The stone didn't glow. It remembered.
On a quiet night, a stone from an unknown region appeared at the edge of the Carving Garden. No Satria claimed to bring it. No children saw it arrive. But as dawn touched its surface, echoes began to rise—not from the present, but from a past that wanted to be forgotten.
Yohwa touched the stone. And he saw a war never spoken of. He saw betrayal among Satria. He saw echoes severed before they could grow. He saw wounds never named.
Rava stepped back. "This isn't an ordinary stone," she said. "It carries memories no one asked for."
Numa tried reading its frequency. But the resonance tools broke. The stone's echo was too dense. Too deep. "It doesn't just remember," he said. "It holds feelings never given space."
Lonto from Sulawesi approached. She touched the stone and wept. "I saw spirits never summoned," she said. "I saw history buried so we could sing."
In the village, children began having nightmares. They saw the village burning. They saw stones destroying each other. They didn't know if it was the past or a shadow of the future.
Yohwa gathered the Satria. "We must decide," he said. "Will we listen to this stone—or bury it, as was done before?"
Rava replied, "If we reject it, we repeat the wound. If we listen, we may break. But we'll be honest."
That night, Yohwa dreamed. He stood in a room full of echoes. But they didn't sing. They cried. He approached, and the echoes said: We are not enemies. We are the parts of you that you abandoned.
He woke trembling. The next morning, he stood before the stone. He didn't speak. He simply opened his hands. And the stone began to tremble. Gently. It didn't glow. But it released resonance—not beautiful. But real.
In the village, children began drawing wounds. Not as threats. But as parts of the story.
Numa documented: "This resonance cannot be harmonized. But it can be accepted."
The Soul Eclipse approached. It touched the stone. And for the first time, it wept.