Epilogue After the whole ordeal of failure, the two Gales fell fast asleep, felled by a heavy mixture of exhaustion, desert dust and despair. All their logic, paperwork and high-level diplomacy had failed in front of a showcase in Tahrir by a mere twenty seconds. The awakening came abruptly, far too early, shattered by a shrill sound that had absolutely nothing to do with the peace of home. Somewhere, on a nearby balcony or in the inner courtyard of the building in Zamalek, an Egyptian cockerel was repeatedly shouting its greeting to the sun that was barely dawning, partially drowning out the city's first horns. Anemo started and opened his eyes, feeling his back stiffen. He had fallen asleep with his clothes on, on the old sofa in the living room. Professor Simoon rose from his armchair as well, passing a tired hand over his face, whilst the ceiling fan continued to turn lazily above them, moving the warm air. On the cedar table, Anemo’s laptop screen had remained on all night, ...