The stone appeared in the middle of the night. No one saw it arrive. But as dawn touched its surface, every echo in the garden fell silent.
It stood in the center of the Carving Garden, among stones that had forgiven each other. But this stone was different. Its surface wasn't rough. Not smooth. It was like shattered glass—cracked but unbroken. Its carvings were unrecognizable. Not from Kalimantan, Maluku, Wamena, or Sulawesi. Not even from the past.
Yohwa approached. He didn't touch. He simply stared. And from within the stone, an echo emerged. But not a normal echo. It spoke of the future. Of a garden destroyed. Of Satria killing one another. Of resonance turned into weapon.
Rava stood beside him. "This isn't a stone from our time," she said. "It's a stone from a possibility yet to happen."
Numa tried reading its frequency. But the resonance tools failed. "It doesn't emit," he said. "It reflects a future we haven't chosen.
Lonto from Sulawesi touched the stone. She saw herself as a war leader. She saw children trained to be soulless Satria. She stepped back, pale. "This stone doesn't warn," she said. "It shows what happens when we stop listening."
In the village, children began dreaming of versions of themselves they didn't recognize. Some saw themselves as rulers. Others as traitors. They didn't know if it was dream or echo.
Yohwa sat before the stone. He closed his eyes. And he saw himself—old, tired, and alone. He saw a garden emptied. He saw stones destroying each other. He saw himself as the last one standing.
"This isn't memory," he said. "It's a warning."
That night, Yohwa dreamed. He stood in a white room, and the stone stood at the center. From within it, an echo said: I am the future born from wounds left unhealed.
He woke with heavy breath. The next morning, he stood before the stone. He didn't touch. He simply said, "We hear you. But we haven't chosen yet."
The stone trembled. It didn't glow. But its cracks began to shift. No longer random. They formed a pattern. A circle. A circle of time.
The Soul Eclipse approached. It didn't absorb. It didn't weep. It simply spun slowly above the stone. And echoes from the future began to blend with echoes of the present.