The Sea Ghost touched down with a whisper, its repulsorlifts disturbing only a few sunbathing waterbirds before settling neatly atop a glassstone landing pad that jutted over the cliff like a dare. Below them, the sea of Utapau stretched for miles — a sapphire quilt patterned with shallows and deep shadows, edged by ivory-sand beaches and fluted stone.
The retreat — a multi-tiered marvel carved directly into the cliffside — shimmered under the twin suns. Its architecture was half-nature, half-art: whitewashed stone corridors open to the air, flowering trellises climbing carved archways, and translucent sails catching the breeze like slow-moving wings. Every floor offered a different view of the sea. The air smelled like citrus and salt, faintly spiced with something floral carried in from inland jungles.
Sommer stepped from the ship barefoot, her silk wrap dress fluttering around her legs like a dream freshly remembered. The warmth of the stone kissed her feet. She sighed — not dramatically, not theatrically, but with genuine delight.
"This," she said, turning in a slow circle, "is what power should buy."
