What do we call a group of Dirge? Well, isn’t it obvious?

A murder, of course. That’s all they know how to do, after all.

* Centurion Abaddon’s joke to introduce his appeal for promotion to Praetor. He was denied.

Days passed in a brutal, uneasy tranquility. Dante trained relentlessly, practicing the Tides alongside Astraeus, all the while studying the peculiar Anathema. His skills improved in dramatic amounts in the brief span, but he still struggled—he could only execute his best move once before his strength faltered.

While his general manipulation of Hydro had increased, and he could now conjure water whenever needed, he lacked consistent power or any other technique.

The room wouldn’t hold if Astraeus unleashed his full power, but that wasn’t the focus today. He wasn’t conditioning his Stigma or flexing his monstrous body. No, his attention was entirely on refining his Domain Collapse, honing it for precision.

As it stood, Astraeus needed both hands and closed eyes to invoke the technique. Thanaris had dismissed this as inefficient, “Simmer,” she had said, “Don’t think about its power or range. If you can’t summon it effortlessly, it’s worthless. The truly powerful can collapse the Lightsea with a single hand in a single moment.”

In order to prove her point, Thanaris had demonstrated it herself. She unleashed her Domain, bloody waves rippling across an entire planet, detonating its immense power with just a clenched fist. Astraeus absorbed the lesson, while Dante was left awestruck even a day later.

Now, as Dante sat beside his ‘companion,' that incredible display of might echoed in his mind. Though he still loathed the creature, he began to understand Astraeus more with each passing day. Yet, with every answer, a thousand new questions surfaced.

Eventually, Dante couldn’t hold back his questions any longer. He didn’t want to hate Astraeus. He did—there was no denying that—but...

As Dante studied the roiling dots on Astraeus’ face, he could see the raw obsession within. Astraeus fixated on his Domain, the next stage in his evolution. That kind of relentless focus was something Dante rarely respected in others.

Dedicating your entire being to one pursuit was a rare gift. Even so, he was watching it unfold in someone else. Dante’s most significant strength had always been his ability to block out distractions, focus through the chaos, and find clarity.

Sure, Nullify helped—but he knew he could reach that state on his own if shoved hard enough.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to know. As Astraeus failed another attempt at his Inverted Palace, Dante leaned forward, locking eyes with him, “Astraeus... why do you kill people?”

The Dirge didn’t even flinch at the sudden question. The swirling dots on his twisted form minimally shifted as he shrugged, answering with casual indifference, “Because they’re in my way. It’s not a big deal. They’re just animals without power.”

Astraeus’ words hit Dante like a switch being flipped. He sat up straighter, a new understanding dawning, “So, to you, creatures without power are meaningless?”

Astraeus nodded without hesitation, “Yeah. They’re weak. The weak are culled so the strong can grow stronger.”

Dante bit his lip, weighing his words carefully. Astraeus didn’t seem evil—his view of the world felt more… childlike. Morally skewed, yes, but through a black-and-white lens.

He pointed to himself, “Can’t the weak become strong?”

His hand trembled slightly as he recalled the story of his birth, “My parents were stranded on a debris field for a year after their ship was destroyed. I was born there—no home, no power, no money. Just a will to survive.”

Astraeus’ eyes flicked to Dante’s hand, then to his eyes, and finally to the wall, where remnants of Dante’s earlier power lingered. His mind seemed to stutter, struggling to comprehend such an origin for the human.

When Astraeus finally spoke, his voice was firm, “No. Your father must have been strong. Or your mother. The weak cannot be strong. Some are simply strong but haven’t realized it yet.”

Dante shook his head sharply, refusing to accept the black-and-white logic. Strength wasn’t that simple. It was a spectrum, shifting and fluid. One moment, you can be invincible. The next? A weakness discovered and exploited. He needed Astraeus to see that, “No, no, no. My father wasn’t anyone special. Just a smuggler, like me. And my mom? Worse—an illegal whore who survived the attack on their ship. I’m not special. Commoners can become strong. If I took away your connection to the Lightsea, you’d be weak.”

The notion of losing his power hit Astraeus like a stone sinking into the ocean, a narrow blip followed by a long dive. The currents of his mind fought to erode it, to wash it away, but the weight of the thought was too heavy, too significant.

It plunged deeper into Astraeus’ mind, and his mouth murmured at such a volume that Dante could hardly hear, “... Chase the dragon...”

Dante’s eyes widened. Chase the dragon? That phrase meant something absolutely different in his world—chasing an unattainable high, the first rush from a drug. Unreachable. Impossible. It made no sense.

How would Astraeus know about that?

The confusion gnawed at him, and he couldn’t hold back the question, “What do you mean? Chase the dragon?” Severity was ever-present in the human’s voice, demanding an answer.

The Anathema shrugged, unsure of where he heard it first, “Don’t know where it comes from, but Master said it to me when we first met. Dragons were ancient creatures likened to the Gods themselves. It means to seek their strength, however impossible. I thought she was telling me to reach for her level of strength, but...”

A pair of eyes widened upon noticing Astraeus’ comprehension. Dante’s heart raced as he finished the words presented, “... she wants you to aim higher. Just as the weak can grow, so can you, Astraeus. Why settle for being a Caesar?”

Astraeus’ unknown core accelerated, his breathing becoming labored as his imagination roamed free. He looked down at his abyssal flesh, the claws in his hands tightening.

“A Celestial? She thinks I can rise that high?” The awe in Astraeus’ voice was unabated, pure and genuine. Dante grinned, feeling sincere excitement for the Dirge, but he stopped himself, cursing inwardly.

What am I doing? Am I really smiling at such a thing? This is a monster. But... Maybe he just needs some direction. A little push here or there. He seems to be controlled somehow by a figure in the Lightsea, yet he still has his own mind. He can think for himself. That’s enough for me.

“I believe so. I believe anyone can. They merely need the right opportunities to work themselves to the bone and then scrape it off. They have to... chase the dragon,” Dante reconciled the phrase with his current situation, finding it fitting, if admittingly stinging, to say it aloud.

Then, without letting Astraeus say another word or ponder another word, Dante hit the nail on the head, “That means whenever you kill a weakling, you are killing someone with that potential. The weak and strong aren’t so black and white. They are people. With thoughts. Ambitions. Strengths that you may not even be aware of.”

The figure before Dante had its face spiraling all over, unsure of its thoughts. Astraeus’ mind struggled to wrap itself around the ideas told to him, but it couldn’t find anything wrong with them. After all, he was only an adolescent of his kind, not yet reaching his full potential or mind.

Dante continued, thinking back to his own crew, those that he had given his life to save. He found them weak. But... they had so much potential, and would prove it, “That young boy. Archimedes. Remember him? He is pitifully weak. A stray dog could kill him. But... you give him a month to play with his electronics? An army would cry in terror.”

As he stood, the human offered a hand to his enemy. They didn’t have to always be like this. There could be more to their relationship. Dante wasn’t so opposed to befriending a monster now that he had met him.

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The offered hand came with a lengthy, heartfelt admission of promise, “The same is with the doctor and the Weren. The former has the knowledge to change one’s biochemistry at the core, turning a man into a rat or the opposite. Sonna? She’s a genius with Tides. Even Lucius. That Martian went toe-to-toe with you without a Qualae. Imagine if he had one? And Rejo... well, He’s a little different. He’s with me because I trust him. You could join us.”

Astraeus scoffed, gripping Dante’s hand and pulling himself to his feet, but rejected the offer without a second thought, “No. I am Master’s blade. I’ll become strong for her. The weak will still be culled. But... I’m not blind. Snow is my element. I can see it now—those I killed weren’t animals. They were you, just without a paddle to steer through the sea. Regardless… if Master gives me an order, I will fulfill it.”

Despite the refusal, Dante felt a quiet relief. Astraeus wasn’t illogical after all. When they had first met, he seemed like a mindless predator, but now Dante realized he had just been playing with toys. Insignificant, fragile toys.

What young child wouldn’t laugh while breaking their toys?

It was hard for most people to seize such a concept, but Dante’s mind was malleable, as being tied to water didn’t just make him adaptable—it defined him.

Flexibility. Fluidity. Such was his nature.

Those of Steam were elusive, always slipping through one’s grasp.

Those of Ice were blunt, forceful, and prone to violence.

Dante fit seamlessly within his element, and as he regarded Astraeus, he allowed himself a smile. There was more he could get with this newfound connection, “That’s fine. We’ll work well together, at the very least. Now, do you have any techniques you could teach me?”

“No! Hahahaaha! You think you fleshies can handle our techniques! Hahaha! That’s hilarious. Man... you truly know nothing,” while wiping a nonexistent tear from his ‘eyelid,’ Astraeus shook his head faintly. The monster still hid beneath the facade, but Dante now saw the other creature inside.

Astraeus wasn’t a mindless monster. He was more like a child, scarcely older than Archimedes—if that. A child who could be taught. A child who could laugh. A child who could… be inspired.

These Dirge... what are they? Monsters? I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe... maybe they are just different lifeforms from the rest of us. A more profound one.

Still, Dante felt a surge of pride rise in him as he smirked. He extended his hand, a challenge hanging on his breath, “Are you so sure? We humans are more durable than you could imagine. Poisons. Gravity. Oxygen deprivation. Starvation. Dehydration. Exhaustion. Sleep. In nearly every category, we outshine the rest of the stars. Not perfect. But we do not live. We slowly die.”

“Fine then. How about you try Surewinter?” Astraeus snorted, though the suggestion held a seriousness he didn’t offer lightly—not before meeting Dante.

Dante shrugged, willing to do whatever it took to grow stronger, “Sure. What is it? How do I learn?” He looked around, half-expecting to find some tool or ancient book tied to the technique, but there was nothing.

Astraeus pointed to his head with a sharpened talon, “It’s in here. Passed down from my Master’s Master. Surewinter is a body reinforcement technique that we, Anathemas, use. Some of the Caesars, too. Not my Master, though.She learned it but then created her own. Now come.”

Astraeus twisted his body, heading toward the wall of the room with a reinforced steel bench, and motioned for Dante to sit. The human did as directed, both eager and inwardly worried about what was to come.

Snowflakes emerged from the Anathema’s palm as if to show the technique, “Coldness tempers the water. It makes it hard. Firm. Strong. It will... allow you to chase the dragon if, by some miracle, you succeed.”

Dante stared as the flakes fell from Astraeus’ hand. They were delicate yet burdened by a chill that seemed to freeze the air itself.

This was Frigo. Snow. The Tide found between Hydro and Cryo.

The temperature plummeted, biting into Dante’s skin as Astraeus’ Tide spread through the room. His muscles tightened instinctively, bracing for the cold that would soon seep into his core. Despite the creeping dread, Dante’s hunger for power only grew.

He had to be strong. He refused to be one of the powerless creatures that Astraeus—or any Dirge—would slaughter. The human wouldn’t allow it.

“Surewinter,” Astraeus began, his voice cold and steady, “Isn’t merely enduring the frigidness. It’s about becoming the cold, allowing the chill to temper you. Like fire would a blade. It is... agony.”

Astraeus stepped closer, the frost from his breath hanging in the air as he unleashed the full force of his Tide, “Your kind practices gentler techniques, ones that don’t tear at the body. Do you really think you can handle this? Even some of my kin have broken under it.”

Dante nodded, swallowing achingly as the saliva in his mouth froze, “I’ll try. I need to.”

Astraeus’ mouth curled into a half-smile, half-snarl. Despite their new understanding, Dante’s self-confidence still grated on the Dirge, “You won’t just try. You’ll either endure, or you’ll break. Master would disapprove of this, but... you’ve got that Stigma.”

The monster knelt beside Dante, his shape towering as petals of white continued to spiral lazily from his outstretched hand, “Surewinter is the path of pain. It is utterly opposed to your people’s roads. That is why we, Dirge, are physically superior in nearly every match. But it does not originate from the cold of the outer world; it comes from within, drawn from the Lightsea, deep in your core.”

Dante’s heart pounded as he inhaled the biting chill that radiated from Astraeus. It was painful—a mere glimpse of what was to come. But Dante didn’t fear pain.

He’d endured more than most in his limited life. Through this, he knew that only through pain could true strength be forged.

Astraeus’ sharp eyes glimmered as he noticed Dante’s resolve, the human’s eyes hardening, his back straightening as the snowy air thickened around them, “Every Dirge technique comes from the Lightsea. Every single one. And this is no different. The cold doesn’t just cover you, Dante.”

The Anathema crouched, his eerie eyes leveling with Dante’s as he continued, “It consumes you. It devours the heat from your life and replaces it with the raw, unforgiving cold of the Lightsea. You’ll feel your body harden, your muscles straining against the frost, your breath freezing in your lungs.”

“And this? It’s just for your body. You’ll be resistant to cold. Faster. Stronger. Not a lot at first. But it adds up. The second step is where the fun begins,” Atraeus’ eyes tracked the packing snow as it fell, but the cold gradually slowed its descent as the future was told.

The Dirge signaled for Dante to brace himself, pulling back the swirling snow as the room fell into a still, chilling silence. Dante’s fingers trembled as he clenched his fists, doubt flickering at the edges of his mind—but he pushed it away.

He had survived Thanaris’ Trial. This couldn’t be worse.

With slow, deliberate precision, Astraeus placed his hand over Dante’s chest, “Say these words in your mind. Reach for the Lightsea. And follow my lead,” The touch was like plunging into the depths of a frozen sea. Dante’s entire body shuddered under the icy claw.

As Astraeus’ touch seeped into Dante’s core, his vision darkened, and the words whispered to him echoed in his mind. There was nothing but the cold—and the meaning it carried.

“In the depths where silent streams decay,

Beneath endless tides, motion gives way to stillness.

Through cold’s embrace, this mortal shell fades,

To seize the ancient hoarfrost, where worlds are lost.”

Dante gasped as air tore from his lungs. A sizzling frost devoured the oxygen, replacing it with a devouring white. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt—this wasn’t just the burn of ice on skin or snow in the air.

This was the cold of an incomprehensible realm, a dimension that absorbed heat but never grew warm, no matter how much it took. With Astraeus’ guidance, Dante pushed closer to its currents.

“Feel that?” Astraeus’ voice sounded distant, muffled, as though coming through a wall of ice. “That’s just the start. Surewinter will seize your warmth, and if you’re not careful, it will take everything. Focus. I’ll force it all to stop when you’re close to death.”

Dante’s mind cried for him to stop, to pull away. Every instinct told him to abandon this madness, to listen to reason.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. His body was locked in place, not just by the freezing cold but by sheer willpower, forcing him to endure the agony. His joints stiffened, every part of him frozen in place as he was more fragile porcelain than a person.

Astraeus grinned, his dotted eyes alight with something close to satisfaction, though Dante couldn’t see it, “Now, take control. If you cannot clasp your hands and take from the Lightsea, allowing the hoar to take root, then you shall fail. Now, don’t push this if you want Frigo or Cryo. Things don’t work like that. This is body enhancement, not Tide-altering.”

Dante obeyed as best he could. He moved his arms a few inches toward each other while his mind reached for the Lightsea. The connection, however, was remote and difficult to achieve, locked behind Astraeus’ snow.

The Inverted Palace made sense to Dante at this moment. It was a manifestation of Astraeus’ Frigo, yet also a reflection of his worldview. He saw the powerless as nothing but trash, and his Domain turned his enemies into just that—worthless animals.

But right now, that epiphany didn’t matter. Dante’s muscles screamed as icy tendrils wrapped around his ribs, crawling up his spine like frost spreading over a starship’s hull.

“It’s in your mind now,” Astraeus said quietly, his hand still pressed against Dante’s chest, his voice laced with an alien concern. “Shall we stop? I meant to teach you a lesson in pride, but this is getting dangerous.”

As Astraeus spoke, the deep chill sank further into Dante’s mind. His thoughts slowed, his body responding with sharp, stabbing aches. The cold wasn’t just on the surface or the depths anymore—it was burrowing into every morsel of his being.

Dante’s breath came in ragged, painful bursts. Each inhale felt like shards of glass slicing through his throat, freezing his blood as it flowed. His fingers were numb, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs as the cold drained more from him than he had to give.

The agony was indescribable. Every second stretched into an eternity as if the cold itself slowed time. But beneath the pain, Dante sensed something else.

It was a state he craved. The one he chased relentlessly with Nullify.

It was... the dragon.

The frost inched its way through everything in Dante’s mind. It felt almost... pure. The pain had a strange clarity to it, a focus. It stripped him down, tearing away the excess, the distractions, freezing the unnecessary motions. The agony shattered the meaningless, leaving only his core—cold, sharp, and honed like a blade forged from ice.

At that moment of clarity, Dante’s fingertips touched, and the Lightsea surged toward him, roaring through his body like a tidal wave. The force was so overwhelming that he barely registered Astraeus’ panicked shouts.

“What the—!? Stop! You’ll die! Stop! Master!” Astraeus’ voice echoed through the estate, but Dante’s fingers only tightened, mechanical in their precision, as the augments in his body shuddered and whirred.

Through gritted teeth, with icicles forming at the corners of his mouth, Dante managed a smirk, “See? I got this. Easy peasy.”

Astraeus glanced down to find Dante grinning up at him, frozen tears clinging to the corners of his eyes, with crimson-tinged slush dripping from his nose. Astraeus recognized something, a hint of impossibility in what was occurring.

A moment later, Dante released his grip and coughed out a mixture of snow, ice, and melting water. His body was dangerously cold—hypothermic—but he knew he only had moments left before it overtook him.

That would’ve been true if he hadn’t finished cycling the technique. Astraeus had mentioned it before, as a beginner needed only to grasp the hoar within the Lightsea.

The dimension held countless minor attributes, and Dante had found one, using it to augment his own body.

Through the agony, Dante managed another grin, pounding his chest to force himself to breathe easier. He glanced down at his right hand, sinking it deep into the snow beneath him.

Once his hand sank into the frost, Dante laughed.

The sound was light, but it wasn’t brief. It echoed in Astraeus’ stunned ears and reverberated throughout the plain room.

Dante’s hands weren’t cold anymore. The ice was just another tool to wield.

He might not have Frigo or Cryo. But he’d learn how to use them and how to fight them, all the while evolving his form.