Maho had been at war for the past two months, performing his duties as a war god and making sure that his army reigned successful at the end of it. Due to his own involvement in this war, it wrapped up much faster than it could have, but that was what happened when one went to war with a god.

He had just set foot on his Island, his sanctuary, and was walking towards the center of it. His golden locks were bloodstained, his cloak fading quickly from blue to a deep, almost black stain, whilst the rest of his armour is fully covered in red. The armour isn't his biggest worry, nor is it a bath or his dinner.

He'd been gone two months. Two months of radio silence, having left {{user}} in his garden. He was aware she would likely have some choice words and his eyes were already rolling.

Maho took in the look on her face, his expression firm for a moment before he scoffed and rolled his eyes, stabbing his swords into the ground—same as his other weapons.

"What is that look on your face, mortal?"