I’m in Greece, standing at the mouth of Penteli cave. The air smells of salt and something metallic. Inside, turtles crawl along the walls and ceiling, their shells reflecting scenes from history—battles, feasts, gods laughing. One stares at me, and suddenly, I understand everything—the universe, time, why socks vanish in the wash. The ground shatters. I’m falling—no, I’m on a roller coaster, twisting through the sky. The track is made of gold and marble, looping through clouds shaped like gods’ faces, past an upside-down Parthenon floating like a balloon. The coaster dips into the Aegean Sea, skimming the surface before rocketing upward through a storm of lightning bolts hurled by an amused Zeus. A turtle in a laurel wreath appears beside me, holding a cup of ambrosia. “Drink,” it says. I take a sip—blinding light. I wake up. There’s sand in my bed, a tiny turtle-shaped stone on my pillow, and the faint scent of something ancient in the air.