“Before we do this … I want to apologize in advance for all the garlic I consumed in Italy,” said Hypnos.

“Breathing on it is not required,” said Zofia. “It requires a gust of air. That was why the crashing waves revealed its translucency to us earlier.”

“How are we going to do something like that?” asked Laila, casting about for something on the shore.

Hypnos reached into his pocket and whipped out his fan. “You. Are. Welcome.”

Séverin grinned, but Enrique asked, “Will it really work?”

“Only one way to find out I suppose,” said Séverin. He nodded at Hypnos. “Shall we?”

Hypnos spun the fan between his fingers, then deftly flicked it open. When he turned to face the wall, Séverin noticed that the smirk on his face faded. His throat bobbed. A rare expression stole onto his face … one of true nerves. Hypnos glanced at Laila, who smiled at him. Séverin reached forward, clasping his shoulder for a moment.

Hypnos rolled his shoulders back and began to fan. Dust blew off the jagged stone. Seams of light wove their way up from the roots of the rock wall. As the light grew brighter, Séverin wondered what the cave would say if it could speak. Laila had said there was an alien consciousness and feeling flowing through the stone. What would it make of them now?

A tall archway shaped like a tear formed in the rock. Its edges glowed.

No one spoke as they stepped across the threshold.

Though it was the place that might have inspired a confusion of tongues and the beginning of language, words failed Séverin as he beheld what lay before them.

On the other side of the threshold was an island wrapped in mist. It did not belong to any country. Perhaps it did not even belong to this world.

Silver fog wreathed the boundaries of the temple, so it looked as if it were cast in moonlight. A melted image of the night sky adorned a wide glass floor that formed close to the edge of his boots. The artistry was so vivid that Séverin’s stomach swooped, imagining he might fall through the darkness between the stars.

Thirty meters away appeared the first steps of the ziggurat. Séverin tilted his chin up … and up … and still he could not see where the ziggurat ended. He imagined a temple like that would scratch the sky, but instead, it seemed to disappear into a lush hanging garden. Like Eden itself tipped upside down. The silvery fog picked out flowers the color of pearls, and thick, reaching vines like the grasping hands of a new lover. The lush forestry curled down, resting on the shoulders of two massive automatons flanking either side of the ziggurat. In the dimness, they looked sculpted out of shadows. Their faces were serene and inscrutable. Atop their heads, they wore crowns of intricately carved stone.

When Séverin breathed deep, he caught the lingering whisper of incense on the air. And when he closed his eyes, he could hear an impossible wind rustling through the branches.