Morning on the island of Pera was always a time to be welcomed. The sun coming over the horizon lit up the scorched ashlands and shone light into the darkest corners where unknown dangers stalked overnight. Morning on Pera was like a long sigh of relief after eight hours of holding your breath. The three Styras lined up at the edge of the coast shuffled idly as the waves pushed and pulled against the beach. Now they had more daylight; they had fallen out of thei...
