Kites soared like pallid ghosts in the dim overcast sky as BIMBI approached the kite ground. From a distance, the air seemed thick with a web of countless kite strings crisscrossing, shrouding the scene in a spectral haze.

High above the kite ground, in the azure expanse, the monarchs satellite island of Divamaari loomed. A magnificent structure of coral encased in steel, floating majestically among the clouds.

The moon, now an integral part of the monarchs realm, secured valuable batteries manufactured on the island of Kondey at the Kondey Solar Farm. This lunar base served as a storage and shipping hub, facilitating the transport of critical batteries to Mars. The sovereign had expanded its dominion beyond the islands, overseeing vital operations that linked its rule to interplanetary trade routes.

The sky was dotted with Regal Sky-sentry Drones, their sleek forms and gleaming exteriors patrolling with vigilance. The drones, with their watchful eyes near the kite ground, signaled the ruler’s presence. Even the monarch had descended from the orbiting palace to witness the annual spectacle.

Ahead of BIMBI, leading to the kite ground, armed royal guards rode on mechanical beasts. Their armor glinted in the light as they sped across the island, kicking up clouds of sand behind them.

The kite competition was no celebration of craftsmanship. Gone were the days when the beauty of a kite’s design, its elegant frame, and its graceful flight held any significance. Now, the focus had shifted to the threads, laced with powdered glass and honed to cut through the strings of rival kites. The battlefield in the sky had become a theater of sacrifice.

BIMBI—a one-of-a-kind prototype, his name an acronym for “Biological Intelligence – Mechanical Body Integration”—was not merely a machine, but a miracle of bio-mechanical engineering. Designed to bridge the gap between human and machine, BIMBI’s brain functioned exactly like a human’s. He was an entity with thoughts and emotions.

But BIMBI nearly perished in the Great Purge, a brutal decree by the previous monarch that sought to eradicate the old machines to make way for the new. This decree, a wave of merciless destruction, swept away countless machines, turning BIMBI’s brethren into rust and decay.

As BIMBI neared the kite battleground, murmurs of contempt swelled around him. Eyes narrowed, lips curled, and fingers pointed at the intrusion of “Rust” into their sacred spectacle.

“Look at that thing. Rust bucket doesn’t belong here,” someone muttered. Another added, “I thought they got rid of all those tin cans.”

As BIMBI ventured deeper into the crowd, more spectators began to notice. In his corroded metallic hands, he clutched a kite made of old, crumpled newspapers, with headlines faded and long forgotten.

“What’s it got there? Newspapers?” someone jeered. “Hey, does it even know what this competition’s about?” another shouted. A man sneered, “Good thing Sultan Mueenudeen tossed those machines. Useless and outdated, just like that sorry kite it’s holding.”

BIMBI ignored their taunts and insults.

When BIMBI reached the heart of the kite flying zone, the competition had already drawn to a close. Nearby stood Billoorige Champion Huthaa, the undisputed victor of the kite battles for five consecutive years. Huthaa hailed from Billoorige, the renowned manufacturers of glass for the entire island. Each year, during the kite competition, his family controlled the supply of glass, ensuring that Huthaa had an abundant stock of finely crushed glass to lace his kite strings.

“I have won this battle, and I will win the next one,” Champion Huthaa declared, his eyes narrowing with disdain as he stared at BIMBI.

He stood amidst the brittle remains of tattered kites and broken strings, a battlefield of waste—a vast deathbed of fallen kites.

“What’s that worthless piece of trash you’re holding? It’s almost as repulsive as you,” Champion Huthaa sneered, pointing at the kite BIMBI clutched tightly in his weathered hands.

BIMBI, his face a patchwork of corroded metal and rust, turned his focus to Champion Huthaa. His eyes, small lenses set deep within his mechanical skull, glowed with a faint, determined blue.

“It’s not the kite that matters,” he said softly, his voice like metal scraping against metal. “It’s what it means to me.”

BIMBI turned his attention to the kite, carefully untangling it from his side. He gently took the kite in his hands and released it, slowly pulling on its string. The string, tied together with hasty knots, lacked the powdered glass that defined the competition.

At first, the kite wobbled uncertainly, like a fledgling testing its wings, hesitant and unsure. But then, catching a breath of wind, it began to rise. Higher and higher it soared, vibrating in the wind with a haunting and melodic hum:

“Raaaa Raaaa.. Raaaa”

Each time it fluttered, the kite shed its newspaper wraps bit by bit, like a chrysalis peeling away to reveal the butterfly within. With every beat of the wind, it seemed to expand, growing larger and more magnificent.

Champion Huthaa watched in confusion.

The crowd watched in confusion.

“It’s already breaking into pieces,” Hoko Dhiyege Ismail shouted from within the crowd. “We won’t even need our Champion Huthaa to cut a dead kite—let’s all go home.”

The kite fluttered.

“Raaaa Raaaa.. Raaaa”

This time, a large section of the newspaper tore away, revealing a burst of vibrant colors hidden beneath.

“What is that?” Mufeedu Beyya, Hoko Dhiyege Ismail’s neighbor, yelled unimpressed.

The kite fluttered again.

“Raaaa Raaaa.. Raaaa”

Long ribbons of tails flung out, freeing themselves from the last remnants of the newspaper wraps. The untangled tails were adorned with colors that shimmered in the sunlight, swaying gracefully in the wind like ethereal serpents. They moved with a fluid elegance, catching the light with an array of hues.

“A Raa Raa Gudi?” Maavadi Sulaimaan exclaimed, the words tumbling out of his mouth almost involuntarily.

Maavadi Sulaimaans’ grandparents had often spoken of the legendary Raa Raa Gudi, a kite said to embody the very spirit of the wind. They, in turn, had heard the stories from their own grandparents.

The sight of a Raa Raa Gudi, long forgotten and thought lost to time, stirred a deep, nostalgic wonder within everyone.

The Raa Raa Gudi burst into a riot of bright colors, each hue so vivid it seemed as if they could be touched. The colors danced and intertwined like a school of fish.

The Raa Raa Gudi soared higher.

Champion Huthaa stood mesmerized by its breathtaking beauty.

The Raa Raa Gudi soared even higher, its long, flowing tails trailing behind like celestial ribbons as they twisted and turned with the gusts, they created an almost hypnotic effect.

“Raaa.. Raaa.. Raaa.”

BIMBI’s kite was the heart of something everyone knew and could relate to.

But envy is a shadowy beast, dark and insidious. Even though he was moved by the beauty unfurling in the sky, Champion Huthaa, the undisputed kite battle victor, felt a storm of jealousy begin to brew. Envy started as a small seed, planted in the fertile soil of his pride. As he watched the Raa Raa Gudi soar higher, that seed took root, sprouting tendrils that choked his admiration. His eyes narrowed into slits of malice. Like a predator stalking its prey, he moved towards BIMBI.

The crowd, horrified, began to yell, “Stay away! Don’t cut the Raa Raa Gudi!” they cried. The thought of losing such a magnificent sight was unthinkable, a horror they would not be able to bear.

Hoko Dhiyege Ismail shouted above the pleas, “Cut it off, Champion Huthaa! Nobody wants to watch a silly kite.”

Champion Huthaa reached BIMBI with swift, merciless strides. The crowd’s shouts grew into a frenzied roar, but it was too late. With a single, ruthless slash, Billoorige Champion Huthaa severed the string of the Raa Raa Gudi. The vibrant kite, now untethered, spiraled away into the sky.

BIMBI lay flat on the ground.

He had tried to intervene, but his old, rusted joints betrayed him. Stumbling and collapsing in his desperate attempt to save the kite, he hit the ground with a jarring impact that shattered one of his arms.

He lay there, motionless. In his shattered limb, he clutched a piece of broken thread—the last remnant of his kite.

Everything was broken.

Everything was in rust and ruins.

“Damn you, Champion Huthaa!” Maavadi Sulaimaan’s voice rang out with fury and anguish, slicing through the stunned silence of the crowd.

In the wake of the sudden quiet, a new sound filled the air—a low, humming resonance. The Regal Sky-sentry Drones began to move with intimidating precision, securing the perimeter. They formed a vast, intricate web surrounding the crowd, their lights pulsing in perfect synchronization.

Royal armed guards began to mobilize. Clad in resplendent armor, they moved with lethal grace, their presence an undeniable assertion of authority. The crowd stood in fear, their eyes wide and breaths held, transfixed by the unfolding spectacle. And then, Sultana Amina Rani III emerged, her presence like the dawn breaking through an already blazing sky. Commanding, serene, and utterly indisputable.

The Naib behind her raised his voice, echoing across the assembly:

“All behold Sultana Amina Rani III. Lady of the Ten Thousand Islands. Sultana of Land, Sea and the Moon. Sultana Amina Kambaidi Kilege Sri Nithaa Abaarana Mahaa Rani.”

Sultana Amina Rani walked with deliberate poise. Her robes, woven with threads of blacksilver and gold, shimmered under the sun with the regal bearing and the mark of the House of Dhiyamigili.

As the monarch advanced, the drones shifted seamlessly, forming a majestic corridor of shimmering light and impenetrable protection. The air grew thick with anticipation, the profound silence amplifying every heartbeat. She approached the spot where Champion Huthaa stood and BIMBI lay broken.

The crowd watched. The gravity of the moment sinking in like the weight of destiny itself upon them.

As she reached the two, the Sultana paused. She fixed Champion Huthaa with a gaze that pierced through him. Then, with measured grace, she turned to BIMBI. Her deep, dark eyes reflected the tragedy that had befallen him.

The rust, the neglect, the horror of it all.

With a tender touch, she brushed away the sand from BIMBI’s face.

The crowd watched in silence.

Then, she began to speak, her voice amplified from all directions by the surrounding drones.

“Citizens of the Ten Thousand Islands,” she began, pausing to let her eyes sweep over the crowd, meeting their faces with commanding presence.

“Today, I have witnessed a sight that has moved me deeply,” Amina Rani declared, her voice resonating with emotion.

The crowd fell into a hushed silence.

“For too long, we have forgotten the poetry of the kites — instead, we have celebrated destruction and sacrifice — this ends today.”

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. She raised her hand, and the drones hovered closer to her.

“By my decree, I hereby abolish the kite battles. No longer shall our skies be a theater of conflict. Instead, they will become a canvas for our creations.”

The crowd stood frozen in breathless anticipation. Suddenly, Champion Huthaa, unable to contain himself, blurted out, “But what about the trophies? Who’s gonna get the trophies now?”

The Regal Sky-sentry Drones drew nearer as the monarch gestures to ignore the interruption.

“Furthermore,” she continued, “I declare an end to the Great Purge. Today marks the beginning of a new era where machines and humans are recognized as integral parts of our society, equally valuable and deserving of respect.”

Sultana Amina Rani III stood with effortless majesty, her very presence drawing the eyes and hearts of the crowd. She surveyed the ocean of faces with a serene yet unyielding authority, as natural as the sun rising. Slowly, she turned her eyes to BIMBI, who stood beside her, and said:

“Build me a kite just like that one.”

The crowd erupted into a frenzy at the Sultana’s unexpected request. Excitement, mingled with disbelief, surged through the assembly. Then, as if by a collective decision, one by one they began to chant BIMBI’s name, their voices rising in a powerful crescendo.

The ruler of the Ten Thousand Islands glanced at BIMBI and smiled.

BIMBI, standing beside the Sultana, looked up at the sky where the once Raa Raa Gudi fluttered. The broken threads, his shattered limb, and the lost Raa Raa Gudi were no longer symbols of defeat, but of hope.

And for the first time — he believed in the impossible.

Finis.