Morning light poured through the villa's tall glass panes, golden rays dancing across the marble floor.
The city of Pantheon was already awake, its distant bustle muted by the villa's elevation, but Albedo barely noticed. He was seated at his desk, sleeves rolled up, pen moving across a leather-bound notebook.
He had been there the entire night, deciding to pull an all-nighter to work on controlling the Source Code, and now he was writing down meticulous notes detailing various plans and revelations.
Each line he wrote was dense with meaning, thoughts so sharp they could cut:
Ruins of Astaris – Northern Wastes. Pre-Imperial. Half-buried glyph-archives. William was supposed to gain Celestial Frost inheritance there. Must secure first.
Silent Catacombs – Beneath Duskmarsh. A Ruin swarming with Necromancers. Suitable for Gwen? Or one of the Assassins?
Echoterra Rift – A dimensional fracture sealed by lost glyphs and wards.
