He remembers playing in this very meadow as a boy. He'd had a kite once, a kite he and his father spent an entire afternoon crafting, only to bring it out a little too late in the day. And a storm had been brewing as well.

Could all of it be a lie? Was all he believed as a boy a great fabrication?

"Father," Tristran says, "I was wondering if you could answer a question for me."