The week after Serpent's Run opened, Elysion Park no longer woke up quietly.
It roared to life.
Before the gates even opened, guests crowded the entrance plaza, pressed against the railings with cameras already in hand. The serpent's head above the Jungle Zone shimmered in the morning light, and every time a test train shot out of the temple, the line at the turnstiles seemed to stretch another ten meters.
By ten o'clock, the queue for Serpent's Run was already spilling across the boardwalk. Children bounced on their toes, pointing every time the train screamed over the lagoon. Teenagers timed the launches for photos. Parents laughed, shaking their heads—half in disbelief, half in exhaustion.
"Three hours?" one father muttered as he checked the sign. His daughter grinned, clutching her souvenir snake-emblem ticket. "Worth it!"
Lucas watched from the raised path near the Globe & Griddle terrace. For months, that corner of the park had been construction dust and scaffolds. Now it was the heart of Elysion. He could hear screams, laughter, the rhythmic hiss of the launches, even the faint cheers from guests on Jungle Splash below when a train passed overhead.
Emma arrived beside him, tablet in hand. "Attendance is up sixty-two percent over last summer. Merch sales have doubled. We sold out of the serpent plushies before noon."
Walter joined them with a half-smile. "And maintenance reports zero issues so far. She's running smooth as silk."
Lucas nodded, though he barely heard them. His eyes were on the riders. Trains roared in and out of the temple like heartbeats, each dispatch carrying another set of faces—nervous, then thrilled, then glowing as they rolled back into the station. The sound wasn't just noise anymore. It was life.
On social media, the park's feed exploded. Guests posted shaky selfies under the serpent's jaw, slow-motion launch shots, and night photos of the façade glowing emerald green. One comment caught Emma's eye and made her laugh:
> "This ride feels like it belongs in Disney—but somehow it's here, just across the border."
By late afternoon, the sun dipped behind the treeline and the torches ignited along the Jungle Zone path. Lines still filled the queue; no one wanted to leave. Lucas stayed until the final dispatch, watching the last train vanish into the dark temple. When it returned, the riders applauded spontaneously.
He smiled to himself. The park finally had its heartbeat.
Tomorrow would bring the next set of challenges—capacity, crowd flow, and the endless management grind—but tonight, for the first time since the ribbon had fallen, Lucas allowed himself to breathe.
The serpent was alive.
And so was Elysion Park.
The days after the opening blurred together. Every morning, the queue for Serpent's Run filled before the gates even opened, winding past the lagoon and down the Jungle Zone boardwalk. The air buzzed with the sound of laughter and launch roars.
For the first time in years, Elysion Park felt… full.
Lucas walked the paths in silence, hands in his pockets, blending into the crowd. Guests hurried past him carrying serpent-themed snacks, plushies, and postcards. Every conversation he caught felt like a quiet victory.
"Best ride I've done all year."
"I didn't expect this park to be this beautiful."
"Imagine what they'll build next."
That last sentence lingered. What they'll build next.
He crossed the bridge from the Jungle Zone toward the main avenue of Explorer's Landing. The sunlight reflected off the brass fixtures, the banners swayed gently in the summer breeze. From here, he could see almost the entire park: the jungle canopy in one direction, the ferris wheel and the old globe fountain in the other.
And then his gaze caught it—
the one quiet corner that had stayed the same since he first inherited the park.
Benches. Trees. Two kiosks selling drinks.
A forgotten pocket of land between the Globe & Griddle and the Explorer's Delight carousel.
He stopped walking. The crowd flowed around him, but he didn't move. The sound of laughter faded into the background as he imagined the space differently—less as an empty plaza, more as the entrance to something extraordinary.
He could already see it forming in his mind: a façade that began as an expedition hall, banners fluttering in the wind, crates and tents scattered across a cobblestone courtyard. But behind that elegant structure, something ancient broke through—cracked stone walls, vines creeping across the roof, statues of long-forgotten gods pushing their way into the light.
A fusion of civilization and myth.
A portal between worlds.
He stepped closer, picturing guests lining up under the archway, hearing the low hum of mysterious machinery, the whisper of wind through carved stone.
An attraction that didn't just show adventure—
it was adventure.
He sat on a nearby bench, took out his notebook, and began to sketch. Rough lines first—the façade, the flow of the queue, the showbuilding tucked behind. Then smaller notes filled the margins: "trackless → free movement like dance," "expedition discovers living realm," "music drives vehicle choreography."
Minutes passed unnoticed.
When he looked up again, the sun had lowered behind the roofs, painting the plaza in gold. He smiled faintly.
This was it.
The next vision.
He didn't need the system to tell him what came next. He could already see the guests stepping through that entrance, hear the orchestral swell as vehicles danced through a living legend.
The serpent had awakened Elysion Park.
Now it was time to give the park its heart—a place where stories themselves could breathe.