Imagine this: you're standing in a quiet plaza in the steamy town of Papantla, Veracruz. The scent of sweet tamales drifts through the air. A tall pole—nearly 30 meters high—rises above the trees. Flutes start to play, slow and haunting. And then… men begin to fly.

Imagine standing by a quiet riverbank in rural Japan, the air heavy with the scent of summer grass. The last traces of daylight have slipped away, and for a moment, darkness surrounds you. Then—like magic—tiny green lights begin to flicker in the air. One, two, dozens... dancing in silence.