The stone didn't speak once. It spoke twice.
In the Carving Garden, a stone from Nusa Tenggara began to tremble. The echo it released was simple: "I am afraid." Everyone heard it. But each person heard a different meaning
Yohwa heard it as the fear of his childhood—the fear of darkness, the fear of rejection. He felt the stone was speaking about him.
Rava heard it as the fear of love. She felt the stone was speaking about the wound she hid.
Numa heard it as the fear of losing structure. He felt the stone was speaking about a world he couldn't measure.
Raka heard it as the fear of the future. He felt the stone was speaking about choices not yet made.
The stone repeated the same echo: "I am afraid." But each time it spoke, its meaning shifted. As if the echo wasn't a single voice, but a mirror reflecting the soul of whoever listened.
In the village, children heard it as the fear of loneliness. Elders heard it as the fear of losing their children. Everyone heard something different. But everyone felt the stone was speaking directly to them.
Yohwa sat before the stone. He asked, "Do you speak twice, or do we hear twice?"
The stone trembled. Another echo emerged: "Truth is not one voice. It is many ears."
The Soul Eclipse approached. It heard the echo as fear of itself. For the first time, it stopped absorbing. It simply listened.
Rava recorded: "This stone doesn't speak twice. It speaks once, but the world hears it many times."
And that night, the Satria realized: truth is not what is said. Truth is what is heard.