The countryside was lush, sparkling with a plum blue serene from the early morning sunrise.

Atop the highest of the Vilorian Mountains, the city of Astral stood silent against the ringing of

silver trumpets from the north highlands. The travelers crossing the last of the mountains rocky

crossings took in the scene from under the fruits of a Bombaly tree, standing colossal at one

hundred meters in height. Petty fruits the size of a child’s fist lay strewn about under its

goliath canopy, dripping with ruby red nectar. The morning wind was crisp and slightly harsh, a

sign to all that the winter seasons were coming with quickness. The trail leading up to the city

was a four day expedition from the coast, and it had been a taxing journey for all in company.

From where he lingered on the edge of the vast mountain Cyril looked down upon the Port of

Themme, twenty leagues off. The brilliant light of the day lit up the ocean and surrounded all

with a dazzling view of the great maritime reefs that stretched as far as the eye could see. The

vastness of the blue ocean always seemed to enlighten Cyril when it stared up at him from the

deep, and like always, he treasured the view for a fleeting moment. But with great beauty

comes great sorrow, and at that moment the reality of the daunting mission he was on got the

better of him, turning his gaze southwards to his kingdom.