ShockWave!

The Covenant of Light,

Bulan poured every fragment of lunar wisdom into the island's soil—teaching them to forge solar grids from scrap metal, coax crops from barren earth, and decode the language of stars. She dismantled their reverence for the past with blunt truths: "Clutching tradition will bury you. The world beyond this island doesn't care about your rituals. It will devour you if you stand still."

Lesley listened, her resolve hardening. She had always known this reckoning would come. Outsiders brought not just threats, but tools—and Bulan was the sharpest tool of all.

For weeks, they labored. Solar panels bloomed atop huts; irrigation channels snaked through fields. Progress was slow, fragile, but undeniable. Yet Lesley's gaze grew distant, her silences longer.

One evening, she gripped Bulan's wrist. "Come with me."

They trekked for hours, leaving the village's flickering lanterns behind. The forest thickened, then gave way to a cavern's jagged maw. Lesley lit a torch, its flame trembling. "Stay close. And quiet."

Darkness swallowed them. Bulan's breaths turned shallow, her fingers knotting in Lesley's sleeve. The air reeked of damp stone and something older—iron, perhaps, or memory. Four hours they walked, the silence broken only by the skitter of unseen creatures. Bulan's pulse roared in her ears. This is a test, she told herself or a tomb.

The Glass Pantheon,

Bulan stood frozen, her breath stolen by the cavern's secret heart. Before her loomed a cathedral of glass—walls smooth as liquid mercury, arches glittering with prismatic light. Sculptures, crystalline and impossibly intricate, lined the chamber. Among them, one halted her pulse: a statue of herself, every curve and contour perfect, crowned with a crescent diadem.

"What… is this?" she whispered.

"You, majesty" Lesley replied, her voice reverent. "Lunaria, the Sacred Sovereign of the Moon. This is your sanctuary."

Bulan spun to face her. "You knew?"

"Only the leaders of each generation are entrusted with this truth. We've waited centuries for your return."

Bulan's fingers brushed the statue's cold cheek. "Why?"

Lesley knelt, her voice echoing through the glass vault. "Our ancestors did not build with wood or stone. They mastered glass—forged in celestial fires, they claimed. This island was not always ours.

Long ago, it was a haven for beasts now extinct: Arhovi with the heads of stallions and bodies of lions, Iskalavi—butterflies as large as men, Fliebirds with iridescent wings that blotted out the sun, and Lalasnakes, serpents with clawed limbs. All gone, save for their ghosts in these carvings."

She gestured to the walls, where murals depicted a boy—small, determined—standing on a storm-lashed shore. "In the year 190 of our reckoning, a 14-year-old from Asprahia washed ashore here. His tribe had starved after losing a war; he'd sailed alone to fish for his mother. The sea hurled him here instead. For three months, he drifted, surviving on rainwater and desperation. When he found this island, he thought it a mirage."

The murals shifted, the boy wandered forests teeming with impossible creatures, his face alight with wonder. "He was too young to fear what he didn't understand. He documented everything—the Arhovi grazing in meadows, Iskalavi nesting in glass trees, and the others.

Lesley's gaze hardened. "Those 'guy' became our ancestors. He slaughtered the beasts, melted the glass forests into tools, and built this shrine to the moon goddess they imagined had guided them. But they forgot her face—until now."

Bulan stared at her own effigy, its eyes twin voids. "And you think I'm her? That I can save you?"

"You already are."

Outside, the wind howled—a dirge for lost wonders, or a hymn for those yet to come.

Continue to that boy story, In the depths of the cavern, the boy from Asprahia wandered, lost and desperate. For four months, he survived on wild plants and small, docile creatures, searching for any trace of his tribe. Then, one fateful day, he stumbled upon the cave—a sanctuary hidden from the world. Inside, he found not just shelter, but a girl.

She was ethereal, her ears slightly elongated, her eyes shimmering like starlight. She was bathing in a pool of crystalline water, her beauty otherworldly. Over time, their bond grew, and twenty years after their first meeting, they married. Together, they built a kingdom of glass, crafting statues and monuments that gleamed under the moon's gaze. The girl, a descendant of the Glass Kingdom of the Moon, had been exiled for defying its rulers. She brought with her the secrets of glassmaking, a skill she used to immortalize her goddess, Lunaria, in shimmering sculptures.

Their descendants flourished, each generation venturing out into the world to find partners and return to the island to build. The Glass Kingdom, known as Kanviore—meaning "Grand and Majestic"—became a marvel of their civilization. But in the year 905, disaster struck. The Naggire people from the island of Juntha invaded, destroying Kanviore and shattering the glass utopia. By 908, the Lunarians reclaimed their land, sacrificing the Naggire invaders in rituals to their goddess, erasing the Naggire from existence.

For 200 years, the Lunarians fortified their defenses, ensuring peace. But in 1391, the Frank tribe invaded, plundering the Glass Kingdom. The Franks (who would later become Francia) stripped the island of its glass, leaving behind ruins. This marked the end of the Glass Age and the dawn of a new era built on wood and bamboo.

The Lunarians gained independence in 1450, establishing the Star-Moon Sovereignty, a kingdom revered for its peace and prosperity. Yet, in 1903, their kingdom fell once more, absorbed into Francia, the nation founded by their ancient enemies, the Franks. As Francia's influence grew, the Lunarians were marginalized, bullied, and treated as inferior. They retreated to their villages, turning to farming to survive.

In 2020, Francia sought to transform the Moon Isle into an energy hub. The Lunarians protested fiercely, reclaiming full autonomy over their land and severing ties with Francia. By 2089, Francia's first queen attempted to reconcile, offering the Lunarians access to education on the mainland. But the scars of the past ran deep. The Lunarians, disillusioned by centuries of oppression, refused to trust the nation that had once reduced them to outcasts.

Now, as Bulan stood in the glass sanctuary, the weight of this history pressed upon her. The Lunarians had risen and fallen, their legacy etched in glass and blood. And she, the goddess they worshipped, had returned to a people who still bore the wounds of their past.

—

"So… only a few people know this history?" Bulan asked, her voice echoing through the glass chamber.

"Not just any few," Lesley replied. "My Anchesctor, Myself, You Majesty, Serenity Sun from Moonlight Collective, Prince VeeMark from Angkara, Queen Jiafei from Floptropica, Princess Valia from Ri-raland, Queen Amangkuratia from K-Java, King Nugraha from Mason, Ginger from Americia, and Prince Artge from Asia. All sworn to secrecy."

"Nobles," Bulan muttered. "How do you know them?"

"We studied together in GokGok City—sent there to forge alliances for our people. I shared our story so they might aid us against Francia's grip."

"And what about Francia's ? Why aren't they listed?"

"Princess Franklintia," Lesley spat, the name bitter. "Arrogant, racist and hateful person. Everyone despises her. This was like four years ago, when we were still teens. I'm twenty now and i guess she's in Parisilia Castle enjoying her day."

Bulan nodded, her gaze drifting to the chamber's heart. Glass altars gleamed, and at its center lay a shallow pool of still-wet blood. "What is this?"

"Your sanctuary, Goddess Lunaria. To us, it's hope made tangible."

"Thank you," Bulan whispered, the words fragile.

Lesley's composure cracked. Tears spilled silently. "few hours from now, Siria will take you to GokGok City. Spies report Francia's soldiers—Parisilia's hounds—will arrive in three days. We've prepared, thanks to your teachings. But we need Floptropica's aid. Their queen pledged support."

"Let me stay. I can fight—"

"No." Lesley's voice hardened. "The Moon's monks foresaw your struggle. You must return home. We will hold this land—our joy, our freedom. For our ancestors. For you."

Bulan embraced her, the glass walls reflecting their silhouettes. "Thank you," she said again, the phrase a vow.

Lesley wept openly now—not for loss, but for the miracle of a goddess who wept with mortals.

They trekked deeper, emerging at the northern shore where Siria waited, a weathered boat anchored nearby.

"Farewell," Lesley said, clasping Bulan's hands. "May the moon light your path."

Siria, her face streaked with resolve, called out, "Swear you'll survive!"

"I swear."

As the boat cut through midnight waves, Bulan glanced back. The Isle of Glass shrank behind her, its history now hers to carry—to Floptropica, to war, and beyond.