Nearing dawn in Stone Town.
The sky in the east began to pale, shifting from the deep black of night to a bruised purplish-blue. The air started to feel warmer, carrying the salty tang of the nearby sea, a sign that morning would soon arrive. Some early merchants began setting up their stalls in the corners of the still-quiet, impeccably clean streets,
In his luxurious private room, Martis sat in his large, carved chair behind a massive, polished oak desk. The room was utterly silent, lit only by a few oil lamps whose flames flickered slowly, casting dancing shadows on the dark wood paneling of the walls. A half-empty wine bottle and a single crystal glass stood at the corner of the vast desk.
Before him stood four figures in the distinctive white attire of his forces, their white cloaks draped over their backs. They were the remainder of his most trusted elite guards:
