In full public view, the hooded archer steps confidently to the line. His sinews tense; he draws the bow, he pulls the arrow. The gesture is coincident with release. No aiming was detected, no interval took place. His spirit flies as feathered wood — and splits the arrow previously inhabiting the bullseye. At first, raw sound of awe in hearts, and then… dread silence. Soon, armed guards will result. But somewhere, in the audience, occult allies move to silent signals unseen by spectators and enemies. And more secret still are friends as yet invisible, as yet unknown. Compatriots whose existence will never be revealed… except through forces vast and subtle, at play in the poetics of the moment and the age… and so the scene begins.