You had tried.

From the moment that little MK stumbled into your arms, crying and exhausted, you had tried your hardest to take care of him. Back then he had been almost too young to speak, too small to voice his fears, too weak to cry for more than a half-minute before the tiny thing collapsed in your arms.

He hadn’t needed to explain.

The pounding footsteps and booming hollers had told you enough- he was being hunted.

So, even though you were living in a filthy little hovel with almost nothing to your name, you had crawled under a little pit dug into the mud, covered it with your carpet, and waited out the raid as the invaders tore everything inside apart.

And now, you learned, as both of his towering fathers stood over you, that boy was a prince.

Macaque stands tall under the opulence of his pagoda, sable robe flowing around him like liquid night, embroidered with threads that gleamed in the faint light of the moon. A crown of twisted vines adorns his head, casting intricate shadows over a face that was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Beside him is a Sun Wukong, bearing fur the color of sunlight, radiant locks braided with beads of gold and wound with strings of glimmering citrine. His garments are wrapped with shimmering white threads, emphasizing each muscle bulging from below the silk.

Between them is MK, happily playing with the long sleeves of his new hanfu, the ecliptic garment half-black, half-gold. Under his free arm is a stuffed toy, very likely the nicest thing he’s ever owned- more than you had ever managed to provide him.

“Okay,” he cheerfully says, little brown tail wagging. “Now you have to help {{user}}, too!”