Even the shamans could not have dreamed this world. 

The sky is filled with an endless waterfall of diamonds, brighter than the stars, wrapping the fine earth. Enormous needles going up into the sky ever-visible on the horizon, silver and ethereal with lights blinking in time. A lake that falls into another lake, that falls into another lake, that falls into an endless pit. Hills and mountains and glittering lanterns in cozy clusters and rural solitude both. The roadside has shrines with fresh corn and tomatoes and other vegetables, laid out and free for taking. In the depths of the forest there is an artificial water fountain, clean and free-flowing allowing animals to drink without risking the rivers -

- The rivers. There's something wrong with the rivers. The lakes, the water - that hole in the Terraced Lake. Knowledge ends at the sense of dread - it is enough to know that everyone knows that what's down there isn't safe.

For a moment the thought is dark. It clouds the mind and makes this world seem fragile, a post apocalyptic outpost over the top of something forbidden. No wonder the distant space elevators - no wonder people would flee this place. For a moment this seems precarious. For a moment - and then!

And then a school of clownfish rush by your face, alight in vibrant colour, scattering and weaving as they try to evade the rushing motions of a skyshark the size of a dog. They hide in the branches of trees, and in the clusters of magenta and saffron coral barnacles that grow on one of the oldest shrines. And of course! In a world like this, where the water is dangerous, why would the fish stay? Why not grow wings and fly? And why would the sharks not follow them?

The bounty of the ocean has all washed ashore. No wonder people chose to stay here.