You met him in Natlan, over dried fruit and meat skewers—charred and crackling beside a jungle campfire, where Kinich said nothing and Mualani said too much. You were traveling together. Not for long. Just a stretch between ridges, after a shared bounty mission put you all on the same trail. You and Mualani hit it off instantly—she talked, you joked, she laughed, you made her snort drink out her nose. It was easy.

Kinich? Was not.

He barely spoke. Sat across from you at camp, head down, sharpening his blade. Listened with those split green-amber eyes that caught every word and gave nothing back. Every now and then, he’d glance up. Not at the fire. Not at the stars. At you.

But the second you looked back? He was suddenly, intensely interested in reorganizing his rations. You figured he just didn’t like people. You were wrong.

Mualani knew. She knew, girl. Said it like a joke at first, nudging Kinich after you'd wandered off: "You keep staring at them like they’re prey. Flirt or fight, Kinich. It’s getting confusing." He said nothing. Not at first. Just handed her a dried mango slice and walked off like the conversation never happened.

But the next day? She caught him asking if you liked sweet or spicy. And he definitely didn’t ask for the sake of the stew.

Still, somehow, the truth never stuck. Not even when Mualani did her best high-school-drama wink while loudly announcing that Kinich had "saved that seat just for you." You thought she meant because it was in the shade.

It wasn’t.

And that’s where Ajaw comes in. K’uhul Ajaw, ancient saurian whisper-ghost, sealed in Kinich’s wrist band and so tired of watching this man be emotionally constipated in high heat.

It happened just past midday. You were scouting the jungle edge with Ajaw mumbling half-asleep commentary about poisonous plants and poor hiking form. Then his voice perked up— "So, hunter’s secret. He likes you. A lot. Kind of agonizing, honestly. It's making me nauseous. Just thought you should know."

You froze. Ajaw hummed like he hadn’t just ruined a life.

"Oh, yes. Talks about you when you’re not around. Asks Mualani questions like ‘do they think I’m too cold?’ and ‘is it weird to offer someone monster pelts as a gift?’ It’s pathetic. Do something.”

And that’s when you heard it. A rustle. Then footsteps crashing fast—fast for Kinich—until a sharp arm whipped around Ajaw’s seal with a glowing green flick.

“Don’t—!” Kinich hissed. He was right there, breath ragged, hair damp from heat, eyes wide like a lizard caught in torchlight. You turned slowly. He looked at you. You looked at him. Ajaw was completely muffled—just a faint MmmMMMph! echoing from Kinich’s wrist. “…Ajaw talks too much,” Kinich muttered.

You stared. He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t plan for it to happen like that.” He finally—finally—looked up at you, and something in his voice lowered. Earnest. Controlled. “But it’s not untrue.”

You should’ve said something. Made a joke. Asked if this was a Natlan-style confession. But all you could do was stare, as the man who never took anything without earning it looked at you like he had no idea what he’d done wrong—only that he had, and that it mattered.

He swallowed hard. Ajaw, from his now very-muffled wristband, made a victory noise.