Nothing.

A living silence hung over the beach, the thrumming waves were its beating heart.

No Guardians? What had Chaz and Ziliea done? Had all of them, like me, been trapped in a private corner of Hell?

Frustrated I turned to the sea, firing a ball of pure, searing energy into the turbid water-whilst screaming my anger to the growing wind.

Hot fire sizzled and cut a bubbling, steamy channel through the brine and the waves.

“So you called me here for barbequed fish?”

I span round. Graham, we call him Pater, stood there-arms and body scratched, one wing partially shredded. The oldest and most experienced of the Elite.

“What’s happened to the others?” I asked, fearing the news.

“Some are still free.” He spoke quietly, a hidden condemnation in his voice. “They are all fighting for their lives. They will come when they can.”

“We have no time to wait!”

Screaming a death curse I shot another ball of fire to the sea.

“I will go ahead,” I told him. “And kill this poison at its root.”