As he cupped the smooth rock in his hands, kneeling on the cold stone slab it began to crystallize.  As the grey exterior turned to glass as if opening a small window through the stone, he began to see it.  Strands of color, emerald green at the base and aquamarine at the tips with some magenta streaks here and there.  The strands came together forming ribbons of upward brush strokes in vibrant color against a black canvas.  The ribbons seemed to move in the stones chaotically like flags in the breeze yet also in a pattern like waves against the beach.  Their origin and termination are clear but the middle of the ribbon is ever-changing yet orderly.  As he peered longer into the glass rock the image became even clearer, and the ribbons formed images.

The breath floated slowly and heavily out of his mouth as he bent over to catch it reaching the peak of the mountain.  The frost was freshly sprinkled onto the tree branches and flower petals at the edge of the forest.  A brilliant red and yellow sun was beginning to paint the sky at the beginning of this new day.  “This way son” spoken as softly as the falling snow.  He nodded and headed towards the voice.  Quietly stepping and listening to the quiet of the world “Patience boy, we will find food soon enough.  Those who seek will find” A twig snaps, breaking the silence of the peaceful setting.  Both slowly turn towards the sound “I see now, father” “Make sure you’re ready before taking the shot” He nods, and pulls back the bowstring holding it against his cheek just long enough for snow to gather on his arm before he lets loose.  At the bottom of his breath, after the fog floats from his face he releases his grip as the snow stays suspended for a fraction of a second.  The streaking arrow flying towards its target, zipping past shrubs and trees is passed by an even faster object.  After the arrow was released another silence-splitting crack was heard but not by any branch.  The bullet ripped through the air echoing through the forest whizzing past him.  “Father”, almost as loud as the bullet, left his mouth as he fell to his knees on the lightly covered ground.  A precise hit, the breath was gone before his father hit the ground.

Walking on a well-worn path to the village packed down with the weight of today’s wood load, smoke rose over the horizon with the orange haze of the engulfing flames.  After lightening himself the bushes along the path began to blur as he ran home.  No longer concerned with the success of the harvest, the lives of his mother and family consumed his thoughts.  After breezing past the first gate, he saw Grams.  Though she appeared as old as the world she was putting up a fight to protect her home.  He ran to her aid as more began to swarm her.  Like ants to sugar, they were soon outnumbered.  He took a blow to the back of the head and passed out watching grams fight as he fell, the flames lighting the night sky behind her.  The bright sun and songs of birds woke him in the morning to the terrible sight of the village.  Grams lie motionless next to him along with many other enemies.  Her home was partially destroyed, some parts still smoldering from the fire.  Piles of wooden beams and concrete rubble now lay where the storyteller's home once stood.  “Here” a voice whispered almost too faint to hear, then a slight pull on his body from an unseen force towards her home.  He searched the home as the whispers and forces became stronger until he found it.

“It can’t be” he muttered still peering through the stone though now only viewing the ribbons of color dancing on the black canvas.  He picked up another from the shelf, but no window appeared, and then another and another with the same results.  After picking up the first stone he looked again into the window and saw himself battling another man.  The man looked familiar and moved like a beloved friend.  The squinted eyes soon turned wide as the face revealed his brother across from him.  The two engaged in exhausting combat in the middle of an artifact room of a temple.  Barely able to lift his arms he strikes the killing blow defeating his brother and ending the only family he had left.  Left sobbing on the floor in the low red glow of the temple room the image beings to fade again.

“Does this show what could happen?” he questioned as the window closed again and he was left staring at a grey stone.  “It shows what has already happened” “But how?  I haven’t fought my brother yet.” His brow now furrowed a bit as he continued studying the stone. “You haven’t fought him in your perceived timeline yet.”  One brow raised as he now stared down the hall of stones and pondered their uses.  “There is much to be shown that can’t be known” The whisper softly declared.