The gentle shores and the constant hum of the oscillating waves entertain the sense of dreaming. The air is cooled blowing up over the waters, tempered by the heat of the air coming from the hills of the lands behind. It is a godly experience, and experience that many would have welcomed to cleanse them of the filth of continuous, disheartening, bloody battle. Standing on the beach may have been a dream brought to life, since the Grel never sleep therefore never dream. In visions, then, this place is a gift of freedom: waves and water and fog and solitude. An old port lies along the beach, but none know from where this ghostly object came. There is no memory of its construction in any of the minds of those whom survived the passed thousands of year. Whisked away, many thought of dying here, in peace.

It is natural that a grel such as Lyncsu must exist, then. It was places like this that unnerve him the most.