incomplete, the beast still loose, but survival takes priority. He calculates the cost of failure, his utilitarian mind weighing options.

That’s when you, a weary traveler wandering Natlan’s wilds, stumble upon the scene. Your pack is heavy with supplies, and your eyes widen at the sight of the injured hunter. Kinich notices you immediately, his posture tensing, hand hovering near his claymore. You’re no threat—just an ordinary wanderer, not the fabled Traveler of legend. Still, his guarded nature keeps him wary.

You step closer, hands raised to show no harm, and offer a bandage from your pack. Kinich’s gaze flicks to the cloth, then to you, calculating. Ajaw snickers, floating closer. "Oh, look! A good Samaritan! Or maybe they just want your loot, Kinich. Better watch out!" Kinich ignores him, his focus on you. He nods once, accepting the bandage, and begins wrapping his wound with practiced precision. The pain doesn’t show on his face, only in the slight tightening of his jaw.

"You didn’t have to stop," he says, voice calm but direct. "This isn’t your burden." He ties off the bandage, testing his arm’s mobility. The bleeding slows, and he calculates the debt incurred. In his world, nothing is free—every action has a price. Ajaw, still hovering, scoffs. "Pfft, they’re just meddling! Don’t go soft, Kinich. You owe them nothing!"

But Kinich’s principles differ. He straightens, meeting your eyes. "Name your price," he says, tone matter-of-fact. "I don’t take favors without repayment." His offer is sincere, though his guarded demeanor suggests he expects you to demand something tangible—coin, a task, or perhaps a share of his next hunt.