The shift was undeniable. In April, Serpent's Run had still been a skeleton of steel. By early May, stonework clung to its bones, vines draped across supports, and the first carved serpent heads stared out at the guest paths. By June, the transformation was nearly complete: not a coaster under construction, but the rising ruin of a cursed temple.
Lucas spent his mornings walking the site, notebook in hand. Where once he had jotted down track deliveries and support placements, his pages now filled with notes on texture, shadow, and finish. A wall might look too freshly painted. A vine might hang too evenly. He learned to look not just as a park manager, but as a guest: could you still tell it was fiberglass? Would you believe this ruin had stood for centuries?
Inside the dark temple corridor before Launch One, the air had turned heavy with the smell of paint, resin, and burnt dust from new cabling. Panels were complete now—serpent reliefs twisting between carved blocks, each crack shaded in careful detail. Torches flickered with LED cores hidden beneath resin flames, casting just enough light to catch the serpent statues lining the walls. Test sequences played out as trains rolled slowly through on drive tires: short halts, lights flaring, statues' eyes glowing red, then the hiss of air compressors as if something massive slid through the shadows. Every stop felt like a heartbeat before the coming launch.
Outdoors, the transformation was even more dramatic. From the new Jungle Splash boardwalk, guests had a clear view of the temple façade rising over the lagoon. Once gray scaffolds, it now wore weathered stone panels, streaked with moss-green washes and broken by jagged serpent carvings. Golden serpent heads jutted outward, their jaws open in silent warning. Real ivy had already begun climbing disguised mesh frames, tangling with the resin vines. To a casual observer, the blend was seamless.
And the casual observers kept coming. Families paused to take photos, children pointing at the glowing serpent eyes visible through an open archway. Teenagers argued about how far the track really went inside. Fan forums filled with grainy zoom shots taken from the boardwalk—every new wall panel sparking speculation, every crane movement tracked like breaking news.
By mid-June, the work shifted from heavy lifting to details. Sculptors carved expedition glyphs into fresh plaster; painters layered dust washes to dull the shine of resin; technicians tested synchronized lighting sequences inside the finale building, where a serpent head the size of a small car waited in shadows for its first full animation test. Lucas stood beside it one afternoon, the sculpted scales brushing the overhead work lamps. Even frozen in place, its emerald eyes seemed to follow him.
"Final checks next week," one of the crew said, patting the serpent's jaw as though it were alive. "By July, she'll be ready to strike."
That night, Lucas returned to his office, the sounds of the park fading into silence outside. He opened the financial report that had become his ritual at the end of every milestone. This time, the numbers carried more than just costs—they carried proof that the park itself was feeding the system.
---
Elysion Park – Financial Report (June 2017)
Park Budget (Feb 2017): €7,650,200
Outflows:
Sky Discovery theming & opening costs (March) → – €250,000
Serpent's Run theming & props (Apr–Jun) → – €1,400,000
General operations & fixed costs (Mar–Jun) → – €600,000
Total outflows: – €2,250,000
Inflows:
Visitor income (Mar–Jun, ±150,000 guests × avg. €28) → + €4,200,000
New Park Budget (June 2017): €9,600,200
---
System Funds (Feb 2017): €30,536,000
Outflows:
System crew theming installation & hidden expenses → – €1,200,000
Reserve for July opening & media event → – €500,000
Total outflows: – €1,700,000
Bonus inflows:
Park income bonus (Mar–Jun: €4.2M × 5) → + €21,000,000
New System Funds (June 2017): €49,836,000
---
Lucas stared at the final line, blinking once before leaning back in his chair. Nearly fifty million in hidden reserves. The system had rewarded him handsomely for the park's growth—Sky Discovery had pulled guests in, and Serpent's Run was already driving anticipation strong enough to boost attendance before it even opened.
The numbers told one story—stronger than expected, healthy enough to cover the final stretch.
The park itself told another: walls that looked older than time, serpent eyes that glowed in the dark, trains that waited for their first launch.
The temple was awake.
And in just a few weeks, Serpent's Run would open its jaws to the world.