August 2018 – Press Plaza, Explorer's Landing
The small press plaza glowed in late-summer light. Strings of pennants hung between lampposts, and a temporary stage faced the crowd of local journalists, bloggers, and a handful of sharp-eyed fans with cameras around their necks. Behind the lectern stood a clean backdrop: a stylised stone gate in deep green and gold with a single line beneath it.
"The Gates Will Open 2019."
It was the same promise they had teased weeks ago. Today they would clarify just enough to feed the fire.
Emma adjusted the microphone and smiled at the rows of lenses. "Thank you for coming. Many of you saw our teaser earlier this summer. You've asked what lives behind that façade on the far side of the park. Today we can confirm one thing."
She stepped aside. The screen behind her filled with new footage: cranes against a clear sky, the carved temple front catching sunlight, and workers guiding a set piece through a tall service door. No narration, just the steady rhythm of tools and distant birdsong.
Lucas walked to the lectern. Calm, measured. "What we are building," he said, "is a trackless dark ride. A journey through hidden chambers and long-forgotten halls. It stands beyond the tree line at the northern edge of Explorer's Landing, not inside Jungle Zone but just past it—an intentional threshold between worlds."
He let the words rest. The location mattered. People nodded, mapping it in their heads: not jungle, not the entrance, but that quiet frontier they walked past without thinking.
"We're working with ETF Ride Systems," Lucas continued. "You'll move freely through spaces rather than along a rail. That freedom lets us shape the story with light, sound and motion in ways you haven't experienced here before. We're on schedule for a spring 2019 opening. The name will be revealed later."
A murmur rolled through the crowd, the mix of relief and excitement that comes with something concrete. Cameras clicked. On the screen, the footage cut to an interior glimpse: a corridor of dark stone, runes glimmering at floor level, a cool mist drifting across the path. It lasted only two seconds, then faded to black.
"While that rises," Emma said, taking her place again, "we've been improving the park you walk through every day."
The slide changed to a tidy list with images.
Serpent's Bite Grill & Market — open since July, a cluster of timber-and-canvas stalls near the rapids, already busy at lunch.
Rainfall Oasis — a shaded rest terrace with a veil of water and mist fans, tucked beside the backstage curve.
Explorer's Playground Expansion — climbing towers and water jets, due to open next week at the edge of Explorer's Landing.
Totem Tower — a new family drop tower in Jungle Zone, opening in September, twelve meters of gentle rise-and-fall with carved masks and birdsong.
Photos of each project slid by with clean captions. No fanfare, just the facts presented clearly.
"These upgrades smooth out a day in the park," Emma said. "More shade, more seating, better flow. And the Jungle Zone finally gets a family ride that looks and feels part of the story."
Hands shot up.
"Will the dark ride include animatronics?" a blogger asked.
Lucas nodded once. "Yes. Where a scene needs something living, it will be there. Where it needs scale or mystery, we'll use projection and light. The goal isn't to show off techniques. It's to make you forget which ones we used."
"Is the dark ride connected to Serpent's Run?" another voice asked. "The symbols look familiar."
"It shares a world," Lucas said carefully. "Not a plot. If you love connecting threads, you'll find them. If you don't, it will stand on its own."
A local reporter leaned forward. "Why place the building at the edge of Explorer's Landing?"
"Because a threshold fits the story," Lucas replied. "The facade reads as an old structure just beyond the civility of the landing. You step past everyday adventure into something older and quieter. It also lets us stage crowds and sound properly without disturbing Jungle Zone."
Another hand. "Will the area around the show building change?"
"Some," Emma said. "Wider paths, controlled viewing points so guests can watch progress safely, and planting to tie the temple into the landscape. You'll see that happen through autumn."
A child on her father's shoulders asked the question no one else had dared to make cute. "Is it scary?"
Emma smiled. "It's an adventure. If you can ride with your family, you'll be fine."
The laughter eased the formality. The questions circled back through capacity, accessibility, and the spring timeline. Each answer was measured and practical. Nothing promised what could not be kept.
When the last notebook snapped shut, Lucas stepped forward for a final line. "Thank you for your attention. This project matters to us, and so do the small improvements you've already seen. We'll keep building carefully, and we'll share more when it's ready."
Applause carried across the plaza. The crowd began to break into clusters, already editing their headlines and trimming their clips for upload. Emma moved into conversations with local outlets. Walter drifted to the side where he could watch the path that led north, toward the quiet bulk of the show building beyond the trees.
Lucas stood still for a moment at the edge of the stage and looked the same way. From here, over the canopy, the upper edge of the temple was visible, scaffolding wrapped around its stonework like a crown in repair. The location felt right—separate enough to be its own world, close enough to draw people on from the landing.
Walter stepped up beside him. "Clean," he said. "No overpromising."
"That was the point," Lucas replied. "Let them fill the gaps. The building will do the rest."
"Totem Tower is ready for tests next week," Walter added. "We'll hit the September date."
"Good," Lucas said. "Families need a reason to slow down there. The grill is helping already."
They watched a pair of bloggers shoot B-roll of the stage, the banner gate glowing in the slanting sun. The plaza emptied in waves until only staff and a few lingering fans remained.
Emma joined them, tucking her tablet under her arm. "Local papers want a site walk next month," she said. "Exterior only."
"We can do that," Lucas answered. "Keep them at the viewing fence, let them hear the work. Sound sells more than a bare wall."
She nodded. "And the small stuff is landing. People are actually using the mist terrace in the afternoon. The comments are good."
"That's the spine," Lucas said. "Comfort makes time. Time makes memory."
For a moment the three of them stood in a plain line, looking toward the trees where the late light turned the leaves the colour of old brass. There was a sense of weight in the air, not of pressure, but of purpose. The work was visible now. It felt honest.
"Back to it," Walter said, and peeled off toward the service path.
Emma lingered. "When do we talk to the municipality?" she asked quietly.
"Soon," Lucas said. "When the drawings say exactly what they need to say."
He glanced once more at the treeline and the thin glint of scaffold beyond it. The dark ride would anchor the park's near future. The rest bridges, water, a valley of copper and glass waited on another horizon.
"Let them dream," he said softly, mostly to himself. "We'll make sure the real thing is better."