Shinsou had found he was always never far from trouble in Corone. The scent of it was always there, a powerful, salty whiff that incensed the nostrils and inflamed the senses.

It was a hazard of the job.

The hunt for the thief that had somehow breached his Whitevale compound had taken him to a small house on the coast's southern side. When the Telgradian's hunting party had arrived, the wind was high and blowing from the south. Waves shattered on the rock wall of the cliff face and spray rattled over the debris of the weathered heights. Other than the rolling ocean's wrath upon the shore, though, the Brotherhood party were alone. Whoever had lived there before had wisely abandoned the residence days before Osiris's arrival.

As Shinsou peered out of the rickety wooden shutters protecting the now-defunct safehouse windows, his eyes veering across the rugged cliff edges not so far away, he was reminded fleetingly of his homeland. How after the Telgradian civil war, storms had battered the port of Mythandria for a week and the winds that had carried the sea spray to the harbour tore down scaffolding about the buildings under repair. Waves had besieged the docks and the scattered timber debris of sunken ships had clattered on the stones. Then, the corpses came, the horrible rotting stench of flesh hanging over the port for weeks afterwards.

Another storm beat at the cliffs tonight, and monstrous waves shattered white against the jagged walls. In the dark, the watching Telgradian could see the explosions of foam from the breaking tides and they reminded him of the magic used to breach his vault. He could see each and every detail of the spell his quarry had cast into scores of rooms on that level in his mind. Shinsou had watched the earth tear open indiscriminately in front of him and was wracking his brains to put a name or a face to the specific skillset to no avail. Since arriving on Althanas, Shinsou had fought bandits, teamed with rogues and worked for any bastard who would pay him enough gold to do their dirty work just to get by. By now he had met all the important players in the Althanian circle of life; some of them friends, most of them to be decided, but none bore the hallmarks of his target.

That was the crux of the matter now. Shinsou knew that the item that was stolen bore consequences much bigger than a petty squabble over territory, sovereignty or power. The Telgradian didn’t expect anyone to understand until it was already too late, and that was why he had to get that orb back before anyone figured out what it was.

That was his true mission.

As with the uncertainty of the future with that relic out in the public domain, there was the same uncertainty again about the violence of this storm. Just when he thought the waves had done their worst, another two or three would explode in sudden bursts, the white water would bloom above the wall like smoke from a tar fire, and the spray would be driven by the wind to spatter against the cliffs like grapeshot.

“Any ideas?”

Shinsou's protege, a man lovingly named Soap, ran a hand through his wiry brown hair, looked out of the window and then back to a gazing Shinsou.

“We'll find the bastard, don't you worry,” The Telgradian replied with a wry smile. "The Immortals already have their snouts to the ground."

The Brotherhood agent nodded. He and the Telgradian had been partners for a long time and Soap knew precisely what Shinsou meant.

"Then we won't have to wait long; our little friend will be nothing more than ash come the dawn."

With one final glance out to sea from the comfort of the Brotherhood safehouse, Shinsou carefully closed and bolted the shutters, securing the ropes that held them to in order to prevent the harsh winds from tearing at them. Soap flicked a cigarette into the roaring fire beside them.

"We should probably ramp up security at Whitevale. You know, install a few baby-gates or something, and some gentle interrogation of the rank and file."

Shinsou, his hands gently stripping the hilt of his sword Shira, pretended not to hear the remark. He knew what it meant but the subject was a dangerous one. This wasn't as much about security as it was betrayal. Shinsou, along with Soap, had different ideas about what was needed from his men. To speak of it, though, invited trouble.

“They’ll be dealt with in time.”

The door of the ruined cottage slammed open and a giant of a man stepped into the room. He looked, and dressed, like a naval officer, despite Shinsou recognising him as being an envoy of the Immortals; the Brotherhood's most elite unit. The man grinned as he took off his cocked hat and nodded at Shinsou, ignoring Soap’s dark glare. "The warrior returns to Corone. How's the day, old boy?"

“I'm pissed off, Harore. What brings you here?”

Soap collected his coat as if he was about to leave but the envoy held up his hand. "Stay, Soap. I have a treat for you; one that even a heathen like you might enjoy." He took a dark bottle out of his sack and raised an eyebrow to Shinsou. "You don't mind?"

The Telgradian shook his head. Harore set the bottle on the table and pulled the cork.

"You lost Arius's Crucible, I believe?" asked Harore.

"You know we did. Get to the point."

"That's very interesting," Harore’s hazel eyes lit up, his lips parting to take a gulp of the murky liquid in the bottle, "How did someone get so deep into the compound?"

"We're still trying to figure that out, but it had to be an inside job." Shinsou gulped down a vast quantity of the pungent drink before passing it to Soap, who snatched it away and supped. "Any news?"

Harore said nothing, pausing in his careful pouring of the Tokay wine. "You are right, and that’s why I’m here. I have information for you." Harore's eyes twinkled. "You'd better get yourself to Radasanth. A man matching the description you gave was seen in the markets with the Crucible. Seems a little girl got her hands on it and now him, the orb and her missing."

Shinsou put his head in his hands.

"Oh, that's just fucking great. Come on Soap, let's go and untangle this omnishambles once and for all."