The harsh sun beat down hardly on the stone pavement. King 67 walked into the bustling streets of a town. The houses were weirdly shaped: they were extremely short, so short that even the king, who was not particularly tall (171cm) could hit his head on the ceiling when he stood upright. The people there were extremely short as well: the tallest person there was approximately 160cm. King 67 towered over everyone, just as he had in his own kingdom.
I haven’t been to this part of the region in a while, the watermelons here were quite good. It would be good for me to fill my stomach as well.
Indeed, the soil was fertile here, which made it good for growing plants. He looked up, and right in front of him was a fruit stand, filled with fruits of all sorts—including juicy, luscious watermelons. He picked one up with a single hand.
“Y- Yes sir…what would you like to buy?” King 67 looked up at the storholder, a man who could hardly reach his chest. He casted furtive glances around, and was sweating buckets.
Ah I see. He’s scared of me. Ok, put down the watermelon, lift up your eyebrows, close your eyes as you smile…
“Ah, I just wanted to buy a watermelon. How much is… ah!”
He was lifted up in the air.
“Where you come from?” he heard a voice boom behind him.
That broken English, that accent…sigh…
It was one of Osworl, the tribe that had conquered King 67’s kingdom. This land, knowing that they were no match for them, quickly surrendered themselves, and were now a colony of them. King 67 had tried his best not to make himself noticeable, but that was quite impossible with his height. In any case, the Osworl was much larger than him, standing at a height of 189cm, with thick muscles all around his body, and had orange hair. They were physically stronger than all the kingdoms combined, so of course King 67’s kingdom was defeated by him.
Oh yeah, King 67 was basically in enemy territory.
“I asked you question! Can you answer? You idiot!”
“Wait! He’s my son!” A feeble old voice sounded out.
“What?”
What?
An old woman wobbled out of the crowd and tried to pull the king down.
“You sure?” The Osworl asked, dumbfoundedly. “He too tall.”
“Shut up! Put him down!”
The Osworl reluctantly put king 67 down. The old woman, seeming satisfied, held out her hand.
Wait, does she really think I'm her son?
“Come on now, my baby, hold my hand, let’s go home.”
Two hands, old and young, clasped together.
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What a stark contrast to the rest of the town.
The old woman’s house was much higher than the rest of the hut houses and was made of bricks.
King 67 had been brought to her house after the harrowing experience with the Osworl, where there were many guards stationed around.
So she’s the village chief, no wonder that Osworl had to listen to her. I’ll have to leave as soon as possible though.
Just as he was about to leave, a guard seized him with a firm grip. Before he could resist, he was forcibly escorted to the shower room. There, they swiftly drenched him with water, lathered him with soap, and then dried him with a soft towel. When he emerged, he felt cleaner than he had in days.
“My, my baby looks so handsome! Come on over, it’s time for your violin lesson!” the old woman chuckled as she pulled King 67 towards the music room. The old woman’s grip was unusually strong, and before he realised what was happening, he was quickly dragged into another room.
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The music room, dimly lit by flickering torches, was filled with the rich scent of aged wood. Rows of violins hung on the stone walls, with a grand violin hung in the middle of the room, its strings waiting for the touch of a skilled hand.
The old woman promptly sat him down and asked him to play a piece for her.
King 67 lowered an eyebrow, flashed an apologetic smile and said, “Sorry, I don’t know how to play the violin.”
As a prince, he had been taught to play numerous instruments, yet his kingdom had never possessed a violin. Though a quick learner, he had never even acquainted himself with the notes on a violin’s strings, nor the keys that produced each sound.
“Nonsense! You recently learnt how to play “Rhapsody of the Witches” did you not? It’s our favourite song!” the old woman refuted with a smile plastered on her face. “The score is right in front of you! Come, I’ll play with you!”
Indeed, the score was right in front of him, the only problem was…
I don’t get it.
What should I do?
For the first time since the Osworl conquered his kingdom, King 67 was at a loss for what to do.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a child's drawing on the wall. It depicted which note corresponded to which sound. Taking a deep breath, King 67 began right reading. The information from the drawing and score computed in his brain, intertwined and combined seamlessly, flowing into a melody.
The melody drifted into the elderly woman’s ears as she played, the tune lifting the corners of her mouth into a rare smile. But suddenly, she faltered, her brow furrowing in frustration. “I keep forgetting how to play this part. Could you show me the sco—”
Before she could finish, a maid’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Chief, it’s time for your bath!” The woman’s expression twisted in displeasure, but she slowly shuffled out, begrudgingly complying.
What a miracle, luckily, I somehow managed to play the song.
The maid turned to King 67 with a respectful bow. “Sir, may I escort you to your room?” King 67 rose and followed her in silence. Halfway down the corridor, the maid suddenly halted, her voice urgent. “Sir, please, you must leave as quickly as possible.
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The raindrops cascaded from the sky.
Sewing, sewing, sewing.
Stitching, stitching, stitching.
Mending the gap between heaven and earth.
King 67 packed the last of his belongings into his bag, the conversation with the maid still fresh in his mind:
“Sir, you must leave immediately.”
King 67 stared at her, stunned. The maid’s face was etched with concern as she continued, talking at a fast pace,“The chief’s son died a year ago from an allergic reaction. He had always been allergic to peanuts, but the chef didn’t notice that one had fallen into his meal er...her eyesight isn’t what it used to be. It was a terrible accident, and she hasn’t forgiven herself. Grief and guilt have been eating at her ever since. She’s not sleeping well, and she refuses to let our guards stand outside her room—she says they’ll block her son from coming in. She’s becoming forgetful, and lately… she’s even started mistaking others for hil. We’re secretly searching for a new chief. Please, you must leave before she gets worse.”
I see.
“I understand. I’ll leave as soon as possible.”
Creak…
King 67 eased the door open, moving as quietly as he could. His footsteps barely made a sound as he tiptoed down the hallway. But then, amid the sound of raindrops, he heard a groan from another room. Though he wanted to leave quickly, something in him—his gut, perhaps—urged him toward that sound.
Creak…
He couldn't ignore it. He stepped into the room. There, the chief was tossing and turning in her sleep, murmuring words he couldn’t quite make out. King 67 leaned in closer, trying to catch them. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and King 67 nearly stumbled backward in shock. She sat up, hot tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, my baby. Have you come to take me with you?” she sobbed, clutching his hand.
Time seemed to stop. King 67’s heart throbbed in his chest harder than ever.
His instincts pressed at him, urging him to say one thing, one line, one sentence.
“No. I’ve come to forgive you.”
Sewing, sewing, sewing.
Stitching, stitching, stitching.
Let me stitch up that heart of yours.
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The rain had stopped, and sunlight streamed into the house. King 67 rose, gathered his things, and started downstairs. Just as he reached the door, the chief called out to him.
“Baby, why don’t you listen to me play the violin before you eat breakfast? I finally remembered how to play that part!”
Before he could protest, she picked up her violin and began playing. The music floated through the air, but all he could focus on was her smile.
It wasn’t fake anymore.
When the music ended, the room filled with applause. The chief smiled again. “Baby, why don’t you play with me this time?”
King 67 smiled politely, his voice steady.
“No. I quit violin lessons. Thanks for the stay.”
Without another word, he closed the door behind him and stepped out.
What a disappointment.
I still haven’t figured out why I laughed that day.
Oh and...
Why did I fall asleep next to the chief last night?
And so, King 67 carried on his journey, still searching for the reason behind his laughter on that fiery night.