The streets of Romul crowded with people as a festival began. Joy spread like wildfire, as the capital of the galaxy found itself brimming with potential and prosperity. However, as Head-Praetor Crownlean took stage, her hair tied into a knot and with traditional Praetorian robes flowing to the platform below, shadowed gazes looked onto the square.

A storm brewed within the depths of the Empires.

* The festival before the centennial meeting of Praetors.

Dante sprinted through the tundra, his breath clouding the air in sharp bursts. The icy wind, growing denser with each stride, clawed at his face, but he paid it no mind. His every step propelled him forward several yards at a time as his augments, and Tide enhanced him beyond any mortal limit. Though the augments fell behind in their usefulness, they kept the human together, allowing a greater force of Hydro upon his body.

Ahead, the distant flame pulsed like a beacon, appearing more significant and prominent to his gaze. His boots pounded against the snow with the help of water, following the faint tracks of his crew, half-buried in the fresh powder. Dante broke through some barrier, some trick from the Inferose, and his vision shifted.

The faraway light resolved into an unmistakable form as it finally came into a focused view—a fiery column rising into the sky.

It wasn’t just flame. The shape converged as he closed the distance, and dread settled in his chest. It was the same burning visage he had seen in the Inferose’s rift. Back then, it was blurry and indistinct, impossible to discern.

But now, he put the pieces together. Beyond his gaze, an inverted, charred body staked into the ground by roots, its infernal petals spreading wide. A grotesque flower that should not exist, casting its unnatural glow across the desolation.

His pace quickened, urgency gripping him as the fire faltered. The light wavered, dimming as it sank deeper into the column’s body. The dark silhouette of the rose seemed to writhe against the dimming glow, feeding on the last remnants of its fire.

That’s how night and day work here. Shit. Shit. I need to go faster! I’m not sure what’s out here at night, but it’s definitely not good!

Dante clenched his teeth and pushed harder, each movement swifter than the last. He had to reach them. He considered asking Eidolon for help, but he wanted to save the ‘man’ for a later battle. After witnessing all of Geist’s powers, the human had many ideas for how to use him in a fight.

So, he could only drive him to move faster, to grit his teeth until his jaw ached. Only then did he feel as though he were running fast enough, already transcending a motor vehicle’s speed.

Minutes later, faint voices pierced the howling wind. Relief and dread mingled in his chest. He recognized the sharp tones and heated words before he saw their figures. As he crested a snowy rise, the scene unfolded before him.

A hulking man stood with his fists clenched, streaks of cobalt-blue blood still seeping from his bandaged wounds. His broad shoulders heaved as he roared, his voice echoing through the tundra. Before him loomed a featureless humanoid of pure, abyssal darkness, its presence oppressive, almost suffocating. If it were not for Astraeus’ clothes, one could have mistaken him for a silhouette instead of a Dirge.

Sonna and Rejo stood to the side, their faces tight with frustration as they tried to hold the burly Martian back. They failed, with the sole virtue being Lucius’ still-mending wounds. Joan knelt nearby, her focus divided as she sifted through the remnants of her medicine pouch, her expression as grim as the frostbitten landscape. Her mind tallied up the remains, sighing as there was only a single Rat, Pouncer, and Juggler. However, she had the materials to create one last Brute—the one she owed Lucius.

Such an observation also caused her eyes to shift to the soldier. With the movement of her vision, she spotted Dante first. A long grin extended between her ears, and she stepped aside to watch the show.

The dark-haired human skidded to a stop at the edge of the scene, his chest heaving. Astraeus retreated, tossing his arms up as he didn’t want to fight with any of Dante’s crew, but Lucius insisted. The Martian growled, shouting at Joan while he drew his axe, “Give me the last Brute!”

“Hmm... That’ll kill you, though...” Joan’s reply lacked a trace of emotion, only furthering the Martian’s rage. He swung again at Astraeus, blocked by a wreath of Frigo, the pale defense stopping him in his tracks. Still, the rage ballooned, now unleashed from Lucius’ past hallucinations.

After seeing such madness, Dante leaped between them with hesitation, his arms raised, his voice cutting through the tension with a burst of Hydro. Lines of water instantly emerged from his right hand, not even a mote of preparation as Matchlock birthed the pressurized liquid. With the Tide, a line scrawled between the two.

“Enough!” he barked, his tone sharp but steady. “Calm down, all of you. We don’t have time for this!”

The Martian’s glare snapped to him, blazing with fury, but Dante met his eyes unflinchingly. He didn’t even let Lucius speak before pointing his finger directly at Joan, holding a gathering of water, “Stop egging him on. Astraeus, just back up for a second. And Lucius...”

Two pairs of azure eyes met one another, profoundly rare colors in the sea of stars. A challenge passed in their gaze, and Dante stepped closer to the soldier.

“Relax. Things with the Dirge aren’t as straightforward as you’ve been led to believe. Anyway, he didn’t kill your family,” his admission of Lucius’ past, which had hardly been mentioned, left the Martian stunned. “We can discuss things later, but just know Astraeus isn’t evil. I’ve spent the past few months with him. We need his help to get out of here, more so if we actually want the Inferose’s treasures.”

Lucius’ gaze softened, the rage simmering down. However, the fire in his irises remained, focused intently on Astraeus. Dante strode into the group and whispered to Lucius, “Speak to him yourself. He’s more childlike than you would imagine. I’ve done what I can to help him, but you’re a far better mentor than I.”

Then the human continued, stepping up to Sonna, Rejo, and Joan to discuss the coming night. With their information, he discovered the monsters that emerged during nightfall, all of them appearing to be human.

While Dante spoke to the others, Lucius vibrated with an internal fury. His thoughts jumbled about without direction until he caught onto Dante’s words. The soldier’s heart twisted, recalling Archimedes isolated on the ship. He thought about the boy being utterly alone, with no one to protect him or guide him.

“Astraeus?” he asked, turning to confront the faceless being.

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The Dirge nodded with open palms, showing he didn’t want to fight.

Lucius returned a curt nod and said, “How old are you?”

Astraeus tilted his head and tapped a clawed finger on his chin. Then, he answered, “Not sure. Between one and two Standards. Past lives? Who knows?”

The Martian fell silent after the answer. Without speaking another word to the Anathema, he walked past him as if ignoring him and stood beside Sonna. With a shrug, Astraeus fell into the group’s discussion, listening intently.

“The Inferose is dimming. Night is coming. Do we head back? I don’t enjoy heading into unknowns. Does anyone know what is ahead?” Dante asked around, and a bunch of shaking heads met his question.

However, before he could order the rest to turn back, the fishing pole on his back shifted into the ghostly figure of Eidolon. The Revenant Tide spoke with earnest curiosity, “I saw the path ahead yesterday while I was exploring! There are a few tiny huts beside a wall of fire. However, the wall only emerged when night fell. Before that, I couldn’t see anything. It was like an illusion had fallen over the place.”

Heads flipped to the long-dead form of Geist. A million questions surmounted, and Dante handled them one by one concisely before turning back to Eidolon. He drilled into the man for more information, and he quickly received three points.

First, the huts had doors but no windows.

Second, the wall of fire towered hundreds of feet tall.

And last, the fire wouldn’t spread, no matter what fell into it.

With the gathered intel, Dante held the web of his forefinger and thumb against his chin. Joan and Astraeus voted to move onward toward the huts. Meanwhile, Sonna and Lucius wanted to retreat.

It was half and half. Dante glanced at Rejo, the man picking his nose over his mouth-tendrils. As if struck by lightning, he stood ramrod and said, “My vote‘s yours, cap’n.”

Great. Well, let’s be careful here. Apparently, Claudius was terrified of these things. That means... they must be strong. But how strong? I want to find out. I feel like they’re the key here.

“Alright. Here’s what we’ll do. Let’s rush to the huts. Astraeus, do everything you can to speed us up over the snow. Don’t be afraid of exhaustion. Then, we’ll stay inside for the night. I want to fight one and gauge their strength. Rejo, you’ll tag me with your Mojo, and if you think I’m going to get hurt, swap me for a rock,” Dante laid out his hobbled-together plan. No one piped up with alternatives, but Sonna for sure complained.

While huffing, she followed as the group picked up their speed across the snow. All six felt the snow beneath them harden, easing the placement of force with each step. Eyes turned to Astraeus while the Anathema ran with furrowed brows, his focus placed not on running but on controlling his Tide.

He conjured pockets of dense snow beneath each person, allowing their feet to produce greater force and increasing their speeds across the difficult terrain. Frigo was not the ideal Tide for such a thing, but without a Cryo here, Astraeus was the go-to.

Had Joan’s mastery been near his, she could have done a much better job by seeping marrow into the snow and then hardening it. Unfortunately, her Tide had grown little, which remained far beyond her reach.

The distant stake dimmed ever more as they rushed across the landscape. Snowflakes of sweat dripped from Astraeus’ forehead while azure spilled from Lucius’ wrappings. Sonna panted out of exertion, and Joan contemplated expending her last Pouncer.

Everyone felt the mantle of night encroaching and the death that would ensue. They pushed themselves to their limits, or what they could afford in some cases.

Because he would need his Mojo later, Rejo didn’t use it. So, he had to sprint with all his might, kicking and grunting just to keep up. Without a Tide to enhance him in some way or a physique that bordered impossibility, he struggled the most.

Just as he felt the rock in his pocket, prepared to hurl it as far as possible to catch up despite his dwindling stamina, a shout came from ahead. Rejo craned his neck, catching the last bit, “—ound it!”

A great goofy smile dawned on his countenance, and the mercenary redoubled his efforts. The two words he struggled to hear gave him what he so desperately needed.

Assurance.

He worried he’d fall behind and not make it to the huts, even with his Mojo. But now, he felt confident he could make it with only his legs.

A minute later, Rejo crested the rising snowbank, and he discovered a scattering of wooden huts. A bustling laugh emerged from his windless lungs, and he stumbled with such relief.

One foot after another, he lost balance and tumbled down the hill in a matter of moments. Snow cascaded with him, building up a minor avalanche.

When he came to a stop at the bottom, mere feet from Dante’s boots, only a single crimson hand peeked from the frosty disaster. The human bent over, clasping his hand over the Araki’s palm, “Never cease to amaze, Rejo. At least you descended the hill the fastest.”

Once Rejo climbed to his feet with Dante’s help, the man moved to dust off the snow sticking to him. Then, he saw what Eidolon mentioned about illusions.

The six gazed beyond the huts, finding a blazing mist awaiting them. It shifted and spun without purpose or design. The other side hid from their eyes as the sky continued to lose its luster.

Before anything untoward could happen, Dante shouted to his crew, pushing the closest to him—Rejo—toward a hut. Shortly, they all entered a hut. Inside, they realized just how cramped it was.

There was hardly room for everyone to sit. Standing was the only way they didn’t bump or press into each other. Rejo glared at Lucius’ giant body with blame, but the soldier ignored him.

Dante spoke to his crew and Astraeus while night collapsed upon them. He told them about Thanaris, the battle outside, and hinted toward the Dirge’s true selves. Countless questions popped up, but he forced Sonna and Lucius to wait while he continued.

“As for what happened to me, I have a different Stigmata now. There was this... person inside of me, like you with Rejo, Astraeus. He was the actual source of my Tide and Stigmata. I had to regain a Qualae after he abandoned me, entering this place. And he looks exactly like me. Any ideas what that’s about, Astraeus?” Dante pointed the question to the Anathema, as he had appeared before them in the same way.

However, the Dirge shrugged. He didn’t have the answer Dante desired, “That came from an Effigy, the Lunghider. A remnant of a dimension like one of these, though far weaker. Thanaris paid to use it from her master for our mission. I don’t really know much about it, though. Master just had me hop into it while she entered hibernation. But if you had someone inside you... are they here now?”

Dante cursed and shook his head, “They’re here, but just in the Inferose. Not inside me now. We’ll want to be careful. He was... unfathomable.”

“That explains your sudden mastery of your abilities and then the slow growth. I thought you’d surpass me in days, but it’s been months,” Astraeus added to Dante’s words with his own thoughts. The human had grown from nothing to a near-expert with his Tide and Stigmata in a single night.

Such was unheard of. Claudius saw Sonna as a genius for barely manifesting her Arido and using her Stigmata a single time in so little time. It only made sense if this figure caused Dante’s rapid growth.

The human nodded, and he opened his mouth to say something else but got a single word out, “Friday—”

A tapping upon the hut’s door echoed within the confines, chilling all inside. Goosebumps ran along Dante’s flesh as a female voice followed, like that of a siren, entering the innards of his ears as if there was no wall, “Dante? It’s me. I’m out here.”

The voice belonged to no one he recognized, but it sent his mind spiraling nonetheless. Sonna gripped his shoulder with a comforting touch, and he nodded toward her as thanks. Joan scoffed, brewing something in the corner, “Get over it. We all hear voices. Nothing new.”

Rejo nodded, her words making sense to the Araki, but the rest of the crew gaped at them in concern.

Dante shook his head. Joan was more than likely lying for her own amusement to make him feel worse. Rejo... he had never been right in the head.

Therefore, the captain ignored such oddities. He gave Rejo a thumbs-up and prepared to fight, talking over the woman outside, “Count to five. If you hear ‘Pancakes!’ pull me out, okay?”

Rejo’s head bobbed again and again. Then, he prepared to count but stopped himself.

“Why ‘ancakes?” he asked with a naive tone.

“Fucking hell. Because I’d never say it in battle otherwise,” Dante’s patience strained to the limit with Rejo’s antics. However, he knew this was the mercenary, not just some facade like Joan put up.

He would restrain his anger for someone as loyal as the Araki.

Rejo nodded, discovering Dante’s wisdom. Still, he had his own misgivings, “O’ay. I might, ‘ough... but yeah. Five...”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Did you ‘ean on go?” Rejo asked blankly but paled as Dante glared at him. A moment later, a rock replaced the human within the hut. At the same time, Dante teleported outside with the activation of Mojo warping space.

There, he found a lone figure standing eerily before the door. It existed within an ounce of movement and looked identical to a human in every way. However, Dante knew they couldn’t be people.

So, he lowered himself onto the snow and, with careful movement, crept toward the woman. Inch by inch, he shuffled forward until she suddenly twisted around.

Their eyes met, a mere arm’s length apart, and a shriek emerged from her lungs. Nails soared for Dante’s throat with glee, “Yes! You’ll do just fine!”

Water burst from the human’s feet with the noise of a snap, thrusting him backward with such speed that it surpassed reaction. Dante’s Stigmata had triggered, burning his Tide crafted for movement that was stored within Matchlock. Even so, a thin line of blood trailed down his throat.

The creature had almost decapitated him.

A frown formed on Dante’s face and the being opposite him, but neither moved for a moment. The man wiped the blood on his neck before twin grins emerged under the flickering wall of flame.

The sudden light drew attention from no one. Both human and monster stared at each other without distraction.

Dante reformed his charge within Matchlock before the creature dived for him once more. Expecting it, the man evaded just barely, his legs crashing into the snow.

While retreating, his right hand flew up into a contorted motion. Pressurized water erupted from his hand without build-up. It slashed into the monster’s side, tearing open flesh and slicing bone.

However, the being didn’t show any semblance of pain, nor did it bleed. It merely gazed at the wound like a spectator before lunging at Dante. Again, he jumped backward, but then he heard a shuffle of snow behind him.

“Pancake!”

Air whistled for his neck with a silent hiss, but before Dante lost his head, he collapsed within the hut. Eyes concentrated on the leaking scratch on the back of his neck, about the size of a paper cut.

“You alright?” Sonna offered a hand while motioning for Joan to help. Again, the doctor scoffed, as her eyes had already checked Dante. However, the man didn’t accept the assistance.

His gaze turned right back to Rejo.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Send me back out there. I think I can kill it.”