It was hard to fathom that this mansion – Darwel's mansion – had once been brutalised during a war that started and ended overnight days ago; a war that barely lasted a few hours.
The dents and scars of history had been erased indeed.
As Skullius warped inside from the roof into a lavish hall that spotted more green than gold, with air so fresh that even the Hybrid Warmoth had to applaud its purity, he felt someone approach him. Said someone must have been waiting for him eagerly all along. There was passion in their steps.
A slender set of arms wrapped around Skullius' shoulders from behind. His nimbus turned faint to allow the individual purchase. It was a she, of course. Darwel pressed herself against Skullius' back and gave a comfortable moan.
"Did I keep you waiting for too long?" he asked.
"I can hardly be the one to complain, hogging you to myself, when you are the one who is going to decide whether the world ends or not," Darwel said with a bright smile.
