⚜️ Saga 0: The Ash Years
🗓️ Location: Outskirts of Eastern Europe | Nightfall, 2006
The funeral wind tore through the ruins of a once-sacred cathedral, its sighs like a mourning hymn for what was lost. Frost-cold air pressed into every crack, mixing with the acrid bite of dissipating magic.
Inside the shattered nave, Wanda stood trembling, her breath ragged. Her fingers clenched tight, restrained by the dread of what she was becoming. The world around her wasn't stable—it bent and snapped at her will, red energy flaring wildly like angry thorns tearing through the fabric of reality.
Her chest heaved with guilt and terror.' I didn't mean to'— but the magic wouldn't stop. Her tears burned hot as the runic wards around her pulsed erratically, threatening to unravel everything and everyone nearby.
Her twin brother Pietro dashed in frantic circles, his voice sharp as he tried to pull her back from the brink.
"Wanda! You have to calm down—there are people coming! Soldiers!"
She shook her head, voice cracking.
"I can't. It's slipping."
Outside, black-hooded figures closed in, mercenaries or mutant hunters, weapons raised, prepared to extinguish the chaos erupting from the girl in the storm.
Then—without warning—a shaft of silence shattered the tension.
From above, Dante fell like a shadow-wreathed king descending. His boots crushed snow with finality; his coat flared around him like midnight flame. The crimson gleam of his eyes caught hers instantly, a magnetic pull pulling through the storm's howl.
The world seemed to slow and hush in the presence of that gaze.
Her trembling intensified. The surge of wild magic threatened to spill over the edge. Pietro stunned, shouting, "Who—?!" but Dante was already moving—fluid, sure, unstoppable.
Dante's arms were a shield against the storm. Wanda's shivers tumbled into stillness as the chaos surge faded—red energy melting into silence. For a long, suspended moment, she just breathed, wrapped in warmth that felt at once alien and inevitable.
"You're safe," came his low voice, warmer than she'd expected. "You're not beyond fixing. Just... bent, not ruined."
Wanda clung to the words like a life raft, but her mind spun, untethered. Tears pricked—unshed. Somewhere behind them, Pietro's footsteps echoed, distant, half-swallowed by the empty cathedral's ruin.
A sense of vertigo chased her down, not fear but something older: longing, pain, and a hunger she could neither name nor silence.
Then reality fractured—her awareness sliding from the present, swept into a current she couldn't resist.
▫▫▫ Dreamscape ▫▫▫
Warm light gilded the world. Wanda found herself barefoot on polished wood, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon, sunlight, and memory. Laughter—childish, real—echoed through rooms awash in gold.
She drifted, feather-light, fingers trailing over soft velvet and photographs that shimmered with half-remembered faces. In the kitchen, a little girl—wild hair tinted rust-red—flashed a mischievous grin as she kneaded dough atop a floured counter. A boy squealed in glee, chasing a toy plane through sunbeams.
In this impossible, stitched-together world, Wanda felt whole—no burdens, no chaos boiling beneath her skin. Just warmth, belonging, home.
She turned, heart hitching, as Dante crossed the space. Here, he wore a worn sweater instead of a coat of shadow. His eyes met hers—gentle, storm-light dulled by peace. He gathered her into his arms, temple pressed to hers, and whispered,
"I'll always protect you. No matter what universe."
Time caught in her throat—joy and ache warring inside. She pressed closer, held safe by strength that defied nightmare and fate alike.
At the table, children called out "mama!" and "papa!" Their voices swelled, braided into a melody of hope.
A single candle, its flame crimson and gold, flickered on the windowsill—a beacon binding every might-have-been together.
Wanda's heart overflowed with love, with longing, with an ache so fierce she felt it reshape her bones. For one impossible second, the dream tried to last forever.
But light unraveled; the golden world blurred. Reality called her home.
Wanda awoke in Dante's arms for real this time, breath trembling. The taste of family, of impossible joy, lingered on her tongue—painful, undeniable.
She pressed a palm over his chest.
"I remember you," she whispered. "Another world. Another life."
Crimson threads pulsed—visible only to her, but tightening inexorably around her soul. The Sin System's voice slid through her, softer now, more intimate than ever before.
> [Sin Integration: 21.1%]
> Bond Path: "Mother of Chaos"
> Status: Anchored / Obsession Initiated
> Emotional State: Claiming | Hope | Anchor Triggered
A tremor of certainty anchored deep inside her heart. Wanda rose to meet Dante's eyes—not as the rescued, but as someone who remembered a promise, now sworn across every world.
She would not let him go. Not in this lifetime.
And beneath her skin, chaos smiled—no longer hungry, but fiercely, fatefully, his.
An invisible crimson thread wrapped around Dante's soul, tethering him in ways unseen by mortal eyes.
He might not feel it yet, but she definitely did.
As Dante led her back to Pietro, her steps steadier, her fingers never leaving his sleeve, Wanda's mind spun an unbreakable dream—
A future where he was hers alone.
A life rewritten from the ashes of chaos.
A universe where no other would matter.
And in that quiet storm beneath the stars, the first threads of an eternal bond were woven.