[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

The duo of Dante and Tamamo-no-Mae stood before the yawning entrance of the mine.

The air here was almost suffocating — as if the forest refused to breathe near this place. The entrance was framed by slabs of rock, worn smooth by decades of mining, and blocked only by a pair of heavy, splintering wooden doors that looked more ceremonial than protective. The breeze that slipped through their cracks carried the scent of dust and stale metal.

To either side of the entrance lay the slumped forms of four Retorta Guild guards. Their forms battered and their weapons scattered.

Tamamo-no-Mae, perched casually upon his shoulder, tilted her golden head. "Hm," she murmured, her eyes narrowing. "I wasn't certain before, but now I can sense it — almost buried. There's a trace of magic lingering within… suppressed, perhaps, or weakened. Coming from the deeper levels."

Dante's horned helmet inclined slightly as he observed the unconscious guards. "So few stationed here," he noted. "For a guild as large and structured as Retorta, it's unusual. Whatever lies in that mine, it's not just minerals."

"Then shall we investigate?" she asked lightly, though her tails swayed in a rhythm that betrayed curiosity.

He gave a small nod. "We shall."

With one push, Dante forced the doors open — their hinges groaning in protest — and the two entered the gloom. The sound of his boots echoed, the sound harsh against the ground. The mine's walls were rough, streaked with lines of black and gray. Overhead, wooden supports creaked, holding up a ceiling that disappeared into shadow. Sparse lanterns cast little light, their flames fluttering.

Metal tracks ran down the tunnel, splitting into multiple paths and tools lay scattered — broken pickaxes, half-split crates, rusted helmets, and torn satchels. Remnants of lives abruptly uprooted.

Tamamo's tails brushed lightly against Dante's shoulder as her gaze swept across the emptiness. "Quite the ominous space," she remarked softly. "But barren. I would have expected a fortress' worth of guards if the guild thought it truly valuable."

"It is possible," Dante started, "that whatever they seek is not meant to be disturbed. Or perhaps even they fear what lies below."

"Dangerous, then?"

"Likely." He stepped forward again. "We proceed with caution."

They walked on. The deeper they went, the heavier the air seemed to grow — thick with dust and and the faint smell of metal that quickly gave way to something more acrid clinging to the walls.

No words passed between them for a while. Even Tamamo's usual teasing quieted beneath the oppressive scene. When she finally spoke, her tone was more soothing than usual, especially in such a space.

"Well," she began, a wry smile touching her maw, "if we keep walking in silence, I might just fall asleep. These mines are gloomy enough without you brooding so much. Surely, there's something worth speaking about."

"There's little to discuss," Dante said simply.

Tamamo's tails curled in disapproval. "Oh, there's plenty," she countered with a sly grin. "For one, I'm curious what you were up to after the Great War ended. You vanished quite conveniently, you know. Left quite the impression — and then… nothing."

He did not answer immediately. The sound of his steps filled the void between them, and for a moment she wondered if he would even entertain her question. Finally, his voice came. "Morrigan sent me into the Abyss," he said. "To ensure I did not remain when the realm was destroyed. I stayed there… until Uhorus was repaired."

Tamamo's expression faltered for just a heartbeat — her playfulness dimming. "The Abyss again…" she murmured. "That must have stirred memories you'd rather forget."

"Perhaps," Dante admitted, his voice distant. "But I've had centuries to grow past such things."

She tilted her head, watching him with one eye. "And all for that blessing, I suppose?"

He gave a faint nod, raising one hand slightly as though studying it. His gauntleted fist tightened. "It grants little in raw strength. But it allows access to Arcane Ascendance. Maintaining that state drains my mana rapidly… too rapidly. So I compensate — with flesh and endurance."

Tamamo scoffed lightly. "Hardly a fair trade. That so-called God of Strength truly was a poor negotiator. Even so," she smirked, "it's impressive that you kept your mind intact after so much time in that place."

"There was little left to lose," he murmured. His tone wasn't bitter — merely factual.

They reached a wide open chamber then, the ceiling lost in darkness, old scaffolds creaking and in the center of the space stood an iron lift — rusted cables vanishing into the depths below.

"But still," Tamamo mused as they approached, her voice regaining that mischievous tone, "you really are a contradiction, aren't you?"

Dante glanced toward her, saying nothing.

"You're the one who said strength alone wouldn't solve the town's problems," she continued. "And yet here you are, ready to burn down an entire guild if it comes to that. Makes you wonder whether you're as detached as you pretend to be."

He paused beside the lift, his gaze steady. "There are times when words no longer reach," he said quietly. "When restraint achieves nothing."

Tamamo smirked. "So, you do care."

He did not answer. Instead, he stepped onto the lift, his coat sweeping around him as he grasped the lever. The chains above creaked, then groaned as the mechanism came to life. Slowly, the platform began to descend, swallowed by the dark.

As they sank deeper, the light of the upper tunnels faded away, leaving only the hum of gears and the thrum of their descent. The walls around them tightened the deeper they went.

Tamamo's voice broke the quiet once more. "You know… for someone who hides behind that iron mask, you sure are upfront with what you want to do."

He did not look at her. "And for someone who hides behind jest," he replied evenly, "you speak like a soul who remembers why it weeps."

"Very poetic, Dante," Tamamo-no-Mae purred. "But I suppose you are right. My sorrow it is not something that fades. Not easily or entirely."

Dante tilted his head slightly, the faint hum of the lift's gears filling the space. "Then I would question," he murmured, "why you seem so adamant on helping humans—despite them being the very reason you carry that sorrow."

Tamamo gave a soft scoff, her many tails stilling for a heartbeat before they resumed their gentle swaying. "Do you truly think me so shallow, Dante?" she replied, a hint of wounded pride in her tone. "To paint all of mankind with the same brush because of the sins of a few?" Her ears twitched upward, and she let out a dramatic sigh. "How very rude of you."

He didn't immediately respond. His helmeted head turned slightly toward her. "It would hardly be the first time you thought that way," he said after a pause. "You resented me for being human when we first met."

Tamamo groaned, almost theatrically. "You still haven't let that go?" she whined. "You mortals are so sentimental, clinging to words spoken centuries ago." She huffed again, though the playful tone softened. "But I've told you before, spirits change. I've changed. The world is not what it was, and neither am I."

Dante gave a hum, almost a sound of acknowledgment but tinged with skepticism.

"Though if you want a better answer," she continued, her voice lowering, "perhaps I was… curious. Mankind fascinates me. They are so unpredictable—pitifully fragile and yet so fierce in their will. I've seen the weakest of them rise up to challenge Gods, and I've seen them crumble to dust because of envy and greed." Her eyes glowed faintly in the darkness. "They burn so quickly. But in that short, feverish life, they can either destroy everything or create something wondrous."

He considered that for a moment before speaking, his tone even. "It is impossible for every human to be the same," Dante said. "In my lifetime, I have met those who were noble, those who were indifferent, and those who would damn all they loved for power or pride. But most," he paused, almost thoughtfully, "most deserve the benefit of doubt. Yet… the path of humanity is a narrow one. It bends easily. And no matter the turn, in the end, fate decides where they arrive."

Tamamo's ears perked. "Ah, fate," she mused, the word rolling off her tongue like a bitter taste. "I suppose it's a luxury then, isn't it? That you are not bound by such a fickle thing?"

"Perhaps," Dante murmured. "I can forge my own path—choose what I become, what I stand for. But even so…" His voice dimmed. "In some way, I am also bound. The Divine Principles ensure it. Fate has its claws in even the freest of beings."

"I see," Tamamo whispered, her gaze lowering slightly. "So that's your end goal, then?" Her voice softened into genuine curiosity. "To defy fate itself?"

He took a long breath, the sound faintly muffled inside his helm. "I believe all should have the chance to choose their own path," Dante replied at last. "Not the one dictated by bloodlines, prophecy, or divine whim—but one carved by their own will."

Tamamo smiled faintly, an unreadable mixture of amusement and admiration tugging at her maw. "I didn't expect such a noble sentiment from you," she teased gently. "Almost makes you sound like that Ancestor… what was her name again?" She hummed thoughtfully, tail tips curling. "Ah, but I suppose I shouldn't compare you to that."

"I would hardly call it noble," he said, his tone level.

The mechanism gave a final metallic groan before grinding to a stop. The old wood and iron doors creaked open, releasing a faint gust of stale air.

Tamamo's ears twitched immediately, her eyes narrowing. "Yes," she murmured. "There's definitely a magical presence here. Suppressed, but not dormant."

Dante stepped forward, his boots scraping on the stone. "I see," he murmured quietly. He raised a gauntleted hand, letting his palm pass through the space—only for an invisible force to resist him. A faint shimmer rippled outward from the contact, an invisible wall pulsing in response.

"A seal," he muttered. "I should refrain from breaking it outright. Can you dispel it temporarily?"

Tamamo chuckled lightly, her tails unfurling as she leaped off his shoulder. "Please," she said with a grin. "For someone of my skill, this is child's play."

She stepped closer to the barrier. One of her tails brushed against the air before it, and the transparent wall shimmered to life—its surface flickering. Then, with a subtle tap of her tail, a dull golden glow tore through it, unraveling the spell. The air rippled, parting to reveal a narrow opening beyond.

"Impressive," Dante murmured, stepping through first. As soon as his boots crossed the threshold, the barrier sealed itself again, fading from sight.

"Oh dear…" Tamamo whispered after a moment.

"Hm," Dante responded quietly, scanning the tunnel ahead.

There was barely any light in this lowest section of the mines, but neither of them needed it to see. Their senses reached further than mortal sight—and what they saw instead was far worse than darkness.

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