In the quiet village nestled among cedar-covered hills, just beyond the winding river and past the rice paddies, stood an ancient temple — weathered by time, wrapped in moss and mystery. Near this sacred place, on a flat, sun-warmed stone that jutted from the earth like a forgotten altar, two children played: Javor and Jade.
Javor was the elder by a year, thoughtful and quiet, his eyes always scanning the horizon. Jade, younger and wilder, darted like a dragonfly from one idea to the next. The villagers often said they were like the twin spirits of the wind and water — always clashing, yet always together.
That afternoon, the stone was their stage. Smooth and flat, warmed by the midday sun, it was perfect for their imagined world. Jade declared it a ship, sailing the sky-sea toward a castle in the clouds. Javor, more grounded, insisted it was a battlefield where heroes once stood. In the end, it became both — the stone always did.
They knew the stories of the temple well. Elders spoke of how monks once meditated there, drawing wisdom from the stillness of the mountain and the silence between the trees. Some said spirits still lingered, watching the children with fondness, remembering their own youth when the world was less broken. Javor believed in the spirits. Jade wanted to meet them.
Their game shifted as Jade began tracing circles in the dust with a twig. “This is where the fire bird landed,” she said. “And here’s where we’ll build our tower of feathers.” Javor, skeptical but willing, added stones and leaves, structuring walls with a careful engineer’s mind. Together, they created a world no one else could see — except maybe the spirits.
A breeze passed through the trees, stirring the prayer flags hanging from the temple eaves. The wind carried a faint chime — the old bell swaying gently in its wooden frame. Both children paused. Jade turned to Javor. “Did you hear it?”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the temple. “It never rings unless someone’s near.”
But the path was empty. No footsteps. No voice. Just the hush of the forest and the whisper of stone beneath bare feet. Jade grinned. “Maybe the fire bird’s watching.”
Javor didn’t smile, but he didn’t disagree. Something sacred stirred in the air — not frightening, just ancient. The stone felt warmer now, as if remembering its purpose, as if glad to be touched by young hands again.
The sun began to lower, casting long shadows across the clearing. The children’s play slowed, the world of imagination dissolving into twilight. Still, they lingered, not quite ready to leave.
“Do you think they watch us?” Jade asked softly.
Javor looked toward the temple, its silhouette framed in gold.
“I think they remember us,” he said.
And hand in hand, they stepped off the stone, the echoes of their laughter carried up the hill like incense — a quiet offering to whatever still lived among the ancient stones.
