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※※※-25550※※※

When Kinich slowly opened his eyes, the Sacred Dragon was lazily sprawled beside his pillow.

Seeing him finally awake, How do you plan to live your third life? K'uhul Ajaw asked casually.

It was a rather difficult question.

For a long while, I don’t know, Kinich rasped.

Then, after a brief silence, he added. But when the time comes, I'll give you a proper answer.

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Until the galaxy tears us apart.

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The false sky had vanished, and war between Abyss and Teyvat had finally come to an end.

From Mondstadt to Snezhnaya, the lands scorched by war and the civilizations in desperate need of rebuilding faced a future fraught with challenges.

Elevated dwellings of Canopy Scions required considerable skill to restore, and with Kinich and Ajaw’s home tucked away in the remote mountains beyond the tribe, it meant there would be no spare hands to help them—not even to fix a door panel.

Yet, thanks to its distance from conflict’s heart, Kinich’s home had miraculously remained largely intact compared to homes of other Scions—damage only on the surface.

The boy, long accustomed to self-reliance, rolled up his sleeves, determined to rebuild the dwelling that had sheltered him since childhood.

Given that Kinich was still recovering from illness, Ajaw, uncharacteristically, refrained from commenting on the workload—but He had plenty of opinions about the labor force.

He ordered His servant, freshly returned from the Night Kingdom, to sit on the front steps of the wooden cabin, while He dispatched the nearby Yumkasaurs to gather materials for the repairs.

But the saurian hunter couldn’t sit still for long; within ten minutes, Kinich joined the work, prompting the Sacred Dragon to grumble and nag for hours.

Kinich never asked much of his home. As long as it kept out the wind and rain, even a cave would do.

However, Ajaw did not approve of His servant’s carefree desire to sleep beneath the stars. He unfurled an elaborate construction plan, written in flowing ancient draconic script, determined to fence off His own domain.

A dragon’s sense of territory was absolute—if He was to remain here, the first task was to establish clear boundaries.

Under Kinich’s silent resistance, Ajaw’s grand blueprint gradually shrank—from three mountain peaks to half a hillside, and finally down to a single field—until the saurian hunter finally nodded. In the end, the Sacred Dragon’s kingdom was barely larger than the cabin itself.

Once the boy’s health improved, they hammered in their first fence post one crisp morning.

Naturally, the Sacred Dragon did none of the actual labor Himself.

He dramatically complained about how poorly human tools suited a divine dragon, then lamented to passing birds about His woes—all while recounting tales of ancient empires and magnificent palaces long turned to dust, His voice weaving between the rhythmic sounds of hammering.

Years spent with the Sacred Dragon had made those stories familiar to Kinich. He would respond at pauses to satisfy his lord’s storytelling desires, and occasionally, truly listen to hidden glories from the Flame Sovereign’s past.

As the sun climbed higher, they would retreat indoors—sometimes to cook lunch, sometimes just to curl up in bed for a peaceful nap.

Ajaw preferred the former, while Kinich now leaned toward the latter. But since the one who cooked was the black-haired boy, the latter often won.

Blankets and sheets remained cleanest among all household fabrics. When the boy first awoke, the Sacred Dragon had rushed them to the riverbank for washing, then left them drying under sunlight for three days, claiming this would “purge any germs you brought back from the Night Kingdom.”

Yet what Ajaw never said, and what Kinich never exposed, was that during those drifting days between two realms, even though the Night Kingdom’s air was frigid, his body had remained warm.

Every moment, in his haze and lucidity, it felt as if someone had tirelessly brought him sunlight each day, guiding him along that warmth back to the land of the living.

The biting cold was something he no longer wished to remember, but he had come to love that warmth.

Now, with no commissions to pursue, the saurian hunter would wrap himself in soft blankets, savoring dreamless sleep under blazing afternoon sun—a luxury unknown since mountains first gifted him life.

Sometimes, Ajaw would join in this tranquility.

The Sacred Dragon secretly enjoyed sharing sleep with Kinich (no, don’t bother—Ajaw would never admit this). He would perch at the bedhead after the saurian hunter closed his eyes, then vanish before the boy’s lashes fluttered, only to later mock how this feeble human indulged in slumber.

Come evening, the black-haired boy with sleep-tousled hair would shuffle into the kitchen, closely followed by the Sacred Dragon dramatically lamenting, “I’m starving to death!”

Their rhythm was flawless—while the servant prepared ingredients, the Sovereign would kindle fire and warm the pan, then gently nudge the boy’s raven hair with His snout, eagerly awaiting tonight’s offering.

In those days when Abyss threatened to devour Natlan at any moment, honing one’s culinary skills mattered far less than simply surviving.

Now that all had finally settled, at the Sacred Dragon’s request—and the boy’s own will—the saurian hunter’s table welcomed a few new dishes.

This delighted the gluttonous ancient Dragon immensely—He would happily squeeze into the cramped kitchen alongside His contract-bearer daily, enduring stifling heat just to claim the first steaming morsel straight from the pot.

To satisfy the Sacreed Dragon’s insatiable appetite, Kinich always prepared extra portions; and to “appease servant’s miserly, calculating values," Ajaw would coil His tail around dirty dishes, dutifully washing plates that still carried lingering aromas.

The fence Ajaw had long yearned for was finally completed one evening, after rain had given way to clear skies.

The Sovereign, pleased to have His territory marked at last, loudly announced the good news to every bird passing by and eagerly issued a decree to His sole subject, demanding that the fence be made even more splendid.

Beauty had never been a boundary’s purpose, yet Kinich accepted this commission from his Sovereign.

He gathered nearby flamegranates, blending their pulp with flower nectar into bottles of luminescent paint. With wooden planks as canvas and fingers as brushes, he created patterns that glimmered like constellations across night sky.

By the time he completed the Dragonlord’s request, moonlight already filtered through towering branches.

Under moonlight’s gentle radiance, the phlogiston-infused paint resembled a galaxy, casting ethereal luminescence across the simple wooden surface.

Creative spirit ignited, the Sacred Dragon—ignoring His servant’s resigned sigh—seized the most vibrant yellow dye, enlarged His body slightly, then pressed distinct claw marks onto each fence section.

Fruit-based paints were scarce; the limited pigment could never fulfill the grand masterpiece the Sacred Dragon envisioned. Soon, barely enough remained for one final mark.

He surveyed His surroundings, seeking one final canvas for His mark, when wind-swept creaking drew His gaze to the wooden door.

Pouring remaining paint into His palm, Ajaw pressed these final precious drops onto their dwelling’s door.

Phlogiston seeped into wood grain while stray luminous drops fell onto porch boards before hardening. Stepping back, Ajaw admired His claw mark now emblazoned at His domain’s very heart.

Kinich approached, examining the bold mark thoughtfully before ignoring the Sacred Dragon’s indignant cry—“Hey! That’s My wood! Find your own!”—and firmly pressing his handprint alongside it.

The saurian hunter’s glowing green handprint lay beside the Sacred Dragon’s radiant golden claw mark.

Ajaw studied the handprint, delicately tracing its outline with one claw tip. The human hand, barely half His palm’s size, could easily be obscured if He wished—merely requiring another bottle of paint.

…Perhaps tomorrow He would erase it. For now, He would let it remain—it held a certain charm.

Shrinking back to diminutive form, the Sacred Dragon turned and followed His servant, who had already departed to wash paint-stained hands by the riverbank.

※※※-22995※※※

In the seventh year of peace, they discovered a dragon egg nestled in the valley.

By saurian standards, it was unusually small. With a single glance, the ancient dragon—drawing on vast experience—declared the little creature would never crack its own shell, doomed to return to the Night Kingdom unhatched.

Its solitary presence spoke volumes—even its parents had abandoned it, leaving it to fate.

Yet despite such pronouncements, the saurian hunter gently wrapped the egg and carried it home.

“Seriously? You’re actually going to raise it?” the Sacred Dragon exclaimed with theatrical disbelief.

“Not for long. When it’s strong enough, I'll let it go.” the hunter replied quietly.

Just as human children depend on parental care, young saurians too needed the guidance of their elders.

An orphaned whelp stood little chance in Natlan’s wilderness, condemned to struggle through nature’s harshness, blindly searching for a path forward.

The future remained unwritten; while he couldn’t promise forever, he would do everything possible to help this small dragon find independence.

Kinich indeed devoted much effort to the egg, sleeping little and waking often. Days and nights passed as he tried to give it the best care, until dark shadows appeared under his eyes.

The black-haired youth was adept at slaying saurians, but utterly clueless about how to bring a life safely into this world.

After much thought, he decided to seek help from Elder Leik, who had cared for him in his childhood, hoping to find in the elder’s vast library a way to increase the hatchling’s chances of survival.

For reasons beyond comprehension, this sparked jealousy in the Sacred Dragon Sovereign, whose heart measured barely five pixels across.

Throughout their journey to town, Ajaw grumbled ceaselessly about the yet-unhatched “little royal”, falling silent only when the hunter’s knuckles rapped against the elder’s door.

Though aged, the elder’s eyes immediately fell upon the son of the mountains who had accompanied him for so many years.

The kindly elder waved away the black-haired youth’s offers of Mora in exchange for opportunity to read. After gentle negotiation, they settled on: “If you must pay something, your company would be payment enough, Kinich.”

Ajaw scoffed at this—He considered Himself a walking archive of knowledge, and the fact that His servant refused to seek wisdom from Him was nothing short of an affront to His pride.

Kinich disagreed with His Sovereign’s view.

The Dragon’s pride had kept Ajaw from ever consulting human texts, while His thousand-year imprisonment had caused Him to miss generations of change. Modern saurians might require different care than their ancient ancestors.

In terms of contemporary knowledge, Ajaw might not be wiser than an aged scholar.

These words ignited the Sacred Dragon’s competitive spirit. As Kinich studied the ancient texts, the tiny pixel-dragon would coil around his arm, pointing out errors with imperious certainty while simultaneously deriding human ignorance.

Sometimes, when Elder Leik passed by the study, he would see the child of the mountains explaining the human perspective to the ancient dragon, a book open across his knees, finger pointing at each line as he recounted the long history between Natlan’s people and the saurians.

The vast library proved invaluable. As days melted into weeks under their vigilant care, the once fragile egg began to stir with life, responding gently to the world beyond its shell.

How are you just as hard to kill as My servant?

Poked at the steadily strengthening little life, its warmth evidence that a soul had firmly rooted within.

Ajaw clicked His tongue, mentally revising His assessment of modern dragonkind—upgrading them from “pathetically weak” to “somewhat tenacious”.

Sensing the changes within the shell, the saurian hunter decided to bring books home, exposing the resilient hatchling to cultures beyond Ajaw’s elegant draconic tongue.

The well-cared-for egg looked quite clean. When the black-haired youth read stories, the egg nestled between his crossed legs.

Occasionally, as if stirred by the tension woven between the lines, the egg would quiver lightly, as if eager to hear the next chapter.

The black-haired youth’s shoulder served as the Sacred Dragon’s premium seat.

Whenever the boy read heroic tales during lazy afternoons, Ajaw would appear with a pixelated goblet, settle regally into His exclusive perch, sip sweet nectar, and listen as His servant pulled history’s threads from the pages, weaving them into tapestries of legend.

Much like how he usually spoke without much intonation, Kinich’s storytelling lacked dramatic flair.

In Liyue, Kinich would have made a dreadful storyteller; but here in Natlan, his soft voice—accompanied by the symphony of insects and birdsong beyond the window—sounded rather pleasant, Ajaw reflected.

As if unwilling to be outdone by His contract-bearer, the Sacred Dragon would occasionally take on the role of reader.

The civilizations buried deep within history had long lost their written records, but their brilliance was etched in the Sacred Dragon’s mind.

From castles crowning mountaintops to treasure vaults gleaming with riches, He regaled the pale green eggshell with tales of bygone glory, even bestowing upon the unhatched whelp a grandiose title—clearly intending to claim another subject for His domain.

Though initially given little chance of survival, the [Shell Keeper a.k.a Fuzzy Knight] finally stirred after several weeks.

It was a night glittering with starlight.

Naturally, the first to notice was the saurian hunter who had fallen asleep guarding the egg.

A muffled thudding sound instantly woke the light-sleeping youth. Realizing the noise came from the dragon egg cradled in his arms, he gently placed it on the soft bedding, his expression showing rare uncertainty.

Awakened by His servant, the Sacred Dragon crept closer. Human and Dragon watched the trembling egg together, holding their breath.

Tiny cracks slowly spread. A few fragments of eggshell fell away, revealing round eyes that curiously scanned the outside world.

Instinctively, the whelp fixed its gaze on the first living beings it saw. With a soft, unclear warble from its young voice, the shell tilted precariously toward both hunter and Sacred Dragon.

The Sovereign let out a startled cry (Ajaw later insisted it wasn’t from concern—merely that His future subject couldn’t perish before fulfilling its role in His grand designs) and rushed forward to steady the fragile creature.

“Kinich,” Ajaw watched the tiny claw pushing against the confining shell, “you don’t think it’s going to mistake us for its parents, do you?”He finally voiced the concern He should have raised much earlier.

Crack, crack—the fragile shell finally gave way to the new life’s strength. With the shattered shell scattered, the hatchling collapsed onto the bed sheets.

Finally beholding the two beings whose voices had filled its sheltered world with stories, the little Yumkasaur wobbled onto its hind legs and trumpeted triumphantly at the hunter-dragon duo.

Kinich and Ajaw exchanged a glance, then sprang into action.

The black-haired youth gently lifted the damp hatchling, carefully drying its sticky down with a soft towel.

The Sacred Dragon brought over a candle, picked up the picture book lying on the floor, and fanned warm air toward the little dragon.

The whelp’s claws clung tightly to the youth’s shirt. As its downy feathers dried and fluffed up, it nuzzled against the hunter’s nose, whimpering softly like a child seeking comfort.

The moment stirred in Kinich a distant memory—the warmth of arms that once held him close, and gentle hands that had stroked his hair.

Ajaw looked at the whelp nestled in the youth’s arms, then at the unusually gentle gaze of the youth. He exhaled softly through His nose, settled into His special seat, and lightly patted the hunter’s cheek.

The little Yumkasaur gazed at them both, then broke into soft laughter, filling the air with delighted chirps and babbles.

※※※-21900※※※

Lately, the little Yumkasaur had developed an obsession with biting everything in the house.

As time passed, the habit became more frequent—everything from bed sheets to tablecloths, even the doorboard marked by claw and handprints, bore damp little bite marks, including Ajaw’s tail and, occasionally, Kinich’s fingers.

Though the whelp’s bite lacked force, it was still enough to send the Sacred Dragon into dramatics for several minutes straight.

So Kinich planted quenepa berries in the courtyard before the house. While the whelp chased after Ajaw’s tail, he would infuse the seedlings with phlogiston to speed up their growth.

His luck held out; he managed to harvest a few fruits before the whelp began teething.

Little saurian gnawed on the fruits for a long while, granting its caretakers a much-needed reprieve.

The Yumkasaur whelp watched its two guardians busily laying out damp belongings under the sunlight, then took another bite of its fruit.

Perhaps influenced by all the stories Kinich had read before its hatching, the whelp developed a habit of dragging books to its imprinted guardians, demanding tale after tale with insistent chirps.

Over time, every book in the house became dotted with saliva stains of varying sizes.

Whenever Kinich returned borrowed books, he would apologize over and over, and Elder Leik would smile just as often, hand him the next storybook.

Sometimes, Mualani and Kachina would visit them.

The white-haired woman couldn’t get enough of holding the little Yumkasaur, while the brown-haired girl was utterly fascinated by its fluffy tail. Both were delighted by the hatchling’s unexpected presence in the black-haired man’s life.

“Isn’t it just another mouth to feed? What’s there to be so happy about?”

Ajaw asked nonchalantly as Kachina and Kinich fed the little Yumkasaur fruits.

“The arrival of new life is always something to celebrate!”

Mualani answered with a smile. “You even bestowed a title upon it. Doesn’t that mean you were looking forward to its arrival too?”

“Pah! You foolish mor—muddled-brained human.”

The Sacred Dragon’s insult shifted tone midway.

Puzzled, Mualani followed the Sacred Dragon’s gaze only to discover the saurian hunter giving Ajaw a warning look while carefully covering the hatchling’s impressionable ears.

The hatchling, its ears covered, looked up at its human guardian and let out a couple of confused whimpers.

Mualani’s knowing laughter left Ajaw’s scales glowing crimson for the remainder of the day.

The whelp’s appetite grew steadily with passing moons. When Kinich realized that ten fruits could no longer satisfy the young dragon’s hunger, he dusted off his gear and, for the first time in many seasons, made his way to the commission board.

As a saurian, the little Yumkasaur had yet to master spitting flamegranates; but as the saurian hunter’s little follower, it had inherited the Canopy people’s spirit of adventure.

Whenever its human guardian leapt from a cliff edge, the little one would follow without hesitation—embracing gravity’s pull and mimicking the hunter’s swinging trajectory while its Dragon guardian shrieked in theatrical horror.

No, Ajaw wasn’t worried the whelp would smash into the cliffs and meet the Wayob prematurely; He simply believed that none under His banner should die in such a disgraceful manner.

If the commission required them to camp out, they would choose a large cave, light a bonfire, and eat a simple meal.

During missions, Kinich habitually ate sparingly, while Ajaw, conversely, devoured food with even greater enthusiasm than usual—one portion of rations divided between them balanced perfectly.

But after the little Yumkasaur joined them, Kinich’s baggage grew heavier—not only carrying food for himself and Ajaw but also making room for the whelp’s quenepa berries.

Ajaw asked, “Aren’t you worried it’ll grow too fat and become the next Gluttonous Mountain King?”

Kinich replied, “It’s better than a certain Sovereign who’s never full.”

“I'll have servant No.2 end you right NOW!”

The crimson Sacred Dragon ordered His servant No.2 to attack servant No.1.

The little Yumkasaur merely tilted its head, chirped twice, and burrowed into servant No.1’s arms.

Kinich started showing up in the tribe more often with the whelp in tow, and soon, people began to notice the little dragon who loved stories.

The Scions of the Canopy had long maintained friendly relations with Yumkasaurs, naturally creating abundant market opportunities.

Several stall owners offered Kinich suggestions when he visited, trying to sell everything from cute hats to grooming brushes to the black-haired hunter.

Kinich refused all unnecessary pitches but bought the brush.

After fulfilling the day’s storytelling quota, he would take the brush and gently tidy the whelp’s grass-green fur, disheveled and muddied from its daily adventures.

Sometimes, the brushing duty would fall to the restless Sacred Dragon. When Kinich couldn’t spare the time, Ajaw would snatch the soggy brush from the whelp’s mouth, grumbling as He carefully smoothed the hatchling’s soft fur.

The whelp adored the brush, but Ajaw remained indifferent.

As the noble Sovereign of the Flame Nation, no one had ever dared—nor would He permit anyone—to touch Him in such a manner. The Sacred Dragon rambled on, lamenting how modern dragonkind had fallen so low as to submit to human domestication.

The Sovereign’s long-winded lecture came to an abrupt halt when the brush touched His own head.

You insolent ant! Audacious insect!

Ajaw jumped up, fuming at how His servant, with whatever nonsense filled his head, dared to brush His green fur.

To his surprise, the 8-bit pixels actually felt like real hair. Half astonished, half curious, eyes with unusual irises blinking, Kinich carefully combed through what must have been millennia of untamed fur.

The saurian hunter always took his tasks seriously—even something as simple as brushing fur.

The sensation of bristles flowing through His fur was... not bad. The Sacred Dragon gradually quieted His protests, allowing His servant to gently untangle the knots.

Ajaw never voiced any opinion on Kinich’s brushing technique, yet from that day forward, He would silently present Himself after the whelp’s grooming session, waiting for the brush to glide across His crown.

Perhaps, the Sacred Dragon mused, being tended to occasionally wasn’t such an indignity after all

※※※-17520※※※

The quenepa berry bushes in the courtyard had grown lush and dense. The once-tiny Yumkasaur had grown so much that Kinich had to learn to refuse its attempts to share his bed—the hunter’s blankets could no longer cover his now-massive roommate.

Perhaps the time for independence had finally come.

Leading the Yumkasaur to the highlands, Kinich noticed how childhood’s shadow had lifted from his companion, though that adventurous spark still burned bright in its eyes. The hunter softly bid farewell to his furry friend, promising to keep the grooming brush forever.

Ajaw’s tongue remained sharp as ever, yet when bidding the Yumkasaur farewell, His words carried unusual gentleness. With His tiny pixelated hand, He patted His servant No.2, vowing that no saurian within ten miles would dare cause trouble.

The Yumkasaur nuzzled its two guardians, let out a few soft whimpers, circled around a few times, glanced back at them, then ran off toward the far highlands.

They hung the grooming brush on the wooden door marked by two handprints, tucking the whelp’s favorite blanket away into the cupboard.

The once-cramped little cabin felt empty again. Now, it was filled with so much time.

Years of accumulated Mora meant the black-haired man no longer needed to hunt for commissions, though he found himself unaccustomed to such leisurely days.

He bought some manuscript paper, took up a pen, and tried to mimic the person he remembered, writing line after line at the dining table.

Much to the Sacred Dragon’s disappointment, the man’s first work wasn’t “The Memoirs of K'uhul Ajaw—Sovereign of the Nation of Flame” but a story about a cricket warrior and his firefly companion who spent their lives traveling far and wide in search of treasure.

Ajaw knew of another manuscript hidden beneath Kinich’s pillow with similar characters but following an entirely different path.

The saurian hunter never showed his manuscript to the Sacred Dragon, only sharing the outline, refusing to reveal anything further.

Considering they lived under the same roof, this secretive attitude irked Ajaw somewhat.

He expressed His displeasure to the black-haired man, but Kinich shook his head. “It’s not finished yet. One day, you’ll see it.” He said, tucking the thin booklet into his pack.

If Ajaw wished, He could easily snatch it and peek while Kinich wasn’t looking. Yet He restrained Himself. “Fine,” the Sacred Dragon said. “When you’re done, I’ll be the first to read it!”

Kinich agreed.

Even though he wouldn’t say a word about the content, the saurian hunter still brought Ajaw along on his journey for inspiration.

With conflict finally ended and the Wayob’s blessing no longer binding Natlan’s people to their homeland, Kinich ventured beyond borders he hadn’t crossed in decades, and the thousand-year-old dragon could at last witness how Teyvat had transformed.

Their journey followed no particular path, their decisions made on whims. They would unfold a map, against the night sky, choosing their destination where starlight most luminously pierced through the parchment.

The free-spirited Scion of the Canopy relished this unbounded existence. Mondstadt’s dandelions, Liyue’s Qingxin, Inazuma’s maple leaves, Fontaine’s Romaritime Flowers—Kinich preserved everything he encountered within his draft notebook, each turned page revealing another town.

When they arrived in Sumeru, it happened to be the Sabzeruz Festival. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers and dew.

For Kinich, birthdays had never been something worth celebrating.

Childhood’s candy box had long settled beneath memory’s dust. His blood-stained hook had been cast into a distant canyon alongside outdated equipment. To him, “birthday” remained nothing more than another ordinary day.

Treading streets adorned with fallen petals, he felt, for just a fleeting moment, a twinge of envy toward Lesser Lord Kusanali, now so deeply cherished by her people.

Of course, Kinich would never voice such childlike feelings. Yet, he underestimated how well the Sacred Dragon knew him.

He was jolted awake the next morning by a small box landing on him. Through sleep-hazed eyes, he spotted the culprit hovering near the window, glaring with contempt at festival decorations still adorning the inn’s exterior.

“I fail to see why you’d desire such trinkets. What I've bestowed upon you far exceeds mere flowers in value.

Sacred Dragon muttered gruffly, deliberately keeping His back turned.

Nestled within the simple box lay an exquisitely polished, translucent earring.

The sky-blue(*) ceramic ornament should have felt cool to the touch, yet it was warm—as if someone had clutched both box and contents for countless hours, hesitating whether to surrender a fragment of His heart.

Kinich lifted the azure earring to the light, allowing a blue hue to paint the corner of his eye.

The sunlight suddenly seemed piercing. Though he squinted against the glare, his gaze remained fixed on the gleaming ornament.

“I know your birthday isn’t for several days yet. I simply happened to see this and purchased it—with your Mora, of course.”

Words tumbled rapidly from the Sacred Dragon, His tail betraying nervousness with each twitch as He fought the urge to face His companion.

The black-haired man’s prolonged silence unsettled Him deeply, stirring a rare anxiety beneath His regal demeanor.

Perhaps He should venture out again, wander the streets, and return casually at noon, pretending the gift had never been given.

But unexpected laughter from behind shattered His escape plans, freezing Him mid-thought.

Unable to resist any longer, He turned around to find Kinich clutching the single earring to his heart, smiling with childlike delight.

Though soft, his laughter brimmed with joy. Kinich’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he gripped the tiny ornament, resembling a cat stubbornly clinging to its beloved hot-water bottle, refusing to let go.

So the typically stoic hunter was capable of such unguarded joy after all.

Ajaw held His breath, floating closer to the black-haired man who remained seated on the bed. “You truly that pleased?” He asked, voice gentler than intended.

Kinich offered no reply. Instead, he swept his right hand upward, tucked his black hair behind his ear, and without hesitation, pierced the edge of his right ear with the azure ornament, dismissing Ajaw’s startled exclamation.

“Wh-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Frantically dabbing at the crimson droplets, the Sacred Dragon bellowed while frantically searching their belongings for medicine. “How old are you?! Are you some toddler who stuffs every pebble he finds into his mouth?!”

Throughout that day, Kinich paused at every reflective surface, he would tuck back his stray hair to ensure the azure ornament captured and refracted each ray of sunlight.

Utterly childish. The Sacred Dragon remarked.

As if reluctant to let this day slip away, the black-haired hunter purchased a small bottle of liquor when the moon rose high. He returned to the very windowsill where Ajaw had tossed him the earring, savoring thespicy-sweet liquid under silvery moonlight.

He typically shunned alcohol. But today, a  dragon with a single earring had wiped away some of the pain buried at the bottom of the bottle.

Tucking a Padisarah flower into his notebook, Kinich closed the pages and tilted his head slightly toward the pixel-dragon on his shoulder.

“Ajaw,” he said, raising his cup with starlight etching bright lines along his profile. His gaze softened with both liquor and emotion as his lips curved upward. “I’m glad you’re on this journey with me.”

He murmured before taking a gentle sip, seeming to drink in both wine and moonlight.

From His perch of decades, Ajaw beheld something unprecedented—the man bound to Him by contract for so many years now radiated a warmth that rivaled the stars themselves.

Here, no one questioned the meaning of [Malipo], nor did anyone criticize the title “Saurian Hunter.”

Kinich was simply Kinich—a soul born free.

A child who longed to be loved.

Faint traces of liquor mingled with the clean fragrance of soap as the man’s raven hair brushed against Ajaw, causing a gentle tickle.

He placed His hand on Kinich’s flushed cheek. “Me too.” He said softly, watching as the man turned toward Him—golden lakes rippling in his eyes, brimming with unspoken emotion.

The azure earring shimmered under the silver moon.

The bottle remained half-full, the night still stretched before them, and they had countless tomorrows waiting to be written.

※※※-13140※※※

Elder Leik’s funeral took place on a sweltering day beneath the blazing sun.

As a revered elder of the tribe, countless mourners came of their own accord—some bearing vibrant blossoms, others offering words woven with memory.

Through these personal tributes, each mourner composed their final verse in the collective elegy for the kind-hearted elder.

Kinich and Ajaw stood at the periphery, a Yumkasaur beside them, observing the tide of mourners layering their grief upon the modest grave mound.

Only when the last of the mourners had disappeared beyond the horizon did they finally approach, seeking their private moment with the departed.

Though many years had passed, the Yumkasaur who loved adventure tales had never forgotten the kind hands that had first offered those storybooks.

The grass-green saurian lowered its head before the gravestone, let out a few soft murmurs, and placed the quenepa berries it had brought into the pile of flowers.

Kinich’s mourning mirrored his nature, was quiet—yet gentle.

Placing a solitary white bloom before the weathered stone, the hunter lowered himself to one knee. With eyes closed against the harsh sun, he pressed joined hands to his brow—his silent prayer stretching across minutes that seemed to bend time itself.

Ajaw harbored no deep sorrow for the elder’s passing. To Him, it wasmerely another brief mortal flame returning to stardust—birth, aging, illness, and death. The inevitable cycle all mortals must travel.

He glanced at the hunter bidding farewell in his heart, then at the raised mound.

The gentle scholar, having reached his journey’s end, now used his gravestone as a vessel and the offerings as oars, navigating toward distant constellations beyond the Milky Way.

The Yumkasaur, once so fragile that its very hatching had been doubtful, now stood tall and powerful, master of its own territory—perhaps soon to begin a family of its own.

The hunter’s hair remained raven-black, yet several strands of silver-gray now wove through its depths; his face striking since youth, still preserved its captivating features, though delicate lines had begun to trace the corners of his eyes.

Even those hands that had once firmly grasped the Sacred Dragon’s tail now bore time’s inevitable etchings.

Only He remained the same—the Sovereign of the Nation of Flame from millennia ago.

Time, years, seasons—everything marched relentlessly forward while Ajaw alone remained anchored to the past.

His heart quickened with sudden realization—He had somehow forgotten the simple truth that Kinich was mortal.

That night, the pixel-dragon quietly slipped into the hunter’s bed.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was slightly hoarse, like a murmur before sleep. Half-lidded eyes of emerald and gold looked at the pixel-dragon resting on his chest. “You’re quiet tonight.” Kinich said.

Ajaw had always noisily pulled up his blanket. Tonight, however, He was unusually subdued.

After parting with the Yumkasaur, the Sovereign had flown silently ahead of him—neither fast nor slow—flying ahead, halting, watching him approach, then flying forward again.

This pattern continued until they pushed open the door where the grooming brush hung. There, Ajaw curled up on the bedside pillow Kinich had crafted for Him, uttering not a single word even as the hunter washed up and prepared for bed.

The Sacred Dragon’s body radiated the heat of phlogiston, like a small sun pressed against his chest.

He tapped the unusually silent Sovereign’s head with fingertips. “Go ahead. I’m listening,” the black-haired man whispered.

—Kinich, when will you die?

Silence lingered for so long that Kinich nearly drifted off. Finally, the soft question came from his chest.

Ajaw’s tone was faint. If Kinich hadn’t been so close, a breeze might’ve carried away the Wise Sacred Dragon’s voice.

Well, I suppose that depends on when the stars decide to take me.

Kinich replied, feeling tiny claws tighten around his nightshirt. He lowered his gaze to the Sacred Dragon stubbornly counting his heartbeat. “Regretting it?” the hunter asked.

“Hmph. You think rewriting the contract is fun? I have no desire to drag you back from the Night Kingdom a second time.” the Sacred Dragon grumbled.

Listening to the steady rhythm within the hunter’s chest, remembering how this body had once been impaled clean through, a familiar irritation rose within Him.

He seethed with anger at human fragility—how a wound beyond healing made the black-haired boy surrender control of his body to Him, his consciousness fading without even a whispered goodbye.

He burned with frustration at His own weakness—unable to endure mere months of silence, feeling something essential had slipped away through that wound, creating an emptiness that even freedom waited for through millennia could not fill it.

What to do? He hadn’t had enough of that Quenepa and Cacahuatl Juice.

How to do? He still wanted another bites of that Saurian Hunter’s Reward.

—It seemed... He might just be missing Kinich a little.

Umoja’s abundant tears only irritated His spirit; the burden of concealing truth from Uthabiti disturbed His essence.

Kinich, oh Kinich, how could you still give Me trouble even in death?

He laughed loudly, approached the sealed gateway to the Abyss.

If an active contract prevented Kinich from returning to the Sacred Flame—well, why not simply draft a new one?

Clutching the weathered contract, Ajaw violently rent open the Ley Line, strode into the bone-chilling realm of the Night Kingdom.

The ancient being screamed into the silent kingdom, calling out again and again, until His throat turned raw, His eyes stung with unfamiliar heat.

Relentlessly, He summoned His servant’s name—shouting for the boy who had gifted Him his life.

He wandered for days—maybe weeks. Each time a rift began to close, He would tear it open again.

His fists were bruised, His throat tasted of rust from overuse, and His legs grew heavy from endless wandering.

He walked and walked until reaching the very boundary of existence, and there—at the precipice of oblivion—Ajaw finally glimpsed the boy, his form already beginning to dissolve into ethereal mist.

He lunged forward and grabbed him.

The boy didn’t seem surprised by His arrival. Half-transparent eyes gazed at Him, quietly waiting.

“Surely there’s room to... renegotiate our contract?” He said, voice low and hoarse. “Without you, I find myself... unbearably bored.”

It felt like time had rewound to their first meeting in the ruins, as they sat together meticulously crafting each term and clause.

Everything remained nearly identical to the original contract—except for the last item. Ajaw hesitated momentarily, then amended it under the boy’s slightly widened gaze.

The newly drafted contract was swiftly signed, and the boy—mere moments from fading entirely—was brought back to the realm of the living.

It took a long, long time to mend his fractured soul. Finally, Malipo’s eyes slowly opened, welcoming the dawn of his third life.

In the blink of an eye, that boy had stepped into middle age.

“I really don’t want to go there again—so can you live a little longer this time?”

He brushed His palm over the fine lines etched at the corners of the man’s eyes, gently smoothing the hunter’s black hair now threaded with few silver. Finally, He admitted what He had refused to contemplate: K'uhul Ajaw feared a world without Kinich.

Yet, Kinich remained the same boy who had always lacked eloquence. “The future’s full of variables, but I'll try,” he said, prompting an indignant squawk from the Sacred Dragon.

“You’re supposed to say ‘I’ll live to a hundred’! Or ‘I’ll live forever’! Can’t you read the mood? Not a single ounce of verbal artistry in you! How did I, K'uhul Ajaw, end up in the hands of a green-spotted lizard like you? Oh, the humiliation!!”

“Besides,” cutting off the dragon’s tirade, the hunter glanced at his flushed Sovereign with an expression caught between helplessness and amusement. “I signed that contract, didn’t I?”

【Upon death, my form to K'uhul Ajaw shall be bequeathed, without objection or appeal.】

【Until death, with K'uhul Ajaw I shall remain, herewith committed and bound.】

“Mm.”

“Before the stars take me, I’ll be here.”

“...Mm.”

※※※-9855※※※

Mualani’s eldest grandchild’s first birthday celebration brimmed with joy and laughter.

Despite having crossed into her sixties and having cut her long hair, the lady still exuded the vitality of youth. Cradling her rosy-cheeked grandchild, she moved among friends and family, generously sharing her boundless joy.

The rattle she had treasured since her own youth proved the perfect toy. The little one clutched the sound-making instrument with tiny hands barely the size of maple leaves, erupting in delighted giggles.

As Kinich and Ajaw entered the gathering, Umoja’s eyes brightened.

“Here! Hold her!” Mualani exclaimed with a melodious laugh, lifting the precious bundle toward the visibly hesitant hunter, gently insisting that her oldest friend partake in this moment of pure joy.

The infant’s downy cheek pressed against his chest, her warm, milk-scented breath caressing the hollow of his neck.

A gemstone anklet, meticulously crafted by Kachina, adorned the child’s delicate ankle. With each excited kick of her tiny legs, crystalline chimes danced through the air to reach his ears.

The infant had unmistakably inherited Umoja’s spirited nature, eagerly extending her plump little hands toward the long bandana that danced in the breeze behind Kinich’s head.

It wasn’t that he minded letting the child play with it. The hunter placed a corner of the fabric in her tiny palm, allowing her to tug at it gently.

The child laughed gleefully at her new toy, round eyes darting curiously until they landed on the sky-blue ornament that shimmered in the light.

Noticing what had captured the child’s attention, self-proclaimed big-hearted Sacred Dragon was about to hastily intervene—only for Kinich to gently intercept the infant’s reaching hand first.

“Sorry, this isn’t for you. It’s something very precious to me,” he murmured.

Ajaw blinked, frozen mid-air.

The hunter’s voice was gentle but firm.

To Mualani’s repeated apologies, he shook his head with a reassuring smile, mouthing “it’s fine.” He then patted the slightly disappointed child’s back while softly humming a lullaby, his gentle movements gradually restoring her good spirits.

“Kinich really good with babies, isn’t he?” Kachina remarked with an impressed smile.

Reminded of the little Yumkasaur from years ago, Uthabiti glanced at the pixel-dragon who seemed lost in thought. “How’s your child doing?” she asked innocently, watching puzzled as Ajaw’s body flushed crimson and His pixels scattered in disarray, His mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

The Sacred Dragon’s mind went completely blank for several seconds before He finally managed to sputter, “What child? That green-spotted lizard and I don’t have a child!”

“Huh? But… Shell Keeper? Fuzzy Knight?”

“That’s not our child! We just picked it up! Kinich isn’t My mate, what nonsense!”

“Is that so? I always thought, ‘Kinich’s home looks so full of happiness.’ Was I wrong all this time?”

Kachina spoke calmly, but Ajaw’s heart churned.

In outsiders’ eyes, what were they? The renowned dragon hunter duo? Distinguished comrades-in-arms? Or—?

When Kinich disappeared, He would search until He found him.

When Kinich slept, He would tuck in his blankets.

When Kinich wrote late into the night, He would silently light another phlogiston lamp.

Kinich, Kinich, Kinich—without even realizing when it happened, His entire existence had become intertwined with Kinich’s presence.

He had never thought about it.

The desire to form a family had long been eroded by His near-eternal life. Half a century spent with Kinich—He had even done things like extending a contract, something He would’ve once scoffed at. Yet, He had never considered wanting something more.

He dared not even imagine it.

He dared not allow Himself to yearn for it.

In Kinich’s heart, that earring was “something very precious.”

Then in His own heart—what exactly was Kinich?

“You know, whenever Kinich looked at You and Shell Keeper, his eyes always held a smile,” Kachina remarked with a gentle expression, rising to join her two dear friends, leaving the pixel-dragon swirling in a vortex of thoughts.

At the end of the party, Ajaw found an open space to return to His full form, suggested visiting the Yumkasaur.

Age had robbed Kinich of the agility to vault onto a dragon’s back as he once did. So Ajaw gently clasped his hand, carefully cradling the gray-haired hunter in His palm before placing him securely upon His back.

After feeling the grip secure around His scales, the magnificent dragon beat His powerful wings, riding the currents and launching them into the starry sky.

No longer as agile as in his youth, Kinich rarely used his grappling hook these days. As the familiar wind brushed his cheeks, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the night air. For a moment, it felt as though he were back in the days of racing across fields and weaving through forests with the Sacred Dragon.

He felt impossibly close to the stars, as if he could simply extend his hand and let his fingers trail through the galaxy.

Seeing him actually extending his hand toward the stars, Ajaw immediately panicked. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t you dare let go! What if you actually fall? Aren’t you worried I might just abandon you without a second glance?” He scolded, alarm evident in His voice.

“No need worry, you’d catch me,” the gray-haired man replied calmly.

“Just keep relying on that contract!” Ajaw shot back, though He slowed nonetheless, allowing Kinich to etch this starry night into his mind.

The Yumkasaur had claimed territory on the very same highland plateau where they had bid their farewell years ago.

Upon spotting the familiar silhouettes arriving on the wind, the grass-green saurian—who had been playfully tending to its young—bounded out from the cave entrance and jubilantly leaped into Kinich’s arms, rumbling with affectionate purrs.

How are you still this clingy despite growing so enormous?

The Yumkasaur had, just as they had hoped, established its own family. It appeared robust and thoroughly content.

Something within Ajaw’s heart suddenly shifted. He pressed a claw against His phlogiston-formed chest as an indescribable warmth surged through Him, carrying unfamiliar emotions in its current.

Had He been willing to set aside His pride and consult His long-time companion, He would have discovered this peculiar warmth was simply called “contentment.”

Three whelps occasionally peeked out from the cave, casting curious glances.

Noticing their inquisitive stares, Yumkasaur beckoned its offspring forward. The three whelps exchanged hesitant glances before tottering over on unsteady legs and settling beside their parent, studying the human and dragon who had evoked such excitement in their usually composed elder.

“Little ones, these two are our family as well!” Ajaw heard the Yumkasaur announce with unmistakable proud. “Kinich is an incredibly skilled warrior, and K'uhul Ajaw is an ancient and powerful Sacred Dragon. They tell the most wonderful stories—I was raised under their care!”

Though Kinich couldn’t comprehend the Yumkasaur’s language, he understood perfectly the warmth radiating from its every gesture.

He sat cross-legged, leveling his gaze with the three whelps, the corners of his lips lifting in a gentle smile that reassured the little ones.

The mischievous one circled behind Kinich, repeatedly opening its jaws as if contemplating a playful bite at the yellow-green bandana dancing in the breeze.

The rambunctious one nestled between the gray-haired man’s crossed legs, bouncing excitedly in attempts to reach his cheek with its snout.

Had Mualani beheld this moment, she would have named it “the symphony of happiness.”

The boldest one walked straight up to the forest green-scaled ancient dragon without a hint of hesitation.

The young saurian stared at the elder dragon. “Why do You have such big wings?” the whelp asked, eyes sparkling with admiration. “Is it because You’re a really powerful dragon?”

“‘Powerful’? Such a paltry word cannot begin to describe Me, the Sacred Dragon K'uhul Ajaw! I am the Supreme Sovereign of the Nation of Flame, the Omniscient and Almighty Dragon of Wisdom!”

Puffing up His chest with immense pride, Ajaw gave His magnificent wings a self-important flap. Thoroughly charmed by the flattery, He felt supremely delighted and mentally designated this perceptive little creature as His Servant No.3 .

With a soft huff, Ajaw lifted His head, visibly pleased by the little one’s sharp remark.

“Do You have a treasure then?” the whelp asked, eyes glimmering with curiosity as it recalled its parent’s tales.

Scooting even closer to the massive dragon, it went on, “I heard that a long, long time ago, dragons used to stash piles of treasure in their grand palaces. And if anyone dared to go after them, the dragons would chase them all out.”

“Chase them out” was a rather generous way to put it, Ajaw thought.

He cleared His throat grandly. “Naturally, I had treasures. My palace stood atop the highest peak, throngs of servants bowing at My feet, bringing Me fresh fruits, fine wines, and gilded troves by the day. There were so many, I had to build extra chambers just to keep them all. If you ask Me—”

“No, no, no! That’s not the kind of treasure I mean at all!”

The whelp interrupted with childlike impatience, stomping its little foot in frustration as it struggled to express itself with its limited vocabulary.

“Not gold or jewels! I mean the kind of treasure that’s really, really precious—the kind a dragon would spend their whole life guarding!”

A dragon becomes strong because of the treasure they can’t bear to lose, so You must have one too! the whelp declared loudly.

Ajaw opened His mouth sharply, then closed it. Opened again, then shut.

Just moments before, the mighty dragon had been full of grandiose boasting, but now He found Himself speechless. An answer hovered at the very tip of His tongue, yet He forcefully suppressed it, unwilling to give voice to the truth that suddenly revealed itself.

His gaze wandered, falling on a figure not far away.

The whelp turned its head and followed the dragon’s gaze to spot the gray-haired man.

Oh. The whelp seemed to understand something.

“Grandpa Kinich! Ajaw said you’re His treasure!” The whelp exclaimed, bounding excitedly back to the hunter’s side, eager to share its momentous discovery.

Unfortunately, Kinich couldn’t comprehend dragon speech, but the adult Yumkasaur certainly did, raising its head to give Ajaw a knowing, significant look.

Hey! You little brat, get back here!

Ajaw shouted, uncertain whether He was more startled by servant No.3’s bold declaration, amused by the term “grandpa,” or flustered by servant No.2’s knowing glance. His voice rang out across the vast plateau, caught somewhere between embarrassment and outrage.

Why get upset with kid? Kinich asked softly, patting the massive dragon’s claw, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips as he gazed up at his flustered Sovereign.

Hmph. You don’t know how rude that little thing was.

What did it say?

It said… it… I…

The dragon lowered His head, meeting His contract holder’s gaze, staring into those eyes of green and gold.

In that moment, He finally understood what Kachina had told Him earlier—when he looked at Him, his eyes always held a smile.

Who said Kinich was cold and unfeeling? He was clearly so gentle and soft-hearted.

After bidding farewell to the Yumkasaur family, Ajaw—just as He had when they arrived—gently gathered the gray-haired hunter into His palms and carefully bore His most precious treasure upon His back.

The sky-blue earring outshone the stars.

Come on, let’s go home. Ajaw said.

※※※-4745※※※

A messenger from the tribe arrived again.

The name [Malipo] echoed far and wide, his achievements legendary to all. Now, with the current chief preparing to step down, the tribe’s voices once again turned to Kinich, hoping he would rise as their next chief.

Witzland’s hero, reluctant to position himself near the center of power, had declined the honor countless times. Each letter that reached his dwelling was promptly returned unopened.

Having once been a sovereign of a great nation Himself, Ajaw couldn’t help but wonder why His servant consistently refused the title.

“The highest position of the tribe, the very embodiment of the Scions of the Canopy. Kinich, just imagine the admiration countless people would bestow upon you,” the Sacred Dragon remarked, unable to comprehend such.

“It isn’t the people’s admiration that matters. The price of bearing the chief’s title is dedicating one’s entire being to the tribe. At my age, I no longer have that much to give.”

With a faint shake of his head, the white-haired former dragon hunter handed the letter—marked with the tribe’s seal—back to the messenger.

Yet, perhaps the people’s persistent persuasion had left its mark. Kinich agreed to visit the tribe more often and to offer guidance when the time and circumstances called for it.

From that day forward, the Scions of the Canopy counted one more Elder among them.

After a comfortable stretch of idleness, the white-haired man found himself busy once more.

At his advanced age, he ought to have been resting peacefully at home; his once-nimble legs had grown stiff and weren’t meant for extensive travel.

Ajaw wasn’t particularly pleased to see His aging servant constantly running about. Yet, since the white-haired man had willingly accepted the burden, He could hardly say anything more. All He could do was heave exaggerated sighs whenever Kinich picked up yet another official letter.

Whenever Kinich had official duties at Coatepec Mountain, Ajaw inevitably noticed several youths—whom He called "idle brats"—buzzing around the legendary saurian hunter duo. Such scenes became especially common as the Turnfire Night approached.

Even now, with the Abyss long dispersed and the Mountain King no longer needing purification, the Turnfire ritual endured. The annual ceremony had become a tourism magnet for the Scions of the Canopy, attracting numerous visitors each year.

The title "Flame Bearer" shone like a gilded badge, an irresistible opportunity to bask in public admiration. Every young soul dreamed of claiming it, eager to add a touch of glory to their lives.

Having performed this role many times, Elder Kinich naturally became the person the younger generation sought out for guidance.

From grappling hook techniques to moving swiftly without letting their toes touch the ground, the children flocked around the former Flame Bearer, pestering him to explain every detail clearly so they could succeed in the selection.

“Don’t they even teach this stuff at school?” the Sacred Dragon complained unhappily, having been excluded from the crowd’s attention for quite some time.

As soon as the crowd dispersed, He immediately grumbled extensively into His servant’s ear. “No wonder they used to shamelessly beg you to be the Flame Bearer—their education’s clearly a disaster.”

“The school ensures everyone has basic knowledge. They wouldn’t let children attempt something this dangerous,” the former hunter said, casting a sidelong glance at his flushed Sovereign. “I just happen to bear the name ’malipo,’ which made everyone think I was the ideal candidate.”

Though deeply displeased, the Flame Bearer’s selection proceeded amid the Sacred Dragon’s muttering.

Seated at the edge of the main table alongside His servant, Ajaw flipped through the participants’ profiles, each page revealing faces still marked by youthful innocence.

He curled His lips in disinterest, quickly growing bored.

The first candidate lacked mental fortitude.

The second was not agile enough.

The third was slightly better, but grappling hook missed the target. Frustrated, the child gathered their gear and left, unwilling to give up.

Absolutely not, He thought. None could ever match the Malipo from back then.

Ajaw recognized the seventh candidate—a boy who had been particularly polite when seeking advice.

As Kinich explained, the boy quietly took notes, recording key points in his small notebook. Before leaving, he nodded respectfully toward the Sacred Dragon—truly a well-mannered child.

The boy stood at the starting line. The moment the whistle blew, he took off at full speed.

There was a familiar determination in the boy’s eyes—one Ajaw knew all too well. He glanced at Kinich beside Him, then back at the boy who had lit all the signal braziers amidst the cheering crowd. In those two distinct pairs of eyes, He saw the same blazing flame.

It seemed the choice had been made.

Though the new Flame Bearer lacked Kinich’s extraordinary skills, his enthusiasm to learn was unmatched. Occasionally, footsteps could be heard on their front porch even as the sky had barely begun to brighten.

Whenever Ajaw opened the door, He would find the boy, his face covered in dirt from the climb, dozing on the porch steps with his gear hugged close.

Evidently, he didn’t wish to waste valuable practice time, yet was unwilling to disturb the former hunter’s sleep. The considerate boy never knocked on the strangely marked door; he simply waited quietly in the morning light.

Since the Sacred Dragon required far less sleep than humans, the boy’s first greeting each day was always from a yawning Ajaw. Only an hour later would a bleary-eyed Malipo finally emerge from the door.

Kinich was no longer at an age to swiftly traverse the mountains, yet Ajaw refused to let time rob Malipo of his right to soar through the wilderness.

Mounted upon the dragon’s back, the white-haired former hunter rigorously guided the boy through each step, from casting the hook to retracting the rope. Only when one action was perfected would he proceed to the next.

“Isn’t this clearly inviting someone to outshine you? Teaching him so seriously—are you really ready to surrender your title as the ‘greatest Flame Bearer’?” Ajaw snorted scornfully.

“My time will inevitably pass, but their time is just beginning,” Kinich replied calmly.

The boy studied diligently, and the white-haired elder taught rigorously. Within days, by the time the Turnfire Night arrived, the boy was capable of traversing the entire course without touching the ground.

When Ajaw overheard others complimenting the boy’s remarkable skills, He couldn’t help but scoff inwardly: obviously, it’s because Ｍy servant is an excellent teacher.

Lighting the last sacred flame, the boy bowed slightly towards Kinich, who nodded gently, acknowledging his successor.

The baton had finally been passed; undoubtedly, this boy would serve as the Flame Bearer for many years to come.

Kinich preferred solitude. Although he had accepted the title of elder, he seldom made voluntary appearances within the tribe.

Noticing Kinich’s rare appearance at the ceremony, the current chief approached him, once again urging the white-haired Malipo to succeed his position.

Furrowing his brow, Kinich was about to voice his refusal when Ajaw suddenly burst out.

“You people! When Kinich was young, you hailed him as nothing more than a hero of the Scions—now that he’s old, you want to crown him your chief? In the end, you just see him as someone convenient to boss around, squeezing every bit of his time for the tribe. The Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw is revolted by your shameless faces—Bah!!”

Ajaw’s thunderous declaration drew countless stares, but the Sacred Dragon remained utterly indifferent to their scrutiny. Amidst gasps of astonishment from the onlookers, He transformed back to His majestic true form and launched skyward with powerful wingbeats—bearing away His one and only Flame Bearer.

“Ajaw, Your reaction was quite exaggerated.”

“Hmph! I’ve had it with them! Always telling you what to do, finding new ways to squeeze good deeds out of you, expecting you to give and give without ever asking for anything in return.”

“And you! Have you forgotten all those bargaining skills you used to have? These people won’t back off unless you snap at them! Kinich, do you even know how to cut a deal?”

“…I thought You were the one who wanted me to become chief.”

Kinich finally cut in, slipping his words into the brief pause between Ajaw’s relentless grumbling.

“I do! But I pictured you high and mighty, adored by thousands, savoring delicacies and fine wines every day—not stuck in some exhausting, thankless job! You humans are truly strange—the higher your status, the more work you have to do. That’s not what I had in mind, hmph!”

Ajaw continued at length describing the people’s scheming, but when they landed in front of their home, Kinich finally couldn’t help but ask, “Suppose I became chief, wouldn’t You legitimately become the sovereign of the Scions?”

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t intend for You to rule Natlan. I’m just curious. The white-haired man quickly added, deflating the small dragon who was about to perform dramatically back to a tiny form.

Nation of Flames was already buried in the past. By now, He truly hadn’t considered whether He wanted to rule this new territory.

“Besides, I already have My own little domain. Managing this place alone keeps Me busy enough. If I had to oversee several more mountains, think of how much juice I’d have to sacrifice each day just to get through paperwork?"

After pondering for quite some time, the Sacred Dragon finally replied with a serious expression.

“Since when do You have domain to govern?”

“Look here—the area from this fence to that fence is My territory. I’m already the sovereign of this mountainside, and this wooden cabin is My palace. Life is perfectly enjoyable here—why would I bother competing with humans for more land?”

Here, I have plenty to eat and drink. If I were to really rule Natlan, by your human standards, I’d have to spend day and night buried in paperwork. That’s far from the life I desire—no thanks, eww.

The Sacred Dragon said, taking the lead in lighting the lamps inside the house.

The Sovereign failed to notice His servant’s smile—subtle yet gentle, like spring light caressing one’s cheek or a warm breeze passing by.

Kinich followed behind Ajaw as they entered the house together.

※※※-1095※※※

It seemed Kinich’s manuscript would never see its completion.

In the thick volume titled “The Adventures of Cricket Warrior,” Kinich’s handwritten text occupied barely half the pages. Most of the remainder consisted of dried flowers pressed between its sheets. Rather than a manuscript, K'uhul Ajaw thought it resembled a particularly amateurish botanical catalog.

Yet Kinich himself appeared entirely unconcerned about finishing his book, writing only when inspiration struck, casually placing any flower or leaf that caught his eye between its pages.

From youthful black hair to aged white—had Ajaw not seen Kinich thoughtfully chewing his pen while crafting stories, He would have assumed the man simply enjoyed wasting paper.

“Kinich, when exactly do you intend to let Me see that book?” asked the Sacred Dragon.

“Wait a bit longer. It’s nearly finished.” Kinich replied.

“What kind of author writes this long without publishing? If this were Inazuma, the entire editorial team would be weeping by now,” Ajaw remarked, rolling His eyes.

Kinich’s strength had visibly waned over the years, leaving him unable to diligently tend to Ajaw’s beloved berry bushes as he once did.

Ajaw took it upon Himself to shoulder the task. He would personally gather the finest flamegranates from the mother tree and lavish the shrubs with phlogiston, resulting in an unchecked riot of berries and blossoms. A few particularly stubborn flowers even crept up the door pillars, refusing to be contained.

Quenepa blossoms weren’t an especially remarkable flower, yet the white-haired author seemed to hold a particular fondness for these tiny blue blooms.

He relocated several pots to the bedroom windowsill, and whenever idle or lacking inspiration—as he was now—Kinich would sit by the window, watering them and gazing thoughtfully at the little flowers swaying gently in the breeze.

An elderly body couldn’t withstand too much exposure to the wind, and a series of serious illnesses had significantly weakened him. Yet K'uhul Ajaw understood that Kinich was as free as the wind itself.

He fetched the white-haired man’s cloak, making certain Kinich wrapped himself warmly before gently pushing open the window, allowing the mountain breeze to touch the aged writer’s face.

A single glance was enough to understand each other’s thoughts; one subtle gesture sufficed to anticipate their next action. Time had not diminished their silent understanding—everything remained as vivid as yesterday.

Ajaw recalled the day He first encountered Kinich.

The dark-haired boy had had strode confidently across dust and gravel, propelled by the mountain winds. He carried a weapon far too heavy for his slender frame, yet approached Ajaw confidently, his first words direct and bold: “How much are You willing to pay for freedom?”

He had offered a price once—only to regret it deeply years later. Thus, He made a second offer, this time purchasing all that remained of the boy’s life.

From meeting to knowing, from hostility to respect, from distance to closeness, from wishing for death to yearning for life—Ajaw had believed He was the one who changed Kinich’s fate, yet ultimately, it seemed He was the dragon whose life had been irrevocably changed by Kinich.

“Kinich, do you believe in the afterlife?”

“Not really. There are too many uncertainties.”

“Tch, I was hoping you’d believe so I could drag you into signing another contract.”

“Has the Sacred Dragon still not signed enough?”

“Never underestimate the greed of dragons, two-legged creature.”

Ajaw spoke lightly, though His voice wasn’t entirely steady. He was certain Kinich heard and understood this, yet the white-haired writer said nothing, only gently caressing Ajaw’s phlogiston-formed body with calm eyes.

They had walked hand in hand through countless seasons. If time permitted, both knew they would gladly continue. Thus, silence became the best answer—some things simply couldn’t be prevented. Kinich understood this, and so did Ajaw.

If there truly were another life, what shape would they take?

Would they still be someone the other could cherish?

Would they still take each other’s hand?

Would they at last grow old side by side?

Kinich disliked contemplating dreams filled with uncertainty. Yet, thinking of what the fiery dragon soon faced, he suddenly found himself hoping that somewhere at the galaxy’s end, there truly was an afterlife, one where someone could keep company with this little dragon who was secretly terrified of loneliness.

—I don’t want to die. Kinich thought.

“Until the galaxy tears us apart?”

“Hmph, I’m merely allowing you to go first. The Sacred Dragon will inevitably find a way to catch up—I swear I'll make you sign a third contract.”

“Is that so? Then I’d better get my pen ready.”

Tiny azure blossoms, matching precisely the hue of the Sacred Dragon’s eyes, danced gently in the passing wind.

The river of time had left little trace upon their souls. He remained forever the servant in His heart, just as He was eternally the Sacred Dragon in his.

Just like their first meeting in the wind, they fell in love anew with every passing mountain breeze.

※※※-1※※※

The white-haired man had been unusually energetic these past two days.

Considering how the elder had recently been listless, unresponsive to everything, and unable to eat, seeing his eyes now bright as flames, K'uhul Ajaw suddenly understood what was happening.

Quietly perched on Kinich’s shoulder, Ajaw reached out a small hand to touch the elder’s rough cheek. For once, His sharp tongue failed Him; not a single word left His lips.

He could only watch as the old man’s fragile chest rose and fell gently, breathing in air, exhaling life—each moment pulling Kinich further away from Him.

“Ajaw,” Kinich called softly, “come with me for a while.”

The Sacred Dragon agreed.

They first visited the People of the Springs, bidding farewell to Umoja and her family, then visited the Children of Echoes, wiping away Uthabiti’s tears for the last time.

Visiting their child took a little more time.

Unwilling to risk having His contract-bearer ride upon His back, the great dragon instead cradled His precious gently in His palms, His wings beating slow and steady as He carried Kinich to the highland plateau where the Yumkasaur lived.

The Yumkasaur had also been deeply marked by the passing of years, moving slower than before from the cave, yet retaining its clingy nature.

The aged saurian lowered its head, allowing the old man to pull it into an embrace. One forepaw rested lightly against the white-haired man—half in affection, half in reluctant farewell. It let out a soft whimper, a faint shimmer gathering at the corners of its eyes.

Kinich couldn’t understand what their child said, but Ajaw heard every word.

“Be careful on your journey.”—these words represented the Yumkasaur’s greatest blessing. Upon hearing Ajaw’s translation, Kinich smiled softly. “You too, take care.” he murmured gently.

There weren’t many items in Kinich and Ajaw’s house, but tidying up still proved exhausting. Under Kinich’s instructions, K'uhul Ajaw discarded all unnecessary things, keeping only “The Hill of Silent Crickets” and “The Adventures of Cricket Warrior”.

The former Kinich wished to take with him; the latter, he left to Ajaw.

“Until You come up with a way to drag me into a third contract, you might as well kill time with this.”

“Such audacity from My little servant, aren’t you worried you'll have to sign before I even turn the page?”

“Hah, then I'll just wait for You to catch up,” said the old man softly.

The tenderness in the elder’s eyes remained unchanged, though their brilliance had dimmed noticeably. His voice grew faint, his entire being visibly exhausted.

Ajaw noticed immediately, helped him lie back down, meticulously tucking the blankets around him—as if these thin layers of fabric could somehow prevent half of His own soul from slipping away.

It seemed the stars were coming to take His servant.

Kinich’s breaths were shallow and weak, yet his long eyelashes trembled as if resisting the urge to close his eyes. Gazing steadily at the distressed dragon with eyes rippling gently, he whispered very, very softly, “Ajaw.”

—Thank You for bringing me back from the Night Kingdom.

—Thank You for giving me such a wonderful life.

—Thank You for staying with me to the end.

“All this time, thank You.”

“…I know.”

“Good night, Kinich.”

The day after Kinich turned to smoke, K'uhul Ajaw finally opened the manuscript His servant had left behind.

Kinich hadn’t lied—it truly was a story about a cricket warrior adventuring alongside a firefly companion with a particularly sharp tongue, searching for treasure. At least, the first half was exactly as described.

The adventures of Cricket Warrior and the firefly spanned all of Teyvat. From Mondstadt to Snezhnaya, their footprints covered the entire continent. They spent their whole lives seeking treasure, only to discover in the end that the treasure had always been right in their grasp—their greatest treasure was each other.

The story concluded there, yet a great number of pages still followed. As Ajaw flipped further, several lines caught His eye.

The Sacred Dragon froze.

Ajaw:

You once asked me, how do I plan to live my third life.

It sounds like a simple question, but giving it a true answer isn’t so easy.

So I decided to answer You by living my whole life as the response.

Finally, He understood why Kinich had never completed this book—it was an answer that Kinich had spent his entire life crafting.

【Mondstadt’s dandelions feel like cotton. Ajaw seemed quite fond of them, claiming they’d make a comfortable bed. He insisted I take some home to plant. Naturally, I refused.】 ── ◼◼◼◼ / ◼◼

Turning a page, a dried dandelion emerged from between the sheets. Flattened by years of pressing, it was hard to imagine it had once been so soft. A small date was written beneath the flower—the first year of their journey in Teyvat.

【Lantern Rite was far livelier than Pilgrimage of the Return of the Sacred Flame. Everything—fireworks, bustling streets—seemed to shimmer. Ajaw shamelessly ate through an entire street’s food yet still complained that candied hawthorns weren’t as tasty as Cacahuatl chocolates, nearly driving the vendor to stab someone with skewers.】 ── ◼◼◼◼ / ◼◼

【Ajaw said Inazuma’s cherry blossom were the most beautiful, yet I preferred the red maples. Honestly, it’s just because their color resembles Ajaw when He’s angry.】 ── ◼◼◼◼ / ◼◼

【Tossing mora into Fountain of Lucine is quite amusing—why use tangible objects to seek intangible blessings? Ajaw mocked me for not understanding faith, but when I pretended to toss His berries into the pond, He screamed louder than anyone.】 ── ◼◼◼◼ / ◼◼

He flipped through several pages—Qingxin, maple leaves, Romaritime Flowers—one page per year. Such lengthy journeys condensed into just a few pages left Ajaw unsure whether to laugh or cry. Should He mock Kinich’s limited vocabulary, or marvel at how he’d found time to write despite their constant companionship?

Compared to other pages, the Padisarah page contained noticeably fewer words—just one short line. Ajaw glanced at the date—it was the day after the Sabzeruz Festival.

【Ajaw gave me an earring. I like it.】 ── ◼◼◼◼ / ◼◼

From that point on, each page grew noticeably longer—and without exception, every single one contained a single name: “Ajaw”.

As Ajaw flipped through the pages of Kinich’s life, the handwriting gradually changed from firm and clear to faint and shaky, as though the author could no longer grip the pen properly, yet still insisted on inscribing his life upon the paper.

Ajaw turned to the final page, expecting to see messy handwriting. Surprisingly, it was neat and strong, accompanied by quenepa blossoms. Their petals remained soft, clearly having been placed just recently.

Comparing it carefully, Ajaw noticed the handwriting matched exactly that of the very first page—Kinich had written these words from the beginning, enduring and striving to live until the pages ran out.

That Kinich—truly, unbearably annoying.

I hope by the time You read this, I've properly said goodbye.

If there were such things as miracles in this life, I’d count three.

The first was the day I stepped into Your ruins.

The second, when the Fuzzy Knight hatched from the egg.

The third, our home.

I once believed I couldn’t build intimate connections with anyone, nor did I think I’d ever share a home with another. Yet, You appeared.

I love You.

Your tongue is wicked. Honestly, You’ve wrecked half my relationships.

You've repeatedly threatened to ruin my life, take my body, spoil my funeral, and tarnish my name.

But, I’ve never forgotten that Sacred Dragon who once complained to me “I’m bored,” in the Night Kingdom.

Do You know? There’s nothing more intimate than showing someone Your vulnerability.

I love You.

You constantly say You’re evil, a Sovereign who desires dominion over all. Compared to You, even the Abyss Order seems saintly.

But I know—perhaps only I know—You’re not as bad as You claim.

We’re different species; inevitably, that day will come. Until then, I wish to continue living by Your side.

Let the Turnfire judge how I have spent my life. I know I won’t have anything to regret.

As for Your question, my answer is simple: With You, that is enough.

I love You.

Kinich’s writing was terrible—not once did he explicitly mention love, yet every sentence sounded as though he was declaring “I love You.”

The Sacred Dragon hugged the notebook tightly to His chest, as if holding someone close. His movements were exaggerated, yet His embrace was gentle—as though afraid He might shatter the half of a soul cradled within, even restraining His strength in the hug.

Ajaw.

He seemed to hear His servant’s voice again.

He raised His head, took a deep breath, and moved forward toward the ruins where He had first met that boy.

※※※+378,360※※※

When the archaeological team contacted me, I had no intention of going.

A massive earthquake split the earth, bringing long-buried ruins back to light.

The ruins seemed unremarkable at first, but carbon dating results sent shockwaves through the archaeological world. These ancient dragonic ruins predated Teyvat’s civilization by millennia—a true historical treasure.

The archaeologist on the phone had spoken excitedly, insisting I come. And understandably so—scholars fluent in dragonic language were incredibly rare, and true experts were scarcer still. Whenever dragonic ruins surfaced, I’d inevitably be dragged there, even if they were halfway across the globe.

Exhausting and poorly paid, it was the kind of job one could only sustain through sheer passion. Without it, the work was simply unbearable.

Stepping off the plane and descending deep into the ruins, I switched on my light and carefully surveyed the surroundings.

Magnificent murals, towering golden pillars—God, I sighed inwardly, what kind of noble dragon must have owned this ruin?

Holding up the light, I circled the area, hoping to find dragon remains, but there was nothing.

Suppressing my disappointment, I turned back toward the surface, nearly stumbling over something near my feet.

What kind of careless idiot leaves a book lying around here?!

As I picked up the book, a faded pale-blue flower slipped onto my palm.

Yet more intriguing than the flower was the cover itself—it was written in Teyvat script!

My astonishment was understandable. The dragonic civilization predated Teyvat’s by millennia, and scholars had long sought connections between the two. Now, evidence was right in my hands. Excited, I eagerly opened the book.

Under the light, I skimmed the contents. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a Teyvat linguist—not even able to read a single line. I could only speculate based on the numerous plant specimens pressed within.

Probably an herbal textbook, I thought.

Disappointed, I closed the book, intending to hand it over to relevant experts, but then noticed something I could actually read on the back cover.

It was the most ancient dragonic language.

“I'll also be waiting for you at the end of galaxy.”

My fingers brushed over the words clearly etched by claws. As I read them aloud, my heart shivered abruptly.

A Teyvat book, script scratched by dragon claws—even if I wasn’t an expert, I could piece things together.

This was a memorial—a dragon’s memorial to someone from Teyvat.

If I took this book out, it would undoubtedly cause a sensation in the archaeological world, and I could secure a far better life because of it—but should I really do it?

Holding the flower and ancient book, after weighing the decision repeatedly, I finally sighed, carefully burying the book and flower deeper, hiding them beyond casual notice.

Returning to the surface, the scholars immediately surrounded me, clamoring excitedly, asking what I had seen inside, whether the murals provided clues.

“Nothing,” I said calmly. “There’s nothing at all inside.

Fin.