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Kinich died so suddenly that Ajaw couldn't capture his soul in time. At first, Ajaw found it dull and regretted that their promise remained unfulfilled. But later, remembering that Natlan’s ley lines were unique—that those whose souls returned to the Night Kingdom would eventually be reborn here—Ajaw found a new purpose.
After inheriting Kinich’s body, Ajaw eagerly observed his reincarnations through life, aging, and death. At first, Ajaw lost track of him a few times, witnessed him meet tragic ends, and saw him die young. Growing weary of this one-sided observation without interaction, Ajaw finally decided to mercifully return to this servant—only to be met with the question, “Who are you?” Ajaw couldn’t suppress a sense of absurdity and rage.
Ajaw convinced himself that it was normal for someone who had died and been reborn multiple times to have no memory. He patiently tried to build a relationship with Kinich, only to find that this incarnation was incapable of closeness with anyone. No matter what Ajaw did, their former bond couldn’t be restored; they remained distant, exchanging nothing more than nods when they met. Even Kinich’s death had nothing to do with Ajaw.
Ajaw consoled himself: this time was just a trial run. Next time, he would mold Kinich’s personality, make him obedient, devoted, and reverent.
The next time, Ajaw arrived early, gaining Kinich’s trust while his personality was still forming. They became companions—but no closer. What would “closer” even mean? Ajaw himself didn’t know. He only knew that what they once had was far deeper than this. While Ajaw was still figuring out how to advance their relationship, Kinich died again—this time tragically, without even a body left behind.
As soon as that Kinich died, Ajaw began searching for the next. This time, he found him as a child—father dead, mother gone, as usual. Ajaw thought, if I raise him from childhood, surely he’ll grow attached to me? He took the dirty child back to his nest, cared for him meticulously, and went through a troublesome but joyful period of nurturing.
Yet, Kinich’s personality seemed unaffected by external factors; he still grew into the familiar, detached person Ajaw knew. Ajaw sometimes wondered if this was the predetermined fate of humans in this false world. But this time, they were a little closer, so Ajaw let it be.
Everything went smoothly until Kinich grew up and wanted to leave the nest to live on his own. Ajaw disagreed, and they argued. After a few days of cold silence, Ajaw thought, Fine, let him go. He allowed the young man to leave, but later, remembering all the effort he had put into raising him, Ajaw decided to demand an apology—only to find Kinich’s corpse, dead for unknown reasons.
Ajaw began to wonder if Kinich’s repeated tragic deaths were due to a lingering curse from the Wayob. He thought, How pitiful—without me, he always dies so miserably.
Last time, instead of an apology, Ajaw got only death. Still angry, Ajaw stubbornly decided, This time, I won’t lift a finger to help. Let’s see how you manage. But then he thought, Never mind—next time he’s in trouble, I’ll save him. That should make him grateful.
Yet this time, Kinich made friends, found companions, and became a hero praised throughout Natlan. After the Pilmigrage, a young girl even confessed her feelings to him, offering flowers. Kinich gently refused, but Ajaw saw something else he couldn’t accept.
Why? Ajaw thought. Why is it that every time I’m with you, you suffer? Without me, you thrive and even find love? Are all your deaths just attempts to escape me?
Having lived thousands of years, Ajaw’s rationality had been eroded by time. He could no longer control himself as precisely as before. Consumed by rage, he unknowingly killed all of Kinich’s companions and burned down the settlement where he lived. Kinich, protecting the girl who had offered him flowers, was burned by the spreading dragon fire. The last thing Ajaw saw was his cold, hateful gaze—a look never before directed at him.
When searching for Kinich’s next reincarnation, Ajaw planned to raise him from childhood again, vowing never to look away. If the child wanted to leave, Ajaw would simply go with him. But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find Kinich’s rebirth until he was already fifteen—once again cold and hardened.
As always, Kinich was stern on the outside but soft-hearted toward his friends. Yet with Ajaw, he was unusually cold, as if some memory from a past life remained. Unable to bear Kinich’s warmth toward others and wariness toward him, Ajaw finally tore off his disguise under the full moon, reverting to his dragon form, and kidnapped Kinich back to his nest.
The outcome of this forced captivity was mutual destruction. Kinich was left scarred from the struggle, and Ajaw didn’t fare much better. In the end, seeing the burning hatred in Kinich’s eyes, Ajaw thought, I failed again. Start over. Next time, I won’t make any mistakes.
He choked Kinich to death with his own hands.
The next time, Kinich was again fifteen. Since playing the good guy hadn’t worked last time, Ajaw decided to play the hero saving the beauty in distress—to win his heart directly. Knowing Kinich responded better to softness than force, Ajaw subtly showered him with kindness after rescuing him. When Kinich finally let his guard down a little, Ajaw pretended to be hurt and asked, “Why do you dislike me?”
After a long silence, Kinich replied that he didn’t know—it was just an intuition—and apologized for always being suspicious. Seizing the opportunity, Ajaw said, “Then promise you won’t avoid me anymore.” Kinich agreed.
Ajaw thought, Perfect. This time, it will work. But on the battlefield, Kinich took a fatal blow meant for Ajaw—a gaping wound that spilled his organs, leaving him dead without a final word.
Ajaw went mad, burning all the enemies on the battlefield, and immediately began searching for Kinich’s next incarnation. This time, he was again fifteen. Drawing on past experience, Ajaw carefully approached him, mimicking the most successful previous strategy. This Kinich was slightly warmer toward him, and things went more smoothly.
Ajaw watched over him intently, helping him avoid one fatal danger after another. But then Ajaw wondered, What next? I’ve only ever wished for his death—I never learned how to let him live. Even if he survives this time, how will he die next?
The weight of Kinich’s countless deaths pressed down on him. Ajaw spiraled into madness, huddled in a corner, haunted by visions of blood and corpses. He realized he himself was also a danger—after all, he had killed Kinich twice.
Noticing his distress, Kinich gently pressed a cool glass of juice to Ajaw’s cheek.
It had been so long since Ajaw had tasted juice made by Kinich’s hands. Each of Kinich’s lives lasted at most thirty years, but the wait for his death always felt endless. To Ajaw, watching Kinich’s short life was like experiencing a millennium in ruins—he had long forgotten the taste of the juice that the original Kinich made for him.
He took the glass, gulping down two hurried mouthfuls before cherishing the rest, sipping slowly. The juice couldn’t compare to the fine wines offered by slaves when Ajaw was a lord, but it was the only flavor he had ever truly missed. As he drank, he began to cry, startling Kinich, who wiped away his tears and gently hugged him.
Warm body, sweet juice—everything felt just like when they first traveled together. In that moment, Ajaw realized how much he had missed the original Kinich, the stubborn boy who had made a contract with him. He finally remembered how wonderful it felt to be held by this person.
Kinich asked why he was so upset. Ajaw said he was thinking of an important companion who died too early—irresponsible, cruel, and cunning to leave like that. Then he asked Kinich, “Will you also die young?”
After a moment’s thought, Kinich replied, “Not planning on it. I’ll do my best to live.”
Ajaw believed him—but Kinich was lying. Not long after, he fell into an abyssal rift. When he emerged, his body was severely corrupted by abyssal energy. He didn’t even have the strength to open his eyes. On his deathbed, Ajaw sat beside him, wanting to call him a liar, to say he still wanted to taste that juice, to tell him he would come find him again—wait for me.
But in the end, Ajaw said nothing, silently watching as the human’s life ended.
In his final moment, as if sensing Ajaw’s presence, Kinich weakly hooked a finger around Ajaw’s hand—a silent apology and farewell.
Ajaw thought, Next time. No matter the cost, even if you hate me, you will not leave me and die so soon again.
The next time, Kinich was again fifteen. Ajaw had long given up trying to find him before that age. This time, it took five hundred years to locate him—so long that Ajaw worried he’d been lost in the Night Kingdom.
Out of patience, Ajaw kidnapped the human and locked him in his nest. He thought, This is the safest place in the world. If he stays here forever, nothing can happen to him.
At first, Kinich resisted fiercely. But seeing that his captor seemed more despondent and on the verge of tears than he was, the soft-hearted young man tried to reason with Ajaw to gain his freedom.
Afraid of accidents and unwilling to face Kinich’s cold suspicion, Ajaw avoided explanations at first. But gradually, he couldn’t help engaging in conversation. Eventually, they began to talk comfortably, as they had in Kinich’s previous life. Finally, Ajaw allowed Kinich limited movement within the nest—on the condition that he never leave.
One day, returning to the nest, Ajaw found Kinich preparing food. Since being permitted to move freely, Kinich sometimes cooked to pass the time. On the table was a familiar glass of green honey-berry juice. For a moment, Ajaw felt transported back to the beginning—when Kinich would return from commissions, make dinner for them both, and on days when Ajaw had done well, prepare a glass of this juice as a reward.
Staring blankly at Kinich, Ajaw accepted the juice and finally explained why he had imprisoned him: “You died. In all kinds of ways, always somewhere I can’t reach or see. You’re a liar. You promised to live, but you died. You promised to stay with me, but you broke your word. You were once so close to me, but now you look at me with cold eyes. Why don’t you love me? Why can’t you love me? How can you not love me? Is it because I wasn’t there at the end? Because we couldn’t fulfill our promise? Is this your punishment? Haven’t my actions all these years been enough to atone?”
Kinich listened quietly, then sighed and smiled. “Ajaw,” he said, “you still don’t understand.”
Ajaw looked at him sharply. How do you know my name? I never told you this time. Did you remember? When? How much? Do you remember me trying to return to you? Do you remember me wanting to imprison you like this? Do you remember—do you remember me killing you?
But before he could speak, Kinich—using the same knife he’d just used to slice fruit—plunged it into his own throat.
Blood splattered across Kinich’s face. Severed trachea hissed, then clogged with blood. Bubbles frothed in the spreading crimson, soaking his clothes. As if he knew exactly where to strike for a swift, irreversible death. His body collapsed in the nest Ajaw had modeled after their original home—and soon, all life faded.
Why? Ajaw thought. Why? Why would you rather die—such a meaningless, miserable death—than return to me?
Do you hate me that much? Would you sacrifice your own life just to deny me? Was the juice just to lower my guard? Did you plan this from the moment you first spoke to me?
Did you ever, even for a moment, love me?
But this Kinich would never give him an answer.