The garden wasn't bulit with stone. it was built with the courage to listen.
After the failure of the Three-Way Carving to unify resonance. Yohwa and the Satria decide to let each region carve its own stone. No frocing. No fusion. Just placement side by side. Thus was born the Carving Garden an open cirlce in the heart of the village, where each stone stood with its own story.
The stone from Kalimantan was shaped like curling roots, its carving flowings like rivers that held secrets. The stone from Maluku was wavy, etched with patterns resembling waves and wind. The stone from Wamena was sharp and deep, like a mountain holding ancestral echoes.
Yohwa walked among the stones. He didn't touch. He simply listened. And from each stone, a voice emerged. Not words. But feeling. The Kalimantan stone spoke of lost forests. The Maluku stone of sea spirits never summoned. The Wamena stone of courage born from wounds.
Children began sitting around the stones, listening to stories from the Satria. But what they heard wasn't instruction. They heard vibration. They began rewriting village songs—not based on one region, but on the voices they felt.
Numa documented the new resonance patterns. "This isn't harmony," he said. "It's polyphony. Voices that don't imitate, but complement."
Rava carved a small stone in the center of the garden. She didn't make a symbol. She etched unfinished lines. "This is space for voices not yet found," she said.
That night, Yohwa dreamed. He stood in the garden, and all the stones began to sing. But not the same song. Each stone sang its own. And the voices didn't drown each other. They formed a soundscape that couldn't be explained—but could be felt.
He woke with tears. Not from sorrow. But because he felt the world beginning to speak honestly.
The next morning, the Soul Eclipse began to move. But this time, it didn't absorb. It hovered above the garden, as if listening. The stones weren't afraid. They trembled gently, as if welcoming.
Yohwa stood in the center of the garden. He carried no hammer. No resonance. Only presence.
And the garden sang. Not as one voice. But as many souls finally heard