Where better for the city's most extraordinary to gather than the top of the world? Overhead, for those that can see, the rivers of fire pulse and flow. They meet overhead and crash like ocean waves on breakers before continuing to arc out until they're just threads of light in the distance. Others can feel them. They're the steady pull of a slow tidal current or speaker booming nearby.
And somehow even that eventually becomes passé.
But the people never do. Some with antler horns, others arriving in a murder of crows that coalesce, some through shimmering holes to elsewhere. The energy is in the air; palpable, and not just from the ley lines. From the freedom.