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One, two, three steps into the lush greenery of a Natlanese forest, and the Captain felt the distinct sensation of being watched. The dense canopy above cast dappled shadows, blending seamlessly with the undergrowth. He was en route to the Scions of the Canopy tribe, tasked with two objectives: retrieving intel from the stationed Fatui operatives and fulfilling a special request from Mauvika.
“Find someone named Kinich,” Mauvika had instructed as they left the stadium. “He’s the young boy who handed me his claymore when you challenged the Archon. Don’t worry—I’ll warn him you’re coming, Captain.”
Now, walking among towering trees and thick brush, the Captain was on his mission, his senses sharpened. He suddenly froze, instincts flaring, and spun to his right. Without hesitation, he drew his sword and stabbed into the nearest bush. A startled squeak erupted, and as he raised his blade, a small boy dangled from its tip, hooked by the hood of his jacket.
The child, perhaps no older than eight, swung helplessly, batting at the blade with tiny hands.
“And who are you?” the Captain demanded, his voice steady and stoic.
The boy stopped struggling, locking wide, bright blue eyes with the Captain. For a moment, his pupils seemed round and innocent—then they narrowed into reptilian slits. The boy hissed like a feral cat, startling the Captain enough to drop both sword and child.
With a dull thump, the boy landed on the ground and groaned, rubbing his head. “You dropped your sword on me! Be thankful it was the flat side!”
The Captain regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement. “What are you?” he asked aloud.
The boy sprang to his feet, brushing dirt off his jacket, revealing a striped yellow tail curling behind him. Hands on his hips, he puffed out his chest, his confidence mismatched with his diminutive size. “What am I? I am the Almighty Dragonlord Ku’hul Ajaw! Fatui scum, what are you doing on my turf?” he demanded with a shrill voice.
“I’m merely running an errand for your Archon,” the Captain replied, unimpressed.
Ajaw narrowed his eyes before scooping up the Captain’s sword with both hands, struggling under its weight. Pointing it at the Captain, he announced, “I’m coming with you—to keep an eye on you!”
The Captain said nothing, offering only a hum of acknowledgment. He observed Ajaw’s attire: a zigzag-patterned orange and green scarf, a light brown adventurer’s jacket with a freshly torn hood from the earlier encounter, and rugged pants that identified him as belonging to the Scions tribe. The child’s bravado, however, was undermined by his inability to properly wield the sword.
Without a word, the Captain turned and resumed his path. Ajaw let out an indignant squawk before scrambling to follow.
“Hey! You can’t just walk off on the Great Ku’hul Ajaw!”
The boy caught up, bumping into the Captain’s outstretched arm. With an exasperated sigh, Ajaw reluctantly handed the sword back. The Captain nodded, sheathing it with care.
“Keep up,” the Captain said simply, continuing down the trail. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the forest in hues of gold and amber. Though Ajaw belonged to the tribe and likely knew the area better, the Captain couldn’t, in good conscience, leave the child alone to face potential dangers from the wild saurians prowling the woods.
As they walked, the Captain broke the silence. “You never answered my question earlier. What are you?”
Ajaw snorted. “Are you hard of hearing? I told you—I’m a Dragonlord. A dragon!”
The Captain raised a brow behind his mask at the boy’s bold claim but said nothing. The boy, however, grew tense, eyeing the Captain warily as his hand drifted toward his blade.
“What are you doing?” Ajaw yelped, jumping back defensively.
The Captain crouched to his level, holding the sword in a non-threatening manner. “You weren’t holding it properly earlier. That’s why it was difficult to lift,” he explained. With a faint smile, he added, “Impressive, though, that you managed to take it from me.”
Ajaw’s eyes widened, his defensive stance relaxing. “Really?” he asked, a mix of pride and excitement lighting up his features. His tail, once stiff with tension, wagged slightly.
The Captain gently guided the boy’s hands into the correct position, aligning them with the handle. With careful instruction, Ajaw was soon able to lift the sword with surprising ease. He grinned triumphantly, swinging the blade with newfound confidence.
“Careful,” the Captain warned. “A weapon isn’t a toy.”
Ajaw rolled his eyes but continued practicing until the sun dipped below the horizon. As exhaustion crept in, the dragonling began to lag behind, his earlier enthusiasm replaced by drooping shoulders and stifled yawns.
The Captain slowed his pace, eventually stopping to glance back. “Would you like me to…carry you?” he offered hesitantly.
Ajaw didn’t reply, instead letting out a wide yawn. Taking it as consent, the Captain picked up the dragon, who was asleep before he could settle properly in the Captain’s arms. A tiny fist clutched at the black fur of the Captain’s coat, and the boy sighed contentedly, snuggling into the warmth.
Kinich raced through the bustling tribe, desperation and fury fueling every step. He’d checked with everyone he could think of—Chief Wayna, Elder Trinidad (who curtly told him to “screw off”), and even Elder Leik. None of them had seen Ajaw.
“How do you just lose a dragon, Kinich?” he muttered, chastising himself as he fired another grapple into the air.
The sun was dipping low, painting the sky with streaks of amber and violet, but still, there was no sign of the elusive blonde. Ajaw knew full well that Mauvika had entrusted Kinich with a critical task—to deliver an important message to the first Fatui Harbinger. It was not something Kinich could afford to mess up. And yet, Ajaw had to throw a tantrum and vanish, turning what was already a high-stakes mission into an utter nightmare.
“All this because I didn’t give him some quenepa berries,” Kinich grumbled, frustration bubbling over. “He just has to make my life harder. What a child.”
If Ajaw had remained in his human form, he couldn’t have gone far. Kinich descended into the wooded area beneath the Scions’ canopy, landing with a dull thump. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out into the growing shadows.
“Ajaw! Where are you?”
No response.
Instead, a rustle from the nearby bushes caught his attention. Kinich turned, only to see a whelping yumkasaurus tumble out, its fluffy body wobbling with juvenile clumsiness. He sighed—half annoyance, half exasperated hope—and crouched down to examine the little creature.
“You’re not him,” Kinich muttered, ruffling the fur around the whelp’s head. “Though you’re just as clumsy as he is.”
The whelp trilled in curiosity, but its interest waned quickly, and it darted back into the underbrush. As the woods darkened, Kinich’s heart sank. If he didn’t find Ajaw soon, the boy might get himself eaten by an adult yumkasaur. Kinich had no doubt about it.
Straightening up with a groan, he turned, only to nearly collide with a younger tribesman standing directly in his path.
“Yo, Chief sent me to find you,” the tribesman said, breathless. “Some creepy guy in a mask showed up. He’s carrying a kid—”
Kinich didn’t wait to hear the rest. His heart lurched as he bolted out of the woods, grapple swinging him up and over the treetops back to the tribe.
He raced past bystanders, nearly shoving some aside in his haste, until Wayna’s hut came into view. From a distance, it was obvious who the “creepy guy” was. The Captain stood out like a sore thumb, his imposing figure wrapped in a fur-lined coat, his posture stiff and unyielding.
“Kinich, over here!” Wayna’s booming voice broke through the noise of the gathering crowd.
Kinich skidded to a halt, his gaze locking onto the Captain—and the small, familiar figure cradled in the Harbinger’s arms. Relief washed over him in an overwhelming wave.
“That’s mine,” Kinich stated flatly, striding over and holding out his arms.
The Captain, with an air of practiced calm, nodded and carefully transferred the sleeping boy. Ajaw stirred faintly, his golden hair shifting as he blinked up at Kinich, his expression bleary and soft.
“Is he not too heavy for you?” the Captain asked, his voice measured but genuinely curious.
Kinich adjusted Ajaw’s weight, resting the boy’s head against his shoulder. “I wield a claymore. It’s fine.”
With one hand, he reached into his pocket and fished out a sealed envelope, all while balancing Ajaw with practiced ease. He extended it to the Captain, who accepted it with a curt nod.
“This is from Mauvika,” Kinich explained tersely, his patience worn thin.
The Captain glanced at the letter, then back at Kinich and Ajaw, offering a polite “Thank you.” With that, he turned and strode off, disappearing into the crowd as silently as he had come.
Kinich shifted his focus to Ajaw, who was now drooling lightly onto his black shirt. He sighed, already resigned to the additional work this boy would cause him.
Far away, the Captain unfolded the letter Mauvika had sent him, his stoic demeanor softening slightly.
It read:
“So? Dinner at dusk tomorrow?”
The Captain chuckled softly, tucking the note into his coat as he continued into the night.