After several hours of walking, they arrived at a shop tucked away in an alley. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about it.
A small bakery, wedged between two closed storefronts, with a simple sign and worn lettering. No line. No voices inside. Just the smell of freshly baked bread.
When they pushed the door open, a small metal bell hanging above the frame rang with a dry chime, announcing the arrival of new customers.
Inside, the space was lit with a warm glow. Light wooden counters, glass displays filled to the brim: loaves, baguettes, buns, pieces still steaming. Too much bread for such an empty place.
No one was at the counter.
Silyan took a few steps forward, scanning the room cautiously while Enzo closed the door behind them. The bell rang again, louder in the silence.
Ikar frowned.
—What are we doing here?
No one answered.
The silence stretched for a few more seconds. Only the faint hum of an oven in the back and the steady smell of warm dough.
Enzo cleared his throat and spoke out loud, without hesitation.
—Hello? Anyone working here?
His voice echoed off the walls. No immediate response.
Ikar crossed his arms, unimpressed.
—This is the "safe place"? —he muttered—. Because if it is, it's the worst one I've ever seen.
Before anyone could reply, a sound came from the back. Footsteps. Heavy ones.
A silhouette appeared behind a swinging door.
The man who stepped out didn't fit the place at all.
Tall. Muscular. Broad back, defined arms, large hands covered in flour up to the wrists. He wore a tight dark shirt and a stained apron, as if the fabric was there more out of habit than necessity.
Ikar looked him up and down.
Blinking once.
—You've got to be kidding me.
The man lifted his gaze calmly. His eyes landed first on Enzo, then on Silyan… and finally on Ikar.
He removed his apron in one motion and set it on the counter.
—You're late —he said in a deep voice. The good bread's already gone.
Silyan gave a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.
—You were never good with greetings, Dante.
Dante stepped forward, closed the distance, and pulled them into an embrace.
He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he moved toward them with long, decisive strides. Before Ikar could react, Dante had already wrapped one arm around him and, in the same motion, caught Silyan with the other. He lifted them both off the ground as if they weighed nothing.
—Look at you… —he said, letting out a deep laugh—. It's been too long.
Ikar hung suspended in the air for a second, completely stiff.
—Hey! —he protested, more out of reflex than annoyance.
Dante set them down carefully, as if afraid of breaking something fragile, then took a step back.
—Sorry —he added, scratching the back of his neck—. Reflex. Burned a few loaves, and I was in a bad mood.
Ikar stared at him.
He didn't speak at first.
The Dante standing in front of him didn't match any memory he had.
That man had been a beast on the battlefield: violent, unstoppable, a brute force capable of tearing structures apart with his bare hands. He endured impacts that would have pulverized anyone else. Missiles, fire, shrapnel… nothing seemed to stop him.
They called him the Devil's Hands.Others, the killer tank.
Because everything he touched… he destroyed.
Now he had flour on his arms.An apron hanging on the counter.A relaxed face.A calm voice.
A baker.
—This… —Ikar muttered at last— isn't what I expected.
Dante raised an eyebrow.
—Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
Silyan stepped in before the tension could build.
—Let's say it's… unsettling.
Dante gave a small, honest smile, without a trace of hardness.
—A lot of things have changed. Sometimes it's better to let go of what haunts you.
A brief silence followed.
A different one. Uncomfortable.
Silyan stepped forward.
—Dante… we need to talk.
The atmosphere grew heavier. Dante looked at the three of them, one by one, as if weighing the meaning of those words.
Then he nodded.
—Alright —he said calmly—. Go ahead. No one can hear us.
Instinctively, they all turned their heads.
The bakery was unchanged: empty, quiet, displays full of bread, the oven humming steadily in the back.
That's when a strange sound broke the silence.
—Cough… cough…
Enzo was leaning against the counter, a loaf half-eaten in his hands. His mouth was full, eyes slightly widened as he struggled to swallow.
—You okay? —Ikar asked, not fully taking his eyes off Dante.
Enzo raised a hand, asking for a second. He swallowed with effort.
—What? —he said finally—. It's delicious, I swear. Want some?
He held out the bread like a sacred offering.
Dante looked at him… and let out a low chuckle.
—Some things never change.
That broke the tension.
They all smiled, faintly, with a touch of nostalgia.
The sound of the oven turning off marked the shift.
Dante turned the dial calmly, as if what they were about to discuss carried no weight at all. Then he gestured toward the back room.
—Let's go inside. More space.
The back room didn't seem to belong to the same place. A large metal table occupied the center.
Enzo set the bread down —though he kept another piece in hand— and knelt beside his backpack.
—Alright —he muttered—. Time to work.
He pulled out a compact black case with reinforced edges and a smooth surface. He placed it on the table and opened it.
The lid unfolded into three sections and, with a soft hum, an internal projector activated.
A three-dimensional map of the city emerged above the table. Streets, buildings, underground routes, and points marked in red and yellow. Some were blinking.
Dante raised an eyebrow.
—That's new. You keep outdoing yourself. Getting more ridiculous every time.
—It's not ridiculous —Enzo replied, taking a sip of the Coca-Cola Dante had given him—. It's precision.
Ikar was looking at the map, but his attention wasn't on it.
—There's something I want to know first —he said, without taking his eyes off Silyan—. How did you find us?
Silyan didn't answer immediately. His eyes settled on a section of the map, but he wasn't really seeing it.
—After Italy… —he began.
The memory fell like a shadow.
—When we destroyed the organization experimenting on children… when everything ended at the orphanage… we split up. Each of us went our own way. Or so we thought.
Dante stayed silent. Enzo kept eating.
—I didn't fully leave —Silyan continued—. I stayed close to Hera.
Dante frowned.
—What?
—She didn't know. At first. I followed her for years. From a distance. Just to make sure she was okay. That was something Ikar asked me to do.
The projector's hum filled the silence.
—Eventually, she found out —Silyan said—. And… we decided not to talk about it.
—Not talk about it? —Ikar asked.
—We spent a week together —Silyan clarified quickly—. Not romantically. Just… like old teammates. It's easier to talk to someone who understands what you went through. With normal people, you have to pretend nothing ever happened.
He lowered his gaze.
—With her, I didn't have to pretend.
Ikar said nothing. He understood.
—We planned to meet the following Tuesday —Silyan continued—. But she never showed up.
His voice lost its steadiness for the first time.
—I wasn't watching her like before. I didn't need to hide anymore. I thought she was just late… but something felt off. I went to her apartment.
He swallowed.
—It was on fire.
Dante crossed his arms.
—I went in —Silyan said—. Put out the fire with air waves. There was almost nothing left. Just blood… and burned bodies. But there was something else —he added—. A radio. Half-melted. Still working.
His expression hardened.
—"The target is on the way to the base," it said. That's when I knew Hera was still alive. It was a kidnapping.
Ikar stepped forward.
—And you didn't think to tell me?
Silyan met his gaze.
—You left out a lot of details, too.
—I couldn't tell you my whole life —Silyan replied firmly— knowing you were next.
The words hit like an explosion.
Dante tilted his head.
—How did you know Ikar was next?
Silyan pointed at one of the red dots on the map.
—The accent on the radio. It wasn't Italian. It wasn't German. It was from here. I needed confirmation. I needed someone who could trace encrypted communications, cross-reference databases, and identify patterns.
Everyone looked at Enzo.
Enzo, eyes wide, a piece of bread frozen halfway to his mouth.
—What? —he said, pointing at himself with the bread—. Go on, I listen better when I chew.
He took another sip of Coca-Cola.
Silyan continued.
—I contacted him. Didn't take long for him to get from London to Spain. We checked suspicious fires, disappearances, and similar cases. Nothing clear. Nothing is directly connected.
Enzo tapped the case, and several markers changed color.
—Until we heard about something bigger —Silyan said—. An organization that had the Guardians of the World under its control.
The name struck something in Ikar's mind.
Familiar. But he couldn't remember why.
—The Global Defense Agency —Enzo said at last, setting the bread aside—. GDA.
The map projected a symbol over a building.
—A covert paramilitary agency —Silyan continued—. Officially, they monitor superhuman threats. Unofficially… they manage what the world isn't supposed to know.
Dante studied the hologram.
—And you think they took Hera.
Silyan didn't hesitate.
—I don't think.
His gaze shifted to Ikar.
—I know. Their soldiers wear the same gear as the ones I found in her apartment.
The projector emitted a faint pulse.
And several red dots began blinking at the same time.