In an emerald green field, completely empty save for a curious circle of mammoth boulders around a single rock, a boy- hardly older than twelve- and an ancient man trod along. The boy glanced at his elder, anxiety emanating from every portion of his face. For a time, no words broke the silence.

Finally, a young, timid voice dared to ask, "Merlin, are you certain?"

The elderly man, whose eyes smiled though the rest of his face remained composed, answered, "Never, so much as now, Arthur."

The silence resumed. Not even birdsong penetrated the grey dawn as the pair entered the ring. As if rehearsed, the old man remained just barely within the stone borders. The boy continued, so dwarfed by his surroundings as to appear years younger than he already was. As if stricken by his insignificant size, the boy slowed as he neared the single boulder in the center.

The boulder was nearly as tall as the boy himself. A magnificent sword stood within the stone. The sword's hilt spread like outstretched wings and just below the hilt, embossed into the blade, were three rings intertwined. The boy took a deep breath and ascended the steps. His outstretched hand brushed the sword's grip.

At the top, the boy wrapped his hands around the sword's hilt. He closed his eyes and exhaled. Slowly, the sword slid from its resting place. The boy's eyes shot open as a radiant blast of magic swept from the sword and radiated across the land. The old man raised an arm to shield his eyes from the sheer brilliance of the flare.

The boy's sides visibly heaved as the burst subsided. Slowly, he brought the blade down, leaning on it as if his legs would no longer hold him. The elderly man swiftly made his way to the boy's side. As the elder reached out to steady the trembling lad, the boy panted in a voice barely above a whisper, "Merlin, is this Excalibur?"

The old man only nodded.