Deep within the heavily warded interior of the House of Dusk and Dawn, there is a room containing two circles of pure obsidian. The fact that it is presently occupied, by not one being, but three, is known to perhaps half a dozen people, one of which will be dead within the hour, and a second of which will burn twenty years' worth of clandestine arrangements to deliver this fact to their superiors.
"Hail and welcome, Monarchs of Olympia and Tartarus," begins the first, a man whose robes are woven with the red-orange hues of dusk.
"You can skip the formalities," interjects a slim man cloaked by caressing shadows. In the darkness, his eyes glow blue. "Those aren't even the right titles, anymore."
"Dead names have their merits, do they not?" smiles the third, a woman in a carmine dress. "Tradition compliments us."
"As you say," the first replies smoothly. "To business, then..."