Some of brightest scientific minds of the city, gathered in a grand villa with a magnificent view. We were asked to entertain. How could we say no?
Your scientists fascinate us. So much theory, so much brilliant theory. But when asked how acquiring this great knowledge is transforming their own lives – most stand silent.
After weeks of summer sun, dark clouds gathered as we made our way up the hill.
It was a lonely walk. The Yamarillians is a light loving people, night time is for sleep and contemplation. At least, so I was lead to believe.
But that perception would change fundamentally, and this was the night of my awakening. Like a visitor who by chance arrived on the Greek island of Ikaria when the god Dionysus presented the first vine to Icarius, I got to see the hub around which all Yamarillian lives revolved. Up until this point, I had truly been a Le Sfumatos, an unintiated.
It all started with a muffled, but distinct sound that seemed to come from far away. Drums in the deep. Dark, rhythmic beats, as if the city itself possessed a heart that in the dead of night started to beat stronger for each minute that passed. My curiosity growing, I started to follow the sound. I wandered through the winding alleys of Sclater until I finally found myself in front of a tall bronze door. The source of the dark, pulsating sounds lay behind the door, I was certain of it. But would I dare to follow it further?
I had already done my share of following foolish impulses on this journey. My arrival, which nearly ended in my death. The cocky questions and challenges, which rendered me a harsh punishment. I ought to know better than opening closed doors in the middle of the night. Still I couldn’t help myself. The dark drums were too enticing. I put my hand on the latch. After just a brief moment of hesitation, I entered.