Smoke rose from the silent port. Those allied with 'the fake Dark-Guild' burnt to ashes. The man responsible all but sat with feet dangling off one of the concrete docks. Cigar in hand, the sea breeze, differing from the land breeze, carried with it the salty aroma of the ocean. The life beyond human observation – the aquatic realm. For some reason, the mind wanted to take a break. A peaceful moment of rest, watching and sensing, feeling the world.
"Master," intervened Éclair oblivious by the current mindset.
"Yes?" replied Staxius crushing the cigar onto the slightly damp berth.
"Preparations for ending the Cult are in place."
"How so?" he asked now stood and retracing the steps.
"The video and information gathered for the last week are ideal to bring their secret to light. The disappearance of people has local public safety in peril."
"And where might we find the nearest station?"
