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Kinich endures many things in Natlan. The heat, the hunts, the tourists who think volcanoes are a good place to picnic. He can handle the long and unbearable silences of tracking through cracked earth, the sleepless nights spent patrolling for Saurians, even Ajaw’s obnoxious voice at maximum volume.
But this — this — is something else entirely.
It has four legs, a gold-flecked coat, ears like two sails in the wind, and a name that sounds like someone dropped a coconut on their head.
“His name’s Surfy!” Mualani announces proudly, grinning like she’s found a rare treasure chest. Behind her trails Kachina, equally overjoyed, with the creature in question trotting between them like he’s lived here all his life.
Kinich has seen creatures, heck, you could say he’s technically babysitting an imprisoned ancient dragonlord. Before and after he got his vision, he’s faced beasts that crush bones with their teeth and spit fire through gills.
This is not one of them. This is some kind of stray mutt, absurdly clean for a beach-dwelling animal, with paws too big for its legs and the kind of dumb, giddy expression Kinich’s only ever seen on people in love. Or dazed. Possibly both.
“He followed us all the way back from a hot spring,” Mualani says, crouching to ruffle the dog’s fur. “I think he likes the relaxing warmth… and maybe the snacks in Kachina’s pocket.”
“I–I think it’s mostly the snacks,” Kachina admits sheepishly.
Kinich crosses his arms and stares down at the dog, who blinks up at him with shiny eyes and immediately rolls over for a belly rub. Kinich does not oblige. He doesn’t even move. He simply watches, disbelieving, as the mutt wags its tail like it’s already won.
“You’re keeping it,” he says. Not a question.
“We’re fostering him,” Mualani replies with a wink. “Just until we figure out if anyone’s missing him. Though, between you and me, I’m really hoping no one is.”
The dog sneezes — loudly, wetly, and with a full-body jerk that sends a puff of sand flying into the air like confetti. It’s actually ridiculous, even absurd. Kinich has watched grown men fall in battle with less drama.
Mualani bursts into laughter, the kind that bubbles up uncontrollably from somewhere deep in her chest. She folds over slightly, clutching her stomach, brushing at Surfy’s ears like he’s just told a joke. “Oh, you silly boy,” she coos through giggles. “That was so dramatic!”
Kinich’s eye twitches. He’s still standing there, arms crossed. He says nothing, but inside, something hardens. Something forged in the crucible of too many days spent second to a creature who eats sand and pees on kindling.
Surfy lifts his head and locks eyes with him.
For a moment — just a breath — it’s like the world narrows to the two of them. Kinich. And the dog.
They stare.
Neither moves.
The dog’s tail gives a single, smug wag.
And that’s when Kinich feels it — the unmistakable chill of challenge . This isn’t a rescue animal anymore. This is an opponent. A rival. A threat to the natural order of things.
Surfy licks his nose.
Kinich scoffs in disbelief.
By day three, Surfy has infiltrated nearly every corner of Kinich’s life. The dog has a complete, full run of Mualani’s watersports shop, Leisurely Puffer, and has acquired a disgusting habit of curling into her lap the moment she sits down. At first Kinich thinks it might just be a fluke, but it keeps happening. Every single time. Sit, curl, cooing. Lick. Belly up. More cooing. It’s practically clockwork.
He tries not to be bothered. Tries to rationalize that it isn’t worth the energy. But every time he passes by and hears Mualani’s laugh— that laugh, the one that sounds like sunlight bouncing off the tide—he glances inside and sees him, sprawled out like a smug, fluffy little usurper. Tail wagging. Eyes half-lidded. One paw casually resting against Mualani’s thigh.
Worse still, she starts calling him pet names.
Not just “Surfy” anymore, but “handsome boy,” “brave little pup,” “sweetheart.” And Kinich, who has not once in his entire life been referred to as a sweetheart, begins to feel a tight, unfamiliar pressure in his chest. It isn’t anger. Not exactly. But it isn’t nothing either.
“Oh. Oh, this is gold,” the voice cackles, echoing up from behind a half-shaded row of tide-bleached surfboards. “I leave for five minutes to steal a fish bun and come back to find you losing a staring contest to a cocker spaniel. ”
Kinich doesn’t even turn his head. “You weren’t invited.”
“I live on your wrist, I don’t need an invitation,” Ajaw replies, voice thick with smug glee. “But this? This is priceless. The mighty hunter. Vanquisher of Saurians. Mortal enemy of Abyssal corruption— threatened by a creature with a drool problem. Honestly, I thought your jealousy threshold would be higher. I mean, he’s not even that cute. Look at him. He’s shaped like a banana.”
Before Kinich can tell him to shut up, Mualani turns with an eager grin and says brightly, “Ajaw, meet Surfy! Isn’t he the cutest little pup?”
Kinich visibly stiffens.
Ajaw recoils. “ Cute? ”
She beams and gestures toward the dog like she’s introducing him to a foreign dignitary. “Surfy, this is Ajaw. He’s Kinich’s… ancient companion?”
Then Ajaw floats forward, puffing himself up, his ‘wings’ flaring in self-importance. “I am not some ‘ancient companion’ of Kinich’s. I am the sovereign ruler of the nation of flame, Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, heir to the pyres of the old world, breaker of leyline chains, scourge of the Abyss— ”
Surfy tilts his head at the grand proclamation, ears flopping sideways.
The dog looks utterly clueless, tongue lolling, gaze glassy with curiosity. Ajaw hovers a little higher in the air, his wings flickering with staticky defiance, expecting — no, demanding — the proper reverence. After all, introductions had been made. His name, titles, divine lineage all laid bare before this mortal beast. The silence that follows is meant to be awe.
But Surfy simply blinks.
And then, as if some invisible switch is flipped, he perks up with a cheerful little yip and launches straight off the sand in an ungraceful, tail-wagging leap.
Ajaw doesn’t even get to react properly before a long, wet tongue comes hurtling toward his face. “NO—!” he shrieks, jerking backward so violently he leaves a blur of pixels in the air. The attempted lick misses by a fraction, but the horror remains fully realized. “UNCLEAN BEAST!” he howls, wings flapping wildly as he spirals upward, a blur of jagged pixels and raw indignation. “I am not for licking—!”
Surfy, delighted by the reaction, chases him with boundless enthusiasm. His tail thumps, legs slipping slightly as he gallops after the furious, airborne dragon that seems to be screaming in three languages at once.
Mualani breaks into laughter so loud she nearly topples backward. She clutches her ribs, gasping for air, while Kachina giggles somewhere behind a surfboard, barely managing to breathe between snorts.
Ajaw divebombs into Kinich’s shoulder like it’s a trench in wartime. “Call him off! Call him off! ” he screeches, phlogiston and projected pixel-wings flailing behind his head. “He tried to absorb my divinity through face slobber! I felt it! He’s not a dog—he’s a leech in disguise! A sponge with legs!”
Kinich sighs, not moving. “Don’t provoke him.”
“I introduced myself with full title! That was diplomacy!”
“You hovered and screamed.”
“I used the voice. ”
“He thought you were playing.”
Ajaw, flustered, sputters spark off his wings as he circles furiously. “I am a being of flame and wrath, not a chew toy!” he howls. “This is sacrilege! I have eaten lesser gods for looking at me wrong!”
Surfy yips, thrilled, and jumps again, this time almost catching Ajaw’s tail in his mouth.
“He’s wagging his tail,” Kinich replies, deadpan. “I think he likes you.”
“I am not for liking! I am feared. Revered. There are statues of me buried beneath molten stone—!”
Surfy flops down again, clearly satisfied with the chase, panting as he rolls over onto his back, tongue hanging out like he’s claiming the entire shop as his territory. Ajaw lands on Kinich’s other shoulder in defeat, sizzling faintly.
“This is an outrage,” he mutters. “Good thing he’s tired now.”
Kinich exhales through his nose.
Surfy yawns.
Mualani claps her hands together, cheerful as ever. “Okay! Who wants to help me unpack the new paddleboards? I could use some strong arms.”
Kinich is already turning toward the shed when Surfy bolts upright and runs over first, tail windmilling like a helicopter. He plants himself right beside Mualani, tongue out, chest puffed.
Mualani lights up. “Ohhh, look at you!” she says, crouching down to ruffle his ears. “Aren’t you helpful? You’re such a good boy, Surfy!”
Kinich freezes.
It’s subtle. A hitch in his step. The paddleboard he was halfway to lifting stops in midair, like his brain has short-circuited.
Ajaw notices.
“Oh no,” he says flatly. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me that got to you.”
Kinich slowly puts the board down. Doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t speak.
“You want her to say it to you, don’t you?”
No response.
Ajaw flies around him.. “So you do. You want the words. You want her to ruffle your hair and call you a good boy.”
“Shut up,” Kinich mutters.
Ajaw doesn’t stop the smug look on his face.
“You could try fetching something for her. I hear that gets results.”
Kinich doesn’t respond or even glance at him. He just steps past Surfy without a word, moving almost like someone who’s quietly reclaiming his dignity from the jaws of a smug, four-legged menace.
Mualani glances up from where she’s still crouched, cooing at Surfy. Her eyes widen a little. “Oh! Thanks, Kinich!”
He remains silent, simply raising it. Gently. As if the paddleboard had insulted his dignity and needed to be subdued.
“You’re such a—” she starts, voice light.
He stills.
Ajaw perks up.
Mualani tilts her head slightly. “…huge help!”
A pause.
A long one.
Surfy sneezes again, this time directly into a bucket of wax.
Ajaw tries—really tries—not to wheeze, but the disappointed look on Kinich’s face nearly undoes him. Honestly, a high-risk commission to hunt ten Saurians in a single day would’ve been easier and less painful than this.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Ajaw purrs smugly. “You’re still a good boy in my eyes.”
Kinich nearly drops the board.
It hits the wall a bit more forcefully than it should, and there's a thunk. From the rafters, dust whirls. Surfy barks triumphantly outside, looking like he's just won an invisible game.
Mualani laughs again, calling him “silly boy” and something about “earning a snack,” and Kinich finds himself thinking about the Abyss. About magma flowing and threading beneath fractured earth. About tense negotiations with Ajaw. About that time he outran a landslide barefoot with a dislocated shoulder.
Kinich spends the next two days doing things no one asks him to do.
He arrives early to help sweep any dirt or mess out of the shop. He carries an entire stack of lifejackets over his shoulder like a very, very strong coat rack. Not once does he complain. Not once does he ask for thanks.
“Kinich, I didn’t commission a cleaning. I don’t have much Mora on me to pay you—”
“It’s fine,” Kinich mutters, not looking at her as he finishes scrubbing the last smudge off the counter. “I didn’t do it for Mora.”
Mualani blinks owlishly. This felt out of character for Kinich. “Then why did you…?”
“Because someone has to,” he says finally. “And Surfy’s useless.”
“Hey!” she laughs, mock-offended. “He’s got skills! Emotional support, tail-based wind forecasting, amateur sandwich thievery…”
“He threw up on the wax comb this morning.”
“Training takes time,” she says wisely.
Kinich turns back at her. When he continues, “You looked tired,” his voice is calmer but his expression is ambiguous.
Mualani tilts her head, wondering what he means.
“You weren’t sleeping well. You kept yawning. You missed breakfast. I noticed your hand’s been cramping again.” His gaze drifts to her wrist, and Mualani instinctively shifts it behind her back. “So I handled it.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. But it’s hard not to find something funny — or at least weirdly endearing — about a tough, battle-hardened Saurian Hunter wiping wax off rental boards like it’s part of his job description.
It’s quiet for a while before Mualani comes in and joins him in cleaning. Her steps are light, the hem of her skirt is dusted with sand, and there’s still a trace of salt in her hair.
“Surfy’s with Kachina for the day,” she says, reaching for a rag. “But still… how come it’s quieter than usual? Did you lock up Ajaw or something?”
Kinich doesn’t look up from where he’s re-tying a frayed rope on a paddle. “No.”
She glances around. “Huh. Weird. It really is peaceful.”
He sighs. “He’s sulking.”
“Over what?”
“I don’t wanna know either. And if I had to guess, it’s probably because he lost a bet he made with Chasca.”
“Oh.”
Mualani looks at Kinich with a grin. “You know, you're kind of a—”
He looks up, hopeful.
“—neat freak. Did you use polishing wax on the umbrella stand ?"
“…Yes,” he mutters.
Mualani beams. “Well, thanks! It looks shiny enough to see your reflection. If… that was the goal. Was it the goal?”
“Yep.”
“Did you buff the umbrella stand too?” she also asks, curious.
“Mmhm.”
A moment of silence.
“I had time,” he says flatly.
“Uh-huh.” Mualani leans against the nearest counter, elbow resting in a sun-warmed patch of wood. “I know what you’re doing, Kinich. You’ve been here every day since Surfy showed up. Even Kachina noticed. You reorganized the safety vests by color and height. Are you that bored? Or just trying to assert dominance over a dog?”
“I don’t care about the dog.”
“Mm. Right. So the fact that you’ve replaced half the leash hooks and quietly fixed the cracked resin in Surfy’s water bowl is totally unrelated.”
Kinich ties off the last knot and doesn’t look at her.
“I’m being helpful.”
“All of this for free? Mora-less? Really?”
“We’re acquaintances.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Acquaintances?”
He gives a stiff nod, still facing the paddle. “We know each other. That qualifies.”
“Hm. So if, say, a tourist came in three times and said hi to you twice, would you fix their roof for them?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
He hesitates.
Mualani waits.
“…Because you’re not a tourist,” he says eventually, carefully. “You’re local.”
She makes a quiet, thoughtful sound. “Right. A local acquaintance who you’ve volunteered to help for six days straight.”
“I don’t keep count.”
“I do,” she says, smiling. “And I bring snacks. You didn’t even touch the crackers yesterday.”
Kinich’s hands still for a second. He’d eaten them later. When no one was looking.
Mualani doesn’t bother pressing any further.
She just hums lightly, a soft sound somewhere between acknowledgment and dismissal, and starts arranging the wax tins by scent. “Well, I brought mango slices today. And sticky rice, if you’re hungry later.”
Kinich nods as he wipes a final stain off the counter, placing the rag beside the bin.
Then, casually, without looking up:
“You know, if you keep this up, I might just start calling you good boy instead.”
“A little,” he mutters.
She grins. “Thought so.”
And then she goes right back to sorting tins, like nothing happened at all.
“But I don’t mind,” he mutters quietly to himself, the words slipping out so softly, he almost wants to explode on the spot out of embarrassment.
Mualani turns her head just enough to catch the faintest hint of sound. Her eyes lift, sparkling with a mixture of warmth and curiosity. “Did you say something?” she asks, tilting her head attentively.
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “...Nope.”