He stood on the ledge of the great Cauldarian range looking down at his hand in which he held a rock. The beauty of it was overpowering, it's green opaque luminescence made him feel falsely at ease. But he knew this was an object of beauty that no Cauldarian should possess. The stone represented the dark side of history. The ideological faith and power that emanated from it could also be used for good. But its efficacy was wielded as if it were a sword striking at every aspect of the populaces freedom. So far its thrust proved deadly in every instance. It had to be thrown over the ledge and into the night if his people were to survive. Michael had awakened from this same dream that he had many times before. It was as if it were only yesterday that his world had changed; it was different, but in many ways it was still the same...