Barring the harbour, the massive statue rose from a tiny island, barely an outcrop of rock, as if thrusting out of the water. He stood tall and bold on a wide pedestal, legs outspread, with one arm raised, pointing upwards as if at the stars, or the sun. His features were soft, almost feminine, and hair flowed down to his shoulders, while on his head was a strange headpiece, a crown, with a rune decorating its front. Most of the sailors navigating past the Sentinel barely gave it a second look — it had been there for an eternity, and it would be there for an eternity more. Many said it was ancient, old when Seranthia was just a fishing town. If it was old, it was barely worn, and how old would it have to be, to have existed when Seranthia was small? It was yet another of the world's mysteries.

In The Floating Cork, the harbour tavern with the best view of the Sentinel, Evrin Evenstar sat nursing a tankard of black beer, glaring out at the distant statue. His wounds pained him. The journey from Salvation to Seranthia had truly worn him out.

Evrin wondered how much longer he should wait for Killian. He didn't even know if the lad had received his message to meet him here. He could use Killian's help, but he couldn't afford to wait much longer.

Seranthia was always a difficult place, and now Evrin felt for its denizens more than ever before. He still couldn't believe the Akari were here; of all people, the Akari! Provided they kept their lore to themselves, they were no trouble, living in the north as they did, but there was danger here, Evrin knew. If their lore got into the wrong hands — the Primate's hands — the world would become a dark place indeed.

The streetclans were now basically running the city, extorting the common-folk with impunity, while the increasingly corrupt templars took the bribes and looked the other way.

Seranthia, a beautiful city, a grand city, with majestic cathedrals, columned arcades, arch-lined streets, and statues and fountains in every square, was becoming a terrible, ugly place.

Evrin wished he could do something, but he knew his own mission was more important.

He finished his tankard and sighed. He could wait no longer.

Evrin quickly scribbled onto a piece of paper, folding it up and then dripping wax from a candle to seal it.

"Another blackstorm?" the tavern-keeper asked when Evrin approached the bar.

"Need to be on my way. I was wondering if I could leave a note with you," Evrin said, holding out his sealed message.

The tavern-keeper hesitated, licking his lips. They were all like this, Evrin had noticed; every honest shopkeeper and craftsman in Seranthia was terrified. The poor fellows were only trying to make a living; they deserved better.

"Can I read the note?" the tavern-keeper asked.

Evrin thought about what he had written. "I'm sorry, but no."