The next "evening," the newly formed royal council convened in a small, private chamber. Shin sat at the head of a polished oak table, the glowing list of one hundred candidates floating in the air before him. Luna sat to his right, serene and supportive. Solara was to his left, idly creating small, fiery sparks in the air and trying to make them look like animals. And standing by the wall, tablet in hand, was Celia, in her adult form, looking as formidable and unapproachable as ever.
"Okay," Shin began, rubbing his temples. "Let's review the top candidates. Celia, your analysis?"
Celia didn't look up from her tablet. "Candidate 1: General Valeria Onheil. Military influence: 98.9%. Magical potential: negligible. Strategic value: high, but already acquired." She swiped her screen. "Candidate 2: Archmage Elara of the Spire. Magical influence: 96.4%. Political ties: 21.3%. Risk factor: high. Known for her volatile temper and disdain for authority."
"Ooh, pick her!" Solara chimed in, her sparks forming a tiny, fiery dragon that flared and died. "Elara's fun! She once turned a whole mountain into crystal just because a goblin stole her favorite teacup!"
Shin ignored her, his eyes scanning the list. "There has to be someone... less volatile. Someone with a different kind of power."
"Power is not a monolith, my love," Luna said softly. "You have tamed a warrior's discipline and the Sun's chaos. But the heart of a kingdom is not its strongest warriors, but its humblest people."
As if on cue, the door to the chamber opened. In came Mystia, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and several glasses. She was trying so hard to be graceful, her back ramrod straight, her eyes fixed on the tray. But her focus was too intense. Her foot caught on an absolutely nothing.
With a startled yelp, she stumbled forward. The tray tilted, and the pitcher of water flew through the air... directly towards Celia and her precious data slate.
There was a collective gasp.
But before the water could hit, Shin moved. He didn't even think. He shot out of his chair, his hand snatching the pitcher out of mid-air, a mere inch from Celia's tablet. Not a single drop was spilled.
The room was silent.
Mystia, however, wasn't done. Her momentum carried her forward, and she tripped again over her own feet, this time heading straight for the table. She flailed, her hand knocking over an open inkwell. A stream of black ink arced through the air, landing directly on Celia's slate with a loud splat.
Celia froze. She slowly looked down at the large, black stain now spreading across her screen. Her eye twitched.
"A 98.7% probability of catastrophic spillage based on her gait and heart rate," Celia stated, her voice dangerously low. "Inefficient."
"I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Mystia wailed, dropping to the floor and trying to wipe up the ink with her sleeve, only making it worse. "I'm useless! I'm the worst maid in history!"
Shin knelt beside her, gently taking her hands. "Hey, it's okay. It's just ink. Are you hurt?"
Solara burst out laughing. "Smooth move, Mystia! You're a one-woman natural disaster!"
But Luna was watching Shin, a knowing, proud smile on her face. This was the demonstration she needed.
"Shin," she said, her voice gentle. "Look at her."
He did. He saw a terrified, tear-streaked girl who only wanted to do a good job.
"That 'clumsiness' is not a flaw," Luna explained. "It's uncontrolled magical energy. It's small, chaotic, and has no focus. It's like a tiny, untamed star. It needs an anchor."
She looked at him, her eyes pleading her case. "And more than that, she is the heart of this castle. She is the common people. To connect with her, to anchor her energy, is to show the entire kingdom that their king cares not just for the powerful, but for the clumsy, the frightened, and the humble. It is a statement of your very soul."
Shin looked at Mystia, who was now sobbing quietly, apologizing to the floor. He looked at the stain on Celia's slate. He looked at the endless list of powerful, intimidating women. And he knew Luna was right.
But this felt different. Valeria was a warrior. Solara was a goddess. Celia was an ancient being. Mystia was... just a girl. A sweet, clumsy, kind-hearted girl. It felt... wrong. Predatory.
"But... she's so gentle," he whispered to Luna. "It feels like taking advantage."
"Or it feels like protecting her from a power she can't control," Luna countered softly.
Solara, seeing his hesitation, leaned in with a wicked grin. "What's wrong, your Majesty? Scared of a little spill? Can't handle a girl who can't even stand up straight?"
Shin shot her a glare, then let out a long, weary sigh. He looked at Mystia, who was now trying to polish the floor with her apron. His next target wasn't a warrior or a goddess. She was a girl who couldn't walk five feet without tripping.
And somehow, that felt like the most important task of all.
With a reluctant sigh, Shin pushed his chair back. "Alright. Let's go... find our next strategic asset."
Luna and Solara followed him out of the chamber, leaving a still-annoyed Celia to wipe her slate. They found Mystia in the castle's grand laundry chambers, a vast, humid room filled with steaming vats, wringing machines, and endless lines of drying linen. And, as they soon discovered, it was the perfect stage for Mystia's unique brand of chaos.
They watched from the doorway as she worked. From a distance, it was almost a ballet of disaster.
First, she tripped over a loose floorboard, nearly sending a basket of freshly pressed royal bed sheets flying. She recovered at the last second, only to slip on a puddle of soapy water, her arms windmilling wildly before she caught herself on a large vat. Her sleeve then got caught in the wringer mechanism, and she spent a full minute trying to untangle herself, her face a mask of concentration and panic.
Once free, she moved on to adding soap flakes to a large basin. She sneezed, and an entire cloud of the powder puffed into the air, making her cough and sending a mountain of bubbles overflowing onto the floor. Undeterred, she then tried to carry a stack of folded towels, only to walk face-first into a low-hanging wooden beam, sending the towels scattering like giant, white snowflakes.
As she bent to pick them up, she stepped on a stray bar of soap. Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed with a soft thump in a pile of damp linen. She finally managed to get up, holding a single, dripping napkin, and promptly poked herself in the eye with it.
Shin counted them off in his head. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven separate, distinct incidents in less than five minutes. He wasn't amused. He wasn't even exasperated. He just felt a profound, aching sense of pity. He saw the frustration on her face, the way her shoulders slumped after each mistake, the desperate wish to just do one thing right.
"Okay," he said softly, his heart going out to her. "Let's go talk to her."
He took a step forward, but Luna gently held him back. "Wait, my love."
Just then, another maid pointed to a large, heavy wooden bucket filled with dirty, grey water. "Mystia, that needs to be emptied!"
Mystia nodded, her expression determined. She grabbed the heavy bucket by its handle and turned with purpose, heading for the disposal chute.
This was it. Shin thought. The eighth time.
As she pivoted, her foot, for the eighth time, found something to trip on—perhaps her own two feet. The bucket swung in a wide, perfect arc. For a moment, it seemed to hang in the air, a wooden projectile of destiny.
It flew directly towards the doorway.
THWACK!
The bucket connected squarely with the side of Shin's head. The impact was dull and wet. A torrent of cold, soapy, grey water cascaded over his hair, down his face, and soaked the front of his shirt. He stood there, dripping, completely stunned.
For a single, frozen second, there was silence.
Then, Solara broke it.
She burst into a fit of laughter so violent it made her double over, tears streaming down her face. She pointed at him, gasping, unable to form a single word. "B-B-BUCKET... HEAD!" she finally managed to shriek, before collapsing into another fit of hysterical giggles.
Luna just closed her eyes and let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of eons. "Oh, dear."
Shin stood dripping, a wet strand of hair plastered to his forehead. He looked at the sobbing, horrified Mystia, who was now prostrating herself on the floor, begging for forgiveness. He looked at Solara, who was practically rolling on the floor with laughter. He looked at Luna, who looked like she was regretting her choice in husbands.
His reign, he decided, was a cosmic joke. And he was the punchline.