Wind whispered across the high ridge above Dusk Village, carrying the scent of pine and the faint iron of old stone. A forgotten pavilion rested there — weathered beams, moss-covered tiles, and an open view of the valley below where lights flickered as evening crept in.
Dante Velcris stood at the edge, arms resting on the worn stone rail. He wasn't wearing his usual smirk. His gaze drifted across the horizon like he was listening to something far away.
He had returned only hours ago.
He hadn't said much.
He rarely needed to.
Footsteps approached — light, deliberate, familiar. Dante didn't turn.
"You're early," he said.
"You're sober," Dimitri replied.
Dante gave a dry chuckle. "Can't keep both up forever."
The old man came to stand beside his son. They didn't speak for a moment. The silence wasn't awkward — it was the kind between men who didn't need to fill the air with noise. Below them, the valley moved slowly, the wind brushing the trees like a passing thought.
Dante spoke first.
"Another dead world. I searched it end to end."
"Anything?" Dimitri asked.
Dante exhaled. "Dust and echoes. Like the last ten."
"No signs?"
"Only silence pretending to be meaning."
Dimitri nodded, eyes fixed on the distance. "You'll find it eventually."
Dante didn't answer. He only shifted his weight, fingers tightening slightly on the railing.
Then Dimitri said, "He's been dreaming, you know."
Dante's eyes flicked sideways. "I figured. The moment I stepped foot here, I could feel the weight hanging off him."
Dimitri gave a slow nod. "It started months ago. Whispered names. Broken scenes. But recently... it's become clearer."
Dante didn't respond. He waited.
Dimitri continued, voice calm:
"Last night... he said a name."
A pause.
"Anu."
Dante stilled.
The air didn't shift.
The wind didn't stop.
But something beneath all of that — something inside him — trembled.
A presence within him — ancient, dormant — stirred.
"What is it, Shiva?" Dante asked inwardly, calm and sharp.
"Do you know that name?"
There was silence.
Then, a voice — low and weathered, like forgotten stone scraping against time.
"...I feel like I've heard it before."
"But I cannot fathom when… or who."
The presence receded.
The memory did not surface.
Whatever tried to awaken… returned to sleep.
Dante blinked once.
"...You're sure?" he asked, voice low.
Dimitri didn't look at him. "He's said it twice now."
Dante leaned against the railing again. His tone turned unreadable.
"And no one knows that name?"
"Exactly," Dimitri said. "There's no record. No remnant. Not in Light's Archives. Not in Flame's Vaults. Even the Earthbound Seers remember nothing."
They stood there a long time.
The sun dipped lower behind the blackened ridgelines.
"You think it's just a dream?" Dimitri asked.
"To be honest, no." Dante and continues "I got a feeling it's related to that phenomenon."
Dimitri fell into silence, clearly remembering the past.
"You're taking him, aren't you?" the older man asked, already knowing.
Dante gave a single nod. "Soon."
Dimitri sighed through his nose. "Two years to train... and advance."
"Two years is too short," Dante said. "But we'll make the most of it."
Dimitri looked at his son now — not as an elder, not as mentor, but simply as father to a man too old for the burden on his shoulders.
"Will you train him?" he asked.
Dante's answer was slow. Thoughtful.
"I made some arrangements," he said. "Until he can go on his own."
Dimitri gave a faint nod.
"He's your nephew," he said. "But more than that... he's his father's son."
Dante flinched — barely.
Dimitri let the silence carry.
Then the older man turned to leave.
"Let him enjoy the valley a little longer," he said. "There's peace here… even if it's borrowed."
As Dimitri's footsteps faded into the wind, Dante remained still.
He looked toward the dying sun, toward the boy below who bore a forgotten name, and toward a past that had never truly died.
Somewhere deep within him…
something waited.