The Heart of the MountainIn a village nestled against a great stone mountain, there lived a sculptor named Elian. He was a quiet man, often seen not with a hammer and chisel, but simply sitting and staring at a massive, raw block of marble he had hauled from the quarry. For weeks, he did nothing but observe the stone, tracing its veins with his eyes, learning its spirit.When he finally began, his pace was maddeningly slow. Where other sculptors filled the plaza with the furious rhythm of their work, Elian’s studio was often silent. He would spend a whole day