Nacht, the exultant voice of Nacht, sirens out to me from the rusting loudspeakers lining the old desert highways of western America:

“Ye must go to New Babylon, bring the dawn to Nacht’s reign. The stars say her heart can warm; you must warm the witch and her icy horde before Moon returns. But first you must go west… Go west until there’s nothing left but crag and sea—to Land’s End. There ye shall find the Vesica. Behold the Old Man shining above the sea, and ye shall know ye have arrived. Now go, Vulcanus, before it’s too late—Go ! ”

I hover high above my body observing the Spirits of Darkness as they work to regenerate the damage done to my limbs. The heat of their activity strains against the frigid temperatures brought on by the approach of the moon. As my limbs gradually receive the warmth of new life, I watch my face freeze over—my countenance, forlorn.

Moonlight shone through the crystalline reduction valve and inscribed its insignia upon my forehead. They say it glittered pale silver there for the longest time—longer than for any other person in living memory—before absorbing into my skin. Then the sibyl gave the prophecy. I do not remember that; all I remember are the visions and the bliss. I was now—finally—a knower of the Mysteries.