Legend LVI – The Lapis Lazuli Guardian

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It is said that deep in the heart of a jungle, where the foliage like green curtains divides the sun and the ground is touched only by ancient river veins, stands a statue so immense that even the wind falls silent at its sight. It sits, kneeling yet elevated, carved from a stone that seems no stone at all: a body of lapis lazuli, veined with gold, blue as the morning sky when the world still sleeps. No one knows who created it, no one knows when—only that it watches. For eons. Since before the memory of the first peoples. The ancients called him Varuna-Shi, the guardian of water, time, and silent balance. Around him grow the walls of a sunken temple, overgrown with moss and ivy, as if centuries had swallowed it and only accidentally spat it out again. Yet even the roots shy away from his feet, like animals that know life still pulses within them. Travelers report that his eyes sometimes shine like two moons in the mist. Some swear they have heard him breathe—a deep, slow breath that makes the air tremble. Others heard whispers in the halls, words in a language older than light, and yet they understood every word in their hearts. They were not threats. They were warnings. A legend tells of a man who touched the statue—only with his fingertips, only playfully—and the world around him froze. The wind died down. The water stood still like glass. Even his heart, it is said, beat only rarely, like a clock that forgets time itself. In that moment, Varuna-Shi appeared not as a stone, but as a god—a being of unbearable beauty, as vast as the sky, as weighty as truth. He spoke with a voice that flowed like a river: "Take nothing from the temple that is not yours. Time is not a treasure for pockets." The man fell to his knees, for he felt that each word weighed a century. But Varuna-Shi smiled—a soft, warm smile that melted the fear like dew in the morning light. "Those who come with a pure heart find peace. Those who come with greedy hands find only their own end." Thus the spell was broken. Time returned. The man fled, but he vowed never to forget. He told his story, and his word became history, his story a legend, his legend the law of the jungle paths. Now pilgrims seek the forgotten temple. They wander through mist and tangled roots, through whispering stones, through water clearer than memory. Some return with eyes full of wonder, others never do. But those who see the guardian—truly see him—return transformed. They say his gaze pierces the body and touches the soul. They feel smaller, but not weaker. Purer, not poorer. For Varuna-Shi does not guard gold. He guards something higher: the balance between humanity and the world, between giving and receiving, between past and future.