Simple are the ways of the stone. From sunrise to sunset, and all through the night, the
only movement is that of the mind. Yes, my son, the stone thinks. The stone knows. Were
you to ask, it might tell of the beginning, when it stood alone. Ahh, if only it were so
easy.

Listen. Listen and wait. Someday the stone will move. Someday those thoughts will be heard.
Keep yourself alive and you will see. Watch. See how the sky moves so? Yes, that is the way
of the future. This is now. The future, and the stone wakes.

A dark form rises from the desert horizon, but a spot in the burning orb in the sky. The
shadow blinks from one dune to another, as fleeting as a mirage at the end of another hot day.
The wind blows. Footprints are washed away as the foot that formed them leaves them.

The tall figure is wrapped in a fine cloak and cowl, the color of undyed wool, the texture
of silk, the strength of leather. The face is hidden by a shroud of similar material draped
across the bridge of the nose and falling to the neck. The only startling appearance of
the figure is the harsh, chiseled, grey eyes. The dark skin and impressive height mean nothing
under the glare of those eyes. The quiet insanity that builds within them; a thousand years of
silence, a million thoughts left to fester. Of the stone, of the earth. The body, were it
not for the fine sandals wrapped around his feet and ankles, would seem no different from the
sand he stands in. And even still, those feet almost melt into it. Almost. They do.

This is Kal'Dias, of no place important. He is here. A child of the earth, a giant among
men. Ecce! Behold! This is life. The future begins....