Ballivo woke from a deep slumber. He’d been alone, unbothered, unneeded, for thousands of years now. One might think that in order to be alone so long, he’d have to be deep in the earth, but he had been lying on it’s surface. His dreams bent the wills of those who walked the land to stray from his location and occasionally, when they got too close, get rid of them, but these times were few and far between. Now, however, he had risen to bring the world once again into balance.
Ballivo stood to his full 8 foot height and stretched the kinks out of his muscles. Thousands of years of sleep made him a little stiff. Once he felt adequately limber, he knelt on the beach of his small, unmarked island and let his hands sink slowly into the sand. He spoke to the earth in a long, low whisper, the only way she could understand him. When you’re a planet, things tend to take time for you. Ballivo was the earth’s mate, it’s lover and protector. When the time came, he would step in where she was not quick enough to prevent disaster. Whenever he was needed, the situation was indeed grave, so he spent no time on pleasantries. He sent her a reassurance and left in search of his task.
The land masses were different now, and it confused Ballivo for a time, so he lept into the atmosphere to get a better look, and from here he could tell where he was needed this time. A huge swath of land miles across, rent with craters and ash and fire still smoldering in places near the edge, threatened to spread at the slightest provocation. “She must be in so much pain,” he thought, growing angry. He dropped down to the ravaged land, into the middle of a skirmish that was still taking place. The men of the earth are not used to people falling into the middle of a battlefield and living. When those people are 8 feet tall, inhumanly muscular, and have green-hued skin and long brown hair, they are doubly confused. They also tend to fire on those who are different than themselves, a category that Ballivo easily fit into. Unfortunately for them, their bullets did nothing, served no purpose but to anger Ballivo further. None of the materials the people of this planet had could harm him.
When their small arms fire failed, they called in airstrikes and mortars and fled as quickly as they could, but the giant in their midst sat down peacefully on his crossed legs and placed his palms on the ground. His eyes began to glow first orange, then red, then blue, and finally white as he searched deep underground for the threads of power that flow through her. They were failing, weak, but would suffice. However he felt that he was only just in time.
Ballivo plucked a string and the ground trembled, or more accurately, reverberated, like it was the hollow of an acoustic guitar. He plucked another, but this time it was the air that shook, shifting nauseatingly quickly, sending the planes and their payloads off to either side of him to crash into the ground without disturbing his work. The mortars fell at his feet, but lay intact. Next was a chord, and the moisture in the air fell immediately as a cold wind blew through the area. It drifted all the way across this razed blight on the earth and soaked it. The wind circled higher and drew in clouds that released their burden as well. A warm, heavy rain pelted the ground and turned it to mud. Ballivo hit a few more strings and grass sprung from the ground, the kind that grew there before war and pestilence made it infertile. He could feel how pleased she was so far, and set about really making the place nice.
What followed was, as Ballivo called it, the song of life, only playable on the thrumming veins of power that flow through a living planet, and only able to be understood by powerful beings who can manipulate such an instrument. As it happened, there was one passing by by the name of Patra. She smiled as the sound reached her on herm, but was stopped short by the song. It was different than she knew.
Ballivo had started to improvise upon the song of life, letting his love for the planet and anger at it’s destructive lifeforms to guide the ballad that wrought change on a level never seen before. The radiation that plagued the beings on the surface found it’s way deeper into the mantle, heating the magma back to it’s proper level and speeding the iron core. The magnetic field strengthened and, for the a time, all the inhabitant’s electric devices stopped working. New plants began to bloom. The men who fired on him were drawn into the earth and reused as mineral rich soil to begin to reshape the land they had destroyed. Toxins collected in the waters were drawn into the vents of the ocean floor and recycled as their base components. The ice caps froze together again. Carbon in the air collected and dropped as tiny pellets ready to fertilize the new trees that had just begun to germinate.
Patra listened for a time, captivated by the beauty and passion in the song she heard. When finally it ended, she dropped to Earth to find the being who created such a masterpiece.

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