The only sound in this still and quiet lake is the light splash of its step as it walks the two warriors down the avenue of lit braziers that float suspended over the dark water and lead up to the mouth of the structure that sits in the middle of this interior place. The center of this ribboning existence. The Inverted Theater. The hairs on the back of your neck prick up as a murmur ripples throughout the crowd; a questioning. It cannot be—they are not—I do not believe it. But all of you know it to be true. In this place outside of time, and location. They are here.
