Rain tapped softly against the office window.
Lucas sat at his desk, the glow from his laptop reflecting off a half-empty coffee cup.
Dozens of tabs were open articles, forum threads, fan renders.
The noise outside the park had grown overnight, louder than he'd ever seen before.
Emma pushed the door open.
"They're going crazy out there," she said, setting her phone on the desk. "Every forum, every blog. People think we're doubling the park. Some even found the cost numbers from Gronau."
Lucas nodded slowly. "I've seen it."
On his screen was a single image.
The one he'd finished months ago — a warm valley under golden light, bridges crossing water, towers catching the sun.
No people, no visible track, no gimmicks. Just atmosphere.
Emma leaned closer. "You're thinking of posting it."
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at the image for a moment longer.
Then: "Yes. They're already imagining everything. Let's give them something real to imagine around."
"It doesn't say much," she said.
"It doesn't need to."
He moved the cursor to the corner of the file.
His name was still there — small, almost hidden: Concept by L. Vermeer.
"You're leaving that?"
"Yes. If people want to know who designed it, they can see for themselves."
Emma hesitated, then smiled faintly. "You know this will explode, right?"
"I hope so," he said. "Better we guide the story than watch it spin."
She nodded. "All right. I'll schedule the post for morning. No caption?"
"Just the logo and the year."
---
At 9:00 a.m., the image went live on Elysion Park's social feeds.
No press release. No explanation.
Just one picture and four words at the bottom:
Sky Frontier – 2022.
Within minutes the park's website slowed under traffic.
By ten, it had crashed twice.
Forums flooded with screenshots and guesses.
> "It's official!"
"Look at the light — that's behind Explorer's Landing."
"There's a reflection in the water, could be track."
But the comment that kept coming back wasn't about bridges or towers.
It was about the tiny text in the corner.
> "Concept by L. Vermeer… wait, that's the director."
"He designed it himself?"
"That explains the detail in everything he builds."
By midday, fan accounts were calling him "the hidden architect."
A Dutch blog wrote, "The director who designs his own park."
Even a few rival designers reposted the image in silence no words, just quiet respect.
In his office, Lucas scrolled through the chaos.
Every guess, every theory, every new fake render.
He didn't comment on any of it.
He just leaned back, watching the screen.
The storm outside was finally working in his favor.
He smiled slightly.
"Let them dream," he said.
And outside, beyond the dark-ride façade and the new line of fencing, the ground waited
bare, silent, and ready for what came next.
Cologne, Germany – Büro Freizeit Presse
The hum of computers mixed with the clatter of keyboards.
At the back of the newsroom, a young writer called over to her editor.
"Hey, you've got to see this."
She turned her monitor so he could see the image: a valley under golden light, bridges, water, the words Sky Frontier – 2022.
The editor leaned closer, frowning. "That's Elysion Park?"
"Apparently. They dropped it this morning. No text, just the image."
He whistled softly. "That little park near Gronau? The one with the snake coaster?"
"Yeah."
He looked again, slower this time. "This looks like something Europa-Park would tease, not them."
The writer grinned. "So… headline?"
He nodded. "Write it simple. 'The Park That Refuses to Stay Small.' Let's see how far this goes."
---
Efteling Design Office – Kaatsheuvel, Netherlands
A few designers were gathered around a tablet, coffee cups scattered across the table.
The render from Elysion Park filled the screen.
"Who made this?" one asked.
Another zoomed in on the corner. "Look. L. Vermeer. The park's director."
Someone laughed. "You're kidding. Their director does the design work?"
"No joke," said the lead architect. "He did the jungle coaster too."
They stared at the image again, quiet now.
Finally, the lead spoke. "That composition… it's good. The lighting, the perspective.
He's not pretending. He gets it."
One of the younger artists smiled. "You think he's aiming for the big leagues?"
The lead nodded. "He already joined them."
---
Phantasialand Operations Meeting – Brühl, Germany
A phone buzzed on the conference table.
Someone turned it around so everyone could see the screen.
"What's that?"
"Elysion Park just announced Sky Frontier. Look."
The managers leaned closer. The room went quiet for a moment.
"That's impressive," one of them said finally.
Another crossed his arms. "Ambitious for a park that size. But if they can really pull that off…"
The marketing director smiled thinly. "Then we'll have company."
---
Intamin Headquarters – Schaan, Switzerland
Marco Weiss opened the park's post on his phone and tilted it toward Elena.
"Remember what I told you?" he said.
She smiled. "You said he'd surprise everyone."
He nodded once. "He just did."
---
Online – Evening
Fan accounts multiplied.
A well-known coaster YouTuber uploaded a ten-minute video titled "How One Small Park Just Challenged Europe."
The comments filled faster than he could moderate.
By night, the image had been shared thousands of times.
Not because people understood it, but because they could feel it.
---
Inside his dim office, Lucas closed his laptop.
The chatter, the speculation, the sudden attention it was everywhere now.
He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, the faint glow of the render still reflected in the window.
The world had noticed.
And for the first time, he felt the weight of it not as pressure, but as proof that the dream was real.
Tomorrow, they'd go back to work on the dark ride.
But tonight, Elysion Park had officially stepped into the spotlight.
While the world argued online about Sky Frontier, the real work continued quietly behind closed doors.
The dark ride building stood silent from the outside, its façade wrapped in scaffolding and half-finished carvings.
But inside, the air was warm, filled with the scent of fresh paint, damp plaster, and electricity.
Lucas walked slowly through the dim corridors, helmet under his arm.
The crews had just finished another lighting test. A faint blue glow still pulsed along the rock walls, tracing the patterns of carved runes.
Walter stepped down from a ladder nearby, wiping his hands on a rag. "Power systems are stable," he said. "Ride control passed diagnostics. We could run a test train tonight."
Lucas nodded. "Do it. But keep the doors closed. No sound outside."
He moved deeper into the main chamber.
The space felt alive now light spilling from behind stone panels, fog machines breathing in rhythm, the faint echo of water dripping through artificial channels.
A technician adjusted one of the animatronics near the far wall a serpent idol with glowing eyes that flickered to life as he passed.
Emma entered quietly behind him.
"They're still talking about the expansion," she said. "Every headline. Nobody's realized what's sitting right here."
Lucas smiled faintly. "Good. Let them look the other way for now."
He stopped in front of the central scene the one where the vehicles would pause, surrounded by projection walls and mirrored lighting.
The music test started softly, strings blending with deep percussion. It wasn't loud yet, but it was enough.
For a moment, the room felt enormous.
It didn't feel like a regional park ride anymore.
It felt like a place ancient, dangerous, beautiful.
Emma crossed her arms, watching the light ripple across the floor.
"When people see this," she said, "they're going to lose their minds."
"They'll expect it again," Lucas replied.
"That's the point of Sky Frontier. This is the proof that we can."
Walter's voice came through the radio: "Test vehicle ready."
Lucas gave one last look around the chamber the glow of the runes, the haze in the air, the stillness before movement.
Then he spoke into the mic.
"Send it."
The quiet was replaced by a soft hum.
The doors opened, and a sleek trackless vehicle rolled forward into the darkness, headlights cutting through the mist.
The system came alive, sensors blinking, audio rising as the first scene triggered.
For a few seconds, Lucas just stood there, watching the reflection of light move along the walls.
Nobody outside the fences knew what was coming.
Not yet.
But when this ride opened, they would.