The morning sun cast a feeble light over the port, struggling to penetrate the lingering haze of smoke that clung to the air. The cool breeze carried whispers of the chaos that had unfolded the day before, a silent witness to the turmoil that had gripped the once-vibrant hub.
At the summit of the port's tallest building, a room unfolded in stark contrast to the desolation outside. A tableau of wealth and influence, the room served as a testament to the power wielded by its occupants—shareholders, businessmen, and chiefs who governed the port's affairs. The atmosphere, however, was anything but celebratory.
Around a lavish table, six influential Aztec men sat, their expressions marred by an unspoken weight. The room, adorned with opulence, did little to lift the heaviness that hung in the air.
Chief Tobi, distinguishable by the pipe emitting subtle tendrils of smoke, was the sole figure who seemed unaffected by the pall that shrouded the gathering.
