Yohwa's body began to turn to stone.
Not from Kelam's attack, not from a curse, but from resonance that grew too strong. Each time he touched a sacred stone, his body absorbed memories—and those memories were heavy. Heavy like mountains, like histories never told. His skin hardened, glowing fissures spread across his face, chest, and back. He could still move, but every step felt like walking against time.
At night, he sat by a small fire with Numa. Cold wind from the mountains brushed their faces, and a thin fog hung in the air. Yohwa stared at his hands, now like living stone. He gripped his hammer, but didn't feel powerful. He felt fragile.
"I'm afraid I'm losing myself," Yohwa said quietly.
Numa looked at him. "You're not losing yourself. You're changing. But change isn't destruction."
Yohwa shook his head. "I don't know what part of me is still me, and what part has become stone."
Numa paused, then pulled a small stone from his pouch. He handed it to Yohwa. "This is the first stone you carved when we were kids. Remember? You made a bird, but its wing was broken."
Yohwa smiled faintly. "I said it was a bird falling."
"No," said Numa. "You said it was a bird learning to fly."
Yohwa looked at the stone. The glowing fissures on his body pulsed gently. He felt something stir inside—not power, but feeling. The sense that he was still human. That stone wasn't the end, but a layer.
That night, he dreamed.
He stood in a field of stone, his body fully petrified. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. But around him, other stones began to glow. One by one, they sent light into his body. And slowly, the cracks in his form changed—from frozen to warm, from rigid to alive.
He woke with heavy breath. Outside, the fog began to move again. But this time, he didn't feel fear. He knew his body was not just stone. He was stone that remembered. Stone that felt.
And as he stood, the hammer in his hand glowed. Not from strength, but from the courage to remain himself.