The crimson sunset kissed the horizon, blending with the sea. Dante, sunglasses perched on his nose, leaned against the yacht's wheel, taking in the view. He tossed a question over his shoulder to his passenger. "So, what'd you think of that girl?"
The whole mess had happened so fast. He hadn't even had time to round up the usual crew before hopping a plane, hitting the docks, and renting a boat to speed to the island. Still, he'd missed the grand finale.
"Think of her how?"
Trish lounged lazily in the cabin, her tone as carefree as ever.
"Her vibe, what else? First time I've seen a kid that… traditional."
"She's not bad, is she? Compared to a certain someone, at least. Nothing wrong with a little old-school charm."
Dante stretched, letting out a sigh. "Just blows my mind, you know? Our family, starting with my old man, has a track record for churning out rogues and rebels. If it wasn't for Nero, I'd have thought my brother dodged that gene entirely."
"Maybe she takes after your mom more?" Trish teased. "I mean, she's got the blonde hair, not silver."
That hit a nerve, and Dante fumbled. "Hey, okay, I'll admit she does kinda look like my mom—same as you. But she's so green, I mean…"
"She's definitely a Sparda, though."
Trish cut him off, steering the conversation back on track. "What you saw was just the surface. I think… when she draws Yamato and her hair turns silver, that's when you see the real her."
"Silver hair? Right when she pulls the blade?"
Dante let out a weird yelp. "Good grief, that's straight outta some manga!"
Trish, well aware of Dante's secret love for comics and sweets, wasn't fazed. "Call it what you want. But when that kid gets in the zone, she's like an opera star stepping onto the stage."
"Damn, I missed out on that?"
"Yeah. Didn't you used to catch an opera now and then?"
Dante struck a dramatic pose on the deck, bowing with a flourish. "Here, there is only silence."
"Hamlet," Trish noted. "Bit too flippant for the weight of that line, though. Big Shakespeare fan?"
"My old man was the Shakespeare nut," Dante said, straightening with a grin. "Had a stash of his plays at home. I'm not big on books full of just words, but my brother ate that stuff up."
"Never heard you mention that. Sounds like he was a bit of a bookish kid."
"…Till he changed."
Trish raised an eyebrow but didn't press. The yacht's engine hummed, its vibrations echoing across the quiet sea.
"Alright, we're getting off track," Dante said after a moment, waving a hand to clear the moody air. "So, looks like the kid's inherited my brother's side of things?"
"Maybe," Trish replied noncommittally. "But if you ask me, that town back there only breeds devout believers or hardcore blasphemers."
"Not a fan of either," Dante chuckled. "My whole life, anything tied to religion has been a one-way ticket to trouble. But something's off about her."
"Oh?" Trish sat up in the cabin, curious. "Spill."
"Nero grew up in that town, but she doesn't strike me as a true believer. And she's definitely not out there spitting on gods."
"She's a demigod's kid, so she's bound to be a little special, right?"
"Hey! We agreed not to bring up the demigod stuff!"
"That's about you."
Dante had no comeback for that. Shaking his head, he pressed on. "Point is, it's not about the demigod thing. She doesn't worship Sparda because she's already seen the real Sparda."
"Sounds like you're dissing your dad."
"Nah, it's a compliment." Dante shook his head again. "I don't know how she did it, but she saw through the Order's fake idol and got a glimpse of the real Sparda."
Trish gave him a strange look. "You can tell all that?"
"'Cause I went through the same thing," Dante said with a laugh. "Oh, and about that gift I'm planning to give her…"
"You already gave her Gilgamesh and Yamato," Trish said, shrugging and tilting her head. "What else you got in that bag of tricks?"
"Don't underestimate my museum! Though, yeah, I'm not planning to hand over more demon gear."
"Wait, you don't mean…"
"How about we give her the shop's sign?"
"Your sign," Trish corrected, then asked, "What's she gonna do with that? Lady said the Order's knights are already pretty damn good at hunting demons."
"I was on the fence, but you just sealed the deal."
"Huh?"
"I know she'll leave that island eventually." Dante whistled at another yacht nearby, waving—they'd be docking soon.
"Will she?"
"That town's folks are terrified of demons, and Nero's demonic aura isn't exactly subtle. To keep those two people you mentioned out of trouble, she'll choose to leave. That's reason one."
"And reason two?"
"Like you said, she's a Sparda."
Trish climbed up, leaned over the chair, and studied Dante's profile. "That's your logic?"
"A dull-as-dirt place like that can't hold a true Sparda heart," Dante said with a smirk, his tone teasing. "They say my dad was once the lord there, and that's why that's past tense."
"Sounds pretty poetic."
Trish sank back into her seat. "But all I see is your 'Sparda heart' rotting away in a pile of comics and desserts."
"Trish, that's slander," Dante shot back, mock-offended. "My life hasn't been epic enough for you?"
"Weren't you dragged into most of it? If I hadn't told you about Nero, you'd still be moldering in your office."
"Man's gotta have some downtime! When Nero leaves the island, you think she won't swing by to check in now and then?"
"Fix your sleep schedule before you talk about 'downtime.'"
Their playful bickering filled the air as the yacht glided toward the distant shore.
Night fell, and Fortuna, left behind, slipped into a peaceful slumber. The Order's internal chaos hadn't touched the town, which remained the same quiet, devout, ascetic Fortuna.
In a rare house with an electric lamp glowing at the door, two anxious figures finally heard a soft sound from outside.
A blonde, blue-eyed girl looked at them, gave a light chuckle, and waved.
"I'm back."