Warm, gold beams of the afternoon sun rippled through the tall, glass windows, pooling on the floor of the office. A few metres away, and out of the sun's rays, sat Arthur Penn. His desk was clear but for a single, purple crystal that hovered in the centre of it just a few centimetres above the glass. He reached out a hand and plucked the crystal out of the air and rolled it in his hand.
It was warm, warmer than the sun, warmer than a fire. It was power, pure power.
A smile curled at the corner of his mouth as he closed his hand around the crystal. Years, so many years of planning and plotting and working and toiling, and here he was, exactly where he wanted to be, where he deserved to be. At the apex, in the seat of power, dominant.
