The stone didn't golow. Didn't tremble. Didn't speak. But it waited.
At teh edge of the Carvings Garden, hidden beneath the roots of an old tree, a stone from an unknown region was found by a child named Lira. She wasn't a Satria. She hadn't been chosen. But when she touched the stone, it trembled—slightly. Then fell silent again.
Yohwa approached. He tried touching the stone. No echo. No resonance.
Rava tried reading its frequency. But her tools detected nothing. "This stone isn't refusing," she said. "It's waiting."
Numa recorded: "This stone has no echo now. But it holds an echo not yet born."
Raka stood beside Lira. He looked at the stone. "In my season, there were stones that spoke only to one soul. But that soul hadn't been born yet."
In the village, children began dreaming of voices they didn't recognize. Voices not from the past or future. But from possibility.
Yohwa asked Lira, "What do you feel?"
Lira replied, "The stone doesn't speak. But it's waiting for me to speak first."
Rava recorded: "This stone doesn't store echo. It stores space."
The Soul Eclipse approached. But it didn't absorb. It simply stood still. And for the first time, it bowed before the stone.
Yohwa said, "Not all echoes must come from the past. Some wait for the future to give them a name."
And the stone, slowly, began to glow. Not bright. But warm. As if it said: I haven't spoken. But I'm listening.