Benedictus, Karl Jenkins, The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace
There was a point in time, some interminable and indefinable period that lasted somewhere between an instant and eternity, when everything in the city seemed to fall still at the exact same time. Mamoru had pulled enough all-nighters to know about this peculiar lapse in the heartbeat of the metropolis, which seemed to always begin just before dawn. He was in it now, and he closed his eyes and relished the sensation. Even the wind had fallen still.
Perhaps part of its beauty was that so few people seemed to recognize the moment, or perhaps its fleeting nature was what made it so precious. Nonetheless, Mamoru had always enjoyed revelling in that almost mystic stillness; in those moments, it was as if he could feel a bond to the city, even the world, around him. He wondered if it had been that way in the past, when he’d actually been prince of this entire world. Had he ever taken time back then to close his eyes and feel his world? He wasn’t certain, but it seemed to him that he had not.
“Pivlionta,” a voice murmured behind him. Mamoru didn’t bother to glance up.
“Bless you,” he said.
Yusaku laughed. “It’s an old Reinan word,” his partner explained, propping his elbows on the railing beside Mamoru and gazing off the edge of the roof. “It refers to the point of stillness that divides one day from the next.”
“They have a name for that?” Mamoru asked, raising his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Ah, my ancestors had names for everything,” Yu shrugged. “Gave ‘em something to do besides drink and fight.”
—Mark MacKinnon, On A Clear Day You Can See Forever, Ch. 9