Sisay, Takara, and the others followed his example, the minotaur doing so with a great grunt of effort.

They climbed over the sand circle, which was no more than three feet high, though Gerrard guessed its total circumference at perhaps a hundred feet. The altar itself, unlike the ruins they had observed thus far, was undamaged. Its polished surface gleamed in the bright sunshine. In the center of the table was scooped a low bowl, and within it lay the five Bones of Ramos.

Powerstones. Gerrard stared at them, marveling. Before coming to Mercadia, he'd seen only the Thran crystal that powered Weatherlight, the most impressive stone of its kind, and a few smaller stones used to power ornithopters on Dominaria. The stones he had seen in Mercadia were tiny, barely more than gleaming pebbles. But these… each of the irregular shards of crystal was the size and general shape of a hand laid out flat. They glowed with lambent energy.

"The Bones of Ramos," Gerrard said reverently.

Sisay came up beside him, staring with hungry eyes. "I thought we had come to see Ramos himself, not just his bones."

"We have," Gerrard replied. He lifted his gaze beyond the altar.

The ground suddenly shook. The crew were nearly hurled from their feet. The stones that ringed the sand circle trembled.

Sisay grabbed Gerrard's arm. "What's happening!"

"Ramos is coming."

The sand beyond the altar exploded. Up from the ground jutted an enormous head, long snouted, with a sharp beak and lizardlike eyes. Polished metal scales gleamed. Two slender horns rose above a long, sinuous neck. Sand sifted from the gearwork shoulders of the beast, and a pair of enormous claws dragged the massive, winged body from his lair.

Ramos was a dragon.

No, Gerrard realized, even as the word shaped itself on his lips. Not a dragon. Ramos was a dragon engine. Dim memories of Multani's sketchbooks stirred. Dragon engines were the mightiest artifacts in the age of the Brothers' War. Armed with them, Urza and Mishra fought until the land of Terisiare sank beneath them. Ramos had been one of those engines, redesigned by Urza not to kill, but to save…

Gerrard found himself bowing before the great beast. Sisay and the others followed suit.

Meanwhile, Ramos had risen to his full height-a hundred feet tall. He bent his head backward. Metal plates of armor gleamed. Oil streamed. His jaws opened.

Sisay winced, fearing a gout of flame.

Instead, Ramos only spoke. His voice was ancient. His words were barely recognizable-an accent that must have been common on Dominaria when Urza and Mishra walked the land. "Gerrard of Weatherlight-you have come to pillage a temple, to pillage a grave."

Lifting his head, Gerrard replied, "No, great Ramos. We have come to fulfill a prophecy."

A huge sound answered that, the ominous rumble of metal on metal. It was a fearful racket, though it could have been nothing but a laugh. "You forget, Gerrard of Weatherlight, that those prophecies are fictions about me. I am Ramos, whom you have come to raise. But I cannot rise, or I would have already. Your ship's arrival in this world-through the very portal I took from Phyrexia, now moved to Rath-only coincidentally resembles my own arrival. Both of us crashed upon this world. Neither will rise again."

Gerrard felt his insides sinking. Ramos knew everything. The dryad chief had conveyed it all to him. Ramos saw the masquerade and the truth that lay beneath it. Why ever would he allow Gerrard to take the sacred stones that had calved from his own power core?

"You are Ramos, yes," Gerrard replied, "but perhaps Weatherlight truly is the Uniter. Perhaps the prophecies are not mere whimsy."

"You do not believe in prophecies, Gerrard of Weatherlight," Ramos scolded. His voice had the timbre of shivering metal.

"No, I don't," Gerrard allowed. His eyes remained riveted to the dragon engine's. "But I do believe in hope. That's where these prophecies came from. Hope. The people who believe these stories remember how you brought their ancestors here. They remember that horrible day so long ago. They remember the death and destruction, but they have transformed horror into hope. They remember Ramos, yes, but they hope for the Uniter. No, these aren't prophecies, foretelling what was destined to happen. These are only hopes, wishes for what must happen."

Ramos's metallic eyes peered deeply, sharply into Gerrard's soul, but the dragon engine did not speak.

Gerrard continued. "You built this place as a memorial to the dead, but what about the living? You long to heal the hurt that you brought to this world, and here's your chance to do it. You've mourned the hundreds of thousands you killed, but mourning is not enough. What about the hundreds of thousands even now who suffer? The Bones of Ramos are only selfish relics lying here. Within Weatherlight, though, they can raise the Uniter. They can bring the world together. They can save those who are doomed."

Gerrard had never spoken with such passion in his life, and the tone of his own voice suddenly struck him as ludicrous. He began to laugh. At first, he only snickered, but attempts to stanch the giggles only made them worse. Soon, he guffawed, slapping his leg.

Ramos glowered at him. "What do you find funny about all this?"

Gerrard smiled through his laughter. "It's just that… it's just that I used to be like you, Ramos. People decided I was a Uniter. People said I had a Legacy, I had a mission to fulfill. They told me I was supposed to save the world. For a long time I dragged my heels. How does one man save the world? But then I gave up fighting. It was too hard to fight destiny. It was only just now, as I heard my own voice talking to youit was just this moment when I realized my destiny had caught up with me. Without even knowing it, I'd become everything everybody said I was supposed to be." His explanation ended in a belly laugh.

A great shiver moved through the dragon engine. He seemed to slump in resignation. "You are right to laugh, Gerrard of Weatherlight. All of this is absurd. You have come here because of a myth that misremembers me and makes you something you are not. You came seeking these five simple stones, broken millennia ago from my power core. They cannot save you. They have power only because they lie here beside me, in the midst of my forest. Beyond the crater, they will be nothing." Ramos gestured dismissively. "I understand hope and know it does not die easily. You will not give up until you see for yourself. I will allow you to take these stones as far as the dryads' grove. There, you will see what I say. They will darken beyond the crater. They will be nothing more than useless shards of stone."

Bowing his head in thanks, Gerrard said, "I will take them to the dryad glade, great Ramos-but you are the one who will see. Hope can enliven even dead shards of stone."

"They cannot save you, Gerrard of Weatherlight. I cannot save you. And you cannot save Mercadia, or your own world."

Despite the dragon's words, Gerrard gazed down into the bowl at the center of the altar. There the Bones of Ramos rested. The central facet of each rough shard bore a resemblance to a body part-Skull, Eye, Heart, Horn, and Tooth.

Reverently, Gerrard lifted the Skull stone. It was warm to his touch, and its blue light glimmered on his palm. He turned and presented it to Sisay. "Keep this safe." She nodded her head and backed away, allowing the next crew member to step up. Gerrard picked up the rest of the stones, one by one, and presented them to his dear companions-Tahngarth, Takara, Chamas, and Dabis.

"Fewsteem, I want you to lead the march back up out of the crater."

"Yes, Cap'n."

"I'll bring up the rear." Then, turning back to Ramos, Gerrard said, "We thank you for this gift, great Ramos, and for the chance to prove you wrong."