Sylas' trench coat billowed in the winds as he reached down, pulling the door of a garage up and over his head before letting it fall behind him.
He could hardly see much outside of sparks of red and orange, a scent almost like sulfur but not quite hanging in the air. It seemed that the old man was still putting the finishing touches on the ship.
"When will it finish?" Sylas asked.
The sparks flew once more, and then stopped.
"Now," Old Brama's voice echoed.
Sylas nodded, looking at the ship before him.
They had made quite a bit of money, but it could be said that almost half of it was dumped into this ship.
If there was one thing Sylas learned after taking a full three months just to get from one location to the next in a single galaxy, it was that transportation was maybe the very first thing he should invest in.
