Monkey Go Happy – Stage 934 is the newest game created by Pencil Kids.
In the icy highlands of Galdurheim, nestled deep in the Jotunheimen Mountains of Norway, an old mechanical tower stood forgotten by time. The winds screamed like spirits through the snow-draped peaks, and the sun rarely touched the valley below. At the base of the tower lived a small monkey named Eldrin. He was not an ordinary monkey—his amber eyes held the fire of old stars, and his clever fingers worked magic through gears and levers.
Eldrin came from a long line of Machinari, a tribe of simian tinkers believed to have vanished centuries ago. The Machinari once built marvels from brass, stone, and rune-etched steel. They had powered entire valleys using wind, water, and sunlight. But one stormy winter, their inventions fell silent, and the tribe scattered. Eldrin grew up alone, raised by a wandering owl named Thaldis, who once served as the tribe’s messenger.
Thaldis taught Eldrin the ancient ways: how to read schematics drawn on birch bark, how to whisper to gears, how to interpret the cold song of metal under stress. But above all, Thaldis warned him of the final creation—the Gears of Galdurheim, the last invention of the Machinari, hidden within the tower.
“Do not wake it,” Thaldis had whispered before his final flight. “Not unless the world forgets how to laugh.”
Years passed. Eldrin fixed broken clocks in mountain villages. He helped lost travelers find their way. But he carried sadness in his heart. Every soul he met carried burdens. The world’s joy had dimmed. Children rarely played. Eldrin would glance at his reflection in frozen ponds and wonder—why had the joy vanished?
One morning, frost shaped strange symbols on his windowpane—glyphs of the Machinari. That same day, a herd of reindeer stampeded past his cave, running from something unseen. The sky turned ash-gray. The rivers froze overnight.
The world had stopped laughing.
Eldrin packed his satchel with tools, parchment maps, and one ancient device—his grandfather’s Laughter Gauge, a brass dial that spun when it sensed true joy. It hadn’t moved in years.
He climbed to the base of the old tower. Rusted gears jutted from cracked stone walls. Vines and ice clung to every crevice. Over the entrance, engraved in worn Norse runes, he read:
“Only joy shall turn the world anew.”
The heavy door wouldn’t budge. He spotted a panel nearby with three missing gears. A carved monkey face frowned beneath it. Eldrin understood: this was no ordinary lock. The tower demanded play, curiosity, and laughter.
The first challenge awaited in a frozen courtyard behind the tower.
Five tiny monkeys stood there, shivering. Their fur clung together with frost, and their wide eyes brimmed with tears. Eldrin crouched, puzzled.
They pointed to a tangled mess of sled pieces, strewn across the courtyard.
Eldrin smiled gently. “We’ll build it together.”
He scoured the area, pulling sled parts from behind boulders, under benches, and up trees. The parts didn’t fit right at first. One monkey pouted. Another sniffled. But Eldrin stuck his tongue out, made funny faces, and suddenly the first monkey giggled.
The Laughter Gauge ticked forward.
They built the sled, and one by one, the monkeys slid down a smooth ice ramp. Gales of laughter echoed through the courtyard. A hidden compartment in the old fountain clicked open. One golden gear gleamed inside.
Eldrin added the gear to the tower panel.
The door creaked open.
Inside, ancient hallways wound in twisting patterns. Brass pipes hissed. Lights flickered from long-dead batteries. Eldrin followed the Laughter Gauge’s needle, which now twitched faintly. On the wall, faded murals showed monkeys playing games, solving puzzles, and building machines fueled by happiness.
In the center chamber, a mechanical stage awaited. A curtain hung low. A spotlight flickered on. A control panel sat beside the stage, filled with buttons, levers, and… a missing crank.
A voice echoed from the shadows.
“You must perform.”
Eldrin turned. A projection flickered on the wall—a hologram of the Machinari’s last engineer, Brannoc the Wise.
Brannoc spoke:
“The world has grown grim. To awaken the Gears of Galdurheim, joy must return. Laughter fuels our machines. Find the pieces. Build the act. Show us that joy remains.”
Eldrin nodded.
He searched the tower. In a dusty attic, he found a trunk filled with puppet parts. Heads, arms, silly hats, and squeaky shoes. He crafted a puppet show—monkey knights saving banana princesses from dragon pineapples.
In the kitchen, he found pots and spoons and composed a rhythm. The little monkeys followed him, banging along, tripping over one another, giggling endlessly.
The final crank lay in a locked music box guarded by a riddle:
“What has no weight but holds the world? What cannot be touched but touches all?”
Eldrin whispered, “A smile.”
The music box opened. The crank gleamed with joy.
He inserted it into the stage panel. The curtain rose.
Eldrin performed. The monkeys clapped. The lights brightened. The walls pulsed. The Gears of Galdurheim deep below the tower groaned, then turned for the first time in centuries.
Steam hissed. Pipes rattled. Above them, the clouds broke. Sunlight poured into the valley.
The Laughter Gauge spun wildly.
The ancient mechanism powered up, releasing stored warmth, brightening nearby villages, and even thawing the frozen rivers. Far below, elders wept with joy. Children played again. Music drifted through the air.
Eldrin looked up at the mural again. This time, it glowed with light.
The final door opened. Inside sat the Heart Gear of Galdurheim, made of crystal and gold. Eldrin placed it in a socket at the center of the tower.
A deep voice resonated through the walls:
“Stage 934 complete.”
Joy had returned.
