Chapter Text
Sparda's family lived tucked away in a quiet neighborhood that hid far more than it revealed. Sparda did everything in his power to make sure his family was safe and far from prying eyes. He had sacrificed everything to be with Eva, his true love, and chose a different life that didn’t require being in Hell. Together, they had twin sons: Vergil and Dante. They were everything to Sparda and Eva.
From birth, the brothers reflected their father’s legacy in very different ways. Vergil, older by only minutes, bore the full force of Sparda’s demonic power. His eyes shone with an unnatural blue intensity, and even as a child he could conjure spectral blades or summon his inner demon, even for a second. Sparda saw greatness in him—a true heir to his dominion—and devoted himself to shaping Vergil into that successor. Training replaced any semblance of a normal childhood, taking place in hidden basements or abandoned buildings where discipline and control were drilled into Vergil. School, friends, ordinary life, none of it mattered. His future had already been decided by Sparda.
But Dante was different.
Despite sharing the same blood, he showed no trace of those supernatural abilities. He was, for all appearances, human and vulnerable. Sparda, perhaps out of protection, or guilt, kept him away from anything tied to their darker origins. “You’re safer this way,” he told Dante at age six, though Dante never fully understood what that meant. Instead, Dante grew up alongside Eva, immersed in the rhythms of a normal life. She taught him how to cook, how to laugh, how to find joy in simple things. Their days were filled with quiet comforts like movies, walks through the neighborhood, moments untouched by the hidden truth that surrounded them. It was for the best.
From early on, the bond between the brothers was strained. Vergil, with his superior abilities and Sparda’s favoritism and expectation, saw Dante’s humanity as weakness—something incomplete, something beneath him. He kept his distance, brushing off Dante’s attempts to connect with cold indifference. Invitations to play or spend time together were met with dismissive remarks or silence. “Why waste time on weakness?” Vergil had muttered at eight, focusing instead on honing his abilities alone. Dante tried, at first. He admired his brother, wanted to be close. But repeated rejection wore that hope down. “You’re pathetic, Dante. Stay out of my way.”
Words like that lingered, carving a growing divide between them. By the time they reached their teenage years, they barely spoke, living under the same roof but separated by something far deeper than distance. Dante got used to it and didn’t bother Vergil anymore. He had enough of running and crying to their mother about it.
The years passed quickly for the both of them.
By eighteen, Dante stood on the edge of something new, excitement humming through him. He’d done well in high school—aced his exams, earned a scholarship to a state university, and set his sights on studying visual and performing arts. Maybe even playing guitar to an audience or even dancing. Dante would be up for anything.
Vergil, now the same age, had long since left any trace of normalcy behind. Under Sparda’s relentless guidance, he trained without pause, his body sharpened into a weapon, his mind fixed on the power and inheritance that awaited him. The house they shared felt less like a home and more like a fragile boundary between two worlds that were never meant to meet.
Nothing brought them closer… until one faithful day.
Dante hurried up the front walkway, backpack slung over one shoulder, his acceptance letter clutched tightly in his hand. The setting sun stretched long shadows across the lawn, and excitement bubbled in his chest. He could already imagine it: his mom’s proud, teary smile, and dad’s quiet approval. Maybe even something from Vergil, though he wasn’t counting on it. Dante would be lucky if he got a grunt from him.
“Hey! I’ve got news!” he called as he pushed the door open, his voice echoing into an unsettling silence.
The smell hit him first. Bitter smoke that burned his throat. Then the heat, rolling outward in suffocating waves once he opened the door. Dante froze for half a second, heart stumbling. “Mom? Dad?”
What’s going on?
The letter slipped from his hand as he dropped his backpack. Dante rushed forward, footsteps pounding against the hardwood. Flames clawed up the curtains, consuming the living room, swallowing the couch where his parents used to sit and read.
“Mom!” Dante's voice cracked as he spotted her slumped against the kitchen island, blood staining her blouse from a gash on her shoulder. Glass shards littered the floor from the broken window. She looked up, her face pale but her eyes lighting with relief at the sight of him.
“Dante! Oh, thank God,” she whispered, reaching out a trembling hand. “They attacked—” Eva winced at her wound.
“Who attacked? What happened?” Dante rushed toward her before she could fall. He knelt beside her, pressing on her wound to staunch the bleeding. “You're going to be okay.”
“Where's your father? And Vergil— Have you seen Vergil? He was here earlier,” she said, though her voice trembled.
“I just got home, Mom. I don't know where Dad is, or Vergil. We have to get out of here.” Panic clawed at his chest. Sparda was invincible, a demon lord. Surely he'd handle this. But Eva's fear was palpable, her breaths shallow.
“Demons... they found us. They came looking for Sparda and his children. I tried to warn your father, but there were so many. I wasn’t able to. The fire—” She winced, clutching his arm. “You need to leave. Find Vergil, Dante. He needs to know. Protect yourself.”
Dante's mind reeled. Demons? In their home? He'd heard whispers of Sparda's world, but it had always been kept at arm's length. Now it crashed in, real and terrifying. He helped Mom to her feet, half-dragging her toward the door, but a crash from upstairs froze them both. The ceiling groaned, flames spreading.
“I’m not leaving you!”
“Go, Dante. Get out!” Eva urged, shoving him weakly.
“No! I won’t leave you!”
But before he could argue, snarls echoed from the hallway. Shadows twisted unnaturally, shaping into forms. Huge demons with jagged horns, claws scraping the walls, eyes glowing red with malice. They took a big whiff in the air, then growled, drawn by the scent of Sparda's bloodline.
“The whelp,” one hissed, its voice menacing. “Sparda's human spawn. Kill it, and the line weakens.”
Dante's blood ran cold. He grabbed Eva's arm, pulling her toward the back door, but the demons lunged, faster than anything human. One swiped at him, claws raking the air inches from his face.
Eva screamed, stumbling, and Dante shoved her behind him, heart hammering. He wasn't strong, wasn't armed. Not like his brother.
“Run!” he yelled to her, but she collapsed, the pain overwhelming. The demons closed in, their focus on Dante.
Dante bolted, legs burning as he darted up the stairs, flames nipping at his heels. He needed to hide, to think, anything to survive. Slamming into a bedroom—Vergil's, he realized too late—he yanked open the closet door and crammed himself inside, pulling the slats shut. The space was cramped, filled with Vergil’s boots and other boxes.
Tears streamed down his face as he curled into a ball, sobs muffled against his knees. This can't be happening. Where's Dad? Where's Vergil? The demons' roars grew closer, pounding footsteps shaking the floor. He was trapped, helpless, the weight of his humanity crushing him. All those years of mockery from Vergil flashed through his mind. All the cold stares, the sneers, the harsh words he threw at Dante. Vergil was right… he was pathetic.
If only Dante had powers like him.
A crash splintered the door downstairs, followed by howling and then it got quiet. Dante held his breath, praying. Footsteps approached, hurried. Then the closet door flew open, and there stood Vergil, holding a bloodied Yamato.
For a split second, Dante could’ve sworn he saw a relieved expression on Vergil’s face. But it shifted into something unreadable.
“Dante,” Vergil said, his voice low, betraying no emotion. His blue eyes scanned the dim space, locking onto his brother's tear-streaked face.
“Vergil!” Dante gasped, scrambling out, relief flooding him despite everything. “Mom— She's hurt downstairs. There’s demons everywhere. Dad's gone—”
“I know.” Vergil sheathed his blade, grabbing Dante's arm and yanking him to his feet. “The infernals breached our wards. Father's handling the breach in the lower realm, but these stragglers targeted the house.”
Dante wiped his eyes, voice shaky. “They were after me. Said they want to end Sparda’s bloodline. I hid like a coward,” he admitted, ashamed.
Vergil's lip curled slightly, that familiar disdain flickering. “You are weak for hiding. But blood is blood. They won't touch you while I'm here.” It wasn't comfort, but it was something. Acknowledgment, perhaps.
They moved swiftly down the hall. Dante was behind Vergil, careful not to get too close to him. Smoke billowed thicker now, but he sliced through a fallen beam blocking the stairs, the air shimmering with demonic energy. Below, the demons regrouped, spotting them.
“The other spawn!” one bellowed, charging with fangs bared.
Vergil stepped forward, Yamato flashing in a blur. The demon halved mid-leap, dissolving into ash. “Pathetic,” he muttered. Another lunged from the side; Vergil sidestepped, driving the blade through its chest.
Dante hovered behind, fists clenched, useless but determined. He had to find their mom. He ran where he separated from her.
“Mom!” he called out, coughing on the smoke. The flames were getting higher and higher.
They reached the kitchen. Eva lay where he'd left her, conscious but fading. “Vergil… Thank goodness, you’re okay. My sweet boy,” she murmured, eyes fluttering open.
“Mother.” Vergil eyed her injury, and Dante didn’t like the grave face he made. “Dante, carry her. But be gentle.”
Dante scooped her up, her weight light but agonizing in his arms. Vergil cleared the path, slaughtering two more demons that burst through the back door. One grazed his shoulder, drawing blood, but he didn't flinch, only retaliated with a slash.
Outside, the night air felt good to breathe in without smoke in their lungs. The house crackled behind them, fully engulfed now. Sirens wailed in the distance, but they felt too far away.
Vergil summoned a portal with a flick of his wrist. He knew a place where it led to safety.
“Go through,” Vergil commanded, supporting Dante as he held Eva.
“What about you?” Dante asked, his voice raspy. “And Dad? And our home? Our life? We can’t just leave!”
Vergil's expression hardened. “Forget that human nonsense. Your world's changed now. I'll find Father. Move. I’m following you.”
Dante hesitated, the gap between them feeling smaller than ever. “Okay, I’m going.” Then he whispered, “Thanks for saving me.”
A pause, then Vergil nodded curtly. “You’re my brother. But don't slow me down.”
With Mom secure in his arms, Dante stepped through the portal, Vergil following close behind. The gateway snapped shut, leaving the burning house and the encroaching demons to the night.
The portal spat them out into a field of grass. Across them was a brick house, similar to their home, but not as big and more secretive. Trees covered the area from any onlookers, far from the city's outskirts. A safe house Sparda had prepared years ago for emergencies like this.
Dante's arms burned from carrying Eva, but he didn't dare set her down until they were deeper inside, away from anyone. Vergil sealed the portal with a sharp gesture, the rift sealing like a wound closing, so nothing would follow them.
Dante got on his knees on the ground, gently lowering his mother onto a pile of old tarps Vergil had dragged over as a makeshift bed. Eva's breathing was ragged, each inhale a labored rasp that twisted Dante's gut. Her face was ashen, the blood loss turning her lips blue.
It was worse than Dante thought. He tore strips from his shirt, pressing them to the wound, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. Dark red seeping through the fabric. He ripped the collar of her shirt to see how much the damage was. But the sight made him gasp. Long gashes that went down her chest. She’s not going to make it, and Vergil knew it.
“Mom, hold on. We'll get help. There's gotta be a hospital nearby—” Dante's voice broke, his hands trembling as he worked. However, there was nothing more he could do.
Eva's eyes, once so vibrant, fluttered open, as if using all her strength. She managed a weak smile, her fingers brushing his cheek. “Dante, my darling boy. No... it's too late for that.” Her gaze shifted to Vergil, who stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his expression a mask of what he’s feeling underneath. “Vergil, you saved him. I'm so proud of you.”
Vergil inclined his head slightly, but said nothing, his jaw clenched tight.
Eva turned back to Dante, her hand finding his. “Listen to me, both of you. We've always been divided, worlds apart. But now, promise me. Be there for each other. Protect one another. You're all you have left. Blood binds you, don't let it tear you apart. You’re stronger together.” Her voice faded to a whisper, her grip slackening. “I love you both…”
Her chest rose once more, then stilled. The light in her eyes dimmed, and she was gone.
Dante stared, disbelief crashing over him like a wave. “Mom? Mom!” He pulled her into his arms, cradling her limp form against his chest, the warmth already leaching from her body. Sobs tore from his throat, raw, shaking his frame. Tears soaked her hair as he rocked her, whispering denials. “No, please. Don't leave me. I need you— You’re the only one who believed in me.”
Vergil remained rooted in place, his eyes fixed on the scene. No words escaped him, but a subtle sheen glistened in his gaze, the mist of unshed tears betraying the crack in his armor. He wiped away a tear that did manage to escape. He took a deep breath as his fists tightened at his sides, knuckles whitening, but he offered no comfort, no embrace. Because he didn’t know how to offer it.
Minutes passed, feeling like eternity. Before Dante's cries slowly ceased into hiccuping breaths. He laid Mom down carefully, then surged to his feet, rage igniting in his chest like the fire that had consumed their home. “Where was he?” Dante whirled on Vergil, voice hoarse and accusing. “Dad? He was supposed to protect us! He promised we'd be safe. He kept me out of all this demon crap for a reason! Where the hell was Sparda when she needed him?”
Vergil's eyes narrowed, sorrow being replaced with anger. “Father was containing the breach. Mundus ambushed us. The demons overwhelmed the wards. He fought dozens to buy us time. He did what he could.” His tone was steady, but carried a hard edge, as if challenging Dante to question their father’s honor.
Usually Dante wouldn’t have, too bad he didn’t give a shit right now.
Dante's face twisted in fury, grief fueling his outburst. “Did what he could? Look at her! She's dead because of this world he dragged us into! He wasn’t there to protect her! And you, you couldn't even protect us either! All your training, your powers, and Mom's still gone! You always said I was the weaker one— The useless human. Pathetic. Well, who's weak now? She died because you weren't strong enough! You weren’t there when she needed you the most.”
The words landed hard, and Dante was panting from all the shouting.
Vergil's expression fractured for a split second—mortification flashing across his features, his lips parting as if to retort, but nothing came. The accusation struck deeper than anything his father had ever told Vergil. Those words brought up his own buried doubts he had long suppressed. He turned away, shoulders rigid, and strode toward the field.
“I'll return to check on you,” he said quietly, voice stripped of its usual command. Without another glance, he vanished into the night, leaving Dante alone with the body of their mother.
Dante collapsed beside his mom, the fight draining from him as isolation wrapped around his heart. The safe house felt vast and empty, nothing like home. He couldn't call the authorities, not with demons on the loose, not with their family's secrets. Dante didn’t know what to do. No one trained him for any of this.
An hour dragged by, and Dante had not moved away from his mom’s side. He was numb, and his head throbbed from crying too much that he had no more tears to let out.
He stood and walked on autopilot. Dante found a shovel in a corner, rusted but functional, and carried Eva near the closest tree behind the estate, where plants were growing. With bare hands, he clawed at the soil, nails breaking, dirt caking his skin, until the shovel took over. Each scoop was painful as the last as he dug her grave.
“I'm sorry, Mom,” he whispered between heavy breaths. “I should've been stronger. Should've done more. I’m sorry for being weak…”
The hole deepened, his muscles screaming, but he pushed on, fueled by a desperate need to give her peace. When it was done, he lowered Eva in, giving her a final kiss on her forehead before covering her up with dirt, patting it flat with bloodied palms. Then he plucked some wildflowers that were beside him, faded daisies that seemed too fragile for the moment.
Dante sank to his knees beside the mound. Sobs wracked him again, deeper now, the loneliness a physical ache. No family left that cared for him, no home. Only a world he barely understood. Dante curled up there next to her grave, exhausted and broken.
Without realizing, Dante ended up passing out. The stars wheeled overhead, indifferent, to what Dante had been through tonight.
“Dante,” a voice called him.
Dante didn’t hear. Then something shook him, prompting Dante to sit up, panicking. He looked up, bleary-eyed, to see Vergil in front of him.
“Get up. It’s past midnight. It’s not safe out here,” Vergil said.
Dante had lost track of time. He tilted his head, staring at Mom’s grave. The pain came right back. He focused on Vergil again, asking, “Where’s Dad? Did you find him?”
His brother's face was drawn, the lines around his eyes etched deeper, his usual poise replaced by a numb hollowness.
“Dante,” Vergil said lowly. He stepped closer, gaze drifting to the fresh grave. “Father... he's gone too. The breach pulled him under. He held the line, but Mundus was too powerful. Sparda is dead. All I found was his sword.”
No.
Dante's breath hitched, fresh tears spilling. “Both of them. Just like that?” He pushed himself up, legs unsteady, and the brothers stood there, united in their loss for the first time. “I know Dad and I weren’t really close as you guys, but I still loved him. And tried to be the best son I could be for him.”
Vergil's eyes misted again, but he blinked it away, staring at the ground as if it held answers. He still couldn’t talk about his emotions with Dante since he never had to before.
They grieved in silence at first. Dante's quiet weeping mingling with Vergil's rigid stillness.
Dante wiped his face, voice cracking. “What now? I don't... I can't do this. No powers, no plan. Maybe I should go hide somewhere far away, disappear. Let the demons forget about me.”
That was the worst thing he could’ve said as Vergil's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “No. Hiding won't work. You're still Sparda's son. A half-demon like me, even with no powers like one. They'll hunt you down. Mundus wants our line erased. You stay with me. I'll protect you.”
Dante shook his head, bitterness stirred. “Protect me? Like you did Mom? I don't care anymore. Let them come. It's not like I have anything left to lose.”
In a flash, Vergil closed the distance, his hand clamping onto Dante's shoulder with a grip like iron, strong enough to bruise, but not to harm. He shook him slightly, voice rising to a rare shout that echoed off the trees. “Damn it, Dante! I've lost them both. Mother, Father. I won't lose you too! You're my brother, blood of my blood. I won't let them take you. Not while I breathe! We may have had our differences in the past but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re twins.”
Dante froze, stunned by the raw emotion in Vergil's words. For the first time, he saw the fear beneath, the protectiveness that mirrored Mom’s final plea. “Vergil, you mean that?”
Vergil's grip loosened, but he didn't release him entirely. “I do. We're all that's left. We face this together. Or not at all. Stay with me.” His voice was calm, but the numbness lingered, over their shared grief.
He saw the fear in Vergil’s eyes. The thought of Dante abandoning him, as if that was worse than death for him. And maybe for Vergil it was.
“Okay. I’m not going anywhere,” Dante vowed. A first promise being made between them.
As the night got colder, Vergil led Dante away from the grave, his hand resting briefly on his brother’s arm. A quiet gesture that said more than words ever could.
After what felt like an endless walk, they reached the pathway of the secluded estate, half-lost to overgrown forest, almost in the middle of nowhere. The structure rose ahead like something out of another age—a castle-like manor with brick walls.
“What is this place?” Dante muttered.
“Father’s emergency plan. It was a safe house for us, in case something happened to our home,” Vergil answered.
“How come Dad didn’t tell me?”
“Because he didn’t think he would have to,” was all Vergil said, implying that none of this should’ve happened.
Dante nodded. “Are we really safe here?”
“Yes. I placed wards around the perimeter. No demons should get in unscathed.” Vergil opened the door and let Dante go in first.
Dante hesitated at the entrance, eyes widening as he stepped inside. The hall stretched out before him, vast and echoing, its vaulted ceilings amplifying every footstep. He peered around the room. It looked surprisingly well kept and not abandoned like Dante had thought. He expected it to be covered in dust and cobwebs and everything boarded up. Not a massive fireplace on, and the floors beneath them polished to a quiet shine.
“Why does it seem like someone lives here?”
Vergil said nothing for a minute, then finally responded. “Because someone does. Me.”
Dante’s eyes widened, not understanding why Vergil would do that. “What? Why would you do that? Didn’t you like living with Mom and Dad?”
Vergil sighed. “I wanted to be my own person. I didn’t want to be Father’s shadow forever. I had asked him if I could reside here, and he said yes. This is my domain.”
He had claimed it months earlier, drawn to its isolation and the quiet power that lingered within its foundations. It had become his refuge, a place meant for solitude once Dante left for college. Even then, he had planned to return, to keep some fragile thread of family intact while pursuing his own path beyond the human world, just as Sparda once had.
“Oh okay,” Dante said, with no emotion in his voice for once.
While Dante wasn’t hurt since they weren’t close to begin with, it did feel like a stab in the back. He had planned to leave for college in Fall, and Dante had been worried about leaving their mother alone, but the thought of Vergil still home made it reassuring. But he was wrong. Now he understood why Dante hadn’t seen Vergil in his room the last few months. He had been staying elsewhere all along.
Any other day he would’ve been pissed, but right now he didn’t care and just wanted to crawl under a rock and cry.
Dante felt out of place here, like he’d stepped into something far beyond him. His sneakers scraped softly against the floor. He wanted home, not whatever this was.
“How long am I gonna be stuck here?” Dante asked quietly, his voice barely rising above a whisper as he glanced around, arms crossed tight over his chest.
Vergil turned, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Until the threat to our lives fades. The demons won't stop hunting Sparda's bloodline. That could mean months... or years. Mundus won’t rest until we’re dead.” He gestured toward the staircase. “Come. I'll show you your quarters.”
Dante followed in silence, a pang of hurt twisting in his gut. Vergil had built this entire world without a word to him—never a hint of this castle, or the other hidden places he'd no doubt secured. Then again, they hadn't been close.
Vergil's mockery and distance had ensured that. Brothers in name, strangers in practice. Up the stairs, Vergil led him to a wing of guest chambers, selecting one with a view of the misty gardens below. The room was sparse but comfortable: a four-poster bed draped in dark linens, a wardrobe stocked with fresh clothes in Dante's size—jeans, shirts, even a leather jacket that mirrored his old style. Dante assumed his dad got him the clothes, because Vergil wouldn’t have cared to get Dante’s clothing style.
“Rest here. Essentials are provided. If you need more, ask.” Vergil's tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes lingered on Dante's disheveled form, assessing the toll of grief.
Dante nodded numbly, sinking onto the bed's edge as Vergil departed. Alone, he stripped off his dirt-caked clothes, scrubbed the grave soil from his skin, and collapsed into sleep, exhaustion claiming him.
Depression hit Dante hard the upcoming week. He rarely left his room, barely touching the meals left outside his door, his mind trapped in an endless loop of memories: Mom’s final smile, Sparda’s absence, the fire consuming everything they’d known.
Grief weighed on him like chains, unrelenting. He spent hours curled on the bed, knees drawn to his chest, tears soaking into the pillows.
Vergil’s patience finally snapped when Dante ignored his calls on the ninth day. He entered without knocking, boots striking sharply against the floor. Dante jolted upright, eyes red and hollow as they met his brother’s glare.
“Enough,” Vergil said coldly, arms folding across his chest. “You’ve grieved. Now stand up. Hiding away won’t bring them back.”
Dante’s expression hardened, resentment cutting through the haze. “That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t the one digging her grave with your bare hands. To you, this is just another lesson to push forward, get stronger. Not everyone shuts it off like you do.”
A flicker of anger crossed Vergil’s face, but his voice remained controlled, for the sake of peace. “You think I don’t feel it? I was taught to endure, not drown in it. This—” he gestured to the room “—this does nothing for you. The world won’t stop because you’re grieving. Neither will the demons.”
“Then what?” Dante shot back, swinging his legs off the bed, fists clenched tight. “What do you want from me?”
Vergil stepped closer, his presence filling the space. “I want you to learn to fight. Properly. You’ll train, learn the blade. The very sword that should’ve been given to you. Learn control. There’s power in you, Dante, whether you believe it or not. I won’t tolerate weakness any longer.”
Dante let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head as he began to pace. “That’s pointless. I’m human, Vergil. Completely, painfully human. No powers, no tricks. What good is swinging a sword going to do against something like that? I’d just slow you down.”
Vergil reached out, catching his arm, not harsh, but firm enough to stop him. “It’s not pointless. If you’d known even the basics, you might’ve held them off. You could have protected Mother instead of standing there helpless. Father was wrong to keep you in the dark. Too concerned with protecting you to prepare you. I argued against it. You deserved to know. To fight. It’s in your blood, and you have to accept it now.”
Dante searched his face, expecting the usual cold certainty, but instead, he found something else. A quiet sincerity he’d never seen before. Vergil, who had always stood above him, now admitting fault in the way things had been handled.
It stirred something in Dante, almost hope. Maybe this didn’t have to drive them further apart. Maybe, somehow, it could pull them closer.
“You really think I can learn?” he asked softly. “After all this time?”
Vergil released his arm, nodding once. “I know you can. I'll fix what Father overlooked. Starting tomorrow, I’ll train you. We're brothers, Dante. Sons of Sparda. I'll make you strong enough to stand beside me.”
Dante hesitated, refusal resting heavy in his mouth, but the earnestness in Vergil's voice won out. Maybe this was their path forward, a way to honor their mom's words. “Fine. I'll try. But if I suck at it, don't say I didn't warn you.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Vergil's lips—the first one ever directed toward Dante.
“You won't. Rest now. Dawn brings the first lesson.” He turned to leave, pausing at the door. “And Dante? You have nothing to fear. No demon will sense our heritage here. This place is ours. Safe, for now.”
As the door clicked shut, Dante let out a soft sigh, sinking back onto the bed. “I really hope so. Because I can’t lose you either,” Dante whispered, closing his eyes. Without his family, Dante was nothing.