Monkey Boy stood transfixed, eyes locked on the ground where I'd vanished, his gaze boring into the emptiness as if it might suddenly decide to release me from its clutches.

He wasn't just staring—no, he was unraveling, confusion twisting through him like a slow, spiraling fog. Bewildered. Maybe even thunderstruck. Or so I assumed, given that he was frozen in place, still as a statue, eyes locked on that one spot as if it held the meaning of life—or at least an explanation for my latest blunder.

And who could blame him? There on the ground lay the satchel I'd been clutching, as innocent as a discarded leaf, along with a haphazard pile of clothing—his clothing, really, but let's not split hairs.

My clothes had just slipped off me the second I entered our shared stone necklace, sliding off like they had a better place to be, leaving me and the rock wondering which of us had more dignity left.

Which left one glaring, mortifying truth.

I was bare, stripped down to nothing inside the stone…beside maybe my undershirt and bra from my own world.

But nothing down below…

Why, the day I had to be transported to a whole nother world was the day I decided to go commando?

Brilliant. Just the sort of twisted, magical irony the universe would toss my way.

Then, all at once, a voice echoed through the air, vibrating around us like the toll of a deep bell—the Keeper's voice, resonant and inescapable, like usual. "Now that was a jest most amusing. Had the girl but believed those items hers by right, perchance she might carry them to and from her place of hiding."

Well, if that wasn't explanation enough, I'd be a Monkey's—never mind. No time for wit when you're about to make a reappearance in your birthday suit. Half birthday suit. Best to just rip the bandage off and get it over with.

For a breathless moment, the air shimmered where Monkey Boy's gaze remained fixed, the faintest ripple breaking reality's surface. Then, in a blink, everything went black. The magic coiled around me, yanking me from the stone's embrace and placing me back where I'd first vanished. I hit the ground in a crouch, limbs drawn tight, hands flying to shield what modesty I could muster. My skin prickled with the chill of exposure, every inch laid bare except what I could desperately cover.

At the very least, my bra and white undershirt came with me…

When I finally dared to lift my eyes, my fingers brushed over a pebble, a pitiful defense should I need it. But Monkey Boy's gaze hadn't stayed upon the discarded clothes beside me. No, his eyes were glued on the bare stretch of my thigh and hip.

His eyes, wide as the horizon, seemed to take in the sight with utter surprise, his lips parting slowly as if he could catch his surprise back between them and regain back clarity, falling open more and more by the second. Each breath dragged the moment out, a millimeter of shock at a time.

It would've been funny, really, if it weren't my dignity on the line.

Heat flooded my face, burning hotter than the sun that had no right to watch this scene unfold. With more instinct than aim, I flung the pebble straight at his forehead, nailing him square between the eyes. When it slowly fell from his furrowed eyebrows, he finally snapped out of his daze as his brows shot up.

"Turn around, you shameless, ogling, perverted Monkey!" I shouted, my voice cracking like a whip in the air, desperate to reclaim the ground I'd just lost. Regain some decency!

And he did. Instantly. Monkey Boy's back quickly turned toward me, his shoulders rigid, gaze averted as though the very sight of me would burn him. His skin taking on a deeper red hue…

…Good boy. Kinda.

I scooped up Monkey Boy's—no, my clothes—from the ground with a swift motion, clutching them to my chest as though claiming them could somehow reassert my dignity. Yes, they were mine now. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, wasn't it?

But this wasn't my world…

The memory of Monkey Boy's gaze latching onto the bare curve of my leg and hip came back to me full force, the air between us had been thick with unspoken tension; was still thick. I felt the shock of his eyes like a physical touch, tracing the lines and curves of my bare thigh and hip. I could practically feel any decency I had shriveling under the weight of it.

I swallowed hard, mortification pooling in my chest. No, I couldn't linger on that—on the way his eyes lingered, how the moment stretched unbearably thin.

He was probably innocent—barely more than an pre-adult, really. And here I was, flashing him like some twisted initiation into adulthood. Great. The worst part? I could only hope that the moment hadn't seared itself into his brain, a memory that would scar him for life, lingering like an uninvited shadow.

Because if it did, I was terrified of how it might come back to haunt me.

This was one of those memories destined to be locked away, buried deep in the vault of never speak of this again.

I was just going to pretend that didn't happen…

The pants slid on easily enough, but they sagged around my hips, loose and uncooperative, as if mocking my efforts to secure them. These weren't like the familiar trousers I knew—no comforting drawstring, no elastic to cling to me, just stubborn fabric that seemed determined to defy me without the proper waist wrap to hold it together. I pulled on the shirt wrap, my movements a blur of haste and fumbling fingers, then wound the waist bindings around me with a desperate sort of urgency, the linen and leather twisting in uneven layers.

"Okay, I'm decent," I called out, finally standing upright. The shin and arm bindings dangled limply from my grasp, their loose ends fluttering like forsaken ribbons, and I glanced down at them with a sinking disappointment. I'd have to figure out how to wrap these again.

When Monkey Boy turned to face me, his head tilted like a curious animal, brow furrowed in that stern, carved expression. His gaze swept over me with an intensity that seemed to peel back layers, taking in the haphazard mess I'd made of his—no, my—clothes.

At the very least, he too was acting like that moment hadn't happened. Because it totally did not happen…

I glanced down at the makeshift outfit, then jabbed a finger in his direction, my gesture as dramatic as my declaration. Because a little drama was the best cover when you were dying from embarrassment!

"These are mine! They belong to me now, right?"

Get my mind off it… please…

He gave a single, curt nod, barely a dip of his chin.

"That wasn't exactly a rousing endorsement, Monkey Boy."

He responded with a trio of emphatic nods, each one a little sharper, as if trying to hammer home his silent agreement.

I turned my attention back to the clothing, my fingers drifting over the worn, light blue fabric wrapped around my torso, the dark gray trousers hanging loose around my legs, and the rough brown and greenish bindings knotted haphazardly at my waist. The fabric was marred with little rips—nicks and tears that spoke of battles fought and journeys endured, a patchwork of stories woven into the cloth.

I'd have to mend them one day, but for now…

"Alright, old man! Anything else I need to do to make this magic happen?" I shouted into the heavens, my voice echoing into the yawning sky, as if it could somehow twist fate into answering me.

The only reply was silence, thick and indifferent, draping over me like the calm before a storm that never comes.

"Figures," I muttered. Of course, the Keeper remained stubbornly quiet, as if my struggle were nothing more than a leaf tumbling in the breeze.

"You belong to me now," I murmured, my fingers tracing the faded marks on my torso like reading a forgotten language. My words were meant for the clothes, but when Monkey Boy shifted from one foot to the other, I felt a ripple in the air between us. "You're mine..." I added, poking the fabric as though that could cement my claim. He shifted once more, a subtle awkwardness to his stance.

I glanced up, catching the faintest flicker of impatience in his eyes, or so I thought was impatience. "Ah, sorry. I'm wasting your time, aren't I?" I sighed, realizing he probably had better things to do, like continuing on his epic journey, than watch me lay claim to his hand-me-downs.

Whatever his journey was, exactly. Not that I could just ask him—the Keeper also kept the Monkey Boy's secrets, too (I did ask), leaving me as much in the dark as before.

But instead of the expected nod or even a casual tilt toward the exit indicating that 'yes, I was wasting his time, get on with it, please', he shook his head—slow and deliberate—then strode toward me, a determined gleam in his eyes. Those eyes, sharp and unyielding, traced over me as if assessing every disheveled line of my makeshift attire. I stood rooted to the spot, a strange apprehension seeping into my bones as he closed the distance with long strides, his presence swallowing up the space between us.

When he stopped just inches away, his hands rose to my waist, his eyes set hard as he concentrated, his fingers brushing the bindings with a practiced ease that set my skin tingling beneath the fabric. With a quiet resolve, he loosened the bindings, unraveling them just enough to work without exposing me, and then his fingers set to work, deftly retying the linen around me with a precision that felt out of place here, in this raw, wild world. His gaze never left his hands, his nose slightly twitching (was he smelling the air between us?), eyes narrowed in focus, and I watched him with a wide-eyed stillness, my breath caught somewhere between surprise and something else—something that made the heat in my cheeks flare hotter.

It was a gesture almost too intimate for words, his fingers brushing close, the closeness of his touch a quiet kind of tension.

…Or perhaps he was merely handling me like a wayward child who couldn't even manage to dress herself properly.

Either way, the embarrassment prickled through me, sinking deeper with every quiet tug of the linen and leather.

How was he so maddeningly composed? As if the weight of his own embarrassment had slipped from his shoulders like a forgotten cloak. How did he shed it so effortlessly, while I was still drowning in the aftermath?

He took a step back, head tilting to the side as he inspected his handiwork, then raised a hand. With a deliberate flick, he tapped his stone around his neck with a black, pointed nail.

I blinked, catching his meaning. He wanted me to try again—to step into the stone and see if the clothes would follow this time.

But if I might lose them all over again, then why bother fixing the sash?

I didn't dwell on the question for long. Instead, I gave him a quick nod and focused on that steady heartbeat thrumming from within the stone. My hand found the sash at my waist as I concentrated, the warmth returning to my cheeks.

He was kind enough to help me fix my waist wrappings…

When I stepped back into the stone and peered out through his eyes, I saw my clothes crumpled on the ground once more… all except the sash.

Reappearing with his back now turned to me for my privacy (thankfully), I couldn't help the little spark of excitement in my voice as I picked up the blue shirt wrapping off the ground. "It's progress, at least!"

It took a few more tries—each one followed by Monkey Boy stepping in to fix my clothes after I fumbled with them, his hands deft and unhurried, making the heat creep up my neck all over again. How he tugged at the collar around my neck, adjusting it with the kind of precision that made me wonder if he thought he was dressing a doll. Then he nudged my hands to straighten my pants. Apparently, there was a line he wouldn't cross. A gentleman, it would seem.

Wish he was gentlemanly when I first popped out of the stone, basically naked…

Damn. I needed to stop thinking about it!

And the way he folded the cuffs of my shirt, like he was wrapping a gift…no, wasn't going to go there. He was only helping me, there was nothing more to it.

But finally, after what felt like countless slips in and out of the stone, the magic relented, and all the clothes came with me.

When I emerged this time, I lifted my hand toward Monkey Boy in a high-five, a small grin spreading across my face as I held it up, suspended in the air like a flag of victory. He glanced at my raised hand, his brow arching with a flicker of confusion before his arms crossed over his chest in that all-too-familiar pose, daring me to explain.

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. "It's a way to celebrate," I said, my hand still hanging awkwardly in the space between us, a small bridge of anticipation. "We slap our hands together when something goes well—it's supposed to be a shared moment."

He looked at my hand for a heartbeat, the air thick with silence, then slowly, almost hesitantly, he raised his own and gave my hand a light, barely-there slap. The touch was fleeting, a brush of skin before his hand returned to its place, folded back across his chest as though the moment hadn't stirred him in the slightest. A gesture meant purely to humor me, an indulgence in my odd ways.

Not that he truly cared, of course.

At least, I told myself, I didn't think so. But the lingering tingle in my palm, the ghost of his touch, seemed to whisper otherwise.

He cares enough to indulge me…

I walked over the last thing I needed to bring into the stone, the satchel. Picking it up, I turned to Monkey Boy and smiled. "I have a feeling I'll get this one on the first try."

It took two tries.

The tiger kilt—that was the tricky part. I couldn't bring myself to say out loud that it belonged to me, not when I knew what it meant to him. The weight of its history, the significance stitched into its very fibers—it wasn't something I could claim easily. So, instead, I folded it gently, placing it in the satchel, while I silently repeated the words in my head. 'Just for now,' I told myself. 'Only for the moment. Temporary. You belong to me temporarily. But you will always belong to Monkey Boy."

I willed it to work, the quiet mantra echoing in my thoughts as I focused on the task. Wishing, hoping, that I could be useful to him. That the kilt would follow me as the other items finally had.

When I stepped back into the stone, heart thrumming with anticipation, the kilt came with me—on the very first try.

Progress!

It was a giant Horseman!

As Monkey Boy jogged along, his ears perked at the sound of a voice drifting from a nearby cave. But instead of stopping to investigate, he just kept moving, completely unbothered.

I, on the other hand, popped out of the stone and sprinted toward the cave, because whoever was talking in there sounded…well, kind. And they did mention being in a bit of a "tight spot," which piqued my curiosity more than it should have.

Monkey Boy let out this ridiculously adorable squeak—like a high-pitched monkey sound of pure surprise—as I darted off, but I ignored it, bolting straight into the cave. And that's when I saw him. The giant Horseman.

Okay, maybe running headfirst toward mysterious voices wasn't my brightest move, friendly-sounding or not. But I was desperate to find someone—anyone—who didn't want to kill Monkey Boy. Why? I couldn't even explain it myself. But every time he had to cut someone down, even in self-defense, my heart twisted in ways I couldn't quite understand.

For once, I wanted to meet someone who didn't want to kill him!

"Ah, a human woman!" the giant Horseman boomed from within the cave, lounging atop a pile of travel gear and a rock slab in the right-most corner of the cave, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Quite the rarity, given all the yaoguai lurking about." He paused, his eyes shifting to something behind me. "I take it the Monkey behind you is your protector of some sorts?"

A dark joke suddenly came to mind as soon as I saw him: If that guy's half horse, does that make him 50% off at the glue factory?

I was a terrible person…

I stood there at the entrance of the small cave that held some kind of shrine to the left against the wall, mouth slightly agape, trying to process both his casual tone and the fact that, yes, I had just run headfirst into this, an unknown yaoguai. A Horseman.

Not a centaur, but a humanoid looking Horse with a horse head, and hooves for feet, but only had four limbs.

And he was big. Probably nine or even ten feet tall…

Monkey Boy, having caught up, stepped in front of me in a smooth, protective move. His body language was clear enough, but when he glanced over his shoulder, I caught the stern look in his eyes. A silent reprimand.

I scratched the back of my head, feeling the weight of his judgment.

Yeah, yeah, I get it. What I did was monumentally dumb.

"Come closer, and fear not. Noble blood doesn't prey on travelers like you."

Monkey Boy's shoulder visibly sighed as he stepped forward, and I followed him a couple of steps behind. But the closer we got, the more comfortable I felt around this Horseman.

He didn't seem mean at all. And for some odd reason, I knew it to my bone he wouldn't try to hurt us first unless, of course, we gave him a reason to.

What an odd sensation…

"You don't look like a yaoguai from these parts," the Horseman started, regarding Monkey Boy.

Wait, Monkey Boy was a yaoguai?

"Have you come to earn the Black Wind King's favor?" The Horseman continued, his eyes scanning over the Monkey and me in a relaxed way. Could he also tell we weren't bad? He then sighed heavily, his tone going hoarse with exasperation. "Hear me. That bear is but a hollow shell. He can grant you nothing. Don't waste your time on him. He lies about cheating death and even the treasures. His followers are, all of them, deceived. Black Wind Guai is a sly one. He preaches virtue with a heart full of greed. I wouldn't entrust him with my plea."

I stepped around Monkey Boy, eyes burning into the side of my head as I moved around him, his stern gaze following my every movement. I could feel the second reprimand in that gaze, but I ignored it, again, just barely. "So, did you come to these lands to seek a favor from this King?" The words slipped out before I could think better of it.

Was it rude to ask?

The Horseman didn't flinch, his massive frame at ease atop his makeshift throne of travel gear and stone. "Indeed," he said, his voice calm but edged with frustration as his kind eyes moved to regard me. "But my words fell on deaf ears. The King is nothing but lies and deceit. You'd be wise to leave this place and never look back." His eyes, sharp and discerning, locked onto mine, his curiosity palpable. "But why have you come here?"

'Why me specifically?' I thought, before glancing at Monkey Boy and pointing toward him. "I'm just following him," I said with a small shrug. "You'd have to ask him, but, well... he's a mute, so you won't get much out of him."

The Horseman tilted his head, clearly intrigued. "How is it you came to follow him? And for what purpose? A mere human following a yaoguai? How peculiar."

I flashed a grin, my hand reaching up to pat Monkey Boy's rigid shoulder. "Why else? He's awesome, and, honestly, he's fun to be around." It wasn't a lie, though I figured Monkey Boy wouldn't want me spilling the real reason behind our journey to just any old yaoguai—or guai, whatever they were called.

Not like I really knew the reason to begin with…

"Plus," I continued as I shrugged my shoulders, "I guess you could say I'm lost, and he's my unsolicited tour guide with a questionable sense of direction."

The Horseman's deep, rumbling laughter filled the cave, reverberating off the stone walls. "You've got an odd way with words, friend. But I won't argue. When the path pulls at you, sometimes you've no choice but to follow. Even if it defies reason. That feeling? I know it well." His words lingered in the air, heavy with a shared understanding, as if acknowledging the strange, invisible threads that draw us toward the unknown, even when the path is uncertain.

The Horseman offered to trade if we needed supplies. I hesitated, telling him we didn't have much to offer in return, but he just waved a hand—an actual hand, with long fingers, not hooves, which somehow made the whole thing feel stranger. The gesture was almost dismissive, like my worries of not having enough were irrelevant. And just like that, we found ourselves bartering.

I managed to trade for a bag of rice and some dried beef—yes, actual cow meat, which had the Horseman chuckling when I asked what kind of cow (it wasn't blue, at the very least), because apparently that was hilarious. (Honestly, do horses even eat meat?) In exchange, we traded up most of the foraged plants and a few pieces of fruit we'd found along the way.

"Finally, something besides fruit," I said to Monkey Boy as we left the cave, my voice laced with relief. "I've been craving something a bit more… carby that's not sweet."

But just as I was about to slip back into the stone with our satchel of newly acquired supplies, Monkey Boy walked quickly forward till he was in front of me, arms crossed, his brows knitted tighter than I'd ever seen. His tail doing a strange twitch before going still. The sudden wall of his presence stopped me in my tracks.

I blinked up at him, surprised by the intensity etched into his expression. The silence between us spoke louder than any reprimand, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I sighed, scratching the back of my neck. "I shouldn't have run off on my own. I get it." His steady gaze didn't soften, and for a moment, the weight of his concern hung in the air between us like a silent tether, binding me to my reckless decisions.

I gestured dramatically to my satchel at my side that held the bag of rice and wrapped dried meat. "I got us food! Real food! Rice, meat—you should be thanking me, not scolding me! We were basically one step away from becoming fruitarians, and I saved us from that tragic fate. You're welcome, by the way."

He didn't look convinced.

"Look," I said, pointing to the bag again, my own brows knitting together. "We can't eat principles, Monkey Boy. But we can eat rice. I think this worked out great, personally. Honestly, you should be thanking me."

I sighed, seeing the concern etched across Monkey Boy's face, his protective stance still firm in front of me. "Alright, alright," I said, dropping my shoulders in a gesture of surrender. "You win. I won't run off again without you, okay?"

His brows didn't relax right away, but I could see the tension start to ease just a bit, his shoulders dropping just slightly.

"I get it," I continued, my tone softer. "It was reckless. I didn't think it through, and I don't want you worrying. So, from now on, no more dashing into caves, or anywhere else, alone, after strange voices, I promise. New rule."

It wasn't easy to concede, but seeing the relief flicker in his eyes made it worth it.

It might tether my freedom a bit, but if it soothed the restless worry in Monkey Boy's eyes, I'd let it slide. Some things were worth the sacrifice, even if it meant curbing my impulsive nature just a little.

…hopefully I'd be able to keep my word.

I didn't keep my promise.

Not out of malice, nor to trample on Monkey Boy's worries or feelings. No, it simply drifted away, lost in the wind of my overwhelming excitement. Because the next day, as the sun kissed the horizon, we stumbled upon something I was beginning to think was impossible.

A human.

An actual, breathing human man.

No twisted limbs, no beastly shadows clinging to his skin. Just a man, carved from the same mortal clay as me (I think). Ordinary—and yet, in this world of monsters, it felt nothing short of extraordinary.

There was a freakin' real human being!

"Long bound by worldly cage, now free in nature's sage."

The voice drifted in like a lazy breeze, curling from a narrow path to the right, just as Monkey Boy crested the last of the sun-kissed stairs. They were practically glowing, each step bathed in golden light, filtered through the skeletal arms of thin trees—a scene worthy of lingering over, if it weren't for the nagging thought that every moment I wasted might weigh down Monkey Boy's journey.

I'd already stolen enough of his time.

Then, like a whisper, the voice came again, pulling his attention. Monkey Boy slowed, his golden gaze cutting to the right, where a small, overgrown trail led to a dead end. A dead end with a human standing in it at a table.

Before my brain had the decency to catch up, my legs were already in motion as I sprung out the stone and darted toward the figure like I had something to prove. Monkey Boy's reaction was immediate—a sharp, indignant squawk that only he could pull off, half feral and Monkey-like and fully exasperated. I felt a gust of wind at my hand, close but not close enough. Just air. Just a brush of what could have been his grip as he tried to pull me back.

But, apparently, I was too quick.

"A human! You're human, right? Please, tell me you're human?" I asked, far too enthusiastically for someone probably presumed to be sneaking up behind a stranger. His broad back was covered by a dark guard, much like Monkey Boy's, but larger. Yellow-beige robes flowed around him, his forearms and shins wrapped in black bracers that hinted that he might be adept for a battle to break out if it ever came about.

From behind, he could pass as human.

He didn't react right away, too absorbed in whatever he was writing—or maybe painting—on a scrap of parchment, like my plea for sanity was just background noise. The sun caught his movements, casting long shadows, and I had the bizarre sense that he was painting with light itself. Only when he was done did he turn, white hair and beard gleaming like spun silver, his smile warm yet distant, with a regal air that made me feel like I'd intruded on something sacred.

And then it hit me—a strange, unwelcome tug of déjà vu.

He... reminded me of my father. Not in any obvious way, but in the way he held himself, like he carried the weight of wisdom and years. Something about him stirred memories I wasn't ready to unpack.

So I didn't.

His old wise eyes lingered on me for a moment, his serene smile never faltering, but a flicker of something sharp passed through his gaze. He folded his hands behind his back (under his gourd?), tilting his head slightly as if studying something only he could see.

"You," he began, voice calm and measured, "should not be here. Someone is at play—someone who meddles where they should not." His eyes drifted toward the path where Monkey Boy who was no doubt pacing near my back as he assessed the situation I brought us into. "Traveling with the Destined One, no less. Fate weaves strange threads, but your presence… it is a thread that was never meant to be pulled."

He paused, a knowing glint in his eyes. "The question is, was it he who set you on this path, or someone new?"

His words struck like a jolt, freezing me where I stood. He knew. Somehow, he knew who I was—that I didn't belong here, in this world that wasn't mine.

So, he wasn't a normal human after all.

"You... you know who I am?" My voice wavered, my hand instinctively rising to point at myself as if I needed confirmation that he actually meant me. My eyes went wide, a rush of disbelief and hope tangling in my chest.

I needed answers, and there was no room for hesitation. Not now. I had to cut to the chase and get back to my cat—who, frankly, had more patience than I did.

"Please," I whispered, stepping forward, the desperation thick in my throat. "Do you know how I can get back? Back to my world?"

The question felt like a lifeline, the first of many clawing at the edges of my mind, but this one… this one was everything. The one that held the weight of all the others.

His gaze softened, his expression unreadable, like he was holding the weight of knowledge too vast to share. He let the silence stretch, as though he could feel the urgency radiating from me, but was in no hurry to offer answers.

"You seek the way back to your world," he mused, his voice low and thoughtful, "but paths are rarely so simple, especially when you are a new, unexpected thread woven into another tapestry." He glanced at the sky, as if consulting the heavens themselves before his eyes returned to me, sharp and discerning.

"You were not meant to be here, yet here you are, bound to the Destined One. You are well aware that is no coincidence"--his eyes cut to Monkey Boy behind me, then back to me--"Your journey with him has only just begun, and I suspect your world is not so easily reached." His tone was gentle but firm, offering neither false hope nor despair.

"There are forces at play that are beyond even my sight, and until they reveal themselves, you must walk this path. Whether you are meant to return... or remain, is something even the stars cannot yet tell."

"So, what you're telling me is…" I shifted from one foot to the other, trying to make sense of his words, "you don't know," I said, the weight of defeat sinking into my words. The hope I'd clung to unraveled with each syllable.

His lips curved into a faint smile, almost amused, but there was a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. "It is not that I do not know," he said, his voice carrying the patience of someone used to these types of questions. "It is that your path is still unwritten. There are answers, yes, but they are buried in the journey you have yet to take. A journey even I cannot see."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "The world you seek may be farther than you wish, but closer than you think. Only time will reveal which it is."

My hand shot up in the air, pure exasperation dripping from every gesture. I know I was being rude, but I was really hoping someone, for once, would be straight with me. "Why are you being so cryptic?" I groaned, my patience hanging by a thread as I crossed my arm in front of me.

He chuckled softly, as though my frustration was a familiar melody he'd heard many times before. "The truth," he said, "is often a puzzle, and I find that those who seek answers must learn how to assemble the pieces themselves. If I gave you every answer outright, you wouldn't know how to use them."

His eyes twinkled with that maddening calm, like he was enjoying the dance of it all. "Sometimes, the cryptic is just a way to make sure you're asking the right questions."

But what was the right question?

I narrowed my eyes, biting back another wave of frustration. "Fine. What's the right question, then? What aren't you telling me?"

His smile softened, almost approving, but he didn't answer right away. He glanced past me, as if weighing his words against something I couldn't see, his eyes, I believed, even looking past Monkey Boy. Or maybe he was staring directly at him. "You're asking it now," he said finally, "but the answer lies not in what I say, but in what you're willing to see."

That…didn't make sense…

He stepped forward, his voice dropping to a murmur, as if imparting a secret just for me as he leaned forward to my level. I was just only now realizing how tall he was…for a human… What a strange thought. He probably easily reaches six feet.

"What you should be asking is not who sent you here, but why. And, perhaps, what it is you're truly meant to change." His eyes flickered with something deeper, something unsettlingly familiar. "For whether you will it or not, your mere presence has already set the fates in motion, altering the course of events unseen."

With that, he stepped back, letting his words settle like dust on the wind.

"But what do your words mean?" I shot back, throwing my hands up in frustration. Again. "Why can't you just get to the point? Give me the cut-and-dry version, not... whatever this cryptic nonsense is!"

The old man with the large gourd chuckled softly, a sound that only added to my irritation. "The cut-and-dry version, as you say," he mused, "is far too simple for the complexity of your journey." He paused, his expression shifting, more serious now. "But if it's clarity you seek, here it is: you were brought here for a reason. You're part of a fates design, one that stretches beyond you and even beyond the Destined One."

He met my gaze with piercing intensity. "You're not just an observer, Ember. You're a catalyst. Whether you wish to or not, you're here to change everything—or perhaps, to stop something from changing."

Got it. He wasn't going to tell me.

I did have one more question to ask.

With a sigh, my shoulders feeling heavy as they drooped, I asked, "Were you put here on our path for a reason? Or is this all a coincidence?"

His eyes sparkled with a mix of intrigue and caution as he considered my question. "Ah," he said softly, "now you're asking the right kind of question."

Great. More riddles.

He paused for a heartbeat, letting the silence stretch between us, again, before answering. "There are very few coincidences in this world. Fate has a way of weaving things together, even when it seems random. As for me? Perhaps I am here for the same reason you are—to shift the tides in ways that can't yet be understood."

His gaze turned contemplative, as though he was measuring his next words carefully. "So, was I placed here on your path? Or did our paths naturally cross because they were always meant to?"

My hands flew up in surrender, frustration bubbling over. "I give up. Okay, Monkey Boy, you're up." I turned to face him, only to nearly jump out of my skin—there he was, standing directly behind me, silent as a shadow.

I took a quick step back, heart stuttering, but his eyes didn't even flicker toward me. His gaze was locked on the old man, dark and seething, like a storm brewing on the horizon. Then, slowly, his eyes dropped to me, simmering with that stern, unyielding intensity that said more than words ever could.

And that's when it hit me—my promise. The one I swore I wouldn't break…

I opened my mouth, but the words never made it out. He cut me off with a curt shake of his head, his jaw tight, nostrils flaring as if he were barely holding onto his patience. The tension radiated off him in waves, a force I could feel in my bones.

Then, without a word, he flicked his stone, a silent command. My body moved before my mind caught up, like I was tethered to him by some invisible string, retreating back into the stone with regret.

Did I just break whatever fragile trust we established with each other?

I think I did.

The gourd guy—real cryptic, this one—handed Monkey Boy his precious gourd after painting it up with some mystical hocus-pocus. "Save the lost, banish their obsession, and guide them," he said, as if that made any sense. Monkey Boy's gourd drink was now supposed to have some kind of magic mojo to help these lost souls, apparently. I blinked, confused. What, his drink would now fix broken souls? Sure, why not.

"Your heart will guide you further. We shall meet again," the old man in yellow said with a sage-like smile, as if that was the punchline to a joke only he got. Monkey Boy, predictably, didn't bat an eye. Either he didn't get it, or he just couldn't be bothered with riddles.

Then, just like that, Monkey Boy barreled forward like a wrecking ball with no brakes. We stumbled out of one nightmare—wolfmen snapping at our heels—and straight into another, a snake-infested jungle. And Monkey Boy? He was more than ready to crack some skulls. Snake heads, to be specific. He didn't care if they attacked first or were just minding their own business—if they crossed his path, they were dead.

My chest tightened as I watched him swing his staff, each hit landing with a satisfying crunch that still made me flinch. He wasn't just taking down enemies; he was venting his anger. And I knew damn well who that anger was aimed at. Me. But what could I do? I couldn't pop out of the stone and tell him to cool it. No, that'd be like trying to calm a storm by yelling at the thunder. I'd only get burned if I tried to step in now.

There were even skeletal snakemen in the mix, their bones scattered like forgotten relics, waiting for something—or someone—to reanimate them. And, of course, that someone was Monkey Boy. The moment he got close, those brittle bones snapped together with a kind of dark magic that made the hairs on my arms rise (if I was outside of the stone with my body, I was sure the hairs on my arm would rise). One second, they were dusty, forgotten bones scattered on the forest floor, the next, they were walking, slithery nightmares, their empty sockets locked onto him like he owed them a debt.

But Monkey Boy? Not a flinch. He met those skeletal beasts with the same reckless abandon, swinging like it was nothing more than swatting a fly. Shattered bones flew, dust clouding the air, but he didn't pause. Walking snake skeletons should have been a moment of shock, of horror, but for him, it was just another day.

Was this…normal in this world?

I mean, it had to be. If magic existed, anything could happen…

…I was missing Mr. Fluffnutter more and more with each passing day. I just wanted to hug something—anything, really. Hugging was like hitting the reset button on my soul. It didn't even matter what it was; just give me something to squeeze, and life felt a little less chaotic…

Preferably something warm and real and wanting to be hugged back, like my cat who liked to snuggle every second of every day, but beggars can't be choosers.

Then Monkey Boy crossed paths with a blue-skinned man who called himself Guangmou. Predictably, he wanted Monkey Boy dead, all while weaving riddles into the air like smoke that I couldn't quite grasp. They hovered there, just out of reach, tangled in words I couldn't decipher.

Guangmou put on a good show, summoning snakes from the shadows, their venom gleaming as they spat at Monkey Boy. But for all his theatrics, Monkey Boy cut him down, swift and unrelenting.

Just as the final blow landed, Guangmou's lips curled into a smile, and his words froze me in place:

"My master is possession-obsessed. You are just like him…"

And then, like a flame snuffed out, he disintegrated into ash. But what lingered wasn't just dust—it was a purple flame, flickering where his body once stood.

It was the same flame that had appeared when Monkey Boy defeated that towering blue giant days ago, the one with gold-streaked skin. We'd left it behind, unsure of its purpose, but now… now it felt like a puzzle piece we didn't know we needed. A haunting echo we couldn't ignore.

"Guangmou?" Said the Keeper, his voice radiating all around us, "Guangzhi? I remember now! The evil monks abetted Elder Jinchi to burn the Great Sage and Tang Monk alive…That's these two! I thought they were already turned into ashes by that fire. Who would have thought they had turned into yaoguais?"

And then, just like that, the Keeper fell silent once more, leaving the air thick with unspoken truths.

So, Guangmou and Guangzhi…they were human once? And then twisted, corrupted into yaoguais? The thought slithered through my mind, cold and unwelcome, sending a shiver down my spine.

Could I…?

No. I wasn't going to follow that thread. Not now. Not ever. Some doors are better left unopened, and I wasn't about to peer into that darkness.

Then Monkey Boy lifted his gourd to the purple flame and, without hesitation, the gourd inhaled it, the fiery essence disappearing into the vessel. He shook it by his ear, the liquid inside sloshing in a way that seemed far too loud for comfort, then casually drank from it then hitched it back to his hip like it was just another day at the office.

Ew. That couldn't be sanitary…

Okay. Weird. So, that's the trick the old gourd guy gave him? Monkey Boy could capture the souls of these lost yaoguai now?

With his drinking gourd…

I didn't have much time to wrap my head around that because, all of a sudden, Monkey Boy crumpled to the ground with a sharp, guttural hiss, like the very air was being ripped from his lungs.

That sound made my heart lurch, and I was out of the stone in a heartbeat, kneeling beside him. His eyes lifted to mine, frustration flickering in their depths as he sat on the ground with his left leg propped up and an arm resting in it, but what made my stomach flip was the eerie green that now stained the whites of his eyes—an unnatural, sickly hue as his right arm clutched his stomach.

I hovered there, one knee pressed into the dirt, hands suspended just above him, aching to touch, to offer some kind of comfort—but knowing full well that he'd push me away if I did. So I stayed there, frozen, my worry a useless weight hanging between us.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt? Poisoned?" The fear in my voice was as raw as the tension between us.

He only sighed, tilting his head away in a wordless refusal to answer, shutting me out without a second thought.

Great. Just like that, we were back to square one. Again.

I sat down slowly, folding my legs beneath me, my gaze slipping away from Monkey Boy, too heavy with the weight of unsaid things. I began to fiddle with the bindings in my left forearm. Bindings he'd helped me wrap around my forearms. When we were still on good terms.

"Just… please. At the very least, let me know you'll be okay? That's all I need… just to know you're alright." My voice was barely a whisper, each word fragile, like they might shatter under the tension between us. I risked a glance back at him, searching for any flicker of reassurance.

For a long moment, he didn't move, didn't even breathe, it seemed. Then, slowly, he nodded. A quiet confirmation. He'd be fine. He just needed a moment.

"Good," I exhaled, though the word felt thin, my voice cracking around the edges. I wasn't much of a crier, but seeing him like this—broken in a way not even his magical gourd could heal—it twisted something deep inside me. "I hate seeing you hurt," I added, the admission almost slipping out on its own.

He turned to me then, one brow lifting, giving me a look that screamed disbelief. Like he was saying 'Really?' without saying a word.

How rude.

"What? You don't believe me? You think I don't care if you're hurt?" I asked, crossing my arms, trying to find some of my usual bravado. "Why wouldn't I care? You're out here getting hurt because of me. Sort of…"

His expression didn't change—just that deadpan stare, the kind of look that could drain the air from the room without a word.

"Okay, okay," I sighed, softening. "You've got your own journey, I get it. Maybe you'd be hurt no matter what, whether I'm here or not. But that doesn't mean I don't care. It doesn't stop me from hating it. From hating seeing you like this… if it were because of me or not."

I swallowed hard, words tangled in my throat as I searched for something, anything that would break through the wall between us. A wall I accidentally built. "You're always charging ahead, throwing yourself into danger like you've got nothing to lose. But you're not invincible, Monkey Boy. And when I see you get hurt... it's like watching the world crack open. I do care." My voice trembled, raw and vulnerable in a way that made me feel exposed. "I know I joke, and maybe I don't always show it, but I can't stand seeing you like this. I can't. We're in this together, you know."

But that deadpan look—it didn't budge, didn't soften. He stared at me like I was missing the point entirely. Frustration clawed at me. "What, you still don't believe me?" I leaned forward, hands digging into the dirt as if I could anchor myself in this messy moment. "I'm serious, Monkey Boy. I care if you get hurt. Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

And then, like a shadow shifting in the corner of my mind, I saw it. That flicker in his eyes—a flash of something I hadn't caught before. It wasn't disbelief. No, it was something far deeper, more layered, like the tension between us was holding back more than just irritation.

The realization hit me, slow and sharp, sinking into my chest with a painful clarity. He wasn't giving me that look because he didn't believe me. He was giving me that look because he felt the same.

He was worried about me.

All those times I'd run off, reckless and impulsive, throwing myself into the unknown just because I heard a friendly voice… He must've felt this exact same helplessness. This frustration. This fear that I would get hurt under his watch, just like I felt now.

My breath hitched, my heart stuttering in my chest. "Oh…" The word barely escaped, a soft, broken whisper. I sank back, my hands falling limply to my sides as the truth settled over me like a heavy fog. "You're... worried about me, aren't you? Just like me?"

His eyes shifted, just the slightest movement, but it was enough. Enough to tell me I wasn't wrong. The silence between us was no longer empty—it was thick with unspoken fears, and the weight of everything we hadn't said finally made sense.

So, he didn't hate me. No, the truth was sharper than that. He was worried—about the way I'd been throwing myself into danger lately, reckless and wild, like I had no regard for my own life, basically throwing my words back in my face. And he didn't know how to stop me, how to pull me back from the edge before I got myself hurt.

It gnawed at him, that helplessness. The frustration wrapped tight around his concern, twisting in him like a thorn he couldn't pull out. And it was driving him mad.

It was a feeling I was all too familiar with…

But…how did I know he was feeling this?

I didn't dwell on that for long…

"And then I promised I wouldn't run off again... and I did it anyway. I broke your trust, and now you're stuck worrying that my next reckless move is going to end with me hurt—right under your watch, no less. And you don't know how to stop it before it happens, because my words alone…you can't trust…"

He nodded, a slow, firm motion, his eyes drilling into mine with a depth that felt heavier than words. I could feel his frustration, his fear, all of it tangled in that unspoken agreement between us.

(How can I feel it?)

I managed a weak smile, though it felt fragile, like glass about to crack. This was my doing. My fault. Again.

I took a deep breath, the words hanging heavy on my tongue, but I couldn't lie to him—not again. And I didn't even mean to lie to him. "I can't promise I won't run off again," I admitted, my voice softer than I intended. "I wish I could, but… I can't help myself sometimes. I'm impulsive, probably a little crazy half the time. It's just how I am. I can't help it. Please understand that much."

I glanced up at him, half-expecting anger, but I pushed on. "But I'll try. I'll try to be better, to think before I throw myself into something stupid. I can't change overnight, but I don't want to break your trust again. If there's one thing you can trust is my desire not to betray your trust in me."

Monkey Boy's expression didn't shift much, but his eyes—the way they softened ever so slightly—gave him away. He crossed his arms, letting out a long sigh, almost like he'd been expecting this. There was no anger in his gaze, just the same old frustration, maybe even a bit of understanding beneath it all.

He grunted, shaking his head as if to say 'you really are impossible', but there was no heat behind it. He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded, almost reluctantly, as if he was accepting the inevitable. Coming to terms with it all.

But his eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—held mine, as if to say 'fine, but don't expect me to sit idly by when your impulses take over again.'

He'd do what he thought was best…

At least, I think he was saying that with his stern flick of his eyes.

But then, without warning, Monkey Boy's eyes shifted, locking onto something in the distance. I followed his gaze, and there it was—a giant bell, standing tall in the clearing like a silent guardian. The same bell I couldn't resist ringing before, the one that had the Keeper fuming. When he looked back at me, there was a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but a knowing look. He tilted his head toward the bell, as if to say, 'Go ahead. I know you can't resist'.

I realized it was a sort of peace offering…

"Really?" I breathed, my voice laced with hope as I scrambled to my feet. I noticed, with relief, the green hue in his eyes had vanished when he stood too.

He gave a sharp nod, and I couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up in my chest. Without a second thought, I bolted for the bell, feeling the excitement crackle through me. Monkey Boy was right on my heels, his silent presence a reassurance. I reached for the thick wooden mallet when I stopped in front of the bell, my fingers grazing the rough wooden mallet with awe.

I paused for just a moment, glancing back at him. He stood a few paces away, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression. But there was something softer there—an unspoken understanding. With one final nod from him, a confirmation to proceed, I pulled the mallet back and swung it forward with all the strength I had.

The bell's deep, resonant toll exploded through the air, so much louder than before, like thunder rolling across the sky. It echoed through the forest, shaking the leaves and sending a distant flock of birds scattering into the air, their wings cutting through the stillness like dark shadows against the fading light.

"That was so much fun!" I exclaimed, still watching the birds disappear into the sky like little dark specks against the horizon. My hands shot out, eager to grab the mallet again, when—

A sudden groaning sound had me leaping backward just as the entire bell structure shuddered and gave way, crumbling like brittle old bones. With a deafening clang, the bell crashed to the ground, sending vibrations through the earth beneath my feet.

I stood there, wide-eyed, staring at the wreckage, the silence hanging heavy in the air. Slowly, I turned to look at Monkey Boy. His back was to me now, but his shoulders were shaking, the telltale sign of him laughing—silently, of course—at yet another one of my brilliant disasters.

Again.

"It almost pancaked me," I said, my tone flat, the seriousness of my words hanging in the air.

A pancake special -- extra flat.

But that only made him laugh harder, his shoulders shaking violently, almost as if he couldn't contain it. For someone who'd just been lecturing me about my impulsiveness and worrying about my safety, he was finding my brush with death far too amusing. The irony of it wasn't lost on me, but the way his silent laughter echoed in the space between us—like the aftermath of a bell that just wouldn't stop ringing (womp womp)—was almost too much to bear.

I laughed with him.

Then it struck me. The gourd guy… he knew my nickname. But I never whispered it to him, not a single breath of it. Yet it was rolling off his tongue like a secret plucked from the wind. A name I didn't give, and yet, he said it like he'd known it all along.