Three months passed quickly, flowing like sand in an unforgiving hourglass. Yet for the City of Nocture, three months was not a time for leisure, but an incubation period for a grand ambition ready to erupt.
The sea wind carrying the distinctive scent of salt and a thin residual miasma brushed against Sylvia's face. She sat casually atop a rocky cliff jutting out toward the sea, her legs dangling over the edge. Below her, the slightly dark-blue waves crashed against the coral formations, breaking into white foam that was flung into the air.
Yet that natural scenery held no interest for the Queen of Death. Her pair of heterochromia eyes, one the color of fresh blood and the other the silver of moonlight, were fixed intently on an industrial masterpiece stretching along the coastline.
The Nocture Docks.
