There are days when the air feels lighter, when the sky is nothing but a vast sheet of blue, free of threatening clouds.
Rare days when nothing weighs on your chest, when the sun warms without burning, like a gentle hand resting on your shoulder.
That was exactly one of those days.
And yet, the papers and the street gossip still buzzed with a story that sounded like a fairytale : the fall of the Calendrons.
Their manor destroyed, their businesses dismantled, and the monstrous accusation that they had unleashed a chemical weapon during what people were already calling The Great Hallucination.
At least, that's what the headlines, the debates, the rumors claimed.
But the truth was, no one remembered what had really happened.
The fog surrounding the event was still thick, leaving space for the wildest theories.
And the more the memory faded, the more the Calendrons' guilt seemed undeniable in the public's eyes.
Then, tucked at the bottom of the columns, there had been a "good news" story : a handful of patients, ravaged by corruption, had suddenly recovered—as if cleansed from the inside out.
Miracle or coincidence? No one knew.
And finally, one last piece of news had closed the page: Milo's funeral.
Buried at Puck Land, just as he had always wished. A circle closed. A story ended.
Now, after all that, came another kind of epilogue : a reunion.
Dante was waiting, standing before the rebuilt house.
Spirals had raised the walls again in their own way, using the funds they had stolen from the Calendron accounts. Theft turned into a gift.
— "I guess this is their clumsy way of apologizing." Dante thought, eyeing the new bricks that still smelled faintly of plaster.
He drew a deep breath. His heart was beating faster than he'd have admitted.
An engine rumbled down the street. A black car rolled to a stop in front of the house, its tires crunching slightly against the gravel.
Dante felt his throat tighten without warning.
The car doors opened, one after another.
Lexie stepped out first, with a timid smile.
Behind her came Nash, now fitted with a gleaming metal prosthesis. A man followed, his arms replaced with heavy iron limbs.
And then… finally…
— "Jophiel…" Dante whispered.
His little sister darted out of the back seat like an arrow.
— "Big brother!!" she cried, throwing herself at him.
Caught off guard by the force of her embrace, Dante couldn't help but smile. His hand rested gently on her messy hair.
— "I didn't know she could be so… childlike."
Then Annabelle appeared — her eyes red, but her face lit with a smile he hadn't seen in so long.
She said nothing at first, simply held him tight, the scent of herbs and laundry soap stirring a sharp pang of nostalgia.
— "Jophiel told me about Genesis," she finally said, her lips trembling with pride. "I am so proud of you, my son."
He hesitated. Proud?
The word warmed him, yet felt strangely foreign—like it belonged to someone else, some earlier version of Dante.
The man with the prosthetic arms stepped forward, extending a steel hand.
— "Max. Max Payne." He said firmly.
Dante clasped it. The grip was cold, metallic.
— "Dante. Godwin Dante. Thank you… for my family."
Max shook his head.
— "No. I should be thanking you. Without you, my family wouldn't be alive."
Dante held his gaze.
— "Your family?!"
Max pulled out a photo: himself surrounded by young mutant hybrids.
— "Oh! I remember them—they were locked in the basement of the shop."
— "I took them in," Max said softly, "and cherished them, even though men had rejected them.
They told me a young man saved them. I followed the trail from their description and found Lexie."
Dante scratched his head, smiling politely.
— "Wow. Guess luck has its ways. Still… I've got to hand it to you—you're better than the police."
— "Hey Dante! Sorry about Helena—she's still mourning." called a voice nearby.
Lexie slipped into the conversation, uneasy.
— "Listen… I… I wanted to apologize for torching your place. It wasn't—" she swallowed hard. "It wasn't my idea. Rowen pushed me into it."
— "Hmph." Nash grunted, raising a brow that clearly said "Not true at all."
Dante studied him more closely. The implant was both heavy and fragile at once.
His chest tightened.
— "I'm sorry." Dante said, sincerely.
Nash shrugged.
— "No need. It was my choice. And besides… I'm grateful."
A bitter smile touched his lips.
— "You avenged us. You brought that family to its knees. We just sabotaged from the shadows for a while. But you… you were the catalyst. You tipped the balance."
Dante stayed silent. The word echoed inside him.
— "Catalyst..."
He wasn't sure he liked it. Yes, he had acted— but had he truly chosen? Or had the circumstances swallowed him and spat him back out as an instrument?
His gaze drifted over each of them : Lexie, nervous but sincere. Nash, scarred but still standing. Max, heavy with iron and mysteries. And finally, Jophiel and Annabelle, two beacons in the dark.
A weight lifted from his shoulders. Not all of it. But enough to let him breathe easier.
...
The house soon filled with voices and laughter once they stepped inside.
The big living-room table overflowed with food hastily prepared but generous: steaming stew, roasted vegetables, warm bread, a few bottles of wine already uncorked.
The delicious smells were enough to loosen even the most timid.
— "Hey, pass the bread before Lexie finishes it!" Nash called, pointing at her as she reached for seconds.
— "Me? Look at his spoon—it's a shovel!" Max shot back, roaring with laughter.
The table erupted in noisy banter.
— "I swear, even pigs would've shown me more respect!"
The jokes sent everyone into fits of laughter, pounding the table so hard they nearly spilled the dishes.
Lexie raised her glass.
— "To our host—who somehow always brings us together despite our messes!"
Glasses clinked in a joyous clamor.
Max tried to launch into a serious story, but Lexie cut him off with an exaggerated impression of a wine merchant, and soon everyone was inventing ridiculous caricatures.
— "Madam, that's not wine, that's holy water!"
— "Holy water? Tastes more like dishwater!"
The laughter roared even louder.
Amid the noise, Dante smiled—but now and then, his eyes drifted into the distance.
When the room grew even rowdier, he slipped away, setting down his glass.
— "I need to check something." he muttered, heading upstairs.
The hallway was quiet. He pushed open the door to his room.
Inside, in the dim light, Ginny sat on a chair, motionless.
— "Ginny…" he breathed.
He fumbled in his coat and pulled out a small bundle of food: a piece of bread, some meat, a few fruits.
She looked up, surprised, and came closer. Without a word, she began to eat—slowly, with the restraint of someone truly hungry.
Dante sat on the edge of his bed. After a long silence, he murmured:
— "I'm sorry."
Ginny looked at him, her mouth still full, then swallowed softly.
— "Sorry? For what?"
He lowered his gaze, hands clasped between his knees.
— "Because… I keep you at a distance. I shouldn't. But I do."
She set down her bread and shook her head.
— "You don't need to apologize. It's my choice to stay apart. I'm not really… fond of all that joy, you know."
Her lips curved in a faint, lopsided smile.
— "The laughter, the noise… it drains me more than anything."
Dante studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. A discreet, relieved smile touched his face.
— "Alright. Then… I understand."
They stayed like that for a while, in a quiet eased only by the distant echo of laughter rising from downstairs—a reminder of a world they only half belonged to.
Later, the evening drew to a close. One by one, the guests left the house, some still joking, others stumbling a little drunk into the night.
The house slowly fell back into silence, as if the noisy feast had been nothing more than a fleeting parenthesis.
As night fell, the house began to slumber.
Jophiel had dozed off on the couch, holding cushion like a plush toy.
She snored with childlike serenity.
In the kitchen, Dante and Annabelle were quietly cleaning up. Not an awkward silence, but a soothing one.
Glasses clinked, plates found their shelves. It was a simple moment, an ordinary one… but not so ordinary for Soo-Jin.
And it's in these rare moments of calm that the questions buried too long begin to surface.
Dante broke the silence without looking up :
— "Mom… do I have a brother ?"
She froze. Her gaze remained locked on the bottom of the sink. She knew. Of course she knew this day would come.
— "You've got your eye back…" he murmured. "I guess the memories are clearer now."
She nodded, setting a spoon gently on the table.
— "I remember the looks… the visual sensations."
He turned to her.
— "So? Tell me. I'm old enough to hear the truth."
Of course he was. He was several millennia old.
Annabelle sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She patted the spot beside her. He joined her without a word.
— "Yes," she said at last. "You have a brother. His name is Cain, Cain Caledron."
Dante frowned.
— "Caledron...?"
She closed her eyes. Nodded.
— "Yes. That very one."
He recoiled slightly, like something had struck his chest.
— "You're kidding."
— "I'd never joke about that."
— "But… he… he's—"
— "Sick," she cut him off. "He was born with a very rare, unknown condition. 'Fungus Syndrome.'
A degenerative disease that affects both body and mind."
Dante lowered his gaze.
— "He didn't look like a monster. He looked… almost normal."
— "Must've been a mask. Or time. Or treatments. Or experiments. Or maybe even his power. I don't know. But the real Cain, the one I knew… was not the person you met."
He stood up suddenly, pacing across the room.
— "Why didn't you ever tell me ? Why did you let me believe I was an only child ?!" He asked nervously.
— "Because I was afraid," she admitted. "Because I wanted to protect you. And because I was weak, Dante. Very weak." She replied with a trembling voice.
She stood too, stepped closer.
— "I loved Cain. With all my heart. But after he tried to kill me I got scared and ran away and I met your father, Edward.
And when you were born, I raised you as a second chance… but I was too ashamed to explain everything.
I thought it would stay buried. I thought Cain… would never come back."
— "Then why did you deal with.Malek for a loan ?"
— "You weren't supposed to know...
When you told me about your dream to participate in the entrance exam for an academy, I gave up the one thing I had left to offer. You know the saying—only the rich get loans.
I had no assets, no money. But the Cinder Bank is different. They accept payment in kind. If I refused to give them my eyes, they would've taken my soul instead…
I had no will to live left anyway, and that's why I gave everything—for you. So you could help your sister one day.
And now look… We're at peace. Duraand, for the first time, is at peace." Her voice began to tremble more intensely.
She collapsed into the chair this time, tears streaming freely. Her hands trembled.
— "I'm a terrible mother, Dante."
He stepped forward, slowly. Unsure. He placed his hand awkwardly on hers.
— "You're not perfect. But you did what you could. And that's not nothing."
She looked up at him, stunned.
— "You forgive me ?"
— "I would've done the same." He said quietly.
— "I did the same… for huamnity."
She laughed through her sobs.
— "You're more like me than you think."
A gentle silence settled. Then Dante spoke again, his voice deeper now :
— "He ran away. You know I'll go to Almeria tomorrow, maybe I'm going to find him."
Annabelle's head shot up.
— "Why?"
— "I want to know who he really is."
She grabbed his hand.
— "Then promise me one thing."
— "Say it."
— "Don't kill him."
He said nothing. The ticking clock grew heavier. Then he sighed, long and deep, and nodded.
— "I promise."
She hugged him. He, stiff at first, allowed it.