A joke fit for a king

It happened on the cliffside ruins of an old forgotten kingdom.
The wind howled.The stones moaned.Jack was humming.
He had just finished playing “riddle tag” with a group of knights who never saw the end coming. Their broken swords still sang faint echoes across the hills.
Then—he felt it.
A presence.
Not divine. Not demonic.
Something… complete.
He turned.
There stood the Perfect King.
Not wearing jewels or robes—just shadowed armor, a crown hovering, and eyes that saw too much.
Jack tilted his head.
“Well now. Aren’t you a rare guest.”
The King didn’t speak.
Jack twirled, arms wide.
“Come to judge me? Smite me? Break my toys?”
Silence.
Then the King said, “You play too much.”
Jack grinned. “And you don’t play enough.”
He tossed a card at the King. It froze midair. Burned. Turned to dust.
Jack cackled. “Oh I like you.”
No scythe. No spells. No fighting.
They sat across from one another on fallen thrones, the ghost of a kingdom between them.
Jack told jokes. Terrible ones. Beautiful ones.
The King never laughed. Not once.
Until—
“What did the soul say to heaven?”
“…What?”
Jack leaned close, whispering:
“You’re full.”
The King… smiled.
Just a twitch at first. Then a soft, hollow chuckle.
Jack exploded with laughter. Rolled on the stone floor. Applauded.
“That’s it! That’s it! You're not perfect—just broken right!”
Before dawn, the King stood.
Jack tilted his head. “Leaving so soon?”
The King nodded. “We’ll meet again. I sense... parts of me in you.”
Jack watched him vanish into mist.
Then whispered:
“And maybe one day, we’ll be the same joke.”
From that day, Jack never toyed with kings again.He had met the only one who laughed without laughing.
And it made the world much more interesting.