It took a moment to sink in—that I wasn't just in a different strange country, continent, or planet in our solar system, but in an entirely new world. Transmigration, I think it should be called? It felt like I'd been plucked out of my life and dropped into someone else's story, except I wasn't the hero of this epic.

Most definitely not the main character.

I was the expendable sidekick. The one you'd probably forget after a few scenes, if I even made it that long. The kind of character that critics would tear apart—useless, irrelevant, fodder for a plot twist that never came.

Meanwhile, the real heroes would make their righteous declarations—"I'm not like the rest! I'll rise above this!"—and sure enough, they would. They'd stand tall, center stage, while I remained a smudge in the background.

But I wasn't that naive. This wasn't some flashy anime where grit and gumption would suddenly make me special. I knew my place. I knew my limits.

And I knew exactly what I refused to become.

I wasn't about to let myself be canon fodder, another nameless casualty to move the plot along. I wasn't here to die for someone else's grand arc or to play the tragic motivation for the real hero.

I was getting back home; back to my cat, my sofa, my reality. That's what mattered.

And I didn't need to be the hero to do it.

And I sure as hell wasn't going to drag Monkey Boy down in the process.

I might not have been the main character, but I sure as hell wasn't about to be the idiot side character who dies from their own stupidity or drowns in a puddle of self-pity.

But before that? I was going to track down whoever thought it was a grand idea to drop me here and land a punch square in their smug face, despite my pacifist lifestyle. With any luck, they'd be a guy--a guy with a pair of something(s) that'd really make it count when I swung low.

But I had to start small. Baby steps, before tackling the grand plans of finding my way back to Mr. Fluffnutter. First things first: I needed to talk to Monkey Boy. Strike a deal, find some middle ground.

But how should I even start that conversation? That I wasn't dead weight? Maybe thank him for not ditching me along the way? He hadn't pocketed the stone yet, so I was still getting front-row seats to his little rampage through the forest—wolfmen, birdman, all falling like leaves against his staff.

It was remarkable what he could do with just a pole. Mythical or not, the way he spun it—that was pure mastery. His hands moved like he was born with the weapon, and his technique? Flawless.

He was…so cool…

I had no idea how old he really was, or if whatever he was even aged like humans, but he looked young—maybe late teens, early twenties at best. Yet the way he wielded that staff, striking down enemies with pinpoint precision while effortlessly dodging their attacks, screamed of years—maybe lifetimes—of experience.

At my father's dojo, we only used our hands. No weapons, just raw skill. And even then, to reach this level? It would've taken years.

At least he wasn't keeping me in the dark while I hid in this strange stone, watching through his eyes.

This... bizarre, mystical stone…that I somehow accepted without question…?

I needed to get out of this thing…

When he felled the last of the wolfmen near the a stream, I slipped from the stone, following that pulsing heartbeat thrumming all around me until I took form beside Monkey Boy at the water's edge.

But before I could even process the strange sensation of my reappearance, his weapon was right there—mere centimeters from my forehead. The staff seemed to materialize as fast as I had, and with the force behind it, there was no doubt: it would have killed me instantly, had Monkey Boy not halted in the very breath before impact.

I blinked at the staff, then my eyes shifted to Monkey Boy past said staff, his body posed, legs widened, both hands gripping the staff like a lifeline, and no doubt mirroring my own face, eyes wide with horror of what almost happened.

He'd almost killed me.

The staff lowered from my face, and I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "That was a little too close," I muttered, throwing a crooked smile to lighten the mood, acting like i wasn't moments away from dying. His nose crinkled—still not sure if that was his version of a smile or a warning. "Guess that's on me. Should've—wait, where are you going?"

Without a word, he turned on his heel, staff swinging lazily behind him as he wandered down a path he'd already passed once, his large bare monkey feet slapping against the mud near the stream before hitting grass.

"Hey! Wait! I wanted to talk with you!"

I sprinted after him, my sneakers smacking against the mud before slowing down when I hit the grass, now matching pace with Monkey Boy to his right. "Okay, I won't pull that stunt again, alright? Totally on me. I'll pop out when you're on a break, not mid-battle or right after you've just finished wiping the floor with someone. Deal?"

Not a glance. He kept marching ahead like I wasn't even there.

"But I wanted to talk to you about… us." I winced. "Not us us," I waved my hands around like I was trying to catch the right words. "I mean our situation. The rules of engagement? Dos and don'ts? That sort of thing." I huffed, bringing my hand up like I was going to smack myself in the forehead but stopped short. Lowering it with a frustrated sigh, I shot him another look—same stone-cold face, eyes fixed ahead.

Yeah, he was definitely ignoring me.

"Look," I tried again, my voice tighter now, "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, but we need to talk. Like, meet in the middle or something?"

Still nothing. Not even a twitch.

"Seriously? Is my translator thingy busted or something?" I glared at the jade ring on my middle finger on my left hand, twisting it around with my thumb like maybe it had a 'pay attention to me' setting I hadn't activated yet.

His staff shot out in front of me, and I walked straight into it like an idiot. I jerked to a stop, looking up at him the edge of his staff dug into my breast, but he didn't so much as glance my way. His eyes were locked ahead, that same stern glare in place, but there was something sharper in his focus this time.

I followed his gaze. And there it was…

A hulking figure stood in front of what looked like the entrance to some old Chinese building, or archway that led to another pathway. It was pacing, massive and unmistakably in the way.

"Is that... a giant blue cowman?" I muttered, knowing full well Monkey Boy wasn't about to confirm or deny.

The cowman—or whatever it was—stood tall, fat, and with an air of menace, gripping an axe that looked like it could cleave a boulder in two. Definitely on guard duty.

For what, though? And more importantly, why was it always our path that got blocked by ridiculous monsters?

The tip of Monkey Boy's staff tapped my forehead twice, a casual little thump, before he spun it away. My lips pressed into a thin line as I glanced at him, but he was already looking off to the side, like I wasn't worth a flicker of his attention. His hand shot up, almost as if he had some sixth sense about when I was staring at him, and tapped the stone with his very sharp black nail.

He wanted me gone so he could fight without my 'pesky mortal distractions.' Fair enough…

But did he have to be such a jerk about it?

I sighed, letting the tug of the stones start to pull me away. Just before I vanished completely, I muttered, "I should call you Asshole Monkey instead."

When I was nestled within the stone and looking through his eyes, I caught the slightest shake of his head. At least I got a reaction.

Still, I kind of regretted it. Snapping back like that wasn't like me.

His reaction to my words was as fleeting as a breeze—gone the second he stepped forward, locking in on the fight. I sat back, safely tucked inside the stone, watching the clash unfold, but my mind was miles away. How on earth was I supposed to crack through that hard-headed monkey exterior? Or was this it—me, forever stuck as his silent, sarcastic sidekick while he ignored me with all the grace of a brick wall?

No. That wouldn't do.

I'd get through to him, even if I had to chisel at his ego with a dull spoon.

My dad would roll over in his grave if I threw in the towel now. Besides, giving up wasn't my style… especially not when there was so much fun to be had irritating him.

I'd just…kill him with kindness.

Monkey Boy nearly botched the fight until the tiny old man showed up again, stopping the enemy dead in his tracks—literally--mid-swing, no less, before he could take off Monkey Boy's head.

Much to my horror…

He stopped the cowman with magic. Froze him in place…

And then, get this, he handed Monkey Boy the freezing power!

Immobilize it was called.

And Monkey Boy didn't just use it—he abused it.

Fresh off his fight with Cowman, Monkey Boy barreled into the next area, almost like he knew I was dying to pop out and chat, and used my own words against me to dive headfirst into another battle.

It wasn't until nightfall that I finally managed to slip out of the stone again, when Monkey Boy settled against a tree to rest.

He didn't even bother to acknowledge me when I reappeared by his side, turning his head away like my very existence was a personal affront. There he sat, arms crossed, legs lazily folded in front of him at the base of the tree, eyes shut as if the world, or rather I, didn't exist.

I let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of my neck in temporary surrender. With him, I was starting to realize I was stuck between two choices: wrestle him into some sort of interaction or wait it out and hope he'd eventually unfreeze in my presence.

Spinning on my heel, I took in the tiny clearing we'd stumbled into—or rather, the one he had deemed worthy. My energy levels were far too high to consider settling down, and part of me wondered if it was possible to sleep inside that blasted stone. That's when my eyes landed on something interesting.

A tree. Loaded with pears.

Glancing back at Monkey Boy, I quietly made my way toward it. Maybe, just maybe, I could pick him one. Set it down by him as a peace offering before retreating.

Worth a shot, right? It couldn't possibly backfire... probably.

At the foot of the tree, I stretched on tiptoes, fingers just brushing the cool skin of a pear hanging low. One firm tug should do it.

Nothing.

I yanked again, harder this time, expecting the snap.

Still nothing.

I gritted my teeth, frustration simmering, and with all the force I could muster, I pulled once more. The pear broke free at last—only to bring its friends crashing down with it.

They fell in a rain of bruising sweetness, each one slamming into me with unerring aim. The last hit my nose with a soft thud, and I stumbled back, landing unceremoniously on the ground.

Dazed, I wiped at my face, and my fingers came away smeared with blood. The sharp tang filled my nostrils, mixing with the fragrance of crushed fruit. My nose, thank the gods as I reached up to feel it, wasn't broken, but a bloody nose? From a pear? Humiliation warmed my cheeks like a slow burn.

I dared a glance over my shoulder, praying Monkey Boy hadn't seen the whole sorry spectacle.

No such luck.

His eyes were locked on mine, and with a subtle shake of his head, he looked away.

Wonderful. I had managed to turn a simple task into a masterpiece of awkwardness and failure, wrapped in one bloody, fruit-stained moment.

But, of course, it wasn't over…

Beneath me, the earth gave a subtle shudder, vibrating my butt. I jolted upright, scrambling backwards, hands slipping in the dirt as something pale and sinewy—root-like skin stretched tight over its human-like bulky form—tore through the ground. A vivid red sprout crowned its head, a bizarre contrast to the chaos it brought.

I yelped, instincts pulling me away, heart racing as I sank into the safety of the stone, just as Monkey Boy rose from his seat. He moved with lazy grace, pulling his staff from his ear like it was nothing more than an afterthought.

With a single fluid strike, he ended the creature, ash swirling where it once stood. My stomach twisted. It didn't need to die. If only I hadn't disturbed it.

Monkey Boy exhaled, long and exaggerated, before dropping back into his spot, closing his eyes like the world had tired him out—especially me.

I stayed buried in the stone, my shame thick as the hum around me. I felt small, useless, the weight of my blunder pressing down until it was easier to stay hidden than face him again.

That night, I learned the stone was more than just a hiding place—it was a refuge, a place where I could sleep, shielded from the world and, more importantly, from the disappointment in Monkey Boy's eyes. Even as he rose with the dawn, I stayed tucked away in sleep, preferring the peace of oblivion to the humiliation of further embarrassment.

My next attempt at getting to know him? Let's just say it ended with as much grace as the last.

Monkey Boy had found a waterfall—a shimmering cascade that spilled like silver threads into a hidden pool, cradled by an ancient forest. The air hummed with life, birds and leaves whispering secrets I wasn't privy to. Naturally, he sat, cross-legged, in perfect stillness, his form blending with the serenity around him.

He was meditating.

This wasn't his first dive into the void, but it was the first time I slid out of the stone, not to disturb his peace, but to pretend I could share it in hopes I could somehow connect in silence with him.

Sure, how about this?

"I know, ridiculous of me, right? But I couldn't help it—I just wanted to be on good terms with the cool, kickbutt Monkey, maybe even friends, if you could imagine that.

I settled myself a ways off, careful to keep the distance, hoping maybe this time I'd find a connection between us.

Time stretched. Or maybe it stood still. But after what felt like twenty minutes, the calm eluded me. Boredom slipped in like an unwelcome guest. So, rather than dive deeper into the silence like Monkey Boy, I gave up and instead stood up and followed a cluster of butterflies fluttering off to the side, their wings like tiny stained-glass windows flitting on the breeze. Maybe they'd lead me to a patch of wildflowers—something delicate, something alive. Something I could admire as I waited for Monkey Boy to start moving again.

But instead, they guided me straight into the jaws of a pack of wolfmen. Who knew butterflies could be so treacherous?

A startled scream tore through the forest, and before I could even process the danger, Monkey Boy was there—moving like the wind, dispatching the wolfmen with the effortless precision of a predator in his element. The battle, if you could call it that, was over in a blink.

I slunk back into the stone, my face burning with shame, my pride once again shattered beneath his silent, unimpressed gaze. And, again, I felt bad that I was the cause of more death.

Did they really have to die?

And then, two days later—after more misadventures, near-death experiences, and another run-in with the old man (who, shockingly, decided to actually answer some of my questions this time)—came the frog incident...

I was fairly certain I'd convinced the so-called "Destined One"—or Monkey Boy, as I affectionately dubbed him, probably much to his dismay—that I was utterly unhinged.

Why, you ask? Well, Monkey Boy had this peculiar habit of meditating in the oddest places. Sure, sometimes it was where you'd expect—temples, peaceful alcoves—other times, he'd just plop himself down near waterfalls or wherever nature looked particularly scenic. Not that I could blame him.

These spots were breathtaking, after all. Sometimes, I'd slip out of the stone, sit beside him, and silently take in the view while trying my best not to disturb him or wandering off too far to run in with the local meanies.

Learned my lesson on that. Stick close to Monkey Boy and I won't be much of an issue for him.

But here was the thing—his meditations often stretched on for hours. And... well, I'd get bored.

We were by this tranquil pool of water, cradled by towering rock walls. While Monkey Boy was lost in some deep, cosmic headspace, I found myself wading through the shallows, chasing after frogs like some carefree child--not that I cared at the moment. That's when I stumbled upon a little frog-man—a lesser Yaoguai, if the grumpy old Keeper of Black Wind Mountain was to be believed.

He, for whatever reason, still didn't like me…

They weren't exactly threatening. Even someone like me could handle them. So, naturally, I grabbed a stick sticking out of the mucky part of the pool of water and gave the little creature a solid whack on the head. Knocked it out cold.

I didn't even hit it that hard, but I still somehow managed to knock it out!

Which, let's be honest, was a far kinder fate than what Monkey Boy would've done. He had this charming tendency to slaughter anything unlucky enough to cross his path.

Much to my displeasure…

When the little frog-man flopped into the water, I couldn't help but notice how his froggy little face was far too adorable to be beaten to death by a pole. So, in a stroke of brilliance—or madness—I decided to drag him off to some hidden spot where Monkey Boy wouldn't stumble upon him.

I scooped him up, arms wrapped awkwardly around his belly, and hobbled forward like I was making some grand escape. It occurred to me then, as I waded through the water, that I probably looked utterly ridiculous. Like I was… frog-napping.

The sheer absurdity of it all had me stifling throaty giggles as I trudged along, barely holding back cackles when I glanced over and—

Oh.

Monkey Boy was staring at me from where he sat in front of the shallow pond. Both eyebrows shot up, mouth slightly parted in what I could only describe as utter disbelief and worry. Worry for what, you may ask?

…probably my sanity.

I froze mid-waddle, the frog-man still in my grasp, before dropping him face-first into the water. He sank slowly, like a little stone of shame. Little bubbles popping up as he sank…

"It's not what it looks like!" I blurted, raising my hands in surrender, though I wasn't exactly sure what it even looked like.

But I was fairly certain it wasn't good if Monkey Boy's face was anything to go by.

He shot up abruptly, casting one final glance at the frog-man, his brows easing back into their usual brooding furrow. Without a word, he spun on his heel, striding away from me.

"Wait!" I called, reaching down and flipping the frog-man onto his back to keep him from drowning, if that was even possible, then dashed after him. "Don't just leave me behind, Monkey Boy!"

Even when I caught up, he didn't slow, his pace relentless. I hurried beside him, my words spilling out in a rush. "Whatever you think that was—well, it wasn't. He just looked so cute, I was keeping him away from you!" I winced. "Okay, no, that sounds bad. What I meant was—hey, are you speeding up? Really, Monkey Boy?!"

His strides lengthened, leaving me scrambling to keep up as I dodged trees and roots he easily glided over on the forest floor.

"I didn't want you to kill him is all! Come on!"

With Monkey Boy, I never seemed to catch a break. Every step, every word felt like another opportunity to humiliate myself.

He'd taken down a taller Wolfman, one wielding a weapon with flames licking from both ends; a pole topped with twin blades on either side, almost like a Shaolin weapon, but far more intricate.

I didn't want Monkey Boy to kill him. He seemed sharp, not like the usual brutes in this forest. Even talked differently.

He'd mentioned "another monkey," just like the others had, before Monkey Boy cut them off—literally.

He even brought up Buddha. Was Buddhism the main religion in this world?

Didn't seem like it, with all the killing going on…

Even Monkey Boy had a hard time taking him down, but when the Wolfman finally fell, it was quick—too quick for me to pop out and try to stop him. Lately, I'd had this nagging urge to intervene, to stop the killing.

Something about all the death didn't sit right with me.

And why would it? For all the chaos back home, I'd never actually watched someone die before—until I ended up here.

It just…. Wasn't right.

By the time the Wolfman turned to ash and Monkey Boy grabbed his weapon, somehow shrinking it with magic and putting it in his ear, or hair, or wherever, I slipped out of the stone, but only after he'd done his usual scan of the area. Thankfully, we were in a secluded spot.

Monkey Boy didn't seem to mind—or care to, really—as he sifted through the Wolfman's things, hunting for anything useful. I watched from a distance, stretching out my stiff limbs. No matter how much I reminded myself I didn't have a body in there, it still felt cramped, especially when I spent most of my days stuck in it.

And the thought of what actually happened to me every time I was in there? Still gave me the heebie-jeebies. I was pretty sure my body just… ceased to exist.

Heebie-jeebie central.

As I stretched my limbs, I took in the surroundings. It wasn't a bad spot—wide open, framed by rocks, with a temple-like entrance that lead in. The only way in and out. Maybe it was a training area? Monkey Boy was busy rummaging through a table at the far end, but what really caught my eye was to the left of everything: a bell nestled near some giant statue heads.

A massive bell, with a hefty wooden mallet hanging beside it, just begging to be rung.

Naturally, I wandered over, circling the bell like a cat sizing up its prey. My fingers brushed the side, chunks of dirt and debris scattered at my touch, but the second it hummed under my fingertips, I yanked my hand back.

The thing vibrated like it was alive.

And for some reason, that only made me want to ring it more. It was an urge I couldn't ignore—and honestly, I didn't want to. Ringing a giant bell?

Yes, please. Please, please, yes!

I made my way back to the front, eyes on the mallet, my fingers gliding over the wood as I positioned myself right in the sweet spot. With both hands, I pulled it back, gave it a little shove, not expecting much, and let it slam into the bell.

And it rung.

Loud. Way louder than the half-hearted swing I gave it should've allowed.

I jumped back, heart racing as the sound echoed through the training grounds and into the forest, ricocheting off the trees. Birds scattered in the distance like I'd just declared war on the wilderness.

I watched them for a minute, stunned, then my gaze drifted down from the birds fluttering away to find Monkey Boy gaping at me—again—those wide eyes of his like he'd never seen a screw-up before.

"You absolute fool! You just had to make some noise, didn't you?" The old man Keeper's voice rang out from... somewhere. I glanced around, but as usual, he was nowhere to be seen, yet sounded annoyingly close. "Now, everyone knows you're here!"

"Well, fudge," I muttered under my breath.

"When a chime so grand echoes in the forest," the old man Keeper went on, "yaoguais will surely be alarmed."

And just like that, the Keeper fell silent. I held back a curse and turned to Monkey Boy, scratching the back of my head as he locked me in with one of those trademark glares. I could see one of his hands squeezing and unsqueezing from where I stood.

He…was angry.

Again.

"So, technically, that was an accident," I started, offering a half-hearted shrug. "I barely swung it."

He answered with the same dismissive head shake and spun on his heel, marching off like he had somewhere far more important to be.

Annoying. Seriously annoying.

"Okay, yes! I shouldn't have done that, but it rang louder than it should have! Can you please stop walking away every time I mess up?" I called after him as I ran to the center of the training-like grounds, but his back stayed stubbornly turned.

I let out a frustrated sigh. This wasn't going to get me anywhere.

And, naturally, the more he ignored me, the more the irritation simmered.

"I get it! You don't like me. Fantastic. But could you dial down the theatrics for a second and actually listen?"

His response? He picked up the pace.

"Oh, for crying out loud—will you stop already?"

Nothing but silence.

"Hey!" My voice cracked, a growl rising in my throat, the kind of anger I wasn't used to feeling as one of my hands snapped to my hip and the other pointed right at him. "I'm talking to you!"

He stopped, just shy of the training grounds' entrance.

"You know what? Fine! I get it—you don't like me, congratulations." My hands shot up, a reflex born of pure exasperation. It's a nasty habit—they liked to join in on conversation whether I invited them or not. Especially when I let my emotions run off on me. "You've made that abundantly clear."

My pointer finger then fanned in front of me as I talked, having a mind of its own. "But guess what? After all this, I still don't hate you! In fact, I actually find you interesting, cold shoulder and all!"

He paused, his head turning ever so slightly, just enough for his ear to catch my words.

"Oh, now you're listening, huh?" I crossed my arms, stepping closer like I had any control over the situation. "Is that it? You'll only give me half an ear when I'm about to lose my voice?"

Still nothing. Just that ear, twitching like he's pretending he doesn't care.

"Well, guess what, Monkey Boy? You've been real clear with your whole 'I don't need anyone' act, but newsflash! I didn't exactly sign up for the 'silent treatment and shoulder shrugs' special, okay? You think I wanted to be dragged into your epic saga of smashing and killing things and acting like the universe's biggest loner? Yeah, no thanks."

I threw my hands up, again, pacing in front of him like I was delivering some grand speech. "You've got this whole 'I'm the untouchable King of Sass' vibe down, but I know something you don't. Wanna hear it?"

He didn't move, but I saw that ear flick again. Gotcha.

"You're lonely, aren't you? You think being all distant and broody makes you look cool, but guess what? I can brood too! Professionally, in fact. I'm a professional bonafide actor that can out-angst you any day of the week!"

I mean, I was technically a theater gal, but I was still an actor.

I didn't know where I was going with this, but the words kept tumbling out anyway.

"So, how about this—we cut the whole 'I hate you, you're beneath me' schtick and start over? I'll even go first." I took another step forward and gave an exaggerated bow, my voice still fuming. "Hi, my name's Ember, the human you're stuck with who's clumsy as all heck and always seems to get into trouble, one way or another without meaning it! And you? You're also Monkey Boy, the giant pain in my butt who, for reasons I'll never understand, is somehow still kinda likable despite all the glaring and silent judgment and--" My hands flailed in front of me as I tried to think of the words I wanted to use, "Monkey sass! I mean, who wouldn't want to be friends with a ridiculously cool monkey who can kick butt like it's just another Tuesday? You also seriously need to stop murdering everything in sight—it's not exactly the picture of emotional well-being, you know!"

Still no movement, but he was still listening, so that was a start.

"Here's the deal: if you keep ignoring me, I'm going to follow you everywhere. Training grounds? I'm there. Mid-fight? Yep, I'm behind you with popcorn commentating your every move like they do in football. You can't get rid of me. And I will be talking the. Entire. Time. And trust me, I can talk. You're going to wish you had just been my friend from the start."

Finally, he turned, one brow raised like he was weighing his options. I smirked.

"See? You don't have to like me, even though I really want the super cool monkey to like me, but," I hesitated, crossing my arms as I felt the momentum start leaving me, but I crinkled my nose and tried to push through it, "y-you will regret ignoring me. So, what's it gonna be? Begrudging friendship or eternal, never-ending chatter?"

Not like I could do much else. Was eternal chatter even a punishment?

I then softened my tone, taking a breath before continuing. "Look, I get it—this isn't exactly the team-up of your dreams. But since we're stuck with each other, what's the harm in making the most of it? It's not like I'm asking for a blood pact or anything."

He didn't move, but I could tell he was listening now, even if he'd never admit it.

"I mean, come on—you of all people probably know how long and grueling these adventures get. I certainly don't, but... What's so bad about a little companionship along the way? You might even enjoy it, who knows?" I shrugged, my voice more gentle than before. "And if you don't… well, I'll back off. Promise. If you give this whole 'friends' thing a shot and decide it's not for you, I'll respect that. No more badgering. No more endless chatter. Just you, off doing your lone warrior thing again. Murdering…and…stuff…"

Then I added quickly, "But only if you try first. Endless chatter if not, remember?" I tried to hide my gulp.

I let the silence linger between us, watching as his head tilted ever so slightly. "But hey, worst-case scenario? You've got someone to blame if or when things go wrong. I'd consider that a perk, wouldn't you?" I tried to smile, but failed.

Finally, his gaze met mine, something shifting in his expression. And for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure if he was planning to keep walking or maybe—just maybe—take that first step toward something a little less… solitary. He still wore that stern look, but this time, he was facing me. Actually looking at me. No eye rolls. No annoyed huffs. Just… looking. And his eyes, they weren't as sharp as before, like maybe—just maybe—that wall of his was starting to crack.

Or maybe I was hoping too much…

I glanced away, feeling the heat crawl up my neck. "But, uh… yeah, I'd like to be your friend. More than anything, really." The second the words left my mouth, I winced and squeezed my eyes shut, smacking my cheeks lightly with both hands. "Ugh, this is so embarrassing. I'm not cut out for this…"

This being… well, asking for friendship. Or groveling. Or, honestly, letting myself be vulnerable at all.

Not like being vulnerable in front of an unknown hadn't bitten me in the butt in the past…note the sarcasm.

My weight shifted from one foot to the other, then back again. I wanted to pace, but stopped myself.

As I glanced back, his eyes were still locked on me—watchful, unblinking.

Oh, right.

He was the silent type. Mute, probably.

"So…" I began again, slow and soft, "if you agree…" I took careful steps toward him, closing the distance until I stood right in front of him. He didn't flinch. That was a good sign? Maybe. His gaze stayed sharp, sizing me up, weighing something I couldn't quite see. Calculating.

I extended my hand, offering it like a peace treaty. "How about a handshake? You know, to seal the deal? Friends?" I didn't bother mentioning the little threat from earlier. It wasn't like I was ever going to follow through. Besides, staying hidden while he fought was smart. Jumping out like some hero against a flame-sword guy? Yeah, no thanks.

That guy was darting around like he owned the place, anyway. I'd die in a heartbeat if I tried spectating nearby.

His eyes drifted down to my hand, still calculating, still serious, until finally, he tilted his head just a fraction. I held my breath. Then, with the faintest hesitation, he brought up his hand opposite of my own, lightly caught my fingertips, and shook. Side to side. Then, up and down.

…

I couldn't help it—I giggled.

"Right, bet you have no clue what this is," I said, catching his gaze as he let go of my fingers. "Where I'm from, it's a thing—we shake hands when we come to an agreement. Kind of like making it official. No take-backs. Here," I extended my other hand, palm up, praying I wasn't breaching some weird boundary as I basically asked him to touch me, "give me your other hand."

He didn't even hesitate, lifting it up without a second thought, and that alone brought a smile to my lips.

He was willing to try…

He placed his hand next to mine, palm up, and I moved my hand under his, wrapping my fingers around the back of his hairy hand, turning his hand to the side and guiding his palm toward mine.

His hand was rough—hairy on the back, calloused on the inside.

I wondered if he thought my hand felt too soft, too delicate in comparison.

And those fingernails… did all his kind have fingers like him?

He copied me, his fingers curling around my palm, and I couldn't help but grin wider. Then I gave a little shake, my arm rising and falling. A classic handshake.

"If that feels weird," I said, letting go, and he immediately did the same, "you can always go for the wrist grip instead." I grasped his wrist and, predictably, he mimicked. "But where I'm from, most people stick to the palm shake."

We gave it one last shake before I finally released him and crossed my arms. He lifted his hand, studying it like it was some alien thing.

"Do your people have something like a handshake?" I asked, head tilting in curiosity.

Without missing a beat, he clasped his hands together near his chest, fingers pressed lightly together, and gave me a slight bow, closing his eyes. Ah, so that's how it's done. I quickly mirrored the gesture, hoping I wasn't butchering some sacred custom.

When he straightened up, I followed suit, and he turned toward the entrance, motioning for me to follow with a tilt of his head. I couldn't help but smile.

A rocky start, sure—but a start, all the same.

Now if I could only convince him to stop murderizing everything.

The Monkey King, forever trapped in chains,

Would roam the world, yet never know his peace,