Dante grabbed a leather-bound journal from the desk drawer and flipped it open, pen in hand. The weight felt right. Expensive. He had taste, at least.
What the fuck am I?
He scratched the words onto the blank page, then immediately crossed them out. Too dramatic. Too existential. He needed facts, not philosophy.
Transmigration hypothesis:
Better. Start with what he knew.
1. Died. Stabbed in the street. Complete memory of previous life intact.
2. Experienced void/nothingness after death.
3. Now inhabiting body of Dante Valac, devil nobility.
4. Memories of both lives present and integrating.
5. Personality blend of both Elijah and Dante.
6. Magical abilities functioning - perhaps enhanced by transmigration.
He paused, tapping the pen against his lips. The room felt too quiet, too still. Like it was holding its breath, waiting for him to make a decision.
Possible causes:
He listed them quickly, letting the ideas flow.
- Random cosmic accident
- Punishment/reward from higher power
- Dante's shadow manipulation created pathway during training
- Void Sight connected to actual void between worlds
- Some asshole playing games
- Reincarnation gone wrong
He snorted at the last one, drawing a line through it. Reincarnation implied being born again, not hijacking someone else's body mid-life. Though "hijacking" wasn't quite right either. This wasn't possession. He hadn't replaced Dante—he'd merged with him. The devil's memories, his abilities, his instincts all remained. Just with Elijah's consciousness and experiences layered on top.
Or underneath? Hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began anymore.
He flipped to a fresh page.
Immediate concerns:
1. Maintaining cover - can't let anyone know I'm not 100% original Dante
2. Learning to control magical abilities properly
3. Understanding devil politics and Valac family position
4. Testing limits of Essence Drain safely
5. Identifying potential allies and threats
He stared at the list. Practical steps, sure, but they didn't address the question burning in his gut: what did he actually want?
In his old life, he'd wanted basic shit. Money. Women. Respect. Not getting stabbed behind his back. But now? Now he had wealth, status, power beyond anything he could have imagined. The playing field had changed completely.
He wrote a single word on the next page:
CONTROL.
That was it. The core of what he'd always wanted. In his old life, he'd never had it. Always someone higher on the food chain. Always someone ready to put him down. To take what he'd built. To remind him that he was nothing.
Never again.
He wouldn't be at anyone's mercy. Not Alexius's. Not devil society's. Not fate's. He would build something no one could take from him.
The shadows in the room stirred, responding to his emotions. He watched them curl around the legs of the chair, stretching toward him like hungry animals. With a casual flick of his wrist, he shaped them into a crown that hovered above the journal, then dissolved it back into formless darkness.
A knock at the door broke his concentration. He closed the journal and slid it into the desk drawer.
"Enter."
Ariel stepped into the room, carrying a silver tray with what smelled like tea and food. Her movements were smooth again, her energy apparently recovered from their earlier encounter. She'd changed into a fresh uniform, her long black hair now pulled back in a neat ponytail that emphasized the elegant line of her neck.
"Lady Selene suggested you might be hungry, Young Master." She set the tray on a small table near the window. "You haven't eaten in three days."
His stomach growled in response. He hadn't noticed the hunger until she mentioned it, too caught up in the chaos of his situation.
"Thank you." He moved to the table, gesturing for her to sit in the chair opposite his. "Join me."
Surprise flickered across her face—a slight widening of her red eyes, a momentary parting of her lips. Dante wouldn't have invited her to sit with him so casually. Another slip he'd need to be more careful about.
"That wouldn't be appropriate, Young Master."
"I insist." He pulled out the chair. "Consider it an apology."
That got her attention. She froze halfway through pouring the tea, the stream pausing mid-air.
"An apology?"
"For my behavior when I woke up." He met her gaze directly. "It was... unbecoming. Taking advantage of your concern was beneath me."
The teacup filled to the perfect level before she set the pot down. Her face revealed nothing, but he caught the slight tremble in her fingers.
"There's no need to apologize, Young Master. You were disoriented. Lady Selene explained about the Essence Drain. It's a natural part of your development."
"Maybe." He took the cup she offered, their fingers brushing briefly. "But kissing my maid without permission isn't. Regardless of magical abilities awakening."
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "I... didn't exactly refuse."
"No, you didn't." He sipped the tea—some exotic blend he couldn't identify but immediately enjoyed. "Which makes my behavior even more problematic. You're in a position where refusing me would be difficult."
She finally sat, perching on the edge of the chair like she might need to flee at any moment. Her eyes studied him with an intensity that made him wonder just how much she saw.
"You've never concerned yourself with such power imbalances before." Her tone remained respectful, but the observation was pointed.
He arched an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
"Just that..." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "The Young Master I know would have either ignored what happened or turned it into a joke about my irresistibility to him."
Smart woman. She'd already noticed the differences in his behavior. He needed to tread carefully.
"Near-death experiences change people." He shrugged, selecting a small sandwich from the tray. "Three days in the void gives you time to think."
"So you remember what happened while you were unconscious?"
"Pieces." He took a bite, buying time. "Mostly sensations. Darkness. Emptiness. A feeling of being... unmade."
Not entirely a lie. The void after his death had been exactly that.
Ariel nodded slowly. "Perhaps it has given you a new perspective."
"Perhaps." He finished the sandwich in two more bites, suddenly ravenous. "Or perhaps I'm just tired of being predictable."
That earned him a small smile—genuine, reaching her eyes in a way that transformed her face from merely beautiful to breathtaking.
"You've never been predictable, Young Master. Infuriating, reckless, brilliant—but never predictable."