The silence that followed was not peace.
It was suffocating. Heavy. Wrong.
Ash rained gently from the sky like black snow. The wind had stopped, the rift had vanished, and the darkness receded—but at a cost.
Dante knelt in the ruins, blood trailing down his cheek. His hands trembled as he stared at the lone figure standing in the center of what had once been a sacred temple. Her hair floated as if touched by invisible flames, her glyphs still glowing—but her eyes…
They were not Selena's.
Elias approached slowly, each step measured, his sword held low but ready. "Selena?"
The figure tilted her head.
"I am the Flame," she said in a voice layered with echoes—Selena's voice intertwined with something older, something not entirely human. "But I am also the Gate."
"No." Dante stood, defiance radiating from his battered form. "You're not just a key. You're not just a lock. You're more than what they made you."
