Tyrion stayed silent when a thought came to him. The contract bound his lordship rights and his direct political power. It did not, however, bind his eyes. It did not forbid him from utilizing the natural, passive advantages of his territory's geography, nor did it restrict his Luminous Logic from analyzing public freight.
With a final, lingering glance at the room, his figure blurred and vanished.
A heartbeat later, he materialized at the highest vantage point of the Sunward Shipyard perched invisibly atop the grand lighthouse that overlooked the dark, churning waters of the northern harbor. Below him, the port was alive even in the dead of night. Massive merchant vessels bearing the crest of the Everflowing Treasury glided through the fog, their heavy hulls sitting deep in the water, loaded to the brim with raw materials from every corner of Nana.
Tyrion closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the cold blue of his irises was replaced by a blinding, incandescent gold.
