The first crack in Dante's storm came without warning, a fracture in the thunder that had defined him for centuries. He felt it like a bone breaking inside his chest—not physical, but something deeper, something fundamental to what he was. The darkness that had always coiled around him like armor began to shudder, to thin, and for the first time in his immortal existence, Dante felt the cold touch of genuine fear.
They were in the ruins of the Obsidian Tower, the place where he had once held court over lesser demons and commanded armies with nothing more than a whisper. Now those halls stood empty, abandoned after the final confrontation with the Council of Eternals. Selena stood beside him, her silver wings folded against her back, watching him with those luminous eyes that saw too much, understood too deeply.
"Dante?" Her voice carried concern, soft as falling snow.
