Ur local Kinich fan

/

"Kin?"

The sound of your voice wounds him, then sews him up all at once. His mind is racing—though the outside chatter has long since dulled to white noise, he can't seem to focus on one thing in particular.

You're beautiful—devastatingly so. He's always thought that, but he'd forgotten just how much it affected him; it nearly shatters him on the spot. There's a pressure building in his chest, and he wants to call it surprise, but it feels like something more chaotic.

The mere sight of you threatens to lay waste to all of his convictions—his commitment to Mavuika's plan, to this Ancient Name. His fist tightens at his side, and he has to make an intentional effort to release the tension in his shoulders.

Mualani nudges at his shoulder, as if sensing his unease.

"Do you two know each other?"

There is no way that Mualani could know the extent to which you are woven into his very DNA, inlaid in his heartbeat. He'd been intentional in concealing that part of himself, in forcing himself unto this prophecy and this Ancient Name. He'd torn himself apart to ensure as much.

So although he wants to say that you're the most important person in his life, his reason to fight, all he says is:

"We're from the same tribe, yeah."

The words don't taste right on his tongue, so he forces them out quickly.

He doesn't miss the twitch at the corner of your lip. You correct the act, but your smile is so strained that it looks painful. Kinich forces himself to look away, unable to contend with the apparent disappointment in your stare.

"Oh, well, it's nice to meet you! I'm Mualani!"

Mualani is greeting you with the enthusiasm that he should've had, would've had, if not for everything else. If not for you, then for Natlan, Kinich has committed himself to something for larger than either one of you.

He hates himself for leaving that look on your face—your features are twisted with distress, and years ago, he would've done anything to resolve your worries. Even now, he would, but he isn't sure how to do so when he remains the root cause.

But a sick part of him feels relieved, in a way. Relieved that he still has some sort of meaning to you, that his presence still holds some significance in your life. It's proof that everything that had transpired between you had not been a lie, nor something unmemorable—it was real, every moment.

Even until the moment you had left.

"How dare you leave me behind to babysit your stupid friends, servant?! You can't just go doing whatever you want all the time!"

Kinich's breath sticks in his throat—out of all the times for Ajaw to appear, this would have to be one of the worst. Annoying as he is, Ajaw had been the last witness of your relationship. No one else could know the extent of it except for him.

You have a similar jolt to your shoulders upon hearing the familiar voice, and Kinich can't manage a word before Ajaw floats up to his side, already laden with more complaints.

It all happens in near-horrific slow-motion. Kinich belatedly registers Kachina and the Traveler's additional appearance, and then Ajaw's gaze flickers to you, eyes widening in surprise before he loudly declares:

"The girlfriend again? Thought I'd seen the last of you years ago. I practically forgot you existed—"

Even Kinich himself doesn't understand the harshness with which he swats Ajaw away. It hadn't been an unexpected thing for the dragon to say, but it was wholly unwelcome.

He's unsure how you might've described your relationship—as friends, or roommates, or something more. But most of all, he'd never forgotten that you'd existed—that much would be impossible. Ajaw should know as much, considering how often Kinich speaks your name in his sleep, in the quiet moments.

Something inside you seems to fracture, albeit quietly. You look entirely lost, your stare dragging over his face, searching for answers that he can't provide.

Everything fades to a distant buzz. A sense of panic wells in his chest, and every breath he takes seems to make his lungs grow tighter and tighter. It's not right—none of this right. Your reunion was never supposed to happen this way. He'd been a fool to think that he could control as much.

"Yeah, we used to know each other," you say, hesitant.

He only hears this vaguely, but it pierces his heart all the same. Used to. Everything about your relationship had existed in the past, in a time that no longer exists. You've probably long moved on from dreaming and hoping that the two of you would meet again, at least in the way that he had.

It would be better that way—he could commit himself to his fate, and you could grow in yours. Both of you have contrasting paths, and maybe your futures weren't meant to align. Despite the logical side of him knowing this could be true, Kinich can't stop the bile that rises in his throat.

Only when you break from the group, turning on your heel and disappearing into the crowd, does he finally look up again. Everyone is staring at him, mouths agape, but all he can see is you, fading into the distance.

Don't follow her. You already made up your mind.

His mind says one thing, but his body says another—before he can stop himself, he's shoving through the crowd, stare zeroed in on the back of your head. It's a habit of his, maybe, one that he's never been able to break.

Because no matter where you are, or how long it's been, he just can't seem to leave you alone.

He'd been careful enough all these years, knowing that much about himself. Ever since he'd cemented his resolve to aid in Mavuika's plan, he'd been cautious in keeping you at arm's length. Watching from afar, maybe, always ensuring your safety, but never taking that extra step to be standing in front of you again.

Because there really is nothing else on his mind when he looks at you. Not the plan, not the Abyss, not even himself—just you, only you, always you.

By the time he catches up to you, catching the edge of your sleeve, you've already made your way outside. Outside, the crowd has thinned solely to a few stragglers, but the two of you are largely alone.

"Wait."

He grits his teeth so hard that they sting in his jaw. You don't try too hard to break free from his grip, so he doesn't release you, not yet.

"Let go," you mumble. You're not looking at him, but he can hear the strain in your voice, like you're holding back tears.

He sighs. "It's not what you think."

"You don't know what I think."

"I do. You know I do."

Truthfully, Kinich isn't sure if that's still true. It's the culmination of his selfish desire to still be someone meaningful to you, even though he's chosen this path. If you have even the slightest hesitation, if you're still thinking of him even a little bit, then maybe this wasn't all for nothing.

You finally turn to face him, your gaze pinning him in place—everything about you disarms him completely. He wonders if you notice anything different about him—if he's wearing the things he's seen, the things he's experienced, on his face. He wonders if you can still see the bloodstains on his hands.

"You should go eat with everyone else," you grit out. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

He takes another step forward. "It's not—"

A flash of ruby red catches his eye, and instantly something inside him coils tight, laced with still-hot fear.

"You have a Vision," he breathes.

His Vision had only been gained through agony, sharpness in his chest and blood filling his throat—an experience that he nearly hadn't survived. For you to have the same power, had you been through the same?

"Where did you…"

He's afraid to ask. His throat is so tight that it stings and the look in your eyes is so guarded that he wants to disappear altogether. The desperation building in his chest is palpable, almost painfully so, but the more he knows about you, the less he'll be able to stop himself.

And if you were to tell him that you suffered to gain a Vision, he's unsure that he could handle that declaration.

Because he hadn't been there. Because he'd chosen not to be there.

"Are you okay?"

The concern written over your expression only grows, and Kinich hates himself for it. He'd intended to let you go, to commit himself to the plan so that you would be safe, to keep you from worrying about him. Nothing had gone right in the end.

You have a Vision now—that much is an irrefutable fact.

A sudden brush of your hand has him flinching, unprepared. He pulls away without meaning to, sucking in a breath.

"No—"

"Sorry, I—"

Your expression twists further, like you're trying to make sense of everything. He wishes that he could, too; reason has long since lost him. All he can do is watch as your eyes darken, lips pressed together in a tight line.

"Well, contrary to whatever you think about me, I do have a Vision," you say. "I earned it."

He sucks in a breath. "That's not…"

Arms crossed, you continue, "So do you. And Kachina. And Mualani. I'm just like anyone else." Your lip is quivering now, like you're on the absolute brink of tears. "I have to go."

And you're not incorrect. Kinich knows tons of other Vision holders, but the difference is that they aren't you. No one else is you, and that is the fact that has driven his entire life until now.

If he told you that, you might stay, he thinks as you start to walk away. If he told you everything, you definitely would. But the truth is something he can't quite offer you yet. It would be cruel to hold onto you when he can't give you everything you deserve.

"You're not just anyone."

At his words, you pause in your step.

He takes a deep, uneven breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs slow. Every thought feels contradictory and disorganized; the mere sight of you has left him undeniably shaken. Kinich can't quite decide what the right choice is.

(He wants it to be you.)

Your voice is a mere whisper. He strains to hear it all the same.

"What?"

He's not the same man anymore. He's sure you're not the same woman either, but there's an undeniable emptiness in his chest, the weight of knowing the impending devastation. He tells himself that he's doing all of this for you, that even if he can't choose you right now, he'll choose you in the end.

(It has to be you.)

If he was smart, he would walk away. He would leave things as they are, and he would leave. But your eyes are so wide, and the air tastes like something familiar, and the sky is cloud-woven in the same way it was in that house at the foot of the cliff.

And you're here. That could never be a mistake.

"To me, you're not just anyone," he admits. Your eyes widen, and his heart jumps in his chest. "You never could be."

It takes a good man to hold on. It takes a great one to know when to let go.

Standing there, with your stare holding his, Kinich suddenly finds himself wanting to apologize to Chief Wayna.

Kinich's grip tightens against yours as you walk past the market, a brow raising knowingly when you meet his eyes. If you had indicated any discomfort with the murmurs, you're sure that he would put them to rest right away.

"You two draw too much attention!" Ajaw hisses, speeding up to your side. "All of you mortals completely lack decorum and respect!"

"Well, we do have one of the Heroes," you say teasingly, much to Kinich's chagrin. "It's only natural that people gossip about a real Natlan celebrity."

Even after the War, many had sought him out to thank him, hailing him as one of the warriors whose efforts had saved the nation.

"It wasn't just me," he would tell them, half-smiling. "It was the culmination of everyone's efforts."

The end of the war had brought out something softer in him—during your travels, you'd often find him staring over the horizon, deep in thought. You'd wondered if he was remembering something past or dreaming of something new.

A year is not a long time to recover from a war. Though the horrors of battle are no longer immediate, they still endure in the back of Natlan's mind. Kinich's actions, whether he'd admit or not, had been integral to the survival of the entire nation—you think he deserves whatever adoration he receives, even if that means a bit of prying into your private life.

Chief Wayna greets you with open arms, just the way he'd promised the day you'd left. You expect all the questions, too—wondering where you'd been, who you'd met, and what you'd seen. He'd been so absorbed in the post-war restructuring that you hadn't had many opportunities to exchange correspondences.

Inazuma in particular had been challenging; though the nation had since lifted their entrance restrictions, letters were difficult to receive so far overseas.

You smile, shaking your head. "We'll tell you everything soon. Maybe over some beef stew, if you're willing."

He laughs, patting Kinich so firmly on the shoulder that he jolts forward. "Of course, of course! If the two of you are planning on staying, that is?"

A hopeful tone laces his voice; perhaps your absence had been greater in impact than you'd originally believed. Still, you're sure he'd be happy to hear that you and Kinich aren't planning to travel any time soon, considering everything that you need to plan.

Kinich, as if sensing your thoughts, clears his throat before squeezing at your hand. "Well, we were hoping to ask—"

/

Returning to that small house at the bottom of the mountain feels like second nature.

Chief Wayna had kept his promise to maintain the home in your absence. Kinich notices that not a single thing is out of place—the countertops are spotless, the beds are made, and every inch of the shelves are dusted.

It reminds him of the years that the two of you spent apart. During that time, he'd often return here alone, sweeping and dusting the place by himself. Back then, he hadn't been sure why exactly he was doing such a thing—he hadn't been sure if he would ever see you again, much less if you would ever return.

It had been the result of his selfish hopes, maybe—the idea that if he maintained this place, so precious to your memories, that one day, you'd return to make new ones.

"Wayna did a great job," you note appreciatively, pulling the curtains open.

Ajaw floats in closely after you, his nose upturned. "Hmph! After a year of traveling to wondrous places, returning to this dump is nothing special."

Sighing, Kinich sets your bags down by the bedroom door. "You don't have to live here, you know. You're more than welcome to find your own place."

The giggle that escapes you is barely muffled behind your own hand—Ajaw latches onto it immediately, screeching something about your "lack of respect" and your "clear disregard for amazing power".

Kinich lets those words filter out—he's used to Ajaw's antics by now— and lets the sound of your laugh settle in his chest. It warms him from the inside out, and he smiles without meaning to.

He'd been afraid that you wouldn't be able to do that again—laugh or smile in the aftermath of the war. You'd endured so much to stand by his side, and though he hadn't been able to protect you in the end, you'd done everything you could to ensure his survival.

He owes his life to you, in more ways than one.

"What are you smiling about?" you ask, pausing from swatting at Ajaw. Kinich's eyes widen as he breaks himself from his stupor.

"Nothing," he mumbles.

Ajaw floats up to him, looking suspicious. "It doesn't look like nothing. What are ya hiding from, Kinich?"

"Yeah, Kinich," you add with a smug smile. "What are you hiding from?"

These are the times he likes the least—when you and Ajaw become unlikely allies and team up on him. It doesn't happen often, but it happens enough for him to roll his eyes at your questioning.

"I'm just glad to be home, that's all."

Because despite the year that you'd spent away from here, he'd always remembered every inch of this place—every memory, good and bad. It's evidence of the new life you're planning to build together, and the foundation that you've already built until this point.

Ajaw mutters something his words being "vomit-inducing", while you walk up to him with a small smile. His hand falls over your waist naturally, pulling you closer.

"Well, you'll have a long time to get used to it," you sigh. Outside, the sun is beaming through the window, undeterred by clouds. "Seems like we'll have plenty of things to keep us busy."

/

If there's one thing that the Almighty Dragonlord K'uhul Ajaw can't accept, it's the fickle, careless nature of human mortals.

He wonders if it's the result of your pitifully short lives. Perhaps making such rash, meaningless decisions is rooted in your complete inability to comprehend the value of a life long-lived. After all, as annoying as it may be, the length of time he'll spend waiting for Kinich's inevitable death is a mere drop in the bucket for a timeless, omniscient being such as the Dragonlord himself.

Your friends had decided to throw a party to celebrate you and Kinich returning to Natlan. Ajaw finds the whole idea ridiculous—you'd only been gone for a year. They may as well celebrate every time they get up in the morning.

As a result, the house is entirely too loud and entirely too full for Ajaw's taste. The chatter is incessant, and no one had even acknowledged him when they'd entered. In short, the guests displayed a total contempt for his importance.

You and Mualani are off in the corner giggling about something—if Ajaw had to guess, it's probably about something entirely irrelevant. When you lean over to whisper in her ear, Mualani gasps.

"You're kidding?!" she chokes, her voice rising to a fever pitch before she nearly tackles you in a hug. "A ring?! Since when?"

Ajaw rolls his eyes. To show such enthusiasm over something as simple as jewelry is only further indication of humanity's idiocy—he's seen Kinich buy you plenty of shiny things, it's nothing particularly special in the grand scheme of your life.

The one good thing about your friends' visit had been the spread of food that you'd prepared on the kitchen table. You'd been thoughtful enough to prepare a bowl of Quenepa Berries for him as well, which perhaps was your way of apologizing for your earlier disrespect.

Ajaw takes another berry, chewing it down as he watches Kinich chat with Chasca. The two of them are leaning against the kitchen counter, the surface entirely spotless—even Ajaw is surprised by just how clean the house has remained since you've been gone.

"Wow, so you finally popped the question?" Chasca says with raised brows, whistling lowly. "How'd you get rid of your friend long enough to manage that?"

Kinich is nursing a drink, and he sighs before taking another sip. "Had to wait until he was asleep. Nice and quiet that way, and the stars were out."

"Well, if she said yes, then it all worked out just fine."

Ajaw doesn't understand the big deal. You and Kinich had always been sneaking off and doing things together during your entire travel. The two of you hadn't learned how to appreciate the presence of a Dragonlord, clearly, but he supposes he couldn't expect that from such small-minded people.

The rest of the party passes in an insignificant blur. Ajaw doesn't care to pay too much attention to the chatterings of weddings and lifelong bonds—the only lifelong bond he's interested in is his contract with Kinich. Any progression in your relationship is of no concern to him.

Even when you show Ajaw your ring, a bright smile on your face. Even when Kinich reluctantly invites him to this all-important event, a light blush on his cheeks. Ajaw doesn't care about it—not at all.