Inside Ixia's chamber, Celia stood beside her master's bed, a slight unrest settling on her usually stoic face. She paid close attention to every little detail of Ixia's expression as her master lay unconscious, trying to catch some rest but appearing uneasy once more.
A polite knock rapped at the door. Celia slowly opened it, her strained face brightening a little. "Please, come in," she welcomed in a whisper. Houston and the person she recognized as the healer silently nodded before stepping inside.
"The princess is resting by the bed," Celia said as she shut the door behind them.
The pair followed the maid toward her master, their faces tensing slightly as they approached.
Celia stepped aside as they arrived. The healer moved closer to the bed, while Houston joined Celia on the sidelines.
The healer extended his right hand, though not enough to touch even a strand of the princess's hair. His left hand cradled an ancient tome. "Naya, O' Naya," he murmured, not needing the tome for such a simple spell.
A pale green light emanated from his right palm. Words flowed from his mouth that Celia couldn’t comprehend—'a prayer,' she presumed.
Under the crystal-white chandelier illuminating the room, Celia clenched her hands together before her chest, filled with hope.
The light dimmed, and the healer smiled at her. "The princess is fine. She’s simply exhausted from exerting too much power. Give this to her highness after breakfast tomorrow, and she will be in pristine condition soon enough." He handed Celia a small packet of yellow powder, an energy booster made from mari leaves.
"Thank you," Celia said in relief, her face easing back into its usual impassiveness.
"My pleasure," he replied with another friendly smile. "Now, let us leave and allow the princess to rest."
"Of course," Houston uttered his first words since entering.
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Outside, The Monkey King perched on the highest branch of the tallest tree around. From there, he could oversee the entire area. His eyes wandered from the mansion to the barracks and finally to the rock—or what used to be the rock. It had exploded upon his release, yet the sight of its remnants still filled him with displeasure. He turned his attention to the barracks instead.
The barracks were in chaos. Soldiers were carrying comrades who could no longer stand. Healers rushed to mend the damage inflicted by The Monkey King, their patients scattered across the ground with only rough fabric separating them from the dirt.
At the back of the barracks lay coffins, filled with soldiers who would never return home. Some corpses were still fresh, others dried out, but none were whole. Always missing limbs or disfigured beyond recognition.
The remaining soldiers tried to piece the bodies together, identifying limb by limb to place them in the correct coffins. It was a way to respect the dead, to let them appear whole once more in front of their families, for the final time.
A flicker of sympathy seeped into the Monkey King's heart. He frowned. "Annoying. Has the rock changed me somehow?" He was a creature of mischief and chaos—remorse was a foreign concept.
Displeasure surged within him. 'It was the rock!' The cursed thing had never sat right with him, even now as it lay scattered in pieces. His stomach churned. "No! I am not *scared*," he growled, ridiculing the idea. The Monkey King feared nothing.
With a grunt, determined to prove himself wrong, he enlarged his staff once more and leapt down. His landing shook the earth, causing immediate panic among the soldiers.
The brave ones grabbed their weapons, determined to fight for their lives, while the cowards fled. 'Has the beast come to finish us?' The thought loomed over them.
Weapons were raised, trembling in their hands, as they braced for an attack that never came. The Monkey King wasn’t even facing them.
The ones who had fled far turned back in confusion, wondering what had transpired.
Houston rushed out, alarmed. "What’s going on?" he asked the soldiers, but they only responded by directing their gaze toward The Monkey King. Houston followed their eyes and saw the King seemingly gathering the scattered remnants of the rock from the crevice where it once stood.
The Monkey King smiled when all the pieces were gathered. With a grunt, he jumped into the sky, enlarged to the size of a train, and pounded the rock into the ground, grinding it to dust with each strike of his staff. The crater grew larger with every blow, carved by the force of his weapon.
The soldiers stood frozen in fear, some collapsing to the ground, feeling the tremors reverberate through their bodies. They could only watch in terror, realizing how strong the being before them truly was.
After a while, The Monkey King stopped. He landed atop his enormous staff, surveying the destruction below with satisfaction. 'I feel better already,' he thought, admiring the crater. Then, shrinking his staff and tucking it away, he climbed back into the tree, resting on the same branch with a contented smile.
The soldiers, still in shock, slowly began to stand and resume their duties, though their eyes constantly darted toward the creature that could obliterate them at any moment.
The moon came and went, as swiftly as sympathy had flickered and vanished from The Monkey King's heart.
The sun rose as it always did, but the mountain of rock that had once loomed over them was gone. The soldiers, now without a clear purpose, felt disoriented.
The corpses at the back, waiting lifelessly, were their last remaining duty. To give them their final resting place, not here but back home, where they would be honored for their bravery and sacrifice. And so, the soldiers continued to tend to the dead, hoping to bury them where they belonged.