The wind whistled among the gnarled trees, as if the shadows were whispering long-buried secrets. Dante Vésper advanced silently along the old path leading to the mausoleum—the very place where the ritual had been carried out. The memory of that cruel, irreversible sacrifice had left deep scars on his soul. Every dry leaf that crackled beneath his boots seemed to cry out the horrors of the past, while his black cloak billowed, absorbing the night's chill.
When he reached the tomb, Dante stopped before the hanging door of the mausoleum. The air exuded a scent of decay mixed with the residual energy of ancient spells. Inside, the altar remained, marked by dried bloodstains and the weight of a past that would never be forgotten. There, on that accursed ground, Cael had been sacrificed as if he were merely another offering—a fragment of what Dante had once loved with all the intensity of his soul.
The silence was almost palpable. Dante placed his trembling hand upon the altar, and for a brief moment, the remnants of the ritual summoned memories of days spent with Elowen and little Cael—times of distant peace now devoured by emptiness. Despite all the pain, Dante kept an impassive expression. He carried not only the scar of that sacrifice but also a personal burden hidden from everyone: his silent pursuit of vengeance.
With his heart hardened, Dante moved away from the mausoleum, leaving behind the traces of death and the ritual. His destiny guided him back to the mansion, where an inevitable meeting awaited. The group that would gather later bore their own wounds and resentments; there, the atmosphere would be as volatile as the night itself.
Hours later, in the dim corridors of the mansion, Dante reunited with Elowen. She, a woman with piercing eyes and a fiery spirit, was known for her "venomous snake" nature. Her cutting remarks and defiant posture concealed a turbulent past, yet nothing prevented her from engaging in power struggles and honor disputes. For Dante, protecting Elowen meant, in part, using his strength to exact retribution against the clan's intrigues—a personal strategy that resonated with the bitter taste of vengeance.
While they spoke in hushed tones, firm footsteps echoed through the corridor. Selene appeared, draped in a red cloak that seemed to ignite the darkness, her silvery hair floating with the breeze. Her eyes, cold and penetrating, swept over the faces of those present, yet no hint suggested that she was aware of Dante's secrets. She neither knew—nor cared—about the silent thirst for revenge he nurtured. To Selene, the world was meant to be dominated, and any sign of weakness in others should be crushed with disdain.
"Dante, what a surprise to find you here," Selene said in a haughty tone, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She flashed an ironic smile, as if adversity itself were a mere game for her.
Dante narrowed his eyes without offering a reply. His intentions remained veiled, but his gaze betrayed that Selene's presence stirred something within him—a flame he carefully kept under control so as not to reveal his true motive.
Alert, Elowen wasted no time in retorting, "Always so reserved, Dante. But don't think that your demeanor changes anything in front of me." Her voice was as venomous as her reputation.
Selene laughed with disdain—a cold, empathy-free sound that resonated down the corridor. "Elowen, what a surprise," she snapped, striding toward the impending rivalry. "You love to flaunt your sharp tongue, but today I intend to show that your audacity has limits. You're like an irate snake, ready to bite and poison, yet lacking the cunning that true queens possess."
The atmosphere grew tense. Still marked by the dark rite he had witnessed, Dante positioned himself so as to protect Elowen. His gesture, subtle to onlookers, was a prelude: he knew that if Selene attacked, Elowen would suffer—and his support would be decisive to turn the tide. Yet Selene, indifferent to others' sacrifices, maintained her haughty stance.
"You know, Elowen, I've always found it tragic to see so much ambition wasted on futile internal squabbles," Selene continued with a malicious smile, her eyes flashing with scorn. "You try to be the venomous snake, but in truth, your venom is nothing more than noise."
Elowen glared in return, ready to defend herself, but before words could become blows, Dante advanced. He positioned himself between Selene and Elowen, his body as rigid as steel, in a swift move to protect someone he partly kept as a key piece in his own plan.
"Don't think I'll allow you, with your unbridled arrogance, to hurt someone who doesn't even deserve it," Dante said in a low, threatening voice. He knew that by acting this way, he wasn't merely defending Elowen, but also undermining Selene's impervious pride.
Selene raised an eyebrow and smiled disdainfully at Dante's intervention. "Ah, Dante, as noble as ever," she mocked, her laughter cold and ironic. "Do you truly care? Or is it just another whim—a feeble attempt to save something already lost?"
Without any sign of concern, Selene struck a sharp blow against Elowen. Her movements were as precise as they were cruel; each attack revealed her utter lack of pity. Elowen, the "venomous snake," tried to dodge and counter, but Selene's ferocity proved unstoppable.
Meanwhile, Dante maintained his protective stance over Elowen with firm resolve. Though a part of him longed to see Selene humiliated, he remained impassive toward his own feelings. Selene, for her part, absorbed every move with icy satisfaction, laughing derisively as she took each hit from Elowen. "You really think you have a chance against me, Elowen?" Selene taunted, her voice laced with insane amusement. "Try again, if you dare get up."
The tension escalated; the fight between Selene and Elowen transformed the corridor into a stage of spilled blood and wounded pride. Dante, who was shielding Elowen to prevent irreparable harm by Selene, kept his unwavering gaze on his adversary. Yet Selene, oblivious to Dante's strategy and indifferent to acknowledging his protection, continued her mockery.
"Dante, what was that?" Elowen managed to ask, breathless as she struggled to rise. "I simply won't let you become another pawn in the hands of someone like her," Dante replied, his voice firm yet concealing something unsaid.
Selene laughed again, a sound so cruel it seemed to multiply in the charged air. "You all are so pathetic. Always entangled in power games or clinging to empty ideologies," she retorted, walking nonchalantly—a blend of derision and pleasure. "True strength cares nothing for conventions or the fragile protection of others."
She advanced further, her eyes sparkling with sadistic delight as she watched Elowen suffer, her strikes growing ever more precise, showing no hesitation or compassion. Meanwhile, Dante guarded his secret: he was not there solely out of camaraderie but driven by a silent determination to enact his own vengeance—a fact that Selene would never suspect.
The sounds of clashing blows, Selene's cold laughter, and Elowen's ragged breathing composed a grim symphony. Dante, his gaze unreadable, remained on the fringes of the brawl, doing all he could to contain the assaults that threatened to push the situation beyond repair. But for Selene, this was merely another chance to display her disdain for everyone and everything.
Thus, in the dim corridors—with a past still echoing in the bloodstained remnants of the ritual and a present marked by the clash of willrter e fates of Dante, Elowen, and Selene intertwined in a dark dance. While Dante protected Elowen with the strength of a man burdened by heavy secrets, Selene forged her own path, oblivious to his true motivation; she laughed, derided, and proved that in that shadowy world, cruelty reigned supreme.
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End of Chapter