There was no right or wrong to it. The hole, the crevice, the crack into the Earth was waiting, right where it should have been. There was nothing left but to—quite simply—enter.

Only, his research, his background, his reason—hell, even his gut—told him it was wrong. That all the clues which had led him here had also forbidden his ingress. That this land, this ground, was sacred…

I'm a twenty-first century explorer. Better that, than to claim his archeology roots. Then, this really would be wrong. He was here to steal secrets, unlock hidden and long-revered messages from the rock—to place his personal twist and interpretation on paintings and symbols which had been defined long ago. All in pursuit of a claim, to be the first, the expert. To make it his. To take photographs, lithic samples, even the odd artifact or three which came his way.

In today's archeology, you didn't disrupt, and you disturbed as little as possible. But this was a dig for which he'd never get funding.

And if grant money was unlikely to ever come your way, sometimes you just needed to take that extra step…to secure funding on your own.     His fingers itched with anticipation.His mouth was dry with eagerness, fear…regret? He stood tensely, chewing his bottom lip with nerves.

Only one thing stayed him—if I die here, this day, who will ever know? He'd no more shared his Verge of Greatness than he'd shared the location on a map, or the research which had brought him here.

They'll never know. One way or the other, no one would ever know.

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