On the green expanses of Urania, in a realm where the tapestry of mundanity was laced with magic, there lived a sculptor by the name of Eron. Unlike any ordinary artist, Eron was born with a outstanding gift. He was one of the very few Stone Masters in history who knew how to talk to the very soul of the stone and bring forth shapes and life from the dull brown jaws of the rock through nothing but touch of his hands and the force of his will.
In a workshop at the very edge of the Whispering Forest, Eron labored amid statues so lifelike that visitors usually murmured brief apologies upon brushing against them, mistaking the cold stone for warm flesh. His fame as a Stone Master spread far and wide, drawing the attention of both commoners and the highborn.

It was during one cool, crisp morning when Eron was busy serving the statue of the falcon with poised wings ready for flight that a mysterious cloaked figure emerald green came to visit him.

And then, she introduced herself as Myra, the envoy of Netherland itself to the king. The king is in search of a masterpiece. The king seeks a guardian for the new erected citadel, which is to represent the refuge and power.

Eron hesitated, for his heart did not lie in the glory but in the challenge and the beauty of his art. To bring life from stone was more than a mere exercise of skill; it was to enter into a sacred communion with the earth herself. It demanded respect and patience above understanding.

But when Myra spoke of the citadel with towers to the skies and walls shining like morning dew, that finally stirred Eron. He saw a guardian not of stone alone but filled with the spirit from the earth—a mighty and sage protector.

With the highest purpose, therefore, Eron set out for Netherland in the company of Myra. It was a long journey laden with stories of ancient magic, lore of the land, and the slow blossoming of the friendship of the sculptor for the envoy.

When Eron reached Netherland, he was awed. It was the power that was apparently laid latent in the stones of the citadel, which took him aback. He spent days walking the grounds of the place, his hands brushing against the ancient rocks, listening to their whispers—memories of the world before time was time.

On the dawn of the seventh day, finally, the perfect stone revealed itself. It was a colossal, time-worn boulder veined with lines of gold and azure, pulsing quietly with a strength. Eron had felt it; he knew the guardian of Netherland lay within this stone. So work would begin, then, with eyes of the kingdom looking on. Eron did his daily routine day and night, with his hands moving to some kind of rhythm that seemed in sync with the beating of the earth’s heart.

Gradually, from the stone started emerging the figure of a majestic lion as huge as ten men, flowing like liquid gold and deep pools of wisdom. However, Eron knew that for the guardian to truly awaken, he must plunge through the den of the Whispering Forest to seek the Heartstone—a gem of pure magic, which was the essence of the Earth’s power.

The Heartstone would give the lion not just semblance of life but consciousness, binding it to the land that was supposed to be under its protection.

The road to Urania was dangerous; the Heartstone was considered a treasure that everybody yearned for. Naida was by their side, with arcane by the touch of Myra. They literally faced the creature of shadow and deception, for every trial deepened resolution and friendship.

Under the oldest tree in the Whispering Forest, at the center of the clearing, they found the Heartstone. It shone softly among its twisted roots. And Eron, who knew the weight of what they were about to do, took the gem and returned to Netherland with Myra.

With all eyes from across the kingdom on him, Eron did the same, placing the Heartstone within the heart of the stone lion. Radiant light surrounded the sculpture; the ground rumbled and then there was silence. Slowly, it blinked open its eyes and gave a deep growl from its throat.

The guardian had awakened. More than a protector, he became a symbol for the people of the Netherland to unify with strength and resilience over their land. Eron had poured his very soul into this story and knew that his part was done.

He prepared to leave, the call of his workshop, his sanctuary, strong in his heart.

But Netherland would not let him go quietly into anonymity that he so craved. This shows that in return for his thanks, the king was to give him whatsoever riches and titles that there are, but Eron sought none. But he asked for only one thing: that he might have a piece of land close to Whispering Forest, to be able to do his work again in peace, near the magic that always guided his hand.

But Eron’s legacy was far greater than any guardian he could have crafted or any statue bearing testament to his prowess. It was in the stone, every part, a story, a life waiting to be revealed by those who listened.

And as the seasons changed and years unfurled like the petals of a bloom, Eron would continue his sculptures, and with him was Myra—always a presence to remind of what they had journeyed through. This is the insight that two men gawked into in their depths, where magic and artistry mingled, creating the bridge between the tangible and the mystical—a testimony for the bond that lies still between the earth and its children. In the Kingdom of the Netherlands, a stone lion observed—a timeless, steadfast protector. In the stillness of his workshop, the Stone Master worked, his hands shaping stone and life.