Abruptly, the burning sphere came to a halt. Its light began to fade and it slowly descended into the woods. It was not a rough, unformed hunk of rock like the meteors I had studied before but a sphere made of dark red stone with patterns engraved on its side, about the size of our house . As I stared agog through the telescope, I could make out a symbol painted in grey on its side—a triangle with three interlocking rings within. I knew this sign well. It was engraved on my right hand.
“Arion? Do—do you think these are the ones who made me?”