Giorgio and the others returned to the main streets, consumed by people walking in all directions. It had been years since he last left the continent; his modelling contract specifically prohibited him from leaving for other countries. Yet, hitherto, he had not minded his anchored position in the world; he was known across the continent here, and revelled in the attention that swept his way.
As they approached the docks, both Sancho and Giorgio bathed themselves in the city's atmosphere for the last time. Sancho felt nervous to leave the place he had so quickly associated with safety, whilst Giorgio was filled with excitement and the idea of adventure. Alonso stood leaning against the archway of the dock's entrance; he clutched the paper tickets in his hand tightly, careful as to not let the evening breeze carry them away. He saw the others approach and waved to them between the moving crowd.
'Hey, Alonso! You got the tickets?'
The ends of the tickets flapped in the wind as he stretched out his arm to show them. Each member of the party carefully took their tickets, avoiding being stabbed by the tickets' spiky edges, which were laden with a gold wrap.
'The ticket's white and gold look really good together, and these sharp edges! This would make such a cool outfit,' Giorgio placed the ticket against his jacket, as one does with a sample of paint against the wall; 'Whatduya think, Sancho? Huh, pretty cool right?'
'Whoa, that looks so good! Awesome!'
Alonso placed his head in his hands, with an accompanying sigh of annoyance.
'Goodness, we'll never survive this.'
With only fifteen minutes left till departure, the ferry's horn sounded a loud cry, signalling for all passengers to board. The group entered the line, which extended far down the aisle of the dock; it would take at least ten more minutes until they would be able to get their tickets checked and board. Although the setting, the sun was beaming down relentlessly, and its heat was targeting the passengers of the ferry, causing a nauseating scent of sweat to build up in the atmosphere.
'Good grief, at this rate I'll boil before I board the ship.'
'Patience, dear Giorgio: it shan't be long.'
Sancho noticed a shiny amulet around the old man's neck, with a large red crystal embedded in the centre. It was mesmerising, and its splendour shone even to the deepest parts of his soul. Yet, for something so beautiful, it was almost hidden between the folds in the old man's robes, void of the attention it deserved.
'Mr Yogi, what is that around your neck? Its red crystal has struck me… it is quite profound. Perhaps I could look-'
'Oooh, I see it too, now! Say, old guy, I never took you for quite the stylist, but this is impressive,' Giorgio swept the chain from beneath the robes, and held the encased gem in his palm, also consumed by its wonder.
Suddenly, the old man snatched it from Giorgio's grasp and embedded it back in its place in his clothes, but deeper this time, so nobody could see it anymore.
'HEY, WHAT GIVES? I only wanted a look,' Giorgio said, sulking
'Do not touch it, please. It is important that this stays with me, and that nothing should happen to it.'
Alonso stared longingly at Yogi, his desperate yet firm tone, and rapid reaction were unusual, especially considering it was only a mere necklace.
'Oh, I get it,' Giorgio started, 'It's expensive, and you don't wanna share the make. I do that too; I mean, I would never share the deets on where this suit came from, my competition would be all over that in seconds!'
As he said this, a peculiar man appeared, standing beside them. They hadn't noticed him before, but his stance was planted to the ground, as if he had been there the whole time. His face was wholly concealed by a scarf, apart from his eyes, which were extremely wide, fixated on Yogi's chest, where the amulet had been previously exposed. It was as if he were lost in a trance.
They all looked over at the strange man, who was unusually short in stature. 'Uh, can we help you?' There was no answer; his gaze was steadfast, and occupied his whole attention.
'Hey, you deaf or something? Get lost, creep!'
Still no answer. Giorgio walked up to the man, grabbed him by the collar of his worn-out shirt, and threw him back towards the receding end of the line. 'Good grief, what is with that guy? Plus, he cut outta line, the jerk.'
Some hours had passed, and the party were aboard the ferry, heading for Santa Grenin. They were split between two rooms: Giorgio and Sancho, and Yogi with Alonso. Both rooms were fitted with luxurious beds for each member, with satin sheets and pillowcases to comfort them for the next couple of days. The sum that Yogi had provided was immense, and Alonso could not help but procure the best rooms possible for their journey.
They had agreed to meet on this night in Yogi's room to discuss the upcoming events and the plan of action.
'So, what's with this place anyway?'
'Santa Grenin, you mean? It is at the end of the continent, and the first place where most trade routes begin and end. Technically, it should be the richest part of the continent, as it is where goods are distributed from; Santa Grenin holds a monopoly on resource handling. Yet, the government's greed has caused it to become a living hell for those who are poor: its living conditions are near unbearable. And, because of this, the poor have been forced into finding a new way of living, so much so that Santa Grenin has become infamous for holding the title of the Land of the Thieves.'
'Jeez, are you sure we gotta go there? It sounds like the worst place ever,' moaned Giorgio.
'It is, indeed, vital for our journey. It is the only place where we can procure a reliable vessel strong enough to combat the raging waves of the sea. With that, we can avoid coming into contact with unnecessary, gruelling lands that would consume our limited time. If we do not get a ship from Santa Grenin, we must course through the charting desert lands of Diego Lobo, which is run by notorious outlaws and criminals, accompanied by its deathly heat.'
'Then, our options are indeed limited: it is either the Land of Thieves, or the desert wastelands,' Alonso said, deep in thought whilst considering their options.
'I hate the heat…' Giorgio said, reflecting on his fight with Eos, 'Okay, Santa Grenin it is! Also, old guy, you said you can see anything, right?'
'Yes…'
'Then, can you see where Nero is?'
The mouths of everyone dropped slightly; this was such an obvious idea, yet one that had not previously been thought about. If it were possible, this would be a massive upper hand for them.
'I don't see why not.'
'If we could see him, it would be easier to determine whether we're ahead or not, especially since we have no idea what means of transport or route he's taking.'
'You make a good argument, Giorgio,' started Alonso, 'but we must also be diligent; who knows what repercussions may happen if we invade him.'
Yogi took Alonso's caution with care, but he was already set on what to do. He did not move away from the group like last time, but remained seated around the table. This could very well be a helpful, yet detrimental piece in their pursuit of Nero, but Yogi considered it to be important, for they needed all the help they could get.
'What is his full name?'
'Nero Leonelli.'
As he closed his eyes, the same purple aura glowed around him, and familiar scents of urban smoke were ventilated into the room.
'Once my third eye opens, you must look into it carefully; you should be able to see Nero.'
They all leaned in closer as the eyelid appeared on his forehead. They watched it turn in every direction, rapidly searching the corners of the globe, before it stopped abruptly and opened. The pupil was huge and formed the shape of a star. As they looked in, an image became clearer and more focused. It was Nero. He sat with his back to them, facing the window; its rays igniting the room. They could vaguely see city buildings and carriages being towed along a stone road. On the building opposite to Nero was a large red sign, with circular lights flickering around illuminated letters. They leaned in even closer, Giorgio being right up in the old man's face, and squinted his eyes so much that they were nearly closed. But then, he could see the letters; he could read them clearly: Santa Grenin Plaza.
'Santa Grenin! Nero's in Santa Grenin!'
As he said this, Nero turned his head and consumed the entirety of the pupil's frame. His eyes were a piercing red, and a smile crept along his face: he was staring directly at them. Giorgio leapt back in horror and tried to speak, but an echoing voice rang through his mind like an endlessly ringing bell. It sounded like the devil whispering in his ear, or a spew of lava erupting from a volcano. It was Nero, his voice as clear as if he were there in the room. 'I see you, Giorgio.'