[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

It could be said that once a forest stood here, but that was no longer true. Whatever trees once reached toward the sky were now nothing more than dust. Now it was a clearing, if such a word could describe something so vast. More than a dozen kilometers stretched in every direction, empty and desolate. No trees. No rocks. No whisper of anything that resembled nature or life.

Only dust. A flat, barren sheet of dust rolling in long waves each time the breeze dared to cross the wasteland.

Above it all, the sky looked wrong. The gloomy gray of heavy clouds was split open, as though some titanic force had punched straight through them. An enormous hole gaped above, revealing a perfect blue far beyond.

And at the center of this newly made scar on the world stood Dante.

He did not move. His silhouette remained perfectly still.

("I was right. She hasn't changed at all.")

The thought was dry and weary.

His expression was hidden behind his helm, but something in the slight drop of his chin hinted at restraint. He was uninjured—just dust-smeared, a few superficial marks scattered across his coat and gauntlets. Nothing serious. Yet irritation prickled beneath his composure. He was not a man easily annoyed. And yet Tamamo, with an expertise honed over ages, managed it effortlessly.

His violet lenses narrowed as he stared forward. A few paces away, the dust thickened into a swirling veil, almost deliberately obscuring a figure.

Then her voice slipped out through the haze.

"Oh my… you really don't hold back, do you? Honestly, Dante, you're getting awfully rough with me~"

Her tone was softer than usual—not coy or teasing, but soothing in a way that crawled into the bones. A lesser man would have melted into that sound. A lesser man would have leaned closer, eager for more. A lesser man would have been entranced, enthralled and devoured.

Dante simply exhaled.

"Hmph."

Dante was not a lesser man.

The shape behind the dust shifted. A silhouette of a tall woman—curved, graceful and robed—outlined faintly, nine tails arcing behind her. Ears twitched atop her head. Even without seeing her features, anyone could feel the beauty.

"You're not even going to comment?" Tamamo's voice teased from the silhouette. "Not even a small, irritated quip?" Her shape began shifting—shrinking and twisting—until the outline compressed into a foxlike form. With a single sweep of her tails, the dust peeled back, revealing her fully: golden fur, nine radiant tails fanned behind her, emerald eyes bright with amusement. She smiled lightly. "Well… I suppose I've had my entertainment."

Dante said nothing.

"What? Don't tell me you're angry," she sighed dramatically. "Alexander and Ivan are fine. Quite fine, really. And that little Legatus vanished, so I was clearly justified in keeping you from interfering."

Silence again.

Tamamo let out a soft puff of air, ears twitching.

"Oh come now. You know as well as I do that Ivan would have insisted on tagging along. Dragons, vendettas, all that melodrama. And you—being the painfully softhearted soul you pretend not to be—you'd have let him. But he needs to stand on his own feet. They both do. You can't coddle him, Dante."

Dante remained still.

Tamamo tilted her head as she smirked, opening her mouth again. "And don't pretend you weren't enjoying yourself fighting me. I could practically feel you working out your frustrations on my—"

She didn't finish the last word.

Because Dante vanished.

No dramatic signal or theatrical flash. Just a violent displacement of air that left a thunderclap of pressure in his wake. One moment he was standing still; the next he was tearing through the air toward her with impossible speed, the world bending around the path of his momentum.

Tamamo's eyes widened. She leaped aside just as his fist came crashing down.

When knuckles met the earth, the world convulsed.

A roar thundered outward, shaking the ground so violently the dust rose in a tidal wave. A shockwave detonated from the impact, ripping through the clearing with bone-deep force. The ground cratered instantly—then cracked, then collapsed deeper, forming a vast scar that sprawled for miles. The air trembled even after the earth stilled.

The tremors continued… and continued… long enough that even Tamamo's tails paused mid-sway.

Dante straightened methodically. He turned toward her.

Tamamo stood off to the side, posture graceful but eyes slightly narrowed.

"That," she murmured, voice losing some of its playfulness, "was unnecessarily rude." Her tails lowered a fraction. "Taking on my fox form means I'm finished. I'm not fighting anymore, Dante."

"You give up," Dante replied calmly, "when you no longer find amusement in something."

Tamamo blinked at him. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean." Her voice softened. "And that punch? In this form I'm far more delicate. That could have killed me, darling. Are we not friends anymore? A little skirmish, perfectly mutual, no higher stakes… and suddenly you're throwing killing blows? That feels very cold."

Dante flexed his fingers, dust sliding off the joints of his gauntlet.

"Fixing the leyline disturbances is not your only intention in this realm. Correct?"

"Ooh?" Her ears perked up, amused. "So that's what's biting at you." She circled him slowly, tails swaying. "Tell me then. Do you think I'm plotting?"

"I have suspicions," he said.

Tamamo hummed lightly, stepping in a slow circle around him.

"If you're unsure, doesn't that make your suspicion feel a little ridiculous?" she asked. "Here I am, actually helping—repairing leylines, stabilizing the realm, doing your godsdamn job for you. I meet an old friend on the way. We reminisce. We fight a little. And now you're considering killing me."

Her fox head tilted, ears narrowing.

"Is that not cruel? Would you treat your other companions like that?"

"I do not have companions, Tamamo." His tone was flat and certain. A statement of fact, not sentiment. "I came into these realms alone. I endured the Abyss alone. I conquered for the Gods alone." His voice carried no anger—only calm. "People pass by. I do not hold them. I do not despise them. I have a duty: to preserve the current eras of all realms. To ensure they are free of the Gods' shackles. And I will cull any threat to that purpose."

Tamamo's tails paused mid-wave.

"Oh?" she whispered. "Do I count as a threat?"

"Yes."

The answer was immediate and unhesitating.

Tamamo stared at him for a long moment. Her emerald eyes softened. A flicker—faint but unmistakable—crossed her gaze. Something like pity or regret.

"So… you would kill a friend," she said at last. Not accusingly or dramatically. Simply confirming.

Dante didn't answer with words.

He didn't need to.

His posture—the angle of his shoulders, the stillness in his stance, the steady forward tilt of his helmet—told her everything she needed to know.

Tamamo exhaled slowly.

And for the first time that day, she genuinely looked affected. Whether it was anger, pain, or sadness was anyone's guess.

"…You truly haven't changed," she whispered.

("Ironic words,") Dante thought, the notion passing through his mind dryly. He did not voice it. He simply turned toward the presence he had sensed for quite some time now. It was strange how she seemed simultaneously absent and present, as though she had always been part of the clearing but only became visible when acknowledged.

"Oh, don't mind me," said a raven-haired woman, who stood with her arms elegantly folded, leaning slightly to one side. Her smile was polite and unapologetic, entertained by whatever dynamic she had walked into.

Dante regarded her through the violet glow of his lenses. "Who are you?"

The woman's smile bloomed—an elegant, practiced expression that could have disarmed a lesser warrior. "Morgan le Fay," she introduced herself lightly. "Mortifer of the Seventh Seat, the Seat Admah." She dipped into a graceful curtsey, the movement almost theatrical.

"A Mortifer, hm?" Tamamo tilted her head, tails swaying in idle interest. "Your mana pool is absurdly large… and you carry the air of a Nil. Quite the combination."

Morgan laughed softly. "Impressive. You can tell that much at a glance? I wasn't expecting a spirit of your caliber to linger here either." Her violet eyes drifted over the golden fox before settling back on Dante. "And you… you're simply a human, yes?"

"Yes," Dante answered, tone flat.

Morgan narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Strange… You're undeniably human, but speaking to you feels more like being sized up by a beast than a man."

Her thoughts lingered behind her gaze longer than she intended.

Dante broke the quiet first. "The Legatus called Conroy serves under you, correct?"

Morgan blinked at the abrupt topic shift. "He did. My new Legatus is on their way to 'formally' relieve him of his position."

"Did you order him to do what he did to Rumpelstadt?" Dante asked.

Morgan folded her hands behind her back, letting her shoulders relax. "Not directly. Legatus have a degree of autonomy and the authority to use my name. I was informed he found an alchemist. I instructed him to retrieve that person. I didn't dictate the method."

("She's not shifting blame,") Dante noted internally. ("She simply doesn't care.")

"Then speak your purpose," he said. "Or leave."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You waste no time with pleasantries, do you?"

"That's what I tell him," Tamamo chimed in, tails curling playfully. Morgan laughed softly at that.

"My purpose here was simply curiosity," Morgan said. "Your power output matches high-tier Deseruit Beasts and our special threats. Possibly beyond, depending on the conditions." She sighed with a half-smile. "Were I diligent, I would classify you both as Special Threats and attempt to apprehend you. But I'm far too lazy to go through that paperwork."

"A kindred spirit," Tamamo smirked.

"Then speak plainly." Dante blandly stated.

Morgan lifted her chin. "Fine. You both seem… promising. Consider joining the Retorta Guild. Your earlier questions tell me your impression of the guild may not be favorable. But things are rarely black and white. The Retorta Guild isn't nearly as simple or villainous as rumors paint it. Grey territory… not darkness."

Tamamo shrugged. "I'll pass. I'll stick with Dante—so it's his decision."

"I'm not interested in joining an organization," Dante replied. "But I will hear your guild's purpose. You're clearly not ordinary, and your presence alone raises questions."

Morgan's smile sharpened. "An astute observation. As for our purpose…" She tapped her chin theatrically. "Our Lady has many goals… too many to summarize—but if we focus on the one that matters…" Her eyes momentarily unfocused, drifting, before snapping back to clarity. "Our main goal is to kill those called The Keepers of Order."

Tamamo's ears shot up. "My, my… so that's the scale you are reaching for. I knew you lot aimed high, but this… this is a delightful surprise."

Dante folded his arms. "Killing The Keepers… Attempting that would loosen the seals on the moon."

Morgan faltered—just for an instant. A widening of the eyes. A split-second break in her composure. It was enough.

"You… you know about the moon?" Her voice softened, then sharpened. "That isn't common knowledge. Not by any measure, I can understand knowing of The Keepers..." She exhaled. "It seems this meeting was more valuable than I anticipated."

Her thoughts swirled behind her calm expression until she finally exhaled and raised a pale hand. A violet light with a black outline gathered above her palm—condensing into a circular, pitch-black object with a skull etched at its center. She tossed it gently. Dante caught it with ease.

"A linking device," he observed as it bonded to his mana.

"Correct." Morgan's voice grew smoother. "Knowing about the moon confirms your potential. Tell me—do you know of the calamities?"

"I do."

"Good." She nodded once, satisfied. "Our Lady wishes to… preempt them. To avert the worst outcomes. That is why your involvement would be highly beneficial. That artifact will allow me to contact you, sometimes appear before you without needing to cross realms."

"And allow you to monitor us," Dante said.

"Obviously," Morgan replied without even a hint of shame. "Your potential is—if I may be blunt—dangerously high. I would be remiss not to keep track of you. But rather than linger here, it would be best if you visited the Deathless Fortress. Showing that device will grant you passage."

Dante said nothing aloud, but the thought slid cleanly through his mind. ("I don't trust her. But refusing this opportunity would be foolish.")

"We shall see," he finally said.

Morgan's smile deepened, pleased. "Then I'll count that as a tentative yes." She brushed dust from her dress, glanced toward the horizon, and sighed. "My new Legatus is running late. Unacceptable, but expected." She began walking, heels barely making a sound in the dust. "I suppose I'll walk the rest of the way." She raised a dainty hand and waved without looking back. "Do try not to destroy any more landscapes before we speak again."

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