He was chaos. The God and very meaning of discord, madness and chaos. He had never been interested in mortal affairs. Their fleeting lives bored Him, and their rigid sense of order was a dull drumbeat in the background of eternity. Until Apotelesma. The air in the dimly lit chamber crackled with the remnants of a dark spell, the acrid scent of burnt incense lingering in the stale air. The young man, a lady no older than 20, sat at a desk, light fluffy brown hair messy, serval cups of coffee on his desk, the hard surface covered with spell books, and documents, his dull blue eyes wide with a mix of triumph and sleepiness, looking on the verge of passing out

The flickering candles on the desk trembled, their flames twisting unnaturally.

"So, this is the one who dares to toy with the shadows," He wrote into the open page of the man's spellbook, in messy handwriting (Hey, He was a god, it not like He wrote often). "I must admit, your ambition amuses me, muse."