[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Rumpelstadt]

An elderly man sat hunched near the corner of a collapsed awning, his chair made from uneven planks, one leg supported by a pile of stones. His hands trembled faintly as he adjusted a threadbare scarf around his neck. His eyes latched onto Dante and Tamamo-no-Mae.

"No, sorry," the old man rasped after a pause, his voice rough as sand. "I don't know anything about them dragons."

Dante inclined his head slightly. "I see," he murmured. "Your cooperation is appreciated."

The man nodded quickly, his gaze turning once more to Tamamo-no-Mae. Her tails swayed behind Dante's shoulders. Whatever curiosity lingered in the man's face turned to caution; he looked away, as though afraid even his glance might provoke something beyond mortal understanding.

Without another word, Dante turned and began walking down the dim street.

"Hm," Tamamo-no-Mae murmured from her perch, her tails curling lazily. "Another useless source, hm?"

"It would seem so," Dante replied. "It's unclear when the last battle between those dragons took place… but the scars remain. The land bears them still. And though the skies are quiet, they are not finished."

"I suppose mortals would rather forget such calamity," she mused. Her tone was light, but her eyes held something else. Pity perhaps, or disdain. "Still," she went on, "I thought you'd be more concerned with the current situation."

He tilted his head slightly. "Meaning?"

Tamamo-no-Mae's tails swayed once. "The state of this town," she clarified. "Its sorrow clings to the air. The mines are their lifeblood, and the Retorta Guild has taken even that. You can see it, can't you? How they move without purpose? How every face looks older than its years?"

He didn't need to look to know she was right. The people shuffled like ghosts. Their voices were low, their steps hesitant. He exhaled quietly. "I can hardly solve every affliction I see," he said, more to himself than her. "Strength alone can drive the Retorta Guild out of this place—but it won't change what lies beneath. I could fight their battles for them, yes. But when I leave… they'll only fall again."

Tamamo's nine tails fanned slightly, brushing his shoulder. "How unlike you that sounds," she said gently. "I remember a man who once stood against impossible odds without hesitation. A knight who defied even the divine when the cause demanded it. The man I knew never spoke of what could not be done."

"Hmph," he muttered, his gaze turning toward the people passing them by—faces hollow, movements weary. "Despite my longevity, I am still human," he said. "That is precisely why I know what they feel. They have already surrendered in spirit. Once hope dies, there's no sword sharp enough to bring it back."

Tamamo tilted her head, studying him from the side. "You could instill it again," she pressed. "You've done so before. Hope may be fragile, but it's contagious. Even the faintest ember can stir others to rise."

"No," Dante replied, simply. The refusal was resolute. "If I can help with my strength, I will. But this isn't a wound that can be healed with force. These people don't want saving—they want escape. Freedom without burden. There is nothing I can give them."

"So you've lost faith in your kind, then?" she asked softly.

His helm turned slightly toward her. "No," he said after a moment. "I have not lost faith. I've seen too much to believe in only the worst of them. But I no longer chase those who do not wish to be saved."

Tamamo looked at him quietly, her expression unreadable. ("Liar…") she thought. ("You have lost faith. You just won't admit it. I suppose I can't fault you. Humans were never meant to endure for so long. Whatever warmth you once had, time has hollowed it out.")

Before the silence between them could deepen, a gruff voice called out from the side of the street.

"Oi, you—knight."

Dante stopped as Tamamo's ears flicked toward the sound. A thin man stepped from the shadow of a crumbling doorway. He had long brown hair that hung unevenly around his face and dull eyes that once might've held emotion other than exhaustion. His tunic and trousers were patched, stained, and worn through at the edges.

He crossed his arms, eyeing Dante with equal parts caution and curiosity. "Heard you two've been pokin' around town," he said, his tone flat. "A knight and… what was it? A Deseruit Beast?" His gaze lingered on Tamamo, who stretched languidly along Dante's shoulder.

"I assume you want something," Tamamo said, her voice amused. The man blinked, taken aback by a talking fox, but quickly shrugged it off—Rumpelstadt had likely seen stranger things.

"Right…" he said slowly. "You've been asking about dragons, yeah?"

"Indeed," Dante confirmed.

"Well, I might have some info… for a price—"

He didn't finish. A faint glow rippled above him—a dim glow of gold light forming midair before dropping neatly into his hands. A small brown pouch landed with a soft jingle.

Instinctively, he caught it and blinked.

"There," Tamamo said casually, her tails curling. "A thousand Eor."

The man loosened the drawstring and froze. His eyes widened at the sight of gold coins gleaming within. He fished one out, turning it between his fingers. One side bore the engraving of a radiant woman in a feathered helm; the other, a skeletal figure with a crown of thorns.

"Well, I'll be…" he breathed, admiration cutting through his suspicion. His grin spread quickly. "Guess I won't waste your time then. Some fellas came through talkin' about dragons a while back—stood out like nobles. One with brown hair, blue eyes, dressed in a proper suit. The other shorter, blonde, and temper shorter still. The blonde was real riled up—talkin' about his kingdom and those dragons like he had a bone to pick."

("Those two…") Dante thought, lenses narrowing. ("Yes, I remember their faces.")

"And where did they go?" he asked.

"Left town not too long ago," the man said. "Heard 'em mention the Retorta Guild. Didn't catch much else."

"I see." Dante inclined his head slightly. "You have my thanks." He turned and started walking away, boots echoing across the hollow street.

"Hey," Tamamo said after a moment.

"What?" he asked, without slowing.

"Aren't I getting a sweet thank you," she teased, "for paying the man for such… valuable information?"

"You wish me to thank you for paying someone with money you stole from them?" Dante asked dryly.

Tamamo snorted, her grin curling. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Hmph."

"And yet," she went on lightly, "you didn't stop me."

"Hmph."

"Are you actually going to talk," she teased again, tail brushing the edge of his fur-lined collar, "or just grunt until I lose interest?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Fair," she replied, smiling faintly.

--------------------

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

Heightened senses had more cons than pros. They were a gift sure but it came with poison. You could see danger before it saw you, feel vibrations in the ground before footsteps ever came close, taste the metallic sting of blood in the air before a wound was even drawn. You could sense life and death alike across miles.

But the price was steep.

Every noise screamed louder than it should have. Every scent clawed at your throat. Every glimpse revealed what you sometimes wished would remain unseen. The mind could not rest, for even silence was never truly silent. You could hear the ants crawling under the soil, smell rot buried years beneath earth, feel the heartbeat of something watching you from far beyond the treeline.

And here, in the damp forests near Rumpelstadt, that curse pressed in harder than ever.

Alexander exhaled through his nose sharply, wrinkling it in reflex against the dense musk of moss. He stood on a slope overlooking the valley below. The faint shimmer of alloy reflected from below through breaks in the fog.

"This is a stupid idea," Alexander said finally, tone dry. "And you're an idiot."

Beside him, Ivan didn't seem to take offense. His gaze was fixed down the slope, where the forest ended in a cleared expanse—a scar upon the natural landscape.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Ivan murmured.

Below, in the clearing, stood an outpost—an organized intrusion of a structure in the wilderness. The ground had been scraped bare, the trees cut cleanly and burned at the roots to make way for metal. The centerpiece was a sleek, segmented structure of dark alloy, smooth and seamless. Around it, smaller stations branched out.

A dark blue tarp fluttered faintly from the main building, bearing an emblem stitched in black: a twin-headed serpent coiled around a skeletal hand clutching a scepter. The sight made Alexander's jaw tighten.

Encircling the outpost was a tall alloy wall, polished but practical, fortified with dull plating. At the gate stood Retorta Guild soldiers, their presence orderly. Their uniforms were black, threads interwoven with metallic alloy. Dull gray plating covered their torsos and shoulders like overlapping scales, and their helmets were featureless—smooth, visor-thin, giving no hint of humanity beneath. Each bore a curved sword at their side and a rifle held expertly.

Alexander exhaled slowly, scanning them. His senses flared instinctively—heartbeat counts, posture, air movement. Too many. Far too many for a "simple" negotiation.

"Honestly," he muttered, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, "we really need to talk about this hero complex of yours."

"You can't expect me to do nothing," Ivan said firmly, his tone stripped of levity. "The town is dying, Alex. The people have nothing. Killing a few Deseruit Beasts won't fix the rot strangling them. This—" he gestured toward the outpost "—is what's suffocating them."

Alexander glanced sidelong at him, unimpressed. "And neither will acting like idiots."

Ivan's eyes narrowed, but he kept his tone calm. "It'll only be negotiations. I'm not charging the gates. Maybe I can persuade them to void their claim over Rumpelstadt."

Alexander gave a low hum that might've been a scoff. "Maybe."

"Come on," Ivan said, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Have some faith. I'm still a prince, remember? My kingdom may be a shadow of what it was, but it still counts for something. I can offer trade. Territory. Rights to—"

"—your head?" Alexander cut in dryly. "Because that's all they'll want when this goes south."

Ivan just laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

Alexander wasn't smiling. His gaze lingered on the emblem below—the skeletal hand, the serpents, the walls that rose. "I still don't see why we have to go this far," he muttered. "The Retorta Guild isn't some merchant cabal you can charm over dinner. They've got power—real power. Political pull across half the world, and a private military that could rival the Heart Kingdom's own. You don't negotiate with people like that, Ivan. You survive them."

Ivan sighed, brushing a lock of brown hair from his eyes. "I know that much, sheesh. But even monsters can bargain. They've still got rules—they have to, to grow this big. And they don't have any official post up north yet, which means…"

"Which means you think you've got leverage," Alexander finished.

Ivan smiled faintly. "Exactly."

"Leverage," Alexander repeated, tone low. "Until they decide you're easier to kill than listen to."

Ivan didn't answer. His gaze stayed on the fortress below, resolve etched in his expression. The wind stirred faintly between them.

"Stop being so pessimistic," Ivan finally said, his voice trying for levity again. "Let's just… do this."

Alexander exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head. "Whatev—"

He never finished the word.

"You two are quite foolish," a voice said behind them, smooth and distinctly feminine.

Both young men jolted as though struck. Ivan turned sharply, while Alexander's entire body tensed in an instant, his instincts screaming—but there had been no warning. No scent, no sound, no ripple in the air. Nothing.

("What—?!") His mind reeled, eyes darting through the trees. ("But… I didn't sense anything.")

His senses had never failed him—not once in his life. And yet now, they had been rendered useless. He hadn't felt an approach. Hadn't even smelled a presence. It was as though the world itself had refused to acknowledge this thing until she spoke.

A cold sweat prickled down his spine.

The forest around them seemed to still, the faint rustle of leaves fading into an unnatural hush. Somewhere distant, a crow gave a single caw, then silence reclaimed the slope.

Alexander saw it.

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