There are days when you wake up without cold sweats. Days when the sky is genuinely blue.
That day was exactly like that.
Duraand—the old city with its criminal undertones and secrets thicker than its fog—was going through a strange rebirth.
Ever since the fall of the Caledrons—or should we say their spectacular takedown, broadcast live on national networks—the air felt... different.
As if the city itself had decided to nap after centuries of oppression.
Some patients had gotten out of their hospital beds in the middle of the night, humming tunes with joy in their hearts, without knowing why. There were even reports of miraculous recoveries.
The Inquisitors of Heresy, however, never woke up.
The Caledron manor was nothing but rubble.
Among the ruins, one could find shattered porcelain, solid oak furniture, an empty safe, and even a still-warm jacuzzi—but not a single coin from their fortune.
Sybille Caledron was arrested live on camera, her face painted like a sad clown, screaming injustice with the voice of a witch.
The footage went viral on Newtube and other platforms, racking up over a million views in less than 24 hours.
The strangest part ? No one remembered a Dante. Not the authorities, not the survivors, not even the surveillance cameras. As if his existence had been... erased.
And yet, just days ago, his name was on everyone's mind.
SPIRAL ? The group was disbanded, each exiled to the vastness of neighboring countries.
The last time the remaining members saw each other was to bring Dante's family back to him.
The National Police, however, have not given up on the matter; they have launched an investigation and a reward for anyone who finds them or provides a lead.
Duraand was shaken by so much action and the world's attention was strangely focused on this city, which was until then unknown to the general public.
---
A few hours from Duraand, in the city of Belthemis—known for its local wine, near-zero crime rate, and special forces so well-trained people joked they practiced martial arts in their sleep—the little crew was moving in.
Or at least... trying to.
— "This kitchen, seriously ? It looks like we're cooking in an Aztec temple." Grumbled Annabelle, arms crossed.
— "Exactly! That's what makes it cool!" Exclaimed Jophiel, already sprawled across the central island like she was posing for the cover of a magazine.
The real estate agent, his smile strained, was scribbling notes at inhuman speed.
— "This one isn't sold yet, but it comes with an indoor jacuzzi, a mini-theater, a hidden pantry—"
— "Too flashy," cut in Annabelle. "We'll end up feeling out of place with all that luxury."
Ginny, meanwhile, was quietly sucking on an emerald.
---
After several visits, arguments, and multiple "Oh my God, look at that bathtub!" shrieks from Jophiel, they finally agreed on a lovely hillside house, surrounded by greenery, with a panoramic terrace and a built-in library.
Dante, ever the stoic, made the call.
— "It's quiet. Not too showy. And it has a basement."
Ginny nodded. "Perfect for burying corpse."
Annabelle raised an eyebrow. Jophiel was already filming a room tour on her phone, planning out her future "my new luxury life" post.
---
The house filled up quickly. Boxes, furniture, and a stray cat named Pudding who moved in without asking.
That evening, they held a small welcome dinner.
Dante cooked.
Annabelle set the table.
Jophiel picked the playlist.
And Ginny... well, she was just Ginny—what did you expect ?
At one point, in the peace of their new home, the question dropped :
—:"Ginny… what exactly are you ?" asked Jophiel, curious.
Ginny smiled, a toothpick between her teeth.
— "Honestly ? I don't know. I only live for Dante, and through Dante. A kind of servant, maybe."
Annabelle was speechless.
Jophiel clapped.
Dante gave a faint smile.
---
The Caledrons' reign was nothing but a scorched chapter now.
The dead had been mourned, the living still gave thanks to the skies. The hospitals had emptied of some invisible sickness.
Their manor was now just a playground for reckless children.
And somewhere, in Belthemis, the savior of humanity was building a new family.
That day, Dante raised his glass.
— "To our new life."
Ginny raised a skull in place of a cup. Annabelle raised a cautious eyebrow.
---
As night fell, the house began to slumber.
Jophiel had dozed off on the couch, holding Ginny like a plush toy.
She snored with childlike serenity, while the demon girl, curled up beside her, drooled softly in her sleep.
In the kitchen, Dante and Annabelle were quietly cleaning up. Not an awkward silence, but a soothing one.
Glasses clinked, plates found their shelves. It was a simple moment, an ordinary one… but not so ordinary for Soo-Jin.
And it's in these rare moments of calm that the questions buried too long begin to surface.
Dante broke the silence without looking up :
— "Mom… do I have a brother ?"
She froze. Her gaze remained locked on the bottom of the sink. She knew. Of course she knew this day would come.
— "You've got your eye back…" he murmured. "I guess the memories are clearer now."
She nodded, setting a spoon gently on the table.
— "I remember the looks… the visual sensations."
He turned to her.
— "So? Tell me. I'm old enough to hear the truth."
Of course he was. He was several millennia old.
Annabelle sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She patted the spot beside her. He joined her without a word.
— "Yes," she said at last. "You have a brother. His name is Cain."
Dante frowned.
— "The one I told you about...?"
She closed her eyes. Nodded.
— "Yes. That very one."
He recoiled slightly, like something had struck his chest.
— "You're kidding."
— "I'd never joke about that."
— "But… he… he's—"
— "Sick," she cut him off. "He was born with a very rare, unknown condition. 'Bachira Syndrome.' A degenerative disease that affects both body and mind. His appearance changed early. And his mind stayed locked in a childlike, dependent, fragile state. But also… unstable."
Dante lowered his gaze.
— "He didn't look like a child. He looked… almost normal."
— "Must've been a mask. Or time. Or treatments. Or experiments. Or maybe even his power. I don't know. But the real Cain, the one I knew… was not the person you met."
He stood up suddenly, pacing across the room.
— "Why didn't you ever tell me ? Why did you let me believe I was an only child ?!" He asked nervously.
— "Because I was afraid," she admitted. "Because I wanted to protect you. And because I was weak, Dante. Very weak." She replied with a trembling voice.
She stood too, stepped closer.
— "I loved Cain. With all my heart. But after he was born… after seeing what it did to him… I lost faith. I ran from Tristan for Edward, your father."
And when you were born, I raised you as a second chance… but I was too ashamed to explain everything.
I thought it would stay buried. I thought Cain… would never come back."
— "Then why did you deal with the Caledrons for a loan ?"
— "For you. When you told me about your dream to participate in the entrance exam for an academy, I gave up the one thing I had left to offer. You know the saying—only the rich get loans.
I had no assets, no money. But the Cinder Bank is different. They accept payment in kind. If I refused to give them my eyes, they would've taken my soul instead…
I had no will to live left anyway, and that's why I gave everything—for you. So you could help your sister one day.
And now look… We're at peace. Duraand, for the first time, is at peace." His voice began to tremble more intensely.
She collapsed into the chair this time, tears streaming freely. Her hands trembled.
— "I'm a terrible mother, Dante."
He stepped forward, slowly. Unsure. He placed his hand awkwardly on hers.
— "You're not perfect. But you did what you could. And that's not nothing."
She looked up at him, stunned.
— "You forgive me ?"
— "I would've done the same." He said quietly.
I did the same… for the world. Thought Kang Soo Jin.
She laughed through her sobs.
— "You're more like me than you think."
A gentle silence settled. Then Dante spoke again, his voice deeper now :
— " You know I'll go to Almeria tomorrow, maybe I'm going to find him."
Annabelle's head shot up.
— "You're sure?"
— "Yes. I can't live with half-truths. I need to know who he is. Who I am—through him."
She grabbed his hand.
— "Then promise me one thing."
— "Say it."
— "Don't kill him."
He said nothing. The ticking clock grew heavier. Then he sighed, long and deep, and nodded.
— "I promise."
She hugged him. He, stiff at first, allowed it.