Just like that Another two months Gone By...
Two months. It feels like time slips through my fingers faster than I can grasp it. I've been stuck here at the spike for the most part, doing nothing but watching the days go by, trying to find a sense of purpose beyond what's right in front of me.
A couple of days ago, Mother decided that my hair had gotten too long again. She didn't even ask if I cared—she just said it needed to be cut. I agreed, mostly because it had started to get in my way. My hair was naturally messy, always a bit wild no matter how much I tried to keep it under control. But it had grown to the point where it wasn't just messy anymore; it was a problem.
When I handed her my sword, I was still a little unsure. She took it without hesitation, cutting through the length of my hair with a sharp, practiced precision. I didn't really expect much from her—after all, she was the one who raised me, and I'd grown used to the way she worked. Still, it felt odd, watching her chop away at the locks that had grown out of my head. I didn't even think she noticed how much of it I had grown attached to, despite the mess it was.
She cut the back of it short, trimming the strands that had reached past my neck until they were just above the shoulders. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she worked on the front, making sure it no longer covered my eyes.
I guess it looked cleaner, more organized. I could actually see now, which was an improvement. But it still felt... off. My hair didn't behave the way other people's did. It didn't stay neat. It didn't lay down where it was supposed to. It always had a mind of its own, like it was trying to rebel against any order I tried to impose.
After she finished cutting, she started giggling softly to herself. I couldn't tell what she found so funny, but she seemed to enjoy the process. I wasn't amused. I really wasn't.
Then, without even asking, she poured some water from the wooden bucket at the side into her hands and wet my hair. "You need a new style," she said, grinning as she worked the water into the strands. My hair was still wet, and she ran her fingers through it like some kind of hairstylist, smoothing it out, making it straight, controlling it in ways I'd never been able to. It was... strange. It wasn't me. I could already tell.
She worked quickly, as if she had done this a thousand times. She pulled my hair back neatly, trying to make it behave in a way that I wasn't used to. It felt foreign, uncomfortable.
"I really don't like it," I muttered under my breath.
She didn't care. "Don't worry, Vergil. You'll get used to it," she said, smoothing my now-straight hair once again.
I pulled at the back of my hair, trying to free it from the grip she'd placed on it. She wasn't giving up, though. As soon as I let it go, she would immediately put it back, always pulling my hair into a style that I didn't ask for.
This went on for a while, and eventually, it became a game for her. She'd chase me around the room whenever I refused to let her style my hair. I'd try to fight her off with my usual stubbornness, but she was relentless. She'd corner me, and with a smirk, push my hair back into place as if I had no say in the matter.
It was... ridiculous. But looking back on it now, it felt almost like one of the only moments of levity I've had in ages. It wasn't a moment of happiness, per se. It wasn't even fun. It was just... something different.
The spear, on the other hand, was quieter than usual. Which was exactly what I preferred. The damn thing never stopped cussing me out before I went to bed, always muttering some venomous thing as if it enjoyed making my life harder. But for the past couple of weeks, it had been silent, almost withdrawn. I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because I had been spending less time with it, or maybe it just had no energy left to insult me. Either way, I didn't mind the quiet.
I still hated it. The spear had never really been a comfort to me. There was something inherently wrong about it. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the way it seemed to cling to me, always there, always waiting for me to mess up—it felt like it was just waiting for an excuse to take me down. If it could, I'm sure it would try to kill me without a second thought.
Mother had been busy lately. I've noticed it more and more. It's like she's buried in whatever it is that she's doing with the space-time array, and I'm starting to feel like she's more distant than ever.
She told me it was important. She said it was for us.
I don't know what it is she's doing, but I'm beginning to think I'm not supposed to know. And honestly? If I can't trust my own mother, then who can I trust? The spear? Hell no. I can't even rely on it to give me a peaceful night's sleep without it whispering curses into the silence.
The only thing that hasn't changed is Blood Baby. Its been sleeping for a while. Maybe because it has no work to do. I didn't mind, it had worked hard enough when it saved me
I've been trying to focus more on the present, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air, but every time I look at the spear, every time I think about Mother's work... I get the feeling that something is going to change. But to be honest. I dont want any change.
I got up from where I'd been writing my diary, stretching my stiff muscles. It wasn't a long session today. My mind's been too restless, and my body too tired to focus properly. I left the spike, my thoughts clouded and my steps heavy.
Something's not right.
But for now, I can't figure out what it is. So, I'll keep moving forward, just like I always do.
Vergil walked down the worn path leading back to the small cottage tucked between the dense underground trees, his boots crunching over the leaves and dust. The twilight above was a soft, cold blue, the stars just beginning to blink into existence. His mind remained restless, words chasing themselves in circles.
"I feel like I'm forgetting something," he thought, narrowing his odd coloured eyes.
[Who knows.]
The voice — his old companion — finally stirred from its silent corner, a sharp whisper across his mind like a blade against stone.
"You've not talked to me in a while," Vergil replied inwardly, raising an eyebrow slightly, though there was no one there to see it.
[That's because it's unnecessary.]
[You're living the life you always wanted... but never wished for.]
Vergil's lips twitched — half a smirk, half a frown.
"What are you getting at?"
[You never know when people will be gone.]
[Spend time with them while you still can, before anything happens.]
[After all, that is how life is.]
Vergil slowed slightly, the worn stone of the path beneath him slick with a memory he couldn't name. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath of the cool night air.
"You're right, my friend," Vergil thought, a rare warmth in his mind.
"But... when did you get so — what's the word for it?"
[Inspirational.]
"That's it."
[Always have been.]
Vergil chuckled softly under his breath, a rare, fleeting sound like the last embers of a fire.
"Whatever."
As the cottage neared, Vergil's boots brushed against the overgrown grass and scattered flower petals. The closer he got, the more a sound threaded its way through the air: a violin, light and mournful, weaving an invisible net around his heart.
He instinctively began to hum along, almost without thinking. The notes were familiar now, almost a part of him. His humming matched the music as he reached the cottage.
Inside, sitting by the small fireplace on an old wooden chair, was his mother.
Luminare.
Her ocean-blue eyes were lowered, half-lidded in serene focus as her fingers moved deftly across the violin. Her long, silver-blonde hair fell in ripples down her back, loose today rather than tied. Each stroke of the bow across the strings seemed to carry not just music, but unspoken words, memories, and hopes all wrapped up into one.
Each stroke of the bow taken across the strings seemed to carry a deeper meaning this time. Not just music, but words unspoken. Memories and hopes all wrapped into one
Vergil stood quietly watching. Listening to the beauty of the music.He finally stepped inside, the worn floor creaking beneath his weight. He sat down cross-legged on the floor beside her, resting his arms casually across his knees, his freshly cut black hair slightly brushing across his forehead. He stopped humming, letting the melody consume the silence between them.
Luminare eventually brought the bow to a gentle halt. The last note hung trembling in the air before fading into the fireplace's crackle.
Without a word, she slid off her chair and sat down next to him, resting her head lightly against the edge of his shoulder. Her posture was relaxed, one hand resting on the cool floor, the other absentmindedly twirling a loose lock of her hair.
Vergil turned his head slightly to look at her.
Her eyes were still the color of a deep ocean, reflective and endless, a mirror of both sorrow and strength. Tonight, they looked particularly thoughtful — as if she were seeing a thousand memories that Vergil could never understand.
"If you had the chance to continue becoming stronger, would you?" she asked softly, her voice a low murmur, carrying more weight than the simple words suggested.
Vergil blinked. He hadn't expected a question like that — not now, not when everything seemed so... still.
"I..." he began, searching for words that fit the situation His eyes flickered toward the fire, the light casting faint orange shadows across his face.
"If I had no other choice, then yes. But... I like where I am now."
Luminare smiled faintly, a tired, almost bittersweet smile.
She leaned back a little, shifting her gaze from the floor to his face.
"And what if I'm not here?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, almost swallowed nyt the crackles of the fire.
Vergil's fingers curled slightly into fists on his knees. His posture stiffened, his breathing shallow for a moment. He forced himself to meet her eyes.
"If you're not here..." he said slowly, "then I don't know what I would do."
There was a pause. The fire cast soft moving shadows across the room. In that moment, Luminare looked at him not just as a mother, but almost like a traveler who had seen too many paths, too many ends.
"Let me tell you a story," she said.
Vergil leaned slightly forward, attentive now.
"From the moment someone is born," she began, her voice steady but soft, "they are given ten steps. Ten chances to move forward."
She reached out with a slow, delicate hand and drew ten invisible lines on the dusty floor with her finger. Her ocean-blue eyes followed the motion, gleaming in the firelight like deep waters stirred by a storm.
"If they take all ten steps..." she said, tapping the last line, "they can become god."
Vergil watched the motion closely, his own eyes narrowing, sharp and clear.
"Simple, isn't it?" she added, her lips curving into a small, almost humorless smile.
"Yeah," Vergil agreed, his voice low.
She continued, "On the path you've chosen, you will see others walking their steps too. Some take one or two steps — then collapse."
Luminare's fingers brushed across the first few lines she'd drawn, wiping them away slowly, as if erasing memories.
"Some push forward — whether out of stubbornness, desperation, or hope. They persist to the fifth or sixth step... and then they fall."
Vergil could almost see it: bodies falling on a long road, empty eyes staring back toward those who came after.
"Their corpses build up along the path you're on," she said, her voice growing softer. "A silent warning to anyone foolish enough to follow."
Vergil's hands relaxed again, resting loosely on his knees, but his back was tense — his heart beating a little harder in his chest.
"And then..." she said, her voice barely a whisper, "the ones who come after... they cling to the first step with all they have. They see cowardice as wisdom. Stillness as safety."
Luminare's ocean-blue eyes lifted to meet his, searching — testing.
"So, Vergil," she asked, "what would you do?"
Silence took over Vergil for some time as his gaze burned into the fire. The flames flickering in his different coloured eyes, reflecting the old memories of his times of the surface and the silent promises he made.
He thought of the weight of his sword.
Of the scars on his body.
Of the cold mornings spent training when no one else would.
Of the paths he had walked alone.
Of the time spent here, breathing, living — even in stillness.
Finally, he turned to her and spoke.
"If it was me..." he started , voice slow but certain and focusssd , "I would continue taking each step without fearing anything."
His spoken words were a rough whisper. Although still lacking, they were part of his unbroken will.
"If death takes me, so be it," he said, his silver-gray eyes flashing. "I'd rather die moving toward my goal than live a coward's life clinging to nothing."
He shifted slightly, resting one arm against the floor, his other hand loosely gripping the fabric of his pants. His posture was relaxed — but there was a fire in him that wouldn't extinguish.
"That would be my biggest regret," he added.
Luminare smiled faintly again, but this time it was full of something deeper — pride, maybe, or sorrow.
Vergil leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling beams, the hum of the violin still lingering in his mind.
"However..." he said after a moment, "that path has now gone."
His voice softened.
"I'm stuck at the first step. And yet... I'm not regretting it anymore."
He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze again. Her eyes softened, the oceans inside them becoming still.
"I did everything I could," he said simply.
"Only those who have tried everything — who truly gave everything they had to move forward — have the right to stop."
Silence wrapped around them again. But it wasn't empty. It was full — of understanding.
Vergil exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing.
"So if I could answer your question again... about regaining my path..." he said.
"I would. If I could."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Luminare shifted closer, reaching out and lightly brushing a hand through his freshly cut black hair. Her touch was light, almost reverent, smoothing the stubborn strands back into place.
"You said a similiar answer to mine." she said softly, almost too softly.
Vergil smiled faintly, tilting his head into her touch for just a moment before pulling away, embarrassed.
"Like mother, like son" he muttered.
She chuckled — a small, quiet sound.
Thud!
She knocked him out with a quick chop to the neck.
"Dont worry, Everything is going to be fine."
[I told you... Nothing lasts forever] The system chimed
[Relationship with Luminare 9 stars]
[Mission 001- Survive
Reward- 15 stat points and 1 schematic
Penalty- death]