Stone Statues - The Beginning

In the Garden of Virgo

They walked without urgency—past crescent-shaped fountains carved from marble veined with greenstone, through hanging canopies that brushed their shoulders with the scent of spice bark and twilight blossoms. Maiden Cove knew silence in a way few cities did: it wasn’t empty—it listened.

“I’ve watched you linger near the old stones,” Virgo said softly. “Most pass them by without a glance.”

“I built those,” Ravannah murmured. “Or—my essence did. Centuries ago. I thought they’d last longer.”

“They have,” she replied, pausing to touch the moss-covered pillar. “People just forget the roots once the canopy blooms.”

He nodded, but something weighed in his breath.

“Why do they not sing my name?”

Virgo turned, her expression thoughtful. “Because songs require stories. And you have not given them yours.”

Ravannah looked at her, truly looked—for she had said what he’d never dared admit aloud. “I thought legacy didn’t need explanation. I thought strength spoke for itself.”

“Strength is silent,” she said. “But silence can be mistaken for absence.”

He sat on a low bench beneath the garden’s oldest tree, its bark marked with ancient runes. Virgo sat beside him, fingers folded in her lap.

“I’ve watched for you in the movement of stones,” she said. Felt your presence when the crops grew without rain. You are not unseen, Ravannah. Just—unheard.”

He turned to her. “Then let this be my beginning. Speak with me. Let my story be yours, if you’ll have it.”

Virgo’s gaze met his, and for a long time neither blinked. The wind stirred her hair, and light caught the golden flecks in her eyes.

“I’ll listen,” she said. “For as long as you’ll speak.”

And he did.

Over months, then years, Ravannah stayed among the people—not as god, but as man. With Virgo he walked the valleys, helped shape stone gardens, taught the children about the veins of earth and the ancient rhythms beneath their feet. She listened with open heart, gave voice to what he never knew he needed—a witness, not to his power, but to his presence.

In her, he found anchoring. In her, he felt—for the first time—seen.

But the fracture within him had never truly vanished. Only tucked beneath new soil. And even in the richest earth, things buried too long begin to stir.