During the war, our lunar orbital surveillance station was sabotaged by the planet-dwelling Azures. The station crashed, destroying our ancient lunar forest. The intended effect was two-fold: to cripple our intelligence and to destroy our supply chains.
However, it was more devastating than anticipated—although only a hundred Chartreuse had died because of the impact, our river was diverted from its course, toward the smoking crater at the crash site, and millions of people lost access to clean water. It was a sign that the Azures had abandoned their highest laws of war, which forbade the culling of civilians.
Years later, the war ended without a clear winner. We signed peace treaties and emerged from the ashes of hatred as diplomatic partners. We were at peace, but it was uneasy.
On the moon, we began to replace the material in the space station, piece by piece, with wood, so that no original material (a previously classified poly-alloy with gravity plating) remained. We cleaned the alloy of corrosion and repurposed the alloy for science spacecraft.
We chose wood to remind us that the forest had been irreversibly obliterated during the war. Eventually, wood would become damaged. Rot was a symbol that all was temporary. Rot was a monument to death, to the end of things. It was a tomb.
Azures arrived to help us with construction. Carpentry was led by the local Chartreuse, but we needed timber from the planet's surface.
We told the Azures that we'd decided to let this one piece of history fall apart, as an offering to the ephemeral. Our hatred was temporary; we hoped that our friendship would last longer.
The immense wheel towered five times higher than the old treeline. The wheel dominated the desert landscape. The reconstruction invigorated our cultures with a common challenge.
Over time, the monument became more than what we had originally intended. It was hailed as a monument to peacetime achievement, made possible by the cooperation of two advanced civilizations as we rebuilt ourselves. Previously enemies, we became friends. The old military station was called the Eye of the Destroyer. The new monument was called Hope.
When we were done, we moved on to other things.
We let our symbol of unity be reclaimed by lichen and moss. The river's path would destabilize the ground beneath the wooden structure. We believed that it would take three months for the structure to fall.
It's still standing there, my child, if you care to look. It's been twenty years. At our next dawn, it will have stood longer than the war. It stands for our violent past. It stands for our desire for peace. There's rot, and there's holes, but by some miracle it still stands. Hope stands against all odds.