#⬩⬩⟢ ic: kinich

[yoroiis]

She'd promised she'd be brave. She'd promised she could do it on her own, and that the heights wouldn't bother her. She'd promised a lot of things, but when it actually came down to it, standing up on the walkways of the Scions of the Canopy's settlement, Sera couldn't get herself to actually move. The view surrounding the cliffs was absolutely beautiful - Enough so of a distraction that the leopard had very nearly forgotten about the box and letters in her hands, instead studying the scenery like it might be the last thing she'd ever get to do.

"It's so pretty," Sera caught herself breathing out, the tip of her tail twitching in contentment. Sure, she'd come to deliver a few things to a courier there, but that- Right, the packages! Ears suddenly perked up, the blonde quickly turned away from the view, reaching out to the first person she spotted. "H-Hey, excuse me... Do.. You know where I could find a courier...? I'm so sorry to bother you-"

Kinich had stayed quiet just a few paces away, silently watching the newcomer as she'd slowly climbed her way along the hanging platforms near the tribe's main gathering area. It'd actually been her nervousness and unease that'd caught his attention first, followed by his curiosity at the object nestled in her arms. A package of some kind? What would an obvious outsider be doing with something like that here?

He wouldn't say anything to her just yet though. Instead, Kinich would let his attention wander away to a group of lively young Yumkasaur before a small voice would prompt him to turn; surprised that the girl in question from before was now talking to him.

" It's fine. I wasn't really busy anyway. " Kinich would politely shake his head. " But if you don't mind me asking first...what made you come all the way up here just to find a courier? You didn't have any other way to send for one where you came from? "

[yoroiis]

" Yeah, you did. We're the only tribe of people who live on the side of Coatepec Mountain like this, so you did a good job. "

Though if Kinich were to let his tongue say what his mind was thinking, he would've been quick to add that finding the Scions of the Canopy wasn't a hard task either. Huitztlan were the only group of people with enough survival skills to their names to live along side the otherwise inhospitable savannah of Coatepec Mountain. The stranger probably could've found anyone within this region of Natlan and declared she'd found someone from the Scion of the Canopy. The odds would've been in her favor, anyway.

But Kinich would hold his tongue; instead praising the outlander for a job well done just traversing the terrain here.

" But you still haven't really answered my question either. " Kinich would speak back up. " What's so important about your package that demanded you bring it here? Are you looking for a courier? Or are you looking for someone here instead? "

@yoroiis from HERE!

All too quick, Sera's head shook in reply. "I wasn't sure where to find one aside from here," the leopard admitted, but... Did that sound as silly as the thought it did? For all intents and purposes, she was a courier in that moment, herself, and her network of contacts was spread all across Teyvat; finding a courier like she'd been tasked to should've been easy, all things considered. Even so, she'd never before been to Natlan, and with direct orders to bring her 'cargo' right to the Scions for final delivery... It wasn't like she could've just passed it off at the nation's edge and left. She had a job to complete, and it was part of Fair Catch's motto to get the job done as requested whenever they could~!

"I was requested to drop it off here, too," she continued after a moment, lips curling into a soft, but bright, smile. "But Natlan is so big - and the view is so pretty, I guess I got a little distracted on the way... I'm not from here, so I've been taking in every sight I can, whenever I can." She'd hoped to see the stadium, too, but... That was a next time trip, she'd decided, shifting the package in her hands so she could pull the pair of letters tucked underneath out and set them against its side, held tightly in place. The last thing she needed was to lose any of them when she'd finally found someone who could help!

"This... Is the Scions of the Canopy, right? I did make it to the right place?"

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

debate

(topic: how many and what configuration of kids do they give off vibes of having (either at present or in the future)(partner is irrelevant in most cases, some could be single parents for all i care))

[captivemuses]

"I find it rather concerning the number of people who apparently wish to see Ajaw and myself kiss."

[glaciescustodia]

Cont / X

Were they to follow, the first sight they'd find was Kinich, of course. Who seemed to be contemplating what is for the day on the held piece of paper.

Although, to say he was clueless of the ruckus is false. He just didn't react much to it, not unlike whenever Ajaw would open her mouth.

Seated on a stool, given he lacked chairs in the kitchen while a preference as well, the Hunter looks over to the two whomst got in his house.

Truthfully, he allowed few in his home.

''A good day to you'', acting as though Nicte did not go hiding just now.

''I already made a few things, if you want them'', breakfast dishes, he means.

@stelliferousduo

[anemxvisions]

When you're no longer the top pick for exploration teams...

[amemoire]

"It's ... just warm ... here." w/ Kinich @cloudelder

ㅤㅤWithout much of a second thought, the young man passed the other his canteen. It was still full of cool water— having not taken a single sip from it so far. Eyes quickly scanned for any signs of heat exhaustion before offering a few words. " The thermal energy is stronger around here. It'd be best if you went back and cooled off. " After all, it was only going to get much worse given the other's low tolerance to high temperatures.

ㅤㅤNatlan was doubtlessly the WORST place he could be. It was a wonder how he managed to travel this far into the nation already.

[lustimpacted]

Kinich

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

open roleplays

Modern AU RP

To the general public, the Saurian Hunter appears pragmatic, cold, and to-the-point. Steady, direct, and efficient, he has a utilitarian approach to life, and his exterior coldness tends to discourage people around him from getting close. Appearing to understand more than he lets on, Kinich prefers to keep a distance from others and let everyone else do the talking.

As a core member of the Scions of the Canopy, Kinich is fond of extreme sports, and is said by his companion K'uhul Ajaw to have plunged headfirst off a cliff and lived to see it. Skilled in his abilities as a Huitztlan Saurian Hunter, Kinich assesses commissions and confidently sets prices without a hint of chivalrous decorum, often causing others to look askance at the boy. However, Kinich appears not to be fazed by the opinions of people around him. As long as the price is right, he will fulfill all commissions in a satisfactory manner.

Despite his reserved nature, Kinich has no problem making negotiations or talking back to others when the situation calls for it. In the common occurrence in which Ajaw is bickering with him, Kinich is seen proficiently putting a stop to it, while without succumbing to anger or violence. When Kachina was under pressure in the Pilgrimage, Kinich assisted Mualani in comforting Kachina, despite his eccentric and logic-driven way of doing so. Despite his unfazed and realistic demeanor, he clearly exhibits good intentions and cares deeply about those who manage to get close to him.

[reshinless]

kinich refuses to put cake on your face in your wedding day

even before back when you still were just boyfriend, girlfriend, the evening he decided to propose; under a stellar night sky, "look a shooting star! quick, make a wish!" you quickly pointed out to the dark azure stratosphere.

"..."

"..did you wish?"

"yeah."

"well then, what was it!!"

"if i tell it now, it won't come true. isn't that what you said?"

"aww c'mon! i'm curious now!"

the tradition of putting cake onto your partner's face never appealed to him. he thought it was rude. he didn't wanna dirty the face he found the prettiest.

so the best he'd do is the smallest bit of icing on the tip of your nose, then put the rest of it in your mouth and lets you do the same.

he knew tonight was a cold night out as well, and gave you the jacket of his suit.

he knew how long it took to do your makeup, so he didn't wanna ruin it.

the cake tradition i'm taking about here usually refers to how your partner will take care of you, in sickness and in health, but when they smash it, it means they won't. so in the most respectful way possible, he didn't wanna disresepct you!

yeah he did his research, its his partner we're talking about. as much as he is blunt, he's quiet because most of the time he's busy paying attention to your likes.

did you notice how the cake was your favorite? did you notice it was your favorite flowers that he put up at every curtain? did you notice it was mixed with his and your culture when it came to traditions as well?

"you feel any better?" is all he says while watching you admire the scenery from a balcony. the venue was up in a tree, and all you wanted to do was admire what felt like a dream below you.

"can i know what you wished for on that day you proposed to me on?" you look over to your now husband.

"i wished for you to accept my proposal, and spend my life with you."

[iomoru]

oohh a fic with genshin men (kinich, kazuha, wriothesley, scara) where they accidentally hurt you (minor only - like scratches, not physical abuse or anyt) while in a heated argument and then a part on how they would apologize? tyty just a quick drabble I had in my head while scrolling Tumblr ^.^

Sincere Regrets

➢ 𝐀/𝐧: I deeply apologize for the late reply Neptune anon, I lost the motivation to write lately so I didn't manage to write this quickly. Although I do hope this satisfies your needs!<3 (＾ω＾)

➢ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Canon Verse, Light Angst, Angst w/ comfort, Gn! Reader, Second Person, Not Proofread

➢ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬: Kinich, Kazuha, Wriothesley, Scaramouche

➢ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In the heat of an argument, you're accidentally hurt by his actions. Regret follows quickly, and he apologizes, showing how much he truly cares for you.

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

Kinich

The argument was over his stubbornness. You had been walking beside him when you reached out to stop him from recklessly walking into danger.

“Let me handle it!” he snapped, brushing your hand away. But his hand caught yours with more force than he intended, pushing you slightly backward. You stumbled, tripping on a loose stone.

He immediately turned, his fiery gaze softening into alarm. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice faltered as he reached for you, pulling you upright with unexpected gentleness.

Later that night, he sat beside you by the fire. “I shouldn’t have acted like that,” he murmured, his golden eyes dim with regret. “Your safety matters more to me than anything, even my pride. I’m sorry for hurting you.” He carefully took your hand, tracing where he’d accidentally struck it, his touch filled with reverence.

Kazuha

The storm outside matched the intensity of your argument. Kazuha rarely raised his voice, but the disagreement had pushed him past his usual calm demeanor.

“I don’t need your pity!” he exclaimed, turning sharply. In his frustration, his shoulder bumped into yours, sending you back a step against the table behind you.

His eyes widened, his anger dissipating instantly. “Are you alright?” His hands hovered near you, unsure if you wanted his touch after what had happened.

Later, he stood with his back to you, his voice soft yet steady. “I’ve let my emotions cloud my judgment, and in doing so, I hurt the one person I cherish most.” He turned to face you, his gaze filled with quiet sincerity. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

Wriothesley

The argument had been brewing for a while, like steam building up in one of the massive pressure chambers in his domain. He paced the room, his usual composure slipping.

“Stop acting like you know what’s best for me!” he growled, throwing his hands up in frustration. One of them accidentally brushed against your arm with a surprising amount of force, pushing you slightly into the doorframe.

The sound of the impact made him freeze. He immediately crossed the space between you, his hands cradling your face. “Did I—did I hurt you?” His voice was low, filled with panic he couldn’t hide.

He spent the rest of the evening by your side, an ice pack in hand even though the mark had already faded. “I shouldn’t have lost control,” he admitted, his stormy eyes soft. “You mean more to me than my temper ever will. Please forgive me.”

Scaramouche

“Why do you always have to push me?” His words were sharp, cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. In his exasperation, he turned, his hand accidentally brushing against your shoulder. The force wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you stumble slightly.

You steadied yourself, glaring at him. The anger in his eyes flickered, quickly replaced by guilt. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to…” He struggled to find the words, his expression tense.

Later, he found you sitting alone, his footsteps hesitant as he approached. “Look,” he began, his voice softer than usual, “I know I’m awful at showing it, but I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He awkwardly held out a small pouch of your favorite snack. “This doesn’t fix everything, but… I’ll try harder. I promise.”

[yoroiis]

The weight against Kinich's back likely wouldn't come as a surprise - Especially when it came paired with a likely incredibly recognizable sigh. Though she often made a suggestion of some kind to check, Ralphina knew she didn't have to ask to get close to him like this, and honestly hoped he wouldn't mind her leaning against him, back to back with pressure deliberately added in certain spots she knew all too well.

"It's almost evening," she'd announce moments later, tilting her head for a look up to the sky. At one time, the dimming colors were comforting, bringing with them memories that had warmed her through to her core, but now... Now she craved the quiet of the night to sort herself out in, dark green eyes scanning the sky like the deep oranges and purples would give her some kind of clue as to what she was to do next. "You get dinner in you yet?"

Blunt, to the point, simple... Neither of them needed anything more than this, and the warrior was all too content to stay in their moment for as long as he'd allow her to.

" ... "

Ralphina was lucky. Kinich was a lover of his personal space, let alone keeping his private quarters private. Just letting someone lean on him like she had was already breaking all kinds of unspoken rules he usually held most people to - but he'd let her get away with it. Not for free, of course-

But if giving her a shoulder to lean on was the payment she wanted in exchange for helping him out earlier in the day, then he'd be fine calling that a fair trade. As long as she didn't start expecting him to be an expert on offering her words of comfort, anyway.

" I had some quenepa berries earlier and a blazed meat stew just before you got here, so I'd say I'm pretty well fed. " Kinich would adjust his position to better support Ralphina's weight with a small sigh of his own. Her pressure points on him were actually good for some sore and achy muscles he'd tweaked lately.

" You should've told me you'd be here though. If you could've grabbed me some extra ingredients, I would've saved you some. "

[ironbloodcd]

“Everything comes with a price.” It’s a law that he’s lived by since he was young, and one that he’d been introduced to on the day he’d attained freedom from his father’s ‘care’. He doesn’t just adhere to it for convenience either - it’s kept him alive, and ensured that he’s not taken advantage of by those who would see fit to do so. “And in that regard, anything can be currency - but you’re right. Information is an especially precious commodity.”

Especially when it was knowledge of the dangerous variety. His contract with Ajaw was certainly something that he’d consider to be just that in the wrong hands. The ancient saurian might be relatively harmless as he is now, but it’s for that reason that Kinich had struck that deal in the first place - Ajaw has the potential to be a dangerous force without their deal keeping him on a tight leash.

In truth, Kinich half-expects his companion to decline going through the trouble. It’s how most react when the saurian hunter demands something in exchange for anything that’s asked of him. When the wanderer seems to consider the offer, however, Kinich finds himself intrigued - and even more so when the outlander makes one of his own. Information for information - and maybe, more importantly, a secret for a secret. It sounds like a fair trade on the surface, and certainly interests Kinich enough for him to see where it goes.

“Given that I’d rather this remain relatively under wraps too, I think I can honor that part of the bargain.” Something small. Kinich takes a beat or two to consider what to give the wanderer. He doesn’t own much in the grand scheme of things, so it doesn’t take long for him to settle on a choice. Reaching up, the saurian hunter unhooks the earring dangling from his right lobe - shaped from the bones of his first hunt, they were one of the most precious items that he owned. Though the wanderer likely didn’t realize it, it was a sign of goodwill on Kinich’s part to offer it up - the smallest gesture of trust, in a manner of speaking.

“I trust this will do?” he asks, dropping the piece of jewelry into the other young man’s palm.

oh?  now  that  isn't  the  response  he  was  anticipating.  (  he  can't  help  but  feel  some  sort  of  begrudging  respect.  )  most  are  all  too  eager  to  part  with  their  SECRETS;  it's  almost  a  little  concerning.  ❝  you  know,  i've  always  lived  by  the  belief  that  information  is  a  form  of  CURRENCY. ❞  the  most  valuable  currency  of  all  if  he's  being  quite  honest.  mora  may  afford  one  the  means  to  feed  themselves  and  put  clothes  on  their  backs  —  yet  it's  knowledge  that  ultimately  topples  a  NATION.  ❝  i  wasn't  expecting  to  bargain  for  the  luxury  of  satisfying  my  curiosity ...  but  i'll  play  along.  when  you  really  think  about  it,  haggling  is  just  a  socially  permissible  form  of  arguing. ❞  although,  that  does  raise  the  question  —  what  DOES  he  have  to  offer  in  return?  a  cup  of  tea?  a  dusty  old  book  he's  in  the  midst  of  reading?  some  other  trinket  snatched  up  from  the  realm  within  his  chest?  such  a  serious  expression  implies  that  he  won't  part  with  that  knowledge  so  easily,  and  yet  the  riddle  dropped  unceremoniously  into  his  lap  only  becomes  all  the  more  tempting  to  SOLVE.

well,  he  did  just  say  information  was  currency  —  didn't  he?  why  doesn't  he  offer  something  of  equivalent  value  in  return.

❝  i  can  show  you  something  interesting. ❞  ren  says,  after  a  brief  pause.  he  speaks  slowly,  deliberately  —  carefully  selecting  each  word  as  though  they  are  equivalent  to  the  pieces  of  a  puzzle,  slotting  meticulously  into  place.   ❝  i'm  not  going  to  explain  how  it's  possible,  and  i  would  greatly  prefer  that  this  information  stays  between  us. ❞  a  hand  raises,  palm  facing  towards  the  sky.  ❝  if  those  terms  are  acceptable ...  give  me  something  small.  it  can  be  any  kind  of  object,  as  long  as  it's  recognizable.  you'll  get  it  back  in  just  a  moment. ❞  head  cants;  eyes  shimmer  with  almost  mischievous  intent.  ❝  you  might  consider  this  a  MAGIC  TRICK ...  but  i  can  assure  you,  there's  no  actual  trickery  involved. ❞

[quimichi]

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ THEIR CONTACT NAMES FOR YOU wholesome & cursed

AN: just a super random idea, also ran out of contact name ideas

Aether 》Mine forever 》2nd Emergency food

Albedo 》Love 》(just your number)

Amber 》My BunBun 》Traveler

Al-Haitham 》Y/N <3 》Kaveh 2.0

Arlecchino 》My dear 》My annoying dear

Ayaka 》Dance partner for life 》Simp

Ayato 》Mrs/Mr Kamisato 》Professional Yapper

Baizhu 》Cure to everything 》Antidepressiva

Barbara 》Angel 》Wants to bash my stalkers head

Beidou 》Hot bbg 》Mommy issues

Bennett 》Lucky charm 》(accidentally blocked you and broke his phone)

Capitano 》Dearest Y/n 》Y/n L/n

Candace 》Dessert Flower 》Dehya's bestie

Charlotte 》Model 》My stalking victim

Chevreuse 》Babe 》Chrispy Fries

Childe 》My Girly 》Baby boo boo snuggly poo

Chongyun 》Sweet as ice 》Popsicle 🍦🧊💦

Clorinde 》Darling 》0/10 would lose in a fight against me

Collei 》Flower 🌺 》Jokes as bad as Cyno's

Columbina 》Hummingbird 》They're next 🔪

Cyno 》Love them from my head 🍅's 》Love them from my head 🍅's

Dainsleif 》My star 》Traveler Y/n

Dehya 》Princess 》Lil spoiled princess/brat ♡

Diluc 》The burning flame within my heart 》Y/n

Diona 》Big sis/bro/sibling

Dottore 》Little Labrat 》Subject 291

Dori 》10/10 wouldn't sell

Eula 》My Passion 》 (just your number)

Faruzan 》Lover from another timeline 》Grandkid

Fischl 》My dearest lover of the night 》Diener der Verurteilung

Freminet 》Pengu 》Fathers first pick

Furina 》Bubsibaby 》My Maccaroni

Ga Ming 》babes 💞 》Boss

Ganyu 》Love 》Pillow

Gorou 》Forever my mate 》No, not my "owner"

Hu Tao 》Forever mine even in afterlife 》Possible good advertisement once I'm done

Jean 》Dandelion 》The Traveler (Y/n)

Heizou 》Hottest babe everrr 》🍑🍑🍑

Itto 》MINE RAWR 》barkabakewooofwofbrakk

Kazuha 》My dearest Y/n 💞 》he's to wholesome for this

Kaeya 》Snowflake 》Side chicken (he's joking dw)

Kaveh 》My world/everything/love/baby/boo bear 》Mommy

Keqing 》Love 💜 》Housewife/husband/caretaker

Kinich 》Most important thing in my life 》Gf/bf/lv

Kirara 》Kitty 》Owner

Klee 》Partner in crime

Kokomi 》Little Jellyfish 》Bloopfish 🤍

Layla 》Sleepyhead #2 》Good Pillow, Good nap partner

Lisa 》Big cutie 》Book due since: 1 week 🔪

Lumine 》Big Baby, but mine 》Another Paimon

Lynette 》Catlover 》My Y/n

Lyney 》My rose 》Father approved

Mika 》I'll find them everywhere 》The one who never forgets me

Mona 》My future 》Dies by old age, 2091

Mualani 》Wookie Pookie 》Them in swimwear ��

Nahida 》My best friend the flower 🪷

Navia 》Sweets 》Yummy baby

Neuvillette 》Fiance

Nilou 》Dance buddy 》Hopless, can't dance

Ningguang 》Princess/Prince/Royalty 》Gold digger

Noelle 》Rosie 》Lazy

Pantalone 》Sugar baby 》Spoiled brat

Pierro 》Darling 》Y/n M/n L/n

Pulcinella 》Dearest Y/n 》(your number)

Qiqi 》Y/n

Raiden 》Sweets 》The one that cooks

Razor 》Y/n but mispronounced

Rosaria 》Y/n <3 》A sinner

Sandrone 》Doll ♡ 》Doll nr.72

Sara 》Love forever 》Member 28 of the Raiden Shogun fan club

Sayu 》Nyummmm

Scaramouche 》My bitch 》That bitch idk

Sethos 》Babes 🔥 》Can't cook for shit, almost died

Shenhe 》My Y/n 》Y/n L/n (from ___)

Shinobu 》Milk (she's Kuki) 》also has mommy issues

Succrose 》Code 143 》Human experiment 81.01

Thoma 》their houshusband 》Miss Ayakas best friend

Tighnari 》My Padisara 》Laughs at Cynos jokes

Venti 》Windblume 》Non-alcoholic

Wriothesley 》Bbg/bbb/baby 》Solid daddy issues

Xiangling 》Yummiest 》Bleh but mhh

Xiao 》My Human 》(didn't even give you a contact name lol)

Xianyun 》My beautiful 》Y/n

Xilonen 》a beautiful creation 》wtf did their parents make??

Xinyan 》MY ROCKSTAR ☆ 》that one with no taste in music

Xingqiu 》The most beautiful 》(a ugly nickname lol)

Yae Miko 》🦊💞 》My simp

Yanfei 》JUSTICEMAKER 》horny jail time

Yaoyao 》Big sister/brother/sibling Y/n 🌱

Yelan 》Pretty one 》The next

Yoimiya 》CAUSE BABY YOURE A FIIIIIREWORK 》Almost blew them up, oops

Yun Jin 》My biggest fan 》Y/n - no rhythm

Zhongli 》Y/n (you're his only contact lol)

[captivemuses]

"Hehehe. Another birthday of his gone, another year closer to Kinich's sweet sweet death."

[glaciescustodia]

RP Meme. // Accepting.

@stelliferousduo - regress // Let Lumi dote on smol Kinich because he deserves it T ^ T

One moment, the kid is minding his business, idly trailing fingers in a rushing source of water and the next, something makes Kinich bristle, alert.

Not a moment too soon, he turns, swiftly pointing a dagger of sort towards who's there.

Oversized shirt in tatters & torns, colorful scraps stitched in a mess making up for pants, lifeless eyes targets the strange woman.

He holds the serrated knife with both hands, with a pretty strong grip even if it meant adding another cut. He stare, disheleved, miserable, cautious and poised to strike should it comes to this.

He makes a jab motion with the crafted ivory weapon, anything to keep this person at a distance.

A most silent warning.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟑]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.6k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, cursing, mentions of abuse/alcoholism, character death and graphic descriptions of death, mentions of vomit

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this one is... a lot. take heed of the warnings/let me know if there's something i forgot to tag! i might've missed some errors because it's late so i will fix in the morning, otherwise please enjoy! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢

When the meadows grow full and lush, Kinich awaits your reappearance.

The winter had been long—with his crops iced over, he’d had to rely on hunting to survive. His mother’s absence had taken a heavy toll on his family (though he uses the word loosely), and his father somehow finds more time to drink his life away. Now the sole homemaker, Kinich finds himself as his father’s newfound punching bag as well.

He discovers that he has a talent for patching wounds and bruises.

Some days, the man awakens in the dead of night, freshly sober—Kinich can hear him crying his mother’s name in the dark. He doesn’t know whether to take that as regret, or simply loneliness.

They don’t talk. They never really did, but the silence grows quickly, curling and weaving and winding like vines through the house, until Kinich can feel it wrapping his throat shut. Days and weeks go by without him talking to anyone at all.

Still, he moves on.

The ice finally melts, and he welcomes the sight of animals returning from hibernation, despite how they nip at his garden. New life sprouts from the ground, and it’s only a matter of time before you appear in the forest again as well.

This time, you’re touting a burlap bag of Quenepa Berries, and you offer him one as he approaches.

“They’re sweeter at this time of year,” you comment, before popping one of the fruits into your mouth. He accepts and does the same—this batch is fattened and sweet, he thinks as the juice dribbles down his chin. You must have an eye for a good harvest.

“You came back,” is all he replies, as a greeting.

An incredulous expression crosses your face, almost judgmental—you hold the bag of berries away from him as teasing punishment. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

He reaches over you, quick as a fox, catching one of the fruits in his fingers. 

“Don’t know.”

There’s no way to tell you about his mother’s disappearance, at least not one that he’s confident about. After all, he feels there’s no logic in informing you anyway—there’s no solution that you could potentially offer, and it’s not as though it affects you. But it’s the thought of that, and the lasting image of her footsteps, that had instilled this fear within him.

The fear that you would never return.

But you’re here, he soothes himself, another berry in your outstretched palm. He takes it, just as your voice rings out again.

“So, do your parents not like girls?”

The skin of the fruit catches in his throat at your question, and he lets out a series of wet coughs—you pat his back, eyes wide with concern. It takes a few moments for him to return to his senses.

“What are you talking about?” he splutters, uncharacteristically flustered.

You don’t seem to notice, too absorbed in picking through your bag—you prefer the lightest blue berries, the ones that are still slightly unripe. Perhaps you enjoy the tartness they offer.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “It just seems like you don’t want your parents to see me.”

And there’s no easy way to explain his situation, so he doesn’t. Instead, he hums, watching the birds soar by overhead. His heart vaguely tugs with jealousy at the sight of them.

“It’s not that. My parents just…don’t like people hanging around our house. That’s why we moved out of the village.”

Not a total lie, he reasons—the financial issues were the root cause, but his father had also grown tired of neighbors attempting to intervene in his parents’ endless disputes. It had given him hope, for a time, that someone might be able to remedy the situation. 

But that hope was quickly snuffed out.

“Makes sense,” you say, tracing shapes in the dirt with your foot. You draw a heart, a smiley face, and then something that looks like a defective Yumkasaurus. “Your dad is the mean one, right?”

You’re still not quite educated on social faux-pas at your age, and Kinich almost chokes again.

“What?”

Something rustles in the bushes nearby—an animal scared away by the sudden loudness of his voice.

“He always used to yell at me when I’d come around to leave you things,” you explain, overwhelmingly casual. “Smelled like that stuff that us kids aren’t allowed to go near in the market.”

Kinich vaguely remembers hearing his parents argue about something like that, but all the fighting tends to blur together after a time. He’s not sure how to reply to that, or what you might think if he did.

So he doesn’t.

He asks you about your winter instead, a topic change that you welcome eagerly. You tell him about the village, the white-topped roofs and the way the Yumkasauri would redden and sneeze, whelps hiding in their mother’s wings. You tell him about how you tried ice skating on the frozen river, recounting how many times you fell flat on your face. The thought makes him smile faintly.

He’s almost surprised by how enthusiastic you are about it—you’d told him before about your parents’ death in the cold season. He wonders how you seem to move past it all.

You turn your attention back to him, curious. “What about you? What happened during your winter?”

There’s a lot he could say, but none of it feels right, every word sticking to his tongue, stubborn. 

“The winter felt really long,” he finally says, mostly to himself, chewing thoughtfully.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “It did. But it’s not so bad, I think.”

He hums. “Really?”

You shrug. “Spring always comes again anyway.”

/

On Kinich’s seventh birthday, you knock at his door in the evening.

The November air is crisp, but not yet chilling. After all, the nation of Pyro tends to run warm until the very depths of winter. It’s for that reason that the fireplace still lies darkened and empty, and that the kitchen window is still open a crack.

The sound shocks him at first—it’s been a long time since anyone has visited at all, so much so that the dull thump is unfamiliar. Wilder animals tend to come out when the sun sets, so he tries to finish up his farming and hunting beforehand—at this time, he’s usually preparing some sort of meal for the next day.

He glances at the source of the noise, then at his father, slumped over the kitchen table, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. The man will likely be asleep until the early morning anyway.

So Kinich pads to the door, pulling it open just a crack, and it’s your eye that peers back at him, curious.

Another inch, and then the rest of you is revealed to him—you’re holding a neatly wrapped box in your hands, an innocent smile spread across your lips.

His first words come out in a hiss.

“What are you doing here?”

He thinks he’s been quite clear about your need to return to the village by this time, for many reasons. It’s growing dark, a time where animals and humans alike grow more dangerous, and his father tends to be home. The man has a talent of putting Kinich in the worst moods, and he’d rather not spread that to you.

“It’s your birthday,” you greet, as an explanation, shrugging like it’s all so obvious. Kinich tilts his head.

“So?”

“So, we’re celebrating! I spent the whole day baking this cake with Chief Wayna’s help.”

Kinich steps outside, quietly letting the door shut behind him. The sunset sky is burning away at this time, pinks and reds fading into black and blue. The stars will be out soon. 

“It’s nighttime,” he says, crossing his arms.

You nod vigorously, undeterred. “Yup! All so you can see the candles better. It looks so much cooler when it’s dark.”

It’s a ridiculous statement to someone like him, and Kinich is once again reminded how different the two of you are. His sense of logic doesn’t seem to align with your enduring enthusiasm. Still, he likes the fire that you have about you, and has no interest in snuffing it out, so he merely sighs and leads you away from the front door.

Once you’re a bit away, the house still in view, he looks to you again.

“So, what is it about candles?”

Without a reply, you turn away from him, fiddling with various things—he hears a match being lit, sees the faint light reflect from behind you—and then you’re facing him again, proudly holding out the cake.

There’s seven brightly colored candles sticking out from the top. The candlelight illuminates your face with a soft glow, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips.

“It looks good, right?”

Kinich peers down at the treat—it does look good, with the expensive kind of frosting that he used to look at longingly in the market. He hasn’t had something this sweet, this luxurious, in a long time, or maybe ever. When he glances back up, you’re staring up at him expectantly—he shrinks back from the pressure.

“What is it?” he asks, feeling self-conscious. You point to the candles.

“You have to blow it out.”

Vaguely, he thinks back on when he used to live in the village. He’s seen people hold birthday parties before (though he can’t say he’d ever been invited), but he’s not sure he’s heard of this tradition. Birthday celebrations weren’t something his family could ever afford anyway, or maybe they just didn’t care to.

Kinich realizes he doesn’t even know when his parents’ birthdays are.

But you’re still watching him, so he pushes that thought aside. Instead, he leans over and gently blows out the candles in three small puffs of breath.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” You cheer, tilting the cake toward him. “I hope you made a wish!”

You’d forgotten to mention that before he blew out the candles, he thinks to himself, but he’s in no position to argue with your good will anyway. So he nods, silently making a wish after the fact.

“Alright, the best part is eating it,” you whisper conspiratorially, like you’re sharing a life-shattering secret. “And Elder Leik says it’s bad to have sugar before bed, but I think it’s okay just this once—”

“Kinich!”

That voice—

His heart freezes in his chest. Your face morphs in confusion, and then he’s grasping at your arm and yanking, hiding you behind him—you’re not much smaller than him, though, so it’s a futile effort. At the force, the cake slips out of your grip, smashing uselessly into the grass.

Kinich has half a mind to apologize, but he can’t—instead, he holds you tighter.

“Kinich?” A hoarse voice echoes in the dark. “Where the hell are you?” 

“I’m here. I was just taking a walk,” he replies. His voice shakes at the edges of each syllable—he hopes his father doesn’t notice. 

Something crunches in the distance; it’s the sound of grass underfoot. His father is coming this way, Kinich realizes in a panic. He glances back to your fearful eyes, clutching at the back of his thin t-shirt, and his chest burns with the desire to protect.

It’s too dim to see the man until he’s a few feet in front of you—he’s dressed in a tattered shirt and loose pants, feet dragging through the grass. His eyes narrow when he gets close enough, brows knitting together.

His gaze zeroes in on you, venomous. “It’s you again.”

The collar of Kinich’s shirt grows taut against his throat as you pull against him, afraid. He squeezes at your arm once, a comfort.

“You damn orphans, got nothing better to do? Just fucking around on my property, I should throw you off this goddamn cliff! Not like you got anyone to miss you.”

Kinich grits his teeth. “Leave her alone.”

His father laughs, a grating sound like nails on a chalkboard, then belches. The smell of cheap alcohol filters through the air, even from a distance.

“Go do something useful then. Too many useless people in this world, ha! Just like your damn mother.”

The mention makes the blood ice over in Kinich’s veins, a sharp frost crawling up his spine. Your grip loosens just a hair, likely in confusion, but the detail barely reaches his mind.

“You know where she is?”

The image of his mother’s footsteps in the newly fallen snow had never left his mind—he sees it in his nightmares, trapped and crawling in an endless frozen landscape, alone. He thinks of her when he farms, when he weaves, when he’s forced to eat another Grainfruit.

He thinks of her always, maybe, in the back of his mind.

And his father does too, maybe, based on the way his whole body seems to tighten with anger at the question. He doesn’t reply, at least not verbally.

You watch, horrified. Even as his father’s eyes glow with rage, even as he drunkenly hobbles toward you both, hands outstretched.

(Kinich blankly notes that they form the shape of his own neck.)

The man isn’t too coordinated, especially with the alcohol coursing through his veins—he stumbles a few times on the way, the grass seeming to curl around his ankles, slowing him down. Perhaps it’s the land’s way of protecting him, Kinich thinks. 

He grabs your hand, pulling you behind him. “Come on!”

Kinich runs, wind whipping at his face, the way he always does when his father gets this way. He takes you through the backyard, toward the forest, where his father might lose sight of you both and give up the chase. He knows the paths there and knows them well—the shadows of the trees will protect you both.

But the man is picking up speed behind you, roaring about what he’ll do once he catches you.

“Kinich,” you wheeze. You’d already been semi-exhausted by your trek here, and certainly not expecting a sprint like this.

“I know,” he pants back. “Just a little more.”

You’re trying your hardest, he knows.

But he’s faster than you, and you stumble, lagging behind.

“Kinich!”

His father lunges, fingers barely grasping at the leg of your pants. A shriek erupts from your throat as you tumble to the ground in a twisted pile, and Kinich cries out with you, just as the cliff seems to rumble beneath his feet. 

It happens in slow motion. 

Kinich’s father meets his son’s gaze, enraged, then afraid. Terrified, just as he feels his legs dangle over the edge of the cliff, just as the weight of your smaller body pushes his torso over. Shocked, just as the rest of you starts to come down with him. 

Your screams echo off the darkened mountain. 

Kinich weighs his options—it doesn’t take long—and then leaps forward. His chest smacks painfully into the dirt, but he manages to grab your wrist just as you slip down the cliff.

“Kinich!” 

His father is screaming his name, and so are you, pleading, begging for his help. And you’re still in his grasp, but you’re slipping, and his father is reaching for him, and if he could just grab him with his other hand, he could maybe pull you both up, but—

Kinich’s gaze meets your tear-filled eyes.

So he grits his teeth, clawing at the dirt, and with his other hand, he grabs—

You.

He doesn’t have time to catch his father’s expression—he doesn’t think he’d want to see it anyway—before he’s hauling you up, yanking you into his arms until you’re both collapsing into the grass. The crown of your skull clashes with his chin harshly.

His father is still bellowing curses, not that you seem to hear it over the sound of your screams and cries. But Kinich hears it, somehow, floating above the chaos and agony in your voice.

“It’s your fucking fault! This is all your fault!”

His eyes flutter shut as the voice fades away, and then grows silent.

It’s too quiet.

Even the crickets seem to censor themselves, hiding from the entire ordeal. Kinich releases his hold on you, rolling onto his stomach, then onto his knees. The grass seems to waver under his stare, rippling and oscillating until it feels like the entire world is quivering beneath him.

He barely registers that you’re struggling to pull yourself upright behind him.

You turn away from Kinich’s hunched form to vomit in the grass, overwhelmed by it all. A corpse lies at the foot of the cliff now, one that could’ve just as easily been you. One that might have actually been your fault. The thought makes you vomit again. 

After a few more dry heaves, Kinich’s hand rubs at your back, the other gently easing your hair away from your mouth. You look over your shoulder at him, eyes filled with tears and nose dripping with snot. 

“Kinich,” you sob, trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was too slow, and he—he fell. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I know he wasn’t—I don’t—but that was your—your father—”

He takes you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him—really look at him. His expression seems the same as always, but you know the difference. You note the quivering at the edge of his lips, the light sheen at the corners of his eyes. It disappears as quickly as you notice it, flattening under a disposition of stone.

“I weighed the value between you,” he says, gaze meeting your glassy stare. Your heart flutters. “And I chose you.”

And for a bit, you pretend that you can’t hear the thick lump in his throat, or the way his nose scrunches to keep the tears from slipping. Instead, you take his hand, struggling to your feet.

Kinich gives you a once-over—your pant leg is tattered now, a long strip of fabric ripped from the bottom. A flash of crimson peeks from under the remaining cloth.

Thin lines of blood bloom over the joint there, slowly running down the length of your leg.

“You’re bleeding,” he rasps, assessing the extent of your wound. It’s not deep—a skinned knee at most, which he’s grateful for. He’s treated much worse on his own body.

There’s so much to do, he thinks, pushing through the foggy haze permeating his mind. He has to retrieve his father’s body. He has to treat your wound. With his father gone, he needs to make a plan for his own survival.

It’s not as if his father ever really helped out anyway, but the thought of being truly, totally alone is harrowing. It takes another minute for him to remember that you’re still standing at his side.

“Go back to the house,” he mumbles, almost to himself. “Wait for me in the kitchen—”

“No!” You blurt, looking surprised despite yourself. Kinich jolts, meeting your eyes. “You’re going to get his body, right?”

After a moment of hesitation, he nods solemnly.

Kinich has looked down these cliffs many times; he knows the sheer height of them. There’s absolutely no chance that his father’s body is in any sort of good shape at the bottom. The thought makes bile rise in his throat.

You swallow. “So let’s go.”

The fear is reflected in the way your hands shake, but your shoulders straighten and you reach for him, slotting your fingers together. It’s the most bravery that you can manage, at least right now. Kinich accepts it gratefully.

Making your way down the cliff is treacherous with the little light you have. You don’t speak, barely even breathe. The stars lay watchful above, winking and illuminating your way. 

Even with your hand in his, Kinich glances back occasionally, ensuring you’re still with him—you always are, still sniffling and scrubbing at your eyes. 

It’s hard for you, and it’s obvious; he has to catch you several times when your foot slips off the stone, but you’re still with him. You’re still with him, he thinks. Kinich repeats it to himself a few times, letting it anchor him as he struggles down the rocks.

His father’s body is stiff by the time you reach it.

You’re too afraid to look at first, meekly standing behind him. It takes a few minutes before you work up the courage to peek over his shoulder, one hand over your mouth. Kinich isn’t sure whether to pray, or cry, or leave it all behind—for a few minutes, he doesn’t do anything at all.

The body is mangled, as he’d expected. You don’t dare to look at it again; you pace about the area, trying to keep your wits about you. 

Everything about it is too familiar. He sees himself in the corpse, the blond hair fanned around the head like a halo, the golden eyes forever stuck in a faraway stare. The grappling hook that he always kept on his person.

His father. A half of him. His flesh and blood.

And he’d let him go.

Kinich feels for his own heartbeat over his shirt, fisting at the cloth there.

You are still alive, it whispers.

So he calls your name, soft. You peek at him through the darkness.

“We have to bring it back,” he murmurs.

And you, despite it all, despite the terror that licks hot up your neck, simply nod.

“Okay.”

As the two of you drag the corpse back toward the house, fingertips sticky with blood that freezes in the passing wind, Kinich realizes it—

This is the coldest November he’s ever experienced.