23 March 2017 – Elysion Park
The wind carried a faint tang of fresh paint as Lucas stepped onto the Jungle Zone construction site. The ground underfoot was packed hard by weeks of vehicle traffic, the sound of diesel engines and the steady beep of reversing lifts bouncing between the half-built temple façades.
Where the first launch's curve had once ended in open air, the skeleton of the second launch now stood in place. Gleaming gold supports arched over the path, and the deep forest-green rails snaked upward into a wide left-hand curve before leveling into the launch track itself. Workers in hi-vis jackets tightened cross-braces, while others fed cabling along conduit runs beneath the spine.
"Second launch's spine's in place," one of the site supervisors called over the noise. "We'll run the LIM housings later this week."
Beyond the launch, fresh supports marked the base of the airtime hill. Two lower flanks were already bolted in — one to the left, one to the right — their curved profiles rising at matching angles. Between them, a broad gap still yawned where the top would someday crest, the steel deliberately absent to leave cranes free access deeper into the layout.
Walter stood beside Lucas, watching a section being hoisted into place. The crane's boom swung with slow precision, easing the segment into the open bolted rings at the top of the flank. An impact wrench barked, the sound sharp in the cool air.
"Feels different seeing it in color," Walter said, eyes following the curve. "You could look at those red primer pieces on the ground all day and not feel it. But here…" He gestured toward the rising structure. "…it's starting to look like the drawings."
Lucas nodded, picturing the train cresting that hill, dropping past the splashdown and into the outerbank — still months away, but now more than just lines on paper.
The worksite hummed on. Above them, the green steel caught the midday light, a half-built promise waiting for its crown
23 March 2017 – Elysion Park, Jungle Zone
The late-morning sun poured across the freshly opened boardwalk beside Jungle Splash Adventure, the varnished planks still pale and smelling faintly of resin. Every footstep produced a hollow thump on the timber, mixing with the laughter from flume riders as their boats plunged into the splashdown pool. Mist drifted across the path in thin ribbons, scattering sunlight into momentary rainbows.
The new route traced closer to the water than any guest path before, narrowing just enough to draw people forward. Within minutes of opening, it was already crowded—not just with families heading for Elysion Expedition or the log flume, but with anyone curious to see the park's most talked-about construction.
The first crossing came quickly: a broad curve of forest-green track sweeping overhead, its golden supports rooted in faux-stone plinths carved to resemble weathered temple blocks. Even without a train in sight, the shaping radiated momentum—angled just enough to make you imagine a launch hurtling through it.
A father slowed his family under the span. "Look at that banking—has to be right after the first launch," he said, tracing the arc with his finger. His daughter's eyes followed, her small hands gripping the rail. "Will they put more on top?" she asked.
The path dipped again, this time into a tunnel beneath the coaster's return leg. The underpass walls were already dressed with sculpted serpent reliefs, the grooves catching shadows from the overhead slats. Artificial vines dangled from the edge, brushing the tops of strollers and hats. The cool air and echoing footsteps gave the space a hushed, expectant feel, like walking through part of a story not yet finished.
Emerging on the far side, guests were rewarded with a layered view: the outbound track above the bridge on one side, the inbound track swooping back toward the Jungle Zone on the other. Kids darted to the railings, snapping photos. Adults stood back, scanning the scaffolding in the distance.
From the elevated viewing deck by Jungle Splash's splashdown, the work on the massive airtime hill dominated the skyline. The lower flanks were already in place, climbing in forest-green tiers, while the unfinished crest stopped abruptly—an empty space where the top piece would someday lock in. Workers in bright orange vests moved between scaffolds, voices occasionally lost in the hydraulic hiss of a mobile crane lifting the next segment into place.
"That drop's going straight back in," a teenage boy said, phone camera zoomed to its limit. His friend leaned closer, squinting. "You think it's taller than it looks from here?"
Further along, a group of older visitors lingered in the shade of a palm planter. "Family launch coaster, they say," one woman offered, adjusting her sunhat. "No loops. Should be fine for us."
By midday, the boardwalk had turned into a slow-moving gallery. Every bend framed another glimpse of the track; every pause gathered its own little crowd of theories. Whether they knew the layout or not, each guest shared the same instinct—to stop, look up, and imagine the rails carrying something far faster than the breeze that currently moved between them.