"Nikolas! This is Grand, your grandfather. I hate leaving messages on these cursed things! Please call me back. Our city is in trouble. The city of Huron. She needs you."

A man, who appeared to be in his early sixties with marbled white-blond hair and sky-blue eyes, filled Nick's videomail screen.

The ID and timestamp on the videomail read:

CALLER: GRAND LYONS (GRANDPA)

TIME: 7:10 AM

LOCATION: MACHU PICCHU, PERU

"For years I have been searching for a message from your city. I believe I have found such a message here, in Machu Picchu. I'm about to tell you something quite unbelievable, but it's true. The city of Huron is in the past, and it's on the moon. Or as our people call it:

Möon.

This all sounds preposterous, I know, but our family isn't from this--this future Earth. We travelled through time and space to escape our enemies who were bent on our death. Now some dark force threatens our city, and we must return.

I hope you check your messages soon, Nikolas."