Two robed figures crossed the long, deserted hall, oblivious to the shadows cast by the ancient, bronze statues flanking each side of the marbled wall every ten paces or so. Slender, arched windows spilled the moon's silver light between the shadows, illuminating their path. The shorter of the two men, robed in red, hastened to keep up with his white-cloaked companion. He had been roused from his sleep by the taller man, and had been practically dragged into this unused, ill-forgotten part of Dominion. 'He's here. He's alive!' were the only coherent words the white-clad man had uttered.

"Will you kindly slow down, Valeron." The small man puffed. "Whatever it is, it is not going to vanish or run away!" He was about to launch into a lecture on the virtues of patience, when the man ate up the final stretch of the hall with his long strides, leaving him behind.

Valeron paused before the huge, double doors of bronze at the end of the hallway. Carved upon its center was the ancient symbol of the Conclave—three joined circles within a triangle. He turned to his lagging companion.

"Open the doors, Janus." He said impatiently and stood aside, silver-gray eyes glittering in the moonlight.

Janus frowned at Valeron disapprovingly. 'Aren't we the strangest pair, standing before this door in the middle of the night. I, Janus, last of the Guardians of the Stone, and Valeron, last surviving heir to a forgotten Mission.'

For a second, Janus felt the hand of Fate, like a whisper, brush against his back. For an instant he saw Valeron as he stood there, wearing the black robes instead of the white. But when he looked again, he saw nothing but an exasperated young man.

"Janus, I know the Code. I have every right to ask this of you. Besides, I am the only one, aside from you, of course, that has any interest left remaining of what lies behind these doors."

"Very well." The small man sighed, distracted by the disturbing vision and the constant ache in his bones. Sixteen hundred and forty-six years to this day—he had lived too long that it was almost turning into a curse.

Janus raised his hands and uttered a Word, the syllables so alien that Valeron's skin prickled.

Slowly, silently the great bronze doors swung inward. The stale air rushed immediately to greet them. With a whisper from Janus the lamps began to glow, revealing a small, oval room, the walls and floor tiled with the symbol of the Conclave. The wall opposite the door was carved into a hundred niches, each housing a gemstone, each stone representing the colors of Ervon. All the stones were dead, devoid of their inner light; some had even crumbled into dust. Except for one. One silver-blue gem glittered like crystal, refracting the light from the lamps, pulsing like a miniature heart.

Janus gasped and turned to the white-robed man, who was holding a similar gem in a silver chain around his neck. It, too, pulsed in unison with the other stone.

"I felt it." Valeron said softly. "Even without the conditioning, I know he is alive. Five hundred years, Janus, and now he has returned. You know what this means."

When the Guardian spoke, his voice trembled slightly. "It has been— too long. I have to be certain."

He walked to the north end of the oval room and, gathering himself, raised his hands once more. The Words he uttered were almost musical, so alien and beautiful that Valeron shut his eyes and turned away. The air before the Guardian seemed to shift ever so slightly, and an uncut gem as big as a man's fist appeared, suspended on a pedestal of pure Power. The Stone glowed like a small sun, its green fire illuminating the entire room. For sixteen hundred years, its fire had remained unlit until this night.

"Rhyshannon!" Janus whispered, fear and awe warring on his countenance. A wave of sudden dizziness assailed the Guardian. He swayed and would have fallen if not for the younger man's steady hand. Mesmerized, Valeron reached out to touch the Stone, but immediately snatched his hand back when Janus snapped, "Do not touch it! It is not of this world!"

The Guardian of the Stone stepped back from the white-robed man's support, as if he had found new strength, his eyes alight with purpose. "We must inform the Principality. The Conclave will have to convene."

Just as they were about to leave the room, Valeron hesitated and gazed back at the silver-blue gem, so like his own. "I have waited for this moment, all my life it seems." He said in a tight voice. "Now that moment has arrived—I don't know what to do, Janus."

"This is not the time for uncertainties, not anymore." The Guardian replied. "When that  time comes, Valeron Darshiva, you will do what you must."