Dante's blade dripped with obsidian blood, the scent of iron thick in the catacombs beneath Kareth Monastery. His boots crunched on scorched bones, the remnants of creatures twisted by cursed magic. The battle was over—but his instincts screamed that something deeper had just begun.
He exhaled sharply, wiping sweat and shadow off his brow. The Revenants hadn't just attacked—they had waited. Ambushed. They had known he was coming.
From the darkened corridor behind him, a voice echoed like silk over broken glass. "You're getting sloppy, Dante."
He didn't turn. He didn't need to. "I thought I smelled blood perfume."
Vara, the half-vampire from the Crimson Circle, stepped into the flickering torchlight. Dark red hair slicked back, cloak fluttering with a breeze that shouldn't exist. She always made dramatic entrances.
"You should've died down here," she said, circling the corpses. "They were Revenants. High-tier ones. You walked into their den alone."
"I needed answers," Dante replied, sheathing his blade. "And now I have one."
She tossed him a scroll. It landed at his feet, its edges soaked in black ichor. He picked it up cautiously. Burned into the fabric, one word pulsed with ancient energy:
EMBER.
Dante's jaw tightened.
"They carved it into their commander's stomach," Vara said coldly. "Whoever you're chasing, they're not just alive. They're declaring war."
Dante rolled the scroll shut. "This isn't war. Not yet."
"You think this has something to do with the girl?" Vara asked, eyebrow raised.
"Elira isn't a girl anymore," he said. "And she's not the target. She's the key."
For a brief moment, Vara's eyes narrowed. "Then you better hope she survives long enough to unlock whatever truth you're chasing."
Dante turned away, heart pounding with old memories. He had once promised to protect a flame-haired child. Now that child was a woman surrounded by shadows and hunted by monsters who feared what she might become.
He stepped over the Revenant leader's charred skull.
"I don't hope," he muttered. "I burn."