Prologue
It came from beyond.
An interstellar vehicle of mammoth proportions.
Streaking past stars.
Weathering ion storms.
Braving backlashes of solar wind.
It sliced through the void of space, as if the very fabric of the universe bent to its will. The ship was a monolithic beast, its surface black as the deepest abyss, punctuated only by faint, pulsing lights—like the heartbeat of the cosmos itself.
It arrived at a chain of celestial bodies.
Its scanners flared to life, searching for the unmistakable signs of intelligence hidden amidst the vast emptiness.
An urgency hummed through its core as it propelled itself forward, moving with the unrelenting determination of a predator honing in on its prey.
It raced into the solar system.
Careening past Pluto, a distant speck in the rearview of its journey.
Sprinting across Neptune's far orbit, the planet's icy winds powerless to slow it down.
Leaving Uranus as a fading glimmer behind, barely acknowledging the cold giant.
Looping around Saturn's rings, its obsidian hull reflecting the endless bands of dust and ice.
Shaking off Jupiter's colossal gravitational pull, leaving behind a ripple of warped space-time in its wake.
Then it plunged into the asteroid belt.
It weaved through the chaotic debris with an agility that defied its enormous size, moving like a specter through the drifting ruins of shattered worlds.
It slipped past Mars, its red surface flashing for a brief moment beneath its shadow.
Finally, it arrived.
At the blue-green orb called Earth.
Wreathed in soft, puffy clouds and swirling monsoon winds, the planet appeared serene from afar. But the ship saw deeper. Its sensors pierced the surface, detecting the hum of cities, the pulse of civilization, the unmistakable presence of intelligent life.
It had found what it was looking for.
Without hesitation, it plunged into Earth's atmosphere.
Corkscrewing through the sky, framed in fire as it tore through layers of air, leaving a blazing trail—a wound across the heavens.
The planet shuddered at its arrival, but then, abruptly, the descent stopped.
Hovering just a mile above the ground, it hung there, silent, ominous.
For a moment, it observed. An unseen intelligence measuring, evaluating, calculating.
Then, with inhuman grace, the ship descended, coming to rest gently on the forest floor.
Towering trees bent back in reverence, their leaves trembling at the force of its presence. The foliage below flattened under the invisible weight of its arrival.
An unknown ship.
From unknown origins.
With an unknown purpose.
It rested solemnly on Earth's surface, its deadly cargo hidden within, waiting…
Where it would remain. Dormant. Undisturbed.
Until…
---
The sky burned.
A lone nomad, draped in flowing robes of worn cotton, paused in the vast Sahelian grasslands, his camel shifting uneasily beneath him. His weathered hands tightened around the reins as his tired eyes looked up to the heavens.
And there it was.
A comet of fire tore through the darkened sky, streaking red and gold like the wrath of the gods. It made no sound, no thunder of judgment—only an eerie, unnatural silence as it fell, wreathed in an otherworldly glow.
The nomad's breath hitched in his throat. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, pressing his forehead to the dusty earth in reverence.
"Ya Ubangiji...! Ka yi mini gafara!"
"(Oh, my Lord…! Have mercy on me!)"
His voice cracked with fear, whispering desperate prayers in Hausa, his mother tongue. His whole body trembled—surely, this was a sign of divine anger, a punishment, a judgment upon his wandering soul.
But then… something was not right.
The comet did not crash.
It did not strike the earth in a great explosion like the fiery stones of old legends. Instead, it slowed—as if rejecting fate, defying gravity itself. It descended with purpose, its blinding fire peeling away to reveal a form unnatural, too precise, too controlled.
It landed.
Not with destruction. Not with wrath. But with will.
The nomad remained frozen, his hands still buried in the sand. He dared to look up again.
The towering trees of the nearby forest bent toward the glowing object, as though in reverence. The wind shifted strangely, carrying a hum—deep and vibrating, like the whispered voices of unseen spirits.
"Wannan ba dutse ba ne… ba na Allah ba ne…!"
"(This is no stone… this is not of God...!)"
He staggered back, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His ancestors had spoken of great fires falling from the heavens, but never like this. Never with such intention.
Panic overtook him.
He turned and ran, fleeing the clearing, his bare feet kicking up dust as he raced back to his tribe. His lips moved on their own, murmuring the only explanation his mind could grasp.
"Wannan shine kibiya Allah!"
"(This is God's sling pebble!)"
---
By the time he reached his people, his words spilled from him like fevered ravings. He told of the comet that did not fall, of the fire that did not burn, of the stone that landed on its own accord.
His fellow tribesmen listened, their brows furrowed in disbelief.
"Mai shayi ya sha yawa..." one of them muttered under his breath.
"(The tea-seller has had too much to drink...)"
Laughter followed. Chuckles and dismissive murmurs. Another drunkard's tale. Another story to be forgotten.
And so, the truth was buried, dismissed as the delusions of a weary traveler.
But legends have a way of enduring.
Over generations, the story of the God's Sling Pebble became a children's tale, whispered around fires, a myth meant to entertain and warn the young.
A tale of the day the sky sent a stone… but the earth did not break.
A tale that would not be forgotten.