In the quiet of the northern slums, where the alleys are too narrow for drones and the rooftops make night fall earlier than it should, era was running, clutching her loaf of bread like it was treasure.
She pushed aside a rusted sheet of tal and slipped into a shack built from damp wood and hand-painted tin walls.
Inside, in a rickety old armchair, an old man was waiting for her.
His one eye widened as he saw her dirt-streaked face and tattered clothes.
— "By my mother’s ashes, era...!"
He staggered to his feet and pulled her into a trembling embrace.
He slled of fear, love, and exhaustion.
— "era... I already told you not to go into the upper town without permission, especially if it’s to steal. Don’t you ever do that again, you hear ?!"
— "But I was hungry..."
— "And you think I’m not hungry too?! I would’ve shared my rations, kid. You have no idea what they do to kids like you out there..." His voice cracked.
He pressed a hand to the branded cross on her shoulder, barely holding back a sob.
— "...And if I lost you? What would I have left, huh? You think I have anything besides you?"
era looked down, ashad.
In the doorway, Dante, silent until now, was watching the scene.
The old man finally turned to him, wiping his face.
— "You’re the one who brought her back?"
Dante nodded.
— "She was getting beaten over a loaf of bread. It was nothing."
The old man walked up to him, slowly. Then, without hesitation, he held out his hand.
— "Well, that nothing, sir, saved what was left of my soul."
He smiled—a toothless but genuine smile.
— "You’re welco here. For as long as you need. It ain’t much, but it’s clean. Well... when era rembers to sweep."
Dante hesitated, his eyes wandering over the walls covered in children’s drawings and worn-out photos.
— "...Can I stay the night? If it’s not a bother." He asked, a bit shy.
The old man raised an eyebrow.
— "Boy, you just brought back the only thing I care about in this world. You can have my bed if you want."
— "...No, the couch is fine."
A silence settled. era started toward the kitchen without a word.
Dante — seeing her from the doorfra — approached her and stopped her.
— "Wait."
She turned, still holding the loaf in her arms.
He stepped closer and gently took it from her hands.
— "Tonight, I’m cooking."
She blinked at him, confused.
The old man burst out laughing.
— "You? You look like a stray, but you talk like a prince. You even know how to light a fire?"
— "Of course sir."
— "When you’ve spent your life roasting hellspawn under blood moons... making bread stew’s almost poetic." He thought to himself.
era frowned, skeptical.
— "Do you even know how to cook?"
Dante smiled.
— "Just watch."
He rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the cramped little kitchen. The water took its sweet ti to heat up.
His sleeves slipped past his elbows, revealing arms—scarred, muscular, shaped by a life far too heavy for soone his age.
— "You got a pot?" He asked, peeking into the cabinets.
— "Bottom’s got a hole," the old man replied, "but if you don’t go wild with liquids, it’ll do."
He laid out the ingredients : two limp potatoes, so shriveled cabbage, a half-eaten carrot, an old spice tin that looked like it ti-traveled from the last century. And of course—the bread.
— "You’re really gonna cook with that?" era asked, raising an eyebrow from her wobbly chair, arms crossed.
— "Watch and learn."
He diced the bread, toasted it with the carrot pieces.
Then chopped the cabbage and simred it in what little oil there was.
He added water, mashed the potatoes with the back of a ladle, and stirred them in to thicken the stew.
Soon, a surprising scent filled the air—a warm, spiced fragrance, like sothing from a long-forgotten mory.
— "Damn..." the old man whispered. "Slls like my mother’s cooking. Before the war took everything."
Dante didn’t respond. His gaze drifted—maybe centuries away, maybe to another world.
He poured the stew into three chipped bowls, topped each with the toasted bread, and finally sat down.
They all looked at one another. era hesitated.
— "What’re you waiting for?" Dante said, taking a bite.
The girl dipped her spoon into the stew, skeptical—then her eyes lit up.
— "It’s... good."
— "Not good," the old man added. "Divine."
Dante raised a hand.
— "Told you. You doubted ?"
They laughed.
And for a mont—a precious, fleeting mont—the world was simple again.
Just a strange boy with a paper bag on his head, a hungry girl, and a one-eyed grandfather. Sharing a al.
— "So," the old man said with a chuckle, "almost forgot—what’s your na, son?"
— "Dante. Godwin Dante."
— "Nice to et you, my na is ErwanLepeece and this little princess is era Lepeece."
— "How old are you hoboy?"
— "Eighteen, sir."
— "So young but so strong. How’d you et era?"
Dante leaned back in the creaky chair.
— "She was running. Cops were chasing her. I broke a drone, took out two badges, and jumped over a few rooftops. That’s it."
era giggled, rembering the flight.
— "It really felt like flying. You jumped so high, I thought I was dreaming."
— "You think you’re dreaming," the old man grumbled. "This guy fell out of the sky or sothing..."
Dante smiled silently.
— "The living... sotis have to carry the dead with them." He thought.
Dinner ended. era, still smiling, gathered the empty dishes.
She tried to act tough when Dante moved to help—but let him, with a conspiratorial grin.
— "I’ve got this," she said, stifling a yawn. "Gramps gets cranky if I stay up too late."
— "Lies," the old man muttered. "I’m the one watching over her every night."
era rolled her eyes, laughing, then vanished behind the cloth curtain that served as her bedroom door.
The old man shuffled into what passed for the living room, lamplight dim.
He settled into his worn chair and gestured for Dante to sit.
— "Go on, take a seat." He said, straightening up with effort.
Dante nodded and sat down in the lone other chair. The wood creaked under his weight.
The old man poured himself a bit of what looked like homade liquor and placed another cup in front of Dante—no pressure.
— "You know... I always thought I’d die alone. Just , my demons, and the mories."
He stared at the amber liquid.
— "era’s all I’ve got left. Her mother—my daughter—was killed just for saying no. ’No, I won’t give my daughter to the Church.’ That one sentence cost her everything."
— "And I lived. Maybe because I was a coward. Or maybe... because I still had sothing left to do."
His one good eye shimred, but he held his voice steady.
— "era grew up in the shadows. And now even the shadows are afraid. Ever since Eraser ca back, the streets have been shaking. So say it’s the vengeance of the forgotten. Others say it’s just another tyranny. But his graffiti... his fanatics... they don’t make distinctions."
He rolled up his sleeve. A clean, brutal scar marked his forearm.
— "They wanted era as a recruit. I fought back. Lost an eye for it. But I kept her. Her, I kept."
He paused.
— "But tonight—for the first ti in a long ti—I saw her laugh at the dinner table. Because you fell out of the sky."
Dante said nothing. His fingers gently tapped the wooden armrest. Nothing to say, just listening.
The old man stood slowly and disappeared into a dark corner of the house.
He returned with sothing wrapped in black cloth.
— "I was going to give this to my son. But he died too. So I kept it. Maybe for another ti. Or another man."
He unwrapped it.
A black mask. Smooth, solemn. Majestic in its simplicity.
But there was sothing about it—a presence.
As if a piece of Dante’s past had taken shape before him.
A chill ran down his spine.
He knew it instantly.
The Mask of Chaos.
The ancient symbol of a na the world no longer dared to speak : Kang Soo Jin.
— "My great-grandfather was a noble. A madman, maybe—but he believed a savior would return. He burned his titles, left the highborn districts, and buried himself in the mud. Swore that one day, this mask would be needed again... by his blood. Or by the one they called TheBearer of Burdens."
He held it out to Dante, who took it carefully.
The lacquered wood sent a jolt through him.
As if all his rage, his pain, his purpose had been waiting—right here.
He studied the faint spirals etched along the edges.
— "Why give it to if it has a strong emotional and monetary value? Aren’t you afraid I’ll sell it for next to nothing?" He asked, voice low.
The old man smiled, tired but sure.
— "Because I saw that fire in your eyes. And that fire... it’s not from this world. Is it?"
— "Believing in you is my reason, but showing I wasn’t wrong is your responsibility.
Dante didn’t answer.
But he bowed, slowly.
A deep, silent gratitude.
And in his mind, a single thought rose—clear as mountain water :
— "In a world where the gods have gone silent... and the demons rule...
I must beco the nightmare that hunts monsters.
I must beco... Kang Soo Jin."
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