[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Deathless Fortress]

[30 Minutes prior to the 'demise' of The Mother of Monsters]

"The moon's… breaking?"

The question slipped out of Tamamo before she could temper it; in her fox form she was perched atop Gretchen's shoulder, her nine tails draped down the girl's back. Gretchen shifted her stance slightly, clearly confused, but said nothing. She had learned long ago that silence was wiser.

"That's exactly what I mean," Ella replied. She sounded far too calm for the words she was speaking. The young girl stood a short distance away, hands cupped behind her back as if this were a casual conversation rather than a much greater revelation. She rocked faintly on her heels, eyes narrowed. "You understand how the moon functions, yes?" Ella continued, glancing briefly at Tamamo before looking upward. "Or at least… how it's supposed to function. I only figured it out recently myself. Studying it turned out to be rather useful."

Tamamo's ears flicked.

"The moon," Ella went on, voice smooth, "is strange. There's only one of it. Not one per realm, not copies—just one. It's omnipresent in a very particular way. Or perhaps 'semi-omnipresent' is more accurate."

She paused, as if choosing her phrasing with care.

"It resides in each of the nine realms simultaneously, positioned near a single planetary body in each. Aethel, for one realm. This one, for Álfheimr." Her eyes sharpened slightly. "And yet its energy signature is identical across all of them. Perfectly so. The moment I noticed that… I knew."

Gretchen frowned, brow furrowing as she finally spoke. "You're saying the moons in different realms… they're all the same one?"

She turned her head just enough to look at Tamamo, uncertainty written plainly across her face.

Tamamo's gaze never left Ella. "How," she asked slowly, her voice filled with caution, "do you know so much about the moon?"

Ella lifted one slender hand and gestured lightly toward her eyes. "You know what I am, fox." A faint smile crossed her face. "And you know my kind possesses… very special eyes."

Tamamo's tails stilled. "Even so," she murmured, "to discern that much…" She shook her head, unease settling in her chest. "If what you're saying is true, then tell me—what is causing the moon to break?" Her gaze sharpened. "The dragons?"

Ella's expression shifted into dismissal. "No. I doubt the dragons are capable of breaking the seals placed upon the moon." She tilted her head slightly. "Those were set by the Keepers of Order themselves."

A beat passed.

"Honestly," Ella continued, her tone lowering, "this is probably cause of that Fate Walker."

Tamamo inhaled sharply. "You mean—"

"I assume you know of him," Ella cut in, eyes narrowing. "A thoroughly unpleasant son of a bitch. He started the calamities, and now he's meddling with the moon." She shook her head once, irritation flashing across her features. "I don't even know how he managed something like that."

Tamamo's ears flattened. The name alone carried weight.

"So it won't be long," Ella went on, voice quieter and more serious. "Before it breaks." She hesitated, then added, almost offhandedly, "I caught a glimpse of what's inside the moon, you know."

She chuckled softly.

Tamamo's brows furrowed deeply. "That's… not comforting."

"It shouldn't be," Ella admitted. She exhaled, the sound small. "I can't even begin to understand why something like that exists at all." Her gaze drifted away. "If the moon breaks, it won't be a simple disaster. It'll be chaos on a scale we've never seen."

Gretchen's grip tightened instinctively.

"I'm working on a method to rewrite the seals," Ella continued. "But I'm running into complications." She glanced back at Tamamo, eyes sharp again. "So don't tarry now."

She lifted one hand and gave a small, almost dismissive wave.

And then she was gone.

No flash or surge of light, not even a distortion in the air.

One moment she stood there—and the next, she simply didn't.

The silence that followed pressed in heavily, broken only by the rustle of Tamamo's tails as they slowly resumed their restless motion.

--------------------

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

[Present Time]

"I see."

Dante listened intently as Tamamo finished speaking. His lenses remained fixed on her. Tamamo, in contrast, let out a long, weary sigh, shoulders dipping just slightly as though the weight of the situation had finally settled in her bones.

"This is just excellent, you know?" she said dryly. "First the calamities, and now the moon itself is breaking." She pinched the bridge of her nose, irritation lighting up across her expression—yet even frustration could not dull her beauty.

"You neglected to mention the leyline disturbances," Dante said calmly.

Tamamo blinked.

"Ah." Realization dawned, and for a brief moment she looked almost sheepish. "I may have forgotten about those." She waved a hand dismissively, then pointed at him. "Not my fault, though. You're the one who whisked me away without warning." Her tone turned dramatic. "I barely had time to gather my thoughts, let alone catalog the end of the world properly."

Dante gave a low huff that might have been amusement. "If the moon truly is breaking, the Keepers of Order should have intervened by now." His voice lowered as he spoke, thoughtful. "If what that girl claimed is true… then their silence is intentional." He paused. "It would make sense. That which resides within the moon poses a danger even to them."

Tamamo's gaze softened as she studied him. "Always thinking several moves ahead," she murmured. "You really haven't changed." She noted. "The seals on the moon are extraordinarily potent," she continued more seriously. "Far beyond even my craft. I could perhaps reinforce them—delay the collapse for a time—but only briefly." She hesitated, ears flicking. "After that…"

"Ddraig and Albion remain unresolved variables," Dante finished evenly.

Tamamo let out another sigh, longer this time. "You've the right of it." She tilted her head back slightly, tails swaying behind her. "Honestly, it's such a pain~ I'd rather not involve myself in any of this." She turned her head toward him, eyes glinting playfully. "Ooooh—perhaps we should just run away together. My realm won't be touched by calamities, you know."

Dante grunted. "My duty remains here. Whether I grow weary is irrelevant." He turned slightly away. "I have a goal. One that demands my full attention."

She smiled at that, it was a fond one. "You're far too stiff, Dante. You should really learn to take a girl up on her offer." She leaned closer. "And for someone who insists they're no longer a knight, you still act very much like one."

He ignored the remark.

"If you are so weary," he said instead, "why not leave? You have the means."

Tamamo stopped smiling.

"You sadden me," she replied quietly. "Even I have a heart, you know."

Dante glanced at her then, briefly. "I very much doubt you would risk your life purely out of sentimentality."

She gasped theatrically, crossing her arms. "You really are tactless, Dante!" She stuck out her tongue, then laughed softly. "You can't just call a woman out like that." Her laughter faded, replaced by something more honest. "But… you're not wrong," she admitted. "I'm not staying because I'm virtuous." She looked away. "Still, I wouldn't want to see so many die. It's strange, really." Her voice softened. "Once, I hated humans. Their gazes. Their hands. Their voices." She exhaled. "And yet here I am, trying. Putting in the effort."

Dante considered her words.

"That is a change you should be proud of," he merely said.

Tamamo looked at him, surprised.

"Change is not always grand," he continued. "Nor is it always good. People may change for better or worse." His voice steadied. "You changed for the better—despite interference, despite your past. To fight for those you once despised speaks volumes. You need not be a saint to choose a better path."

She was silent for several seconds.

Then she smiled.

It was not a teasing or playful smile. But a genuine one filled with warmth.

It made her breathtaking.

"Thank you," she said softly. "You really do have a way with words… when you allow yourself to."

"I am merely stating the facts of the matter," Dante replied.

She laughed quietly and tapped his shoulder. "Learn to take a compliment. You've just made a woman feel rather special." She tilted her head. "So… the Retorta Guild, then?"

"Yes," Dante said. "They will seek to use me." His tone hardened. "I shall use them in turn. Should they become an obstacle, I will remove them."

Tamamo grinned, eyes gleaming. "Scary~" she purred. "But still," she continued, tilting her head, "I find myself wondering." Her emerald eyes settled on him once more. "What of your own goal, Dante?"

He did not turn to her. "What of it?" he asked.

Tamamo hummed. "You intend to oppose the Keepers of Order," she said. "The very principles that govern that realm. The rules most dare not even question." Her tails shifted behind her, framing her body. "And you still insist you do not require a proper companion for something like that?"

Dante exhaled. "You know very well my goal is not one of salvation," he said. "Nor conquest." There was a brief pause before he added, "It is merely a correction in these twisted law."

She chuckled softly. "You truly are fond of the heaviest words imaginable," Tamamo teased.

"Regardless," Dante continued, unmoved, "this path is not one suited for inviting companions."

"You say that," Tamamo replied, pacing, "yet once, you commanded an army." She glanced at him, eyes thoughtful. "You enjoy claiming you never had companions, but that is simply untrue. Many placed their faith in you. Not because you demanded it—but because of who you were."

"And every one of them is dead as a result," Dante shot back without hesitation.

Her fox ears dipped at that, tails stilling completely. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, quietly, "Despite that," she murmured, "has that ever stopped you from continuing forward?"

"No," Dante answered. "Those were my convictions. They remain so."

Tamamo sighed, the sound gentle. "You are far too accustomed to carrying everything alone," she said. "You choose solitude because it feels cleaner. Fewer variables and less room for tragedy." She looked ahead with him. "But even inevitability can be faced with someone beside you."

"I have strength enough to walk alone," Dante replied simply.

She did not argue. Instead, she smiled. "I am not asking you to protect me," Tamamo said, her voice warm and sincere. "You know very well I do not need that. Nor am I asking you to soften your resolve." Her gaze lingered on him. "I know you better than that."

He said nothing.

"I am merely asking," she continued, more softly now, "that perhaps you might consider me a part of your journey." She emphasized the words gently. "Your real journey."

"My path offers you nothing," Dante replied. "I have told you this."

She smiled anyway—bright and beautiful. "I have lived long enough to know that safety is dreadfully dull," she said lightly. "Besides… I am rather fond of you, Dante. Even when you pretend not to notice."

"That fondness may yet become regret," he warned.

"Then it will be my regret," Tamamo replied without hesitation. Her smile did not waver—if anything, it grew warmer. "Not yours."

"Hmph," he grunted. "Do as you please."

Tamamo's smile widened, radiant and pleased.

After all—Dante had not said no.

--------------------

[???]

"Tsk… that really was far too risky."

The words slipped from Ella with a sharp click of her tongue, her irritation plain. She stood half-shadowed beneath a gnarled tree at the edge of the sparse woodland south of the fortress, the plains stretching outward in dull colors. She leaned her shoulder against the trunk, posture betraying a tension that refused to leave her frame.

Her gaze was fixed on what rested in her palm.

An orb of emerald light hovered just above her skin, condensed and unstable, its edges traced by an oily darkness. It pulsed rhythmically, seemingly alive—like a heart torn from a greater body and forced to beat on its own. With each pulse, cracks of light escaped within it, as though something inside were struggling to remember its shape.

Ella exhaled through her nose.

"Oh, don't start," she muttered, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're acting like I tossed you into a meat grinder." She lifted her hand a little, letting the orb rise and fall with the motion. "Stop your whining. I said I'll give you a damn body eventually."

The orb pulsed harder in response.

She clicked her tongue again. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Trauma, depression and existential dread—join the club." Her lips twisted. "You're lucky I bothered pulling you out at all."

Her expression shifted then, irritation giving way to a more contemplative expression. Her thoughts drifted.

("With that Dante guy there… getting Echidna's soul was a gamble.") Her fingers curled slightly, instinctively tightening around the light. ("One wrong move and that would've been a pain. He's sharp and strong enough to notice things he shouldn't. I could've beaten him there if I wanted to… but we're the same kind of monster, aren't we?") A huff escaped her. ("Besides… he'll be useful. Especially with the calamities crawling closer.")

The orb's pulse slowed, as if listening.

Ella's gaze lifted from her hand to the sky above. Thick, gray clouds hung low, smeared across the skies.

"Hah…" she sighed quietly. "Won't be long now before things really go to shit." She straightened slightly, pushing herself off the tree. "Honestly," she murmured, voice stripped of its usual flippancy, "I hate playing hero." Her eyes turned back to the orb. "Everyone always assumes it's about righteousness or duty. When it's just about damage control."

The orb gave another slow pulse.

"Yeah, I know," Ella said dryly. "You didn't ask for any of this either." She rolled her wrist dismissively. "Welcome to reality."

She stood there for a few seconds longer, listening to the wind as her expression hardened.

"Alright," she said, tone brisk once more. "Enough brooding." Her fingers closed more firmly around the orb, its light dimming slightly but remaining stable. "Time to find that moron Robert for now," she declared, already turning away from the trees.

The orb pulsed almost indignantly.

Ella stopped mid-step and glanced down at her hand. "Oh, shut up," she snapped. A beat. "Pervert."

With that, she stepped forward—and in the next instant, she was gone, the air where she'd stood rippling before settling, as though she had never been there at all.

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