Waldemar Meets the Monkey King

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Waldemar felt like he'd been wandering through the jungle for hours, but time flowed differently here. Sometimes the sun seemed high in the sky, then again shadows flitted across the ground as if it were already evening. The air was heavy with damp moss and the voices of countless invisible animals. There was rustling, cracking, and calling everywhere, and again and again he had the impression that eyes were watching him from the thicket. He stopped, adjusted his backpack, and wiped his forehead. The suitcase had long since disappeared behind him. The way back no longer existed, and he knew: Now he had to move forward. The path, if you could call it that, led deeper into the greenery. Lianas hung like ropes from the branches, roots snaked across the ground. Once, Waldemar stumbled, but caught himself by grabbing a vine and laughed quietly at his own clumsiness. But the next moment he froze, for from somewhere came the sound of drums. Muffled, rhythmic, carried by an invisible force. "That doesn't sound like rain," he murmured. He followed the drums, step by step, until the forest opened up. Before him lay a clearing, surrounded by ancient trees. In the center was a seat made of intertwined roots and bamboo, and upon it sat a figure that seemed both majestic and fierce: a monkey, larger than any Waldemar had ever seen, with a wreath of red leaves around its forehead and a long staff gleaming in the sun.The Monkey King. His eyes sparkled with mischief and knowledge, and as Waldemar stepped into the clearing, the drums fell silent. Silence fell over the place, only the buzzing of insects remained. "You're not from around here," said the Monkey King, his voice deep and sonorous. "Your paws betray the sand of the coast, and your hat smells of dwarf smoke." Waldemar bowed as deeply as his backpack allowed. "I am a wanderer," he said. "And I follow the tracks left for me."
The king inclined his head, studied him for a long time, then laughed. It was a laugh like thunder that made the leaves tremble. "Brave you are, little forest wanderer. But the path you seek is not without a price. He who enters strange worlds must give something before receiving something." "And what do you ask?" Waldemar asked cautiously. The Monkey King swung his staff, and as if by an invisible hand, leaves flew up, forming patterns in the air. They became an image: a trunk lying in the middle of the jungle, but with a lock entwined with golden vines. "You will find this trunk," said the king. "But it will only open if you recognize the key—not in your pockets, not in your backpack, but in your heart." Waldemar felt himself growing hot. A riddle. Another suitcase, another secret, and this time with a test that went far beyond mere searching.