Since burning down the inn he had been staying at and ridding the island of the Marines, Cyrus had moved to another village on Drum Island. He hadn't seen or heard from Gene since the incident, though there was talk of an angry old man on the north side of the island. He himself was down by the Southwest side. This village was far smaller than the previous one, set up as a little fishing port. People were equally as nice albeit possibly even poorer than those residents of the North side. It had been several days since the incident and in this time it dawned on Cyrus that he lacked any form of transportation off the island. There were rarely visitors to Drum Island, aside from the Marine vessel that had passed through days earlier to retrieve the few Marines Cyrus had left alive. He had made sure to watch the Marines board their rescue vessel from high up in the mountains. The young Revolutionary had been surprised that the Marines hadn't sent another crew to start the negotiations with the king of Drum Island. Instead the vessel simply docked, picked up the few injured men and left. Not a single Marine even so much as left the dock area. Obviously Drum Island wasn't as important to the Marines as Cyrus and his Revolutionary superiors had initially thought.

Regardless, Cyrus was growing bored on the island. Orders from HQ hadn't come through in days and with no solid place to sleep he was jumping from odd job to odd job. Usually instead of payment he'd simply ask for a warm meal and place to stay. The only inn he had found on the parts of the island he had explored was the one currently in heaps of burned lumber back on the North side. So here Cyrus sat, staring out at the blue expanse of water, his feet dangling off the edge of the dock as he tapped his cane on the wooden post beside him. His feet swung idly and his mind drifted.