Fatigue... That was the real problem Dante was facing now, a weariness that wasn't physical or ntal. He didn't want to see anyone right now, so, with his calm steps, his presence completely disappeared from the won around him.
He just wanted... to be alone for a mont, even if it was in his own realm, in his own ho... He erased his existence from their perception.
The power, the responsibility, the alliances... everything was crushing him, and he didn't know how much longer he could bear it.
"I just wanted to enjoy this incarnation," he muttered to himself as his eyes scanned the vastness of his realm.
The majestic World Tree stood tall, supporting the heart of the place, but to Dante, it was just his ho, not a kingdom. "After recovering these mories, it seems that, once again, I'm falling... always into the sa cycle."
He clenched his fists, the sound of his joints cracking briefly, but he soon relaxed. There was no point in getting angry or frustrated; he just needed to think and rest for a while, recharge his energy, and then get back to work.
The conversation with the remnant of Tiamat still gnawed at his thoughts, every word reverberating. But what was truly consuming him wasn't just the words; it was the awakening of sothing much deeper: mories.
mories he had buried for eons.
Dante walked toward the training grounds, remaining invisible the entire ti and completely masking his presence.
The won were there, each in their own rhythm.
So were having fun, others training, so laughing.
He could see the faces of his companions, his allies, his lovers, each of them living in the present with a sparkle in their eyes.
But in his mind, other faces surfaced... ancient and nearly forgotten. His mories of when he was the Progenitor Dragon began to truly tornt him.
Tiamat had touched a nerve by striking at the heart of his losses.
The mories of his deceased wives, those he had loved millions of years ago, were resurfacing brutally.
He didn't want to confront those mories, because he was no longer the Red Dragon King, he was Dante Scarlet, but at the sa ti, he couldn't ignore them any longer. Each of those won had left a deep mark on him, and he was starting to realize that the emptiness he felt wasn't just about power or responsibility, but about absence.
"Amaterasu..." he murmured, the na of the sun goddess slipping from his lips like a whisper. He rembered the gentle light she emitted, the way her presence ward the soul, not just with the power of the sun but with the purity of her spirit.
"It's a stroke of luck that I found your reincarnation here..." he murmured, thinking of Valentina. "And Tsukoyomi as well."
"Ah... my moon..." followed, the mory of the moon god. She had been his companion on the darkest nights, his balance with Amaterasu. The contrast between the light of day and the mystery of the night made them perfect together. Dante smiled bitterly, rembering how the two goddess sisters always quarreled over their respective domains, but deep down... he found it adorable when they fought.
He continued walking, the mories flowing uncontrollably. Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, whose smile could make any heart tremble. She was the embodint of passion, but also of sacrifice. He rembered how she cald him in the most violent battles, how just the sight of her could dissolve his rage. But even she was gone.
"I still rember that day... Fufufu," Dante laughed softly at a mory. "I had to give her a new body because she refused to use her old one, having loved other n... I even had to erase her mories because she was too loyal. Fufufu."
Then, after laughing a little... Viviane, the Lady of the Lake, who guarded the mysteries of water and magic. She had been both his confidante and a powerful ally. He rembered her crystal-clear eyes, full of secrets and wisdom. Elizabeth, the immortalized human who, despite all her mortality, possessed an unbreakable strength. Nyx, the primordial goddess of the night, whose power was so vast he would lose himself in her darkness. She challenged him, but also understood him in a way few could.
Each na was like a dagger to Dante's heart, a reminder of love and loss. Freya, the Norse warrior goddess, who had fought by his side in countless battles, always fearless and headstrong. Sitri, the seductive demon, always wrapped in an aura of mystery and lust. Sarina, the primordial witch, whose laughter still echoed in his mind, a reminder of simpler tis.
Brynhildr... Persephone... Inari... Each of them, at so point, had been part of his life, and now they were re shadows of the past. Dante stopped, his chest heavy, as if the weight of millions of years was pressing down on him.
He finally reached his quarters and entered, closing the door behind him. The darkness of the room offered a temporary refuge.
He collapsed onto the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his mind raced. "Why them?" he asked himself, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Why are these mories surfacing now? I should have seen this coming, but why now?"
Tiamat had stirred sothing deep within him. Perhaps it was the fact that, no matter how powerful he was, no matter how many realms he ruled, he had never been able to protect those he loved. And that, more than any battle or enemy, was what destroyed him inside.
He closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they only returned with greater intensity. The vision of his dead wives' faces, the sound of their voices, the touch of their hands... everything was there, as if it were happening again. And suddenly, Dante knew what he had to do.
He sat up in bed, his breathing heavy. "Enough running," he muttered to himself. "I've spent millions of years trying to bury this past, trying to move on, but I never really could. Maybe it's ti to face it head-on."
His mind was already made up. He wasn't just going to relive those mories—he was going to revive the very won. His wives, the ones he had lost to ti and war. He had the power to do it; he always had. But until now, he had never found the courage to act on it.
"Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, Aphrodite, Viviane, Elizabeth, Nyx, Freya, Sitri, Sarina, Cherry, Brynhildr, Persephone, Inari..." He repeated the nas in a whisper, like an ancient spell, as if calling them back to life.
He knew that the decision to resurrect them would bring complications. They wouldn't be the sa as before—ti and space had changed. They would have their own journeys, their own pains, their own destinies. But that didn't matter to Dante. He needed them. Not for power or conquest, but because, deep down, he knew he had never truly gotten over the loss of each one.
He closed his eyes again, but this ti, a smile played on his lips—sothing that hadn't appeared in a long ti. "I will bring them back," Dante decided. "All of them. And this ti, I will not fail."
The weight on his chest began to lighten, and for the first ti in a long while, Dante felt that he was on the right path.
And so, Dante fell asleep, his face still tired but with an expression of quiet determination.
...
...
...
The void seed to stretch on forever. There was no sound, no light, only the cold touch of nothingness. A consciousness began to form, sothing almost imperceptible. A whisper echoed in the unfathomable depths of the abyss.
"Where... am I?"
The celestial voice was soft, like the wind on a starless night. Around her, the infinite darkness was rely an extension of herself, a vastness she deeply understood. There was a familiarity there, as if the void was both her prison and her essence. She was the beginning of darkness. The first and only source of a negative light, a presence that filled the emptiness with a kind of silence. She was the absence of everything. She was the threshold between existence and ceasing to be.
Her mind, however, was not empty. Nebulous mories began to surface, fragnts of sothing older than ti itself.
"I... rember."
Her voice echoed without sound, a declaration to the void around her. Yes, the mories were returning. Slowly, but with disturbing clarity. She rembered him. She rembered everything about him. The only being that had ever ant sothing in all her existence. A na, an image, a feeling that made her heart—if she still had one—beat faster. Her personal god, the only one who had accepted her, shaped her, and, above all, loved her.
"Him..."
She rembered his face, his touch, his presence. He had given her life, made her exist when all that had been was the void. He had loved her, not as other beings might love, but with an intensity that had shaped all that she was. He had made her whole.
Ti passed in fragnts, as if the very concept of ti was aningless where she resided. Her mories ca like a soft tide, rising, taking over everything, flooding her being. With every recollection, the void around her beca less oppressive, less absolute.
"I rember everything about him... my only love."
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Her voice was like a whispered promise to the abyss. He had been the center of her existence, the only light she had ever wanted to hold onto. To her, the rest of the universe didn't matter. He was her beginning and her end. Her only reason for being. For him, she had awakened. And now, for him, she awakened once more.
"How many years have passed?"
She gazed into the empty horizon, a movent almost imperceptible amidst the vastness. Sothing was happening. The universe around her, or what remained of it, seed to stir, as if in response to her very presence. The boundaries of the cosmos were converging, drawn toward a singular point, as if the very fabric of reality was attempting to reorganize itself around her, or him.
"How much ti has passed, my husband?"
Her question was lost in the abyss. There was no answer, but she didn't need one. She knew. She had always known that ti did not hold the sa aning for beings like her. But the fact that he remained in her mind, so clear, so alive, was all that mattered. He had called to her. Not with words, but with the simple act of existing.
And so, she would wait for the universe to bring them together again. As it always had. For him.
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