The night in Natlan was not cool so much as it was a patient, slow furnace that had learned to temper itself. Moonlight fell across the basalt in a pale, molten blade; embers from distant hearths winked like sleepy stars. The scent of the land at night was a layered thing: ash and smoked chilies, the peppery perfume of roasted fruit, and always beneath it the mineral sharpness of iron and cooled lava. Even the wind tasted of warmth, carrying with it the murmur of distant drums and the muffled chorus of the village bedding down for an ever-watchful sleep.
Jin sat on a black rock that crowned a small cliff, where the land curved away into ridges of obsidian and the sky was a deep bowl of scattered stars. He'd shaken off Kachina's effusive chatter and the village bustle — not because he disliked it so much as because he preferred the quiet observation of things that burned on their own. He had watched her fight with a spear: small, quick, taking advantage of her stature, sharp and stubborn, and thought it admirable enough. He'd no wish to be a hero that night. He only wanted to see how things sharpened in flame.
Footsteps came to him across the warm stone — not heavy, not like a warrior's stride, but they carried a broader kind of heat that seemed to speak of bonfires and a temper the land knew well. Jin looked up. The moon had freed itself from a slur of cloud and threw silver across the world; the light struck a figure standing behind him and made the night feel thinner around her.
She belonged to the heat.
Red hair opened into the dark like a living torch, streaked at the edges with threads of sun-gold that flashed with even the smallest movement. Her suit was close-cut, black with red filigree that traced lines along muscle and seam, tight and made to move as if shadow and flame had been stitched together. Her eyes were a deep burn — dark crimson rims surrounding pupils that shone yellow like a sun-symbol. Large earrings dangled at her lobes, shaped like a radiant sun. She smelled of spice and honeyed smoke, of warmth and human tang; she was not merely an emissary of flame, she was flame given speech.
Mavuika — Pyro Archon of Natlan — closed the short distance and gave a little, disarming smile. Her presence had the easy, generous warmth of someone who had known crowds and campfires and the intimacy of many hands. She was both sun and hearth: social and bold in a way that made the world tilt toward possible festivities.
"I cannot believe the Moon's child accepted my invitation and came to Natlan," she said, voice like warm metal under palm. There was delight in it, a teasing note as if she were both surprised and gratified.
He did not look affronted by the label. Jin let a slow, sarcastic laugh unwind and flashed a grin that cut the light like a razor. His crimson eyes — the white star-shaped pupils like constellations burned into iris — fixed on her with the sort of amused cool he preferred.
"Well," Jin said, voice dry and mocking in the easiest of ways, "I was invited, and I do not refuse. That would be rude. My lady of beauty, I am not rude to that degree. Also for your information, oh girl of fire — I am not the Moon's son in this world. I consider myself more like… an external god, or a traveler from a different plane altogether."
Mavuika folded her hands as if delighted by the game. "Yes, yes. You explained that at our first meeting," she replied lightly. "But why so blunt? Why so… straightforward?"
Jin's smile hardened into something thinner, more honest. "Because I do not lie or deceive. I am evil; I throw the truth in people's faces. Truth is cleaner that way, darling." He said the last word — "darling" — with a coquettish, irreverent warmth that only made the smile at his mouth sharper.
Mavuika laughed — a warm bright sound that rippled like a struck bronze. "Oh my," she said, fingers fluttering to the sun-eared lobes. "No one has called me 'darling' before. This is a first."
Jin chuckled, pleased with the small win. "Who would know? Maybe because you are Pyro Archon Mavuika — or whatever you prefer to be called."
Her expression softened into something like fond pride. "I do take warmth seriously," she said. "And I do not hide that I love the rush of life. Natlan is good at burning bright. Tell me—do you like it? Have you enjoyed the heat? You look… amusing in our land, Jin."
"Oh, I am amusing," Jin answered, tone theatrical and sarcastic. "I know I am handsome — that's because I am evil. Also beware: I consider this flirting. Do you find me handsome? No problem — you may look from afar."
Mavuika's eyes flashed, sharp and amused. "Yes, your face is handsome. I admit that — but not to the extent you think." A teasing heat colored her words like dawn.
For dramatic effect Jin clutched his chest and staggered back a step, feigning a wounded innocence. "How dare you!" he said, mock-dramatic. "You have hurt my delicate little heart. Look at this charming, handsome man you have wounded." He spread his hands, innocence painted on with a mischievous grin.
She rolled her eyes at him and caught the edge of his performance with a smile that was warm enough to be dangerous. Then her face took on a slightly more strategic cast — the Pyro Archon eased her amusement into something keener: the registered appraisal of a leader who had seen many masks and many storms.
"You speak plainly," she said, voice swimming between compassion and challenge. "That can be… useful. Here in Natlan, things that burn often require someone who says exactly what they mean. But do not treat fire as a toy. The flames here answer to honor and ferocity. They love a direct heart, not slyness."
Jin raised an eyebrow. "I don't do toys," he said, sly. "I do honest wickedness."
She laughed again, then stepped closer so that the smell of spice and ember and bright smoke folded around him. Up close you could see the tiny runes at the hems of her sleeves — Sigils that told of rites and oaths — and the sun-symbol that glinted on her earrings. The golden streaks in her hair seemed to catch and hold the wan light, making her silhouette glow as if haloed by a private dawn.
"Tell me," she said, warmth leveling into curiosity, "what brings the child of darkness to my lands? Is it the thrill of trial? A hunger for flame? Or are you like many travelers — in search of a story?"
Jin folded his arms, the star-shape in his pupil a cold center in the mild hilarity of his smile. He searched for a line that matched his mood: teasing, unrepentant, prickly with humor.
"Look," he said, playful and blunt, "since you invited me, I will say this plainly: I am not interested in heroics tonight. I wanted to watch how the little ones play with fire and see what sort of songs you teach them when the drums are sleeping. Besides, I like the way the ground here crackles — it is very dramatic." He let his voice slide into a mock-serious tone, half-sincere, half-parody. "Also — your hair is dramatic. And your earrings are showy. I forgive you."
Mavuika's laugh was soft and approving. "You have a wicked mouth," she said, hands on her hips in a manner that was equal parts admonishment and affection. "That suit of yours—black as ash—fits you as if you were carved from shadow. I like the way you carry darkness like a cloak."
Jin bowed once, absurd and theatrical. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he said. "But don't be fooled. I do not need praise to be charming. I am mischief incarnate."
She reached out and tapped his shoulder, a playful, authoritative act like a queen blessing a subject. "Stay out of trouble tonight," she said lightly, but the sun in her tone carried something like a command. "Natlan is warm, but it can also break a man who misreads the land. If you must play with things of fire, at least keep something of your heart guarded."
He met her gaze with the same sardonic ease. "Guarded is a strange thing to say to me," Jin said, mock-offended. "I guard what I need to guard. My feelings are taxonomized — only one shelf is reserved for warmth, and it is kept under lock and mother's eye."
Mavuika's face brightened with the sort of amused curiosity that warms a campfire crowd. "Mother's eye," she repeated, as if savoring the phrase. "Is she a force of order, then? The one who makes the locks? I like that image." She paused, then leaned forward once, conspiratorially. "You know, Jin — there is always room for games and stories here. If you decide to kindle yourself into the night, I will watch."
Jin grinned like a man who enjoys being watched by a sun. "Then watch, sweet Pyro. But be gentle — I am dramatic and my heart is tender for the right price." He tipped his head in mock-seduction and allowed the moonlight to pick out the hex of his star-pupil.
Mavuika shook her head with a fond laugh, the sound like a bell-ringing across a warm evening. "You are incorrigible," she said, then, softer, "You are welcome in Natlan, Jin. Keep your wits. Dance if you must, but stay mindful of the ground."
The night held them like a small, warm glove. Distant drums thumped a slow rhythm, and far-off fires blinked. The land breathed — hot, patient, and willing to test those who drew close. Mavuika's presence lent it a kind of bright authority, a reminder that flame can be both feast and judge. Jin, who carried the pale star of a different sky in his gaze, laughed softly and settled back on his stone, content to be both watched and watchful, amused by a Pyro Archon's company and his own taste for trouble.
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heat: Thank you very much for reading.