"Welcome back, Artanos."
"Thank you very much," the suave young god pushed his hair to the side, "-how are things going?" a medium-sized room widened in white and gold. Decorations were the picture representation of wealth. Angels wandered the hallways in simple white overalls, regardless of their genders, they worked the castle as if maids, "-how are things?" he continued to one of the desks, for it was arranged in a classroom-like manner, "-are we on track?"
"If you'd wait," a younger man scribbled some notes – books hovered about, "-I've got it," he snapped, the books dropped, "-I got the information," he hastily scribbled more words, "-turns out I was wrong."
"And, what does that entail?"
"Master Artanos, the war has commenced."
"Pardon?"
