Chapter Text
The morning on Flower Fruit Mountain was serene, the kind of peace that felt almost unnatural. The gentle hum of the breeze wove through the trees, rustling the leaves with a quiet rhythm. The sky above was clear, the sunlight streaming down in golden beams that dappled the forest floor.
Sun Wukong leaned against the porch railing of the shack, his tail swishing lazily behind him as he gazed out over the mountain.
His crimson eyes glinted in the sunlight, their sharpness softened by the calm surrounding them. The flecks of white fur in his golden coat stood out more boldly than ever, a sign of how time and trials had left their mark.
But most striking was the faint etching of the scar around his brow—a permanent reminder of the fillet’s cruel grip. It was shadowed by the light as Wukong tilted his head, its presence subtle but unignorable.
“Peaceful, huh?” Wukong’s voice broke the tranquility, a slight edge of humor in his tone. “Almost too peaceful.”
Behind him, Macaque sat cross-legged on the porch, idly twirling a shadowy wisp between his fingers. The jagged scar over his right eye was painfully visible without his glamour, a pale, ragged slash stretching from his brow to his cheekbone.
The dark fur of his coat, blackened by the mystical fire that had scarred Flower Fruit Mountain centuries ago, seemed to shift in the light, revealing stark locks of snowy white at his roots. The contrast was striking, almost unsettling—a visible reminder of the past he could never leave behind.
A four-point star, his mark of the Shadow King, was bleached into his fur between his eyes, trailing down the bridge of his nose
Macaque's six glowing ears flicked subtly, catching even the faintest rustle of leaves from the distant treetops.
“Too peaceful for you, maybe,” Macaque finally replied, his tone dry as he glanced at Wukong. “I, on the other hand, could get used to this.”
Wukong smirked, stretching lazily. “You? Used to quiet? That’ll be the day.”
Macaque rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Keep talking, Peaches, and I’ll show you how quiet I can be.”
The peace, per usual, was shattered by the unmistakable sound of crashing through the underbrush.
Macaque's six ears perked, and he sighed dramatically, tossing his head back. “Aand there it is,” he said, motioning toward the noise. “My peace, murdered in cold blood.”
Wukong's ears twitched, picking up frantic voices interspersed with laughter. He made a face.
“Sounds like the kid.”
On cue, MK burst into the clearing, his bright orange hoodie streaked with dirt and leaves. His staff was clutched in one hand, the other flailing wildly as he skidded to a stop in front of the shack. “Monkey King! Macaque! You’ll never believe what we found!”
“Do I want to know?” Wukong asked, leaning forward with a faint smirk.
Before MK could answer, Mei and Sandy followed, dragging what appeared to be… a massive, makeshift slingshot?
Mei had goggles that were perched on her head, her hands gripping the base of the contraption with a determined grin. Sandy carried the remaining parts, which seemed to include a precarious pile of bungee cords, a wooden frame, and an alarming amount of duct tape. Pigsy and Tang brought up the rear, both looking equally unimpressed.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a new invention in the realm of practical engineering,” Macaque remarked, standing and crossing his arms as he surveyed the chaotic ensemble.
“Oh, it’s practical,” Mei shot back, adjusting her goggles with a smug grin. “If you want to fling someone halfway across the mountain!”
Wukong snorted, his grin widening. “Now you’ve got my attention.”
MK jumped in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We were just messing around, and Mei said, ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if we could launch ourselves across Flower Fruit Mountain?’ and then Sandy said he could build it, and—”
“And then someone decided to test it before it was ready,” Pigsy interrupted, glaring pointedly at MK. “Now there’s a crater in the east clearing the size of a celestial pancake!”
“It worked!” MK defended, his grin sheepish. “Kind of.”
Tang adjusted his glasses, shaking his head. “You could’ve flattened half the mountain. Do you even think about the historical implications of—”
“Oh, come on sir yaps-a-lot,” Mei said, interrupting Tang with a wave of her hand. “It’s not like we hurt anyone.”
“Yet,” Pigsy muttered dryly.
And so it begins.