The Song of Monshoo
For months, Jorrel had been plagued by dreams of fire falling from the sky. In his sleep, he saw towering ships of black metal blotting out the sun, their hulls bristling with weapons. He saw his family—his wife, Liana, and their two children—running through fields of golden grass, their faces twisted in terror. He saw the end of everything he loved. Each night, he woke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, his hands clutching the sheets.
The elders of Monshoo called it The Sight, a rare gift that allowed some to glimpse the future. But Jorrel didn’t feel gifted. He felt cursed. He tried to warn the others, but they dismissed his visions. “The Narfu are trapped on their world,” they said. “They cannot reach us. They are nothing but noise.”
But Jorrel knew better. He could feel it in his bones—the Narfu were coming.
The first ship appeared at dawn, a jagged silhouette against the rising sun. Then came another, and another, until the sky was filled with them. The Narfu had arrived, their ships bristling with weapons of mass destruction. The people of Monshoo gathered in the streets, their faces pale with fear. Jorrel held his family close, his heart breaking as he realized his nightmares had come true.
The Narfu wasted no time. Their ships unleashed a barrage of fire and destruction, reducing cities to ash and fields to scorched earth. The Monshoo, a peaceful race with no armies or weapons, could only watch in horror as their world burned.
But then, something extraordinary happened. The elders of Monshoo, their faces streaked with tears, began to gather in the center of the capital. They sat in a circle, their hands clasped, their heads bowed. One by one, the people joined them, until the entire population of Monshoo was united in a single, meditative stance.
Jorrel, clutching his children, felt a strange pull. He joined the circle, his heart heavy with grief. As the tears streamed down his face, he began to hum. It was a low, mournful sound, but it grew louder and louder, resonating with the hum of thousands of others. The air around them seemed to vibrate, the ground trembling beneath their feet.
The hum was more than sound—it was a mind wave, a collective expression of the Monshoo’s sorrow and pain. It expanded outward, a ripple of pure energy that tore through the Narfu ships like paper. One by one, the ships exploded, their fiery debris raining down on the planet below. But the wave didn’t stop there. It traveled across the void, striking the
planet Narfu with devastating force. The once-proud world was reduced to rubble, its cities flattened, its people silenced.
The Monshoo cried for days, their grief echoing across the cosmos. They had not wanted this. They had never sought violence or revenge. But the Narfu had left them no choice.
As the days turned into weeks, Jorrel struggled to make sense of what had happened. He held his children close, their small bodies trembling as they tried to understand why the sky had burned. Liana, her face pale and drawn, whispered, “Will they come back?”
Jorrel shook his head, but deep down, he knew the truth. The Narfu were gone, but hate was a cycle, a lesson that was never learned. In millions of years, the Narfu would rise again, their hearts filled with the same anger and desire for conquest. And the Monshoo would be forced to defend themselves once more.
But for now, there was peace. The Monshoo rebuilt their world, their songs of sorrow slowly turning to songs of hope. Jorrel, his heart heavy with the weight of what they had done, vowed to teach his children a different way. To break the cycle, to find a path beyond hate and violence.
As he looked up at the stars, he whispered a prayer to the universe. “Let this be the last time. Let us learn the lesson.”
But the stars, cold and silent, offered no reply.
