Chapter 1
In the deepest, dreamiest fold of the world—far from the cities buzzes, ticking clocks, honking buses, and endless tarred roads—there was a place called Wamwo Forest, where the trees hummed and the air had a glow that was kind of magical. For the longest time, this calm, otherworldly haven was unknown to the human world. That is, until one curious explorer stumbled upon it and thought, “What a gift to humankind! Everyone should know about this.”
And so, Wamwo burst into the spotlight—flashing across digital billboards on skyscrapers, glowing between subway ads, and lighting up phones and feeds across the world. People were enchanted by tales of squeaky mushrooms, invisible mud puddles that only splashed when deception lurked up your sleeve, and cheeky vines that curled playfully around your boots just to trip you for the fun of it. Overnight, the secret was out. Wamwo became a viral sensation.
Hidden beneath mossy branches and the long, leafy arms of weeping willows, deep within this magical place, lived a peculiar little creature named Labubu.
Labubu looked like a girl—if girls had fuzzy red hair, curious amber eyes, oversized ears, tufted hair that never sat still, and a body small enough to ride dragonflies if she ever felt like it. But Labubu was no ordinary girl. She was a monster elf: mischievous and ancient, said to be born from wildflower seeds, the swirling dance of forest leaves, the crackle of thunderstorm sparks, and the laughter of stars—plus a pinch of mischief from the other forest elves. Or perhaps she had emerged from a glowing tree stump... or even hatched from a storm-nut pod, depending on which forest elder you asked.
Of course, in her world, Labubu didn’t stand out all that much. She was just one of them, with her own quirks. Well—except for her perpetual grin. That, everyone had an opinion about. Some called it a biting plotting grin, others termed it as playful. But in all, devilish is the most colourful description.
She lived in Kopokopo Hollow, a cozy little neighborhood of mushroom huts, leaf-thatched roofs, and glimmering firefly lanterns. Until the human explorer visited the Hollow, and the other that followed him, it had sat quietly in the heart of Wamwo Forest, surrounded by tall, whispering trees and cradled by waterfalls that sang lullabies into the night. But things were different now. The magic had dimmed.
The first human that discovered their forest spoke of it to the outside world. He meant well—sharing tales of its wonders so others might come to cherish it too. But with his words spreading like pollen on the wind, they attracted the wrong kind. Soon after him, the forest saw a second visit from a human, this one with a different spirit. A man who wanted the forest not to marvel at it, but to own its tale.
He wandered deep into the heart of Wamwo, scribbling in notebooks, stamping his boots into sacred soil. He brought strange machines that blinked and buzzed, and tried to carve his name into a story that was never meant to be his. He scoffed at the tales of the Great Guardian Spirit of the Forest that they tried to scare him with, just as they had done with the first, but he called it just a myth. And called the spirit feeble, lonely and grumpy. And so, he continued his reckless quest to mark the forest as his own, and in that, he started a fire—an accident, but a very terrible one.
The fire tore through Wamwo like a monster unchained, devouring everything in its path. The Great Guardian Tree, older than stories, wept as its bark split and its limbs crumbled into ash. Birds screamed skyward. The mushrooms shriveled into the soil, too frightened even now to sprout again. Fairy rings that once danced in moonlight curled and vanished.
In a twist of fate, the fire turned on the man himself and chased him out of the forest with his back on fire. All the terrible things he had brought with him were set ablaze. He stumbled out of the forest, babbling about a great spirit that had punished him. And though he lived, he never returned. The world outside now thought him mad. Seeing him flee was a moment that made the monster elves believe there might be a Great Guardian Spirit of the Forest after all.
But Wamwo had burned down. And its people now suffered.
Everyone fled when the forest became a great, heaving ball of hot, orange light. Thus, no one perished—except the trees. And even they, if given water, sunlight, and time, would one day rise again into their towering, majestic selves. But for now, homes were gone and food was scarce. The once-gleaming Wamwo had turned to soot and silence.
Beneath the blackened skeleton of the Great Guardian Tree, in the thick cloud of smoke and sorrow, the Council of Monster Elves gathered. Their mossy cloaks were singed, their eyes rimmed with ash and worry. For the first time in centuries, hope felt as fragile as a spiderweb in the wind.
“We will survive,” said Grand-Auntie Popipi, her wrinkled hands wrapped tightly around a vine-bound staff. Her twig crown still smoldered from the fire, a tiny wisp of smoke curling into the air like a bad memory. “But only if we remember who we are.”
The monster elves nodded solemnly. Around them, the creatures of the forest—foxes with singed tails, owls with sooty feathers, moles blinking through the haze—gathered in quiet solidarity.
“Until the forest heals,” she continued, voice firm and full of ancient weight, “we must love deeply, share freely, and think of one another before ourselves. From the smallest berry to the last drop of water—we share.”
It was written into the trees, and all who lived in Wamwo made a vow.
But not everyone would remember this.
One crispy morning, as the mist danced low across the grass, Labubu wandered beyond the borders of the Hollow. Her feet crunched over charred leaves, her eyes searching for signs of life.
And there, nestled inside a Hollow, blackened log, she found it—a golden beehive that was unburnt, untouched and perfectly intact.
The bees inside buzzed in harmonious rhythm, their golden flurries weaving in and out of the comb.
Labubu crouched low, watching, her mind spinning.
“Bees make honey… and honey makes us strong…” she whispered to herself, “maybe they can help us heal faster.”
But the bees were wild and wary. Labubu didn’t think they would forgo their busy schedule of making bees and follow her to Kopokopo Hollow. She couldn’t even get their attention when she tried. Well, she was tiny, wasn’t she? No bigger than the bees themselves.
She came up with a brilliant plan. So sure was she that they’d love her plan if they would just stop to listen, she began to sing the ancient elvish song: “Bloom, Buzz, Follow Me.” It was a tune made for springtime, the song that made flowers open as their names were mentioned.
“Oh, lovely bees,” Labubu cooed sweetly, hiding her sharp little teeth behind an innocent smile—those sharp teeth just make her look a tad dubious, even when she was only trying to be nice.
“Not far from here lies a jar, buried beneath the soil. Inside that jar is a secret garden. A kingdom of nectar! A paradise of blossoms, all for you.”
The bees, swayed by her melody and promise, flew after her, curious about this magical jar. One by one, the flew inside.
Pop. Labubu sealed the jar when the last bee was in.
“I’ll bring you to Kopokopo Hollow. You’ll love it there. You can convince the flowers to bloom again,” she whispered. “Someday, when the forest is as it was, you’ll have more flowers than you can drink, you’ll see.”
She kicked more sand over the jar to hide it, then set off for home, planning to return after the day’s work with some friends to help her carry it back.
Just before she reached the Hollow, Labubu heard voices close to the riverbank. She tiptoed closer and peered from behind a tree.
It was Yaku, the monkey—one of her friends, though not exactly a favorite. He was proud, sharp-tongued, and could be downright insufferable at times. At that moment, he was perched on a flat stone, hunched over a roasted yam, tearing into it with visible delight.
Across from him stood Titaffi, the hare—his best friend. Once brilliantly white, Titaffi’s fur was now permanently stained grey from the fire’s ash, no matter how many times he tried to wash it clean. He was often hungry, frail and quiet these days, however, his eyes now gleamed with hope and joy as he gazed at the appetising meal.
“Can I have some, please?” he asked softly.
Yaku didn’t answer right away. He raised a brow and gave Titaffi a slow once-over.
“Go wash your hands,” he said, tearing another bite. “You’re filthy.”
Titaffi leaped in eagerness toward the river. “Alright.”
He washed his paws till they shone, then hopped back—on all four—across the burnt leaves on the trail.
“Too dirty,” said Yaku. “Go wash them again.”
Titaffi nodded. He trotted to the riverbank and washed his paws.
“Still dirty,” Yaku declared, shaking his head, when he inspected them again. “Wash them again!”
And so Titaffi went—back to the river, to the tree, back to the river once more. But no matter how hard he scrubbed his paws in the river, he would use them to run back to the tree.
Each time he returned with dirty paws, Yaku scolded him. And each time, the yam got smaller. Until finally… there was no yam left.
Titaffi’s shoulders sagged. His ears drooped low, and his belly rumbled like thunder across a dry sky.
Yaku licked the last of the yam from his fingers with a self-satisfied smack. He looked at Titaffi and gave a careless shrug.
“You would’ve made yourself sick if I let you eat with dirty hands,” he said. “You may be hungry, but at least you’re not sick. I’m a good friend for saving you.”
Titaffi’s eyes watered.
Labubu’s eye twitched. Her fury boiled like soup in a black cauldron.
She waited until Titaffi had walked away, then stepped out with a bright, beaming smile.
“Yaku!” she chirped. “Guess what I’ve found?”
“What is it?” Yaku asked impatiently. The little elf was known to be mischievous—though her mischief often served no purpose other than to make life more interesting.
“I’ve found honey.”
Yaku’s ears perked, and his eyes lit up. “Honey? Where?”
“Oh, it’s the most delicious honey,” Labubu said sweetly. “Enough for the whole Hollow to feast for a day. I had my portion, but the jar was too big for me to carry on my own, so I left it where I found it—buried in the soil, right at the junction where the mossy path kisses the riverbend.”
Yaku licked his lips. “You intend to share, don’t you? Don’t forget what the council’s rule about sharing.”
“Of course.” Labubu smiled, “You are strong enough to bring it home. I came to you so you can go for it. But share with everyone when you get it, don’t forget that.”
Yaku nodded quickly. “Absolutely! Absolutely! There is no room for selfishness in this forest.”
And with that, Yaku dashed down the lane, eyes gleaming. He found the jar, wrapped it tightly in his clothes, and scurried back to his hut, giddy with greed to hide the bottle under his bed. The jar was very big and heavy, enough to fill him with dreams about the bountifully meals he would be having for an entire month. Why should he give his food out to anyone?
He waited until the Hollow was fast asleep that night. Then, quietly, he locked his door, latched the windows, and pulled the curtains tight, afraid someone passing by his door while he ate might catch a whiff of honey and come begging for a portion.
He laid the jar gently before him, lit a candle, and whispered, “Tonight, I dine like royalty.”
Inside the jar, the bees stirred at the sudden brightness.
They had seen no garden in the jar, no nectar for them to harvest.
“She lied to us!” the Queen Bee croaked. “She tricked us and for that she must pay!”
Their tiny bodies bristled with fury.
Yaku, completely unaware of the tension, uncorked the lid and leaned in for a sniff.
In a flash—they swarmed. They stung his face. His ears. His nose. His belly. Even his tail. Yaku screamed. He flailed, running about in circles.
By dawn, his entire body was swollen. He looked like a round fruit with arms.
When the sun rose over Wamwo, Yaku stepped out of his hut with great effort. Creatures gasped.
“Yaku! You look… enormous!”
“Have you been hoarding food?”
“What feast did you have?”
Yaku stumbled, mumbled excuses.
“Just… water weight. I drunk a whole river yesterday,” he insisted.
No one believed him.
They teased him. They questioned him. They avoided him.
Only Labubu knew the truth.
And when Labubu met Titaffi down at the river, she told him what had happened. Titaffi laughed so hard he nearly fell into the water.
“That’s what he gets!” he howled. “You gave him a bottle of bees!”
Labubu smirked. “He made you run up and down on an empty stomach when he knew very well he wasn’t going to share. I gave him a lesson.”
“And he will never forget it.”
“No,” said Labubu. “And maybe he’ll remember to be kind the next time.”
As seasons passed, Wamwo began to heal. Shoots of green broke through the ash. The birds returned. Even the Great Guardian Tree sprouted a small sapling, cradled by the winds.
The bees built a new hive in Kopokopo Hollow, at Labubu’s persuasion. After she’d properly apologized to them, of course.
Yaku, humbled and wiser, began sharing his meals. He helped Titaffi build a burrow. He planted flowers for the bees. He never locked his doors again when eating again... in case... in case there is a bee hidden in his bowl.
And as for Labubu—
She still wandered. Still played tricks. Still laughed under moonlight.
But always, in her pranks, there was a seed of something kinder.
Because sometimes, the best way to teach kindness…
Is with a sting.
