Chapter Text
CHAPTER 4: "The Devil's Lullaby"
The last sliver of light from the stairwell vanished, swallowed whole.
Everything turned black.
And from that darkness—
Something called.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Dante woke standing.
Not woke—no, that wasn’t right. One moment, he was in the derelict church, Lady’s hand gripping his sleeve, the air thick with the scent of blood and old hymns. The next—
He was here.
A living room. Warm. Lived-in. Sunlight streamed through lace curtains, painting delicate patterns across a wooden table set for three. China plates. Polished silverware. A vase of fresh wildflowers.
His breath hitched.
No.
No.
His lungs refused to work. His knees buckled, hands scrambling for the back of an armchair—her armchair, the one with the faint stain on the left arm from where he’d spilled hot cocoa as a child—
"Dante? You home?"
His entire body locked.
That voice.
THAT voice.
Slowly, so slowly, he turned.
And there she was.
Eva stood in the doorway, balancing a steaming dish in one hand, her apron dusted with flour. Her hair—golden, just like he remembered—was tied back in a loose braid, strands escaping to frame her face. She smiled, and the lines around her eyes crinkled in that way they always did whenever seeing him.
"Be a dear, will you? Set this on the table. I’ll join you soon."
She pressed the dish into his hands.
It was warm.
He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His fingers trembled around the porcelain, his vision blurring.
Eva hummed as she turned back toward the kitchen, the melody soft, familiar—
Devils Never Cry.
A sound escaped him—something between a gasp and a sob.
Eva paused, the basket of fresh bread in her hands. "Dante?" She turned fully, her smile fading. "What’s wrong?"
And then—
He broke.
The tears came without warning, without permission, spilling hot and relentless down his face. Every loss, every lonely night, every time he’d screamed her name into the dark hoping, praying she’d answer—it all crashed into him at once, a tsunami of grief he’d spent years drowning.
Eva dropped the basket.
She crossed the room in three strides and pulled him into her arms.
And God—
Her embrace was warm.
She smelled like fresh bread and lavender soap, like safety and home and every good thing he’d convinced himself he’d imagined.
Dante clutched her like a drowning man, his face buried in her shoulder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs.
"Oh, my boy," Eva murmured, her hand cradling the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair just like she’d done when he was small. "You’re scaring me. Please, tell me what happened."
He couldn’t.
Words were beyond him. All he could do was hold on, memorizing the feel of her, the sound of her heartbeat, the way she whispered "shhh, I’m here" into his hair.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
It took half an hour for him to calm down.
Half an hour of Eva guiding him to the couch, of her pressing a mug of too-sweet tea into his hands, of her sitting beside him, her thumb brushing away the last of his tears.
He didn’t know if this was real.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
The steam rising from his mug had long since faded, but Dante hadn’t touched it.
His hands, scarred and calloused, rested limply on his knees. Too big for this room. Too wrong.
Eva sat beside him, She angled herself toward him, concern softening the edges of her face.
“Alright,” she said gently. “You’re gonna have to tell me what that was.”
He didn’t answer.
Her voice still had that sing-song cadence, that warmth that somehow made even scolding feel like a lullaby.
“You walk in here like a ghost, drop my casserole, and sob into my arms like the world ended. Then sit down and go mute.”
“So... Tell me.”
Dante didn’t move.
His eyes scanned the room like it might shift, like it might crumble and prove him right. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
But everything was perfect. That was the problem.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She hadn’t changed. Still reaching for his hand like he was a boy who scraped his knee.
She’s acting like nothing’s wrong.
Like he didn’t grow up into a man she never got to meet.
Like time didn’t carve him hollow.
It had to be a trick.
Some cruel illusion meant to throw him off.
But just as the thought formed—
“You’re doing it again,” she said suddenly.
He blinked.
“That thing. Where your mouth goes all tight and your eyes go far away like you’re a million miles away from me.”
“Dante, talk to me.You’re scaring me.”
His head jerked toward her.
Her eyes soft, real—held no suspicion. Just worry.
He opened his mouth—
Nothing came out.
What am I supposed to say? That I buried you? That I lived years thinking it was my fault? That you’ve become a myth I clawed my way toward and never reached?
No.
She wouldn’t understand.
None of this was real anyway.
He dropped his gaze to his hands.
Still rested on his knees like foreign things.
His jaw clenched.
And then—
Eva shifted.
She was watching him now. With laser focus. The way only a mother can.
“Dante,” she said, voice low. “Whatever you think I won’t understand... you're wrong.”
He swallowed. His throat burned.
“That look on your face…” she paused, her voice hitching just slightly. “it's breaking my heart.”
She reached forward. Gently—so gently—she lifted his chin with two fingers, guiding his face toward her.
“Something happened to you,” she whispered. “Something bad.”
He didn’t nod.
Didn’t deny it.
Just sat there, barely breathing, like if he moved the whole illusion might shatter.
Her thumb brushed a tear he hadn’t realized had fallen.
“Tell me.”
But he couldn’t.
Because if he told her…
She might vanish.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Eva’s hand was still on his cheek. Still warm. Still gentle.
And for a moment, Dante let himself believe it.
Maybe it is real.
Maybe—just maybe—I get one more chance.
But something twitched in the air.
The light dimmed.
Eva's expression didn't change—but her outline… shimmered.
Like paint rippling on water.
No... no, no.
He blinked—
And the room was wrong.
The vase on the table flickered, replaced by shards of broken glass. The scent of bread soured into sulfur. his mother’s voice warped, became low, stretched too long.
“Dante—”
It wasn’t her voice anymore.
He jolted up—
But the room was already shifting.
His knees struck hardwood—shorter now. Arms thinner. Chest smaller.
What the—?
He looked down—
Small hands.
His old red shirt. The one Eva had sewn up at the shoulder after he tore it climbing the fence behind the house.
He was a child again.
The door burst open.
Screeching. Shadows poured in like smoke. Long arms. Jagged teeth. Demons from the pit of memory—the exact ones that tore through his childhood.
“DANTE!” Eva screamed, grabbing him. “In the closet—go, now!”
“No!” he shouted, voice higher, weaker. “No, I’m not leaving you!”
Eva shoved him gently toward the cupboard. “I have to find Vergil—please baby, please just stay still.”
The door slammed shut.
Wood. Darkness. His breath echoing in the small space.
His hands—small—clutched the doorframe.
He could hear her fighting. Screaming.
Just like back then.
But this time—
He didn’t shake.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t freeze.
Because he remembered now.
He wasn’t that boy anymore.
Not really.
I’m not helpless.
Not anymore.
His hands clenched. Energy surged.
He kicked the closet door open with force far beyond a child’s strength.
The world around him bent. His body snapped back into adulthood mid-motion—red coat swirling behind him like wings, Rebellion in hand.
Demons turned.
He roared.
And he fought.
Not just to survive.
But to protect her.
To rewrite the moment that haunted him.
Steel met shadow. His blade flashed through illusions that felt too real. Their claws scraped his back. Teeth found his shoulder. But he didn’t stop.
Not this time.
He would not lose her again.
He carved a path through them. Fire and rage and memory fused into a single strike that tore through the last of them—screaming into smoke.
The room stilled.
Ash rained gently like snow.
Silence followed.
Eva stood near the kitchen doorway, unharmed, her hand to her chest.
Dante turned toward her, panting. His coat shredded, skin bleeding, but eyes locked on her like the boy in him was begging—did I do it? Did I save you?
She walked to him slowly.
Touched his cheek again.
“My brave boy...” she whispered, her eyes shining.
“You did what no child should ever have had to.”
She smiled—
But it was sad.
And that’s when he knew.
This was not real.
His mother reached up, brushing hair from his face the way she always had when he came in crying from a scraped knee.
“It’s time,” she said softly.
“No—”
“You saved me.”
“Now save yourself.”
And then she kissed his forehead—
And the room collapsed into white.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
DANTE—
DANTE—
DANTE!—
Lady’s voice shattered through the haze.
His eyes snapped open.
The first thing he saw was her lap.
The second—her guns, barking fire, lighting up the darkness with muzzle flashes.
They were crouched behind a broken dining table—The air was thick with smoke and ink and rot.
Lady’s eyes dropped to him and widened in relief.
“Thank god—”
Dante sat up fast, muscles tense, eyes wild.
“What happened?!”
She shifted to shoot over her shoulder, dragging another clip from her belt.
“I should be asking you! You collapsed like a damn corpse!”
The table jolted as something slammed into it. An inky claw reached over the edge.
Dante didn’t hesitate. He kicked the creature’s head clean off, flipped his guns into his hands and opened fire.
“They’re everywhere!” Lady shouted, ducking under his arm.
Back to back, they moved as one—trained instinct, shared battles, unspoken trust.
The shadows surged around them.
Inky, humanoid, writhing things, moaning like dying dreams.
Each one harder to kill. Each one more desperate.
“It’s not letting up!” Dante growled.
“It’s fighting harder—”
“Because we got its name,” Lady snapped, kicking one down and unloading a shell into its face. “And it knows we’re close.”
For every demon they tore down, three more took its place.
The floor was slick. The pews overturned.
The holy candles were snuffed out.
Lady’s brow furrowed as she ducked, breathing hard.
“This isn’t endless. There’s a source. Something’s spawning them—”
She bolted forward through the horde, using overturned furniture like stepping stones.
“Lady! WAIT—”
Too late.
A shadow tendril caught her by the leg, slamming her hard to the floor. One of her guns clattered out of reach.
Others piled on—
Dragging her down. Claws scraping. Teeth snapping.
She grunted, punching one in the throat—but there were too many.
And then—
“LADY!”
Dante’s voice tore across the battlefield.
Screams erupted.
Then—slicing.
Ink splattered like oil.
One by one, the demons around her were cleaved apart.
Dante tore through them, sword flashing like judgment.
"When the last one fell, he yanked Lady to her feet, pulling her arm around his neck to steady her."
“There ,I gotcha.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, wincing.
Then—
A shadow passed over them.
They looked up.
A massive demon, larger than the others. Towering. Its form unstable, glitching like a nightmare losing form. Eyes like open wounds. Teeth like wet blades.
It lunged—
BOOM.
A shot rang out from behind.
Then another.
And another.
And another—until the creature shrieked, destabilized, and vanished into mist.
Dante’s head whipped around.
And what he saw—
Stopped. Everything.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Eva stood at the far end of the hall.
her hands were trembling, wrapped around a sleek silver revolver.
Her eyes—wide. Shining.
“Dante?”
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Cut to—
Outside the church.
Sunset crept over the sky. Pale gold and soft pink against a war-torn world.
Lady sat on a broken gravestone, breathing hard. Her shirt torn. Her gloves bloodied. One eye still tracking the church behind them.
Dante stood a few feet away, silent.
Eva sat beside him. Real. Whole.
Her hands still trembling. She hadn’t spoken since.
Lady stared at them both, eyes narrowed.
“...Okay,” she muttered.
“What the hell did I miss?”
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Eva had no idea why she was here.
She didn’t recognize this place—the crumbling church, the woman in front of her, any of it. The last thing she remembered was Dante. She had said her goodbyes, sent him back… only to wake up standing in the middle of a nightmare.
Ink-black demons swarmed the hall. The air reeked of gunpowder and something fouler. Then she saw it—the gun skidding across the floor, the creature lunging at her son.
She didn’t think. She grabbed the weapon and fired.
That’s all she could tell them.
Dante stood frozen, his face pale.
The wind tugs gently at his coat.
He doesn’t answer.
Lady, watching, tilts her head. Then gently—carefully—nudges him with her elbow. A soft touch. A grounding one.
“Hey,” she says under her breath. “You with me?”
Dante blinks. Looks at her.
Lady nods once, firm and steady. Then glances back at Eva.
Dante turns to his mother. Finally meets her eyes.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Dante knelt beside his mother. Still guarded. Eyes sharp. Emotions on lockdown.
But something in him cracked open.
“What else do you remember?”
Eva’s gaze flicked toward Lady, hesitant.
“I saw her first,” she said, voice low, distant. “I didn’t recognize her. But I was… confused. I felt pulled. Then I heard you—your voice. You were calling for her. It sounded urgent.”
She frowned. Her fingers twitched in Dante’s grip.
“So I followed it. That voice. It pulled me through something. I don’t even know what.”
A beat.
“But…”
Lady leaned forward slightly, gentle. “But…?”
Eva’s eyes darkened a shade. She looked at both of them—first Lady, then Dante.
“Something else was there.”
“Big. Sinister.”
“Old as time.”
She shivered.
“Like the ones your father used to tell me about… before you were born.”
Dante’s expression shifted. From suspicion to something colder—dread.
His hand slid over hers. Protective. A thumb stroking her knuckles like a tether.
“What did he tell you?” he asked, his voice quiet thunder.
Eva stared at him, lips parting… but the memory was mist in her mouth.
“I’m trying…” she murmured. “I think… I think it had a name… something ancient… but it’s slipping from me. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—”
Dante’s hands gently raised into her arms, grounding her.
“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Don’t push. Just breathe.”
He glanced at Lady behind her. She met his eyes—read the weight in them—then turned, scanning the ruins.
the shadows creeping through the broken stained glass. The fight had lasted the entire day—how had night fallen so fast?
“It’s getting late,” she said, brushing a cut on her arm. “We’ve been fighting those things all day.”
“I found an inn nearby while scouting for supplies. Decent walls. Warm beds. Food.”
Dante lifted his head, meeting her eyes with silent gratitude. Lady answered with a soft nod.
They rose together.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
The ruined church loomed behind them, its shattered stained glass glinting like jagged teeth in the fading light. Cracks split the road ahead like veins, the world around them hushed, as if holding its breath.
Dante kicked a loose stone, watching it skitter and bounce into a ditch.
The silence between them thickened.
He adjusted the strap of his holster, boots crunching gravel.
“So.”
Lady exhaled hard through her nose.
“So.”
A beat.
“You had to jump into the middle of them?” he said, voice low but sharp.
“I had a plan,” she shot back instantly.
Dante stopped. Whirled on her.
“What was your plan, trying to win a ‘Who Gets Eaten First’ contest?”
“You literally dove into a pile of ink monsters, Lady.”
She opened her mouth—then shut it. Her jaw ticked.
He huffed, running a hand through his hair.
“You can’t just do that out of nowhere,” he growled. “Your actions put both of us in danger.”
Lady turned, jabbing a finger into his chest.
“You’re one to talk.”
“No one asked you to follow me through the damn fire.”
“Then don’t run into fire!” he snapped.
“I won’t have to follow you!”
A soft chuckle cut through their standoff.
Both froze, shoulders tensing—they'd forgotten Eva was there.
She walked a few paces behind them, hands folded primly, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“He’s always been like this,” Eva said, her tone breezy and affectionate.
Eva gave Lady a conspiratorial smile.
“Even when he was little. Used to follow Vergil around like a duckling in a shadow cape.”
Dante's eyes widen then he goes “Oh, god,” Dante groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we not—”
“What I’m trying to say,” Eva went on, ignoring him, “is when Dante cares? He follows. No matter what.”
“And bless him, he once declared—very seriously, I might add—that he was the ‘Chosen Sword.’ A weapon of prophecy.”
Dante's groan could've summoned demons. "Mom! Please!"
Lady stifled a laugh, her eyes dancing with amusement before landing on Dante’s embarrassed face.
“You absolute nerd.”
“I was a kid, alright?” Dante muttered, ears turning red. “Didn’t know what I was saying. Shut up.”
“A weapon of prophecy, huh?” Lady leaned in, smirking wickedly. “Should I be bowing right now, or…?”
“Don’t you have something to shoot?”
Eva only smiled, eyes twinkling.
They walked on—bickering, bruised, and alive. No trace of the heavy atmosphere seconds ago.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
The inn’s dining room hummed with warmth—flickering candles, the scent of stew and fresh bread. Eva sat quietly, cradling her tea as Dante and Lady bickered over their new plan
Lady’s sitting across from him, hunched over a napkin she’s scribbling on with a pen she swiped from the front desk.
A crude layout of a church. Symbols. Arrows. Circles.
He squints at it.
“That’s your new plan?” Dante mutters.
She stabs the pen at one of the circles. “We set a lure here, right in the cathedral center. These things are attracted to trauma—they’ll come to the scene of their last ‘high.’ And—”
"Let me guess," Dante interrupted, spinning his *coffee with milk and too much sugar* cup. "You're serving yourself up as the main course?"
"I'm the perfect distraction," Lady countered, finally meeting his eyes. "He's been hunting me for months."
The cup stopped spinning. "No."
"Dante-"
Dante jabbed a finger at Lady’s hastily drawn napkin map. "Your plan’s suicide. You’re not playing bait."
Lady’s eyes flashed. "Oh, so it’s fine when you leap into a demon’s mouth, but when I suggest it—"
"Because I heal!" Dante’s voice was raw, stripped of its usual swagger. "You don’t."
"I’m not made of glass, Dante."
"No, you’re made of flesh and blood, and those things dissolve flesh!" His hands flexed like he wanted to shake her. "Remember what happened last time ?"
The memory hung between them—Lady still heard the echoes of Dante’s screams, the sizzle of melting flesh in the acid, the stench of burning blood.
Lady’s jaw tightened, her gaze cutting away. "You don't need to remind me about that ..."
Silence went heavy.
The truth hung in the air - neither could bear to see the other hurt.
Eva’s gaze flickered between them, the air thick with something unsaid—something wrong. Their tension coiled around her like smoke, suffocating. She knew that look. The way Dante’s voice cracked, the way Lady refused to meet his eyes. Something happened. Something bad. And whatever it was, they weren’t letting her in.
Her chest tightened.
Dante broke first, rubbing his neck like he could scrub away the tension.
“No bait. We need a better plan.”
A beat. Lady exhaled, slow and deliberate, as if pushing down the urge to argue. Her fingers unclenched—fine. “ alright. No bait Just One where you don't get .... You know .."
"And you don't add another concussion to your collection."
"That was one time!"
"Last Tuesday," Dante shot back. "I had to carry you home."
Lady leaned across the table, eyes blazing.
Eva's quiet chuckle broke the stalemate.That familiar glint in her eyes—amused, knowing, a mother reading a page they thought was blank.
Dante stiffened, suddenly aware of her gaze. like she held some secret knowledge. it made Dante suddenly aware of every heartbeat in his chest.
Lady narrowed her eyes at him, sensing the shift.
“What?” she asked.
When Dante didn't answer, his ears burning crimson, face turned red.
Lady’s eyes slowly tracked his line of sight—
To Eva.
She blinked.
“Oh my god,” Lady whispered, a wicked grin forming. “Are you blushing?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Am not.”
He grumbled something into his coffee and looked away.
Eva chuckled, soft and low, placing her cup gently on its saucer.
“You two remind me of how Sparda and I used to argue.”
“He was just as stubborn,” she said, her eyes warm. "Always trying to carry the heavier burden. As if love was something to suffer alone rather than share."
She looked straight at Dante.
“It’s not something you carry alone. It’s something you let walk beside you.”
The quiet confession hit Dante like a physical blow. He stared at his reflection in the coffee - seeing his father's stubbornness staring back.
Lady cleared her throat.
“Well,uh ...” she said, tapping the napkin-map, suddenly very interested in her own handwriting.
Eva’s smile stretched a bit wider. She leaned back, folding her hands in her lap, satisfied.
“Mmhmm. You two are gonna be just fine.”
Lady raised an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously like a mother’s blessing.”
“It is,” Eva said simply. “Don’t waste it.”
And with that, she stood, smoothing her shawl over her shoulders.
“I think I’ll turn in. You two can stay up drawing war plans on napkins and failing to admit you care about each other.”
Dante groaned.
Lady's face turned aggressively red.
Eva’s soft footsteps faded upstairs, and silence followed for a moment—warm, thick, and safe.
Dante found himself staring at the war-torn napkin between them, at the places where Lady's furious pen strokes had nearly torn through the flimsy material. He could still feel the ghost of his mother's knowing smile hanging in the air between them - both a blessing and a gentle challenge.
His voice came out quieter than intended.
“She was always like that. Could gut you with a smile.”
Lady glanced at him, half a smirk on her lips.
“She still can.”
A beat.
Lady's smirk faded. Something unreadable flickered across her face as she studied Dante—She tapped the edge of the napkin, softer this time.
“You okay?”
He hesitated. Then nodded.
“Yeah. I mean… no. But I will be.”
“It’s just…” He exhaled, then gave a hollow laugh. “She made it feel normal. Just for a second.”
Lady looked down.
“I almost forgot how much I missed that. Someone being worried without making it feel like a threat.” He continued.
She didn’t speak right away. Her fingers toyed with the corner of the napkin.
“You do that a lot, you know.”
“What?”
“Push it away when someone actually gives a damn.”
His eyes flicked to her. She didn’t meet his gaze, just kept fussing with the napkin like it held some secret she could fold into safety.
“I’m not saying I’m any better,” she muttered. “I’ve had my fair share of locking people out.”
Silence.
Then—
Lady looked up.
For a second, the mask of sarcasm slipped.
“Guess we better figure it out then,” she said, voice low, “before one of us gets turned into shadow-goo and the other has to write an awkward eulogy.”
“You doing my eulogy?” Dante asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Hell no,” Lady replied. “You think I’m gonna stand up there and say nice things about you? Please. I’ll just play the Mission Clear music and call it a day.”
Dante barked a laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re the worst.”
“oh admit it ,You love it when I'm mean to you.”
“…Yeah. I do.”
They both froze.
Eyes locked.
Dante’s words hung in the air like a misfired bullet, like he really meant it and it was way too honest.
Lady blinked.
Dante coughed and immediately stood up, brushing imaginary crumbs off his shirt.
“Alright, we’re done with emotional hour. I’m hitting the hay before I say something dumb.”
“Too late,” she muttered, flustered but smiling as he turned away.
“G’night, Lady.”
“Night, Weapon of Prophecy.”
He flipped her off on the way out.
She laughed.
And then… silence again.
But this time?
It felt a little less lonely.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Wind rustles outside the window. The moonlight casting long shadows across the wooden walls.
A soft creak.
Lady’s door opens. She steps out in a tank top and sweatpants, hair ruffled, gun still in a holster on her thigh because of course she sleeps like that.
She stops. Looks down the hallway.
Eva is standing there. Still dressed. A shawl around her shoulders. Her expression is distant—like she’s listening to something only she can hear.
Lady moves toward her, barefoot and quiet.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks softly.
Eva shakes her head.
She turns her eyes on Lady. They’re clearer, sharper. Older than they should be.
“He looks…” she trails off, then whispers, “so sad.”
Lady doesn't meet her gaze right away.
“Those shadows under his eyes. That restlessness. I know that look.”
“That’s someone who doesn’t sleep.”
Lady’s throat tightened. She leaned against the wall, arms crossing over her chest—braced.
“It’s been… weeks,” she admitted, her voice rougher than she intended. “Months, even. Running. Fighting. Following leads that go nowhere."
She looks down at her feet.
“I try to keep him on track, but—”
Her voice cracked. She hated the way it betrayed her.
Eva tilts her head.
“You care about him.”
It wasn’t a question.
Lady looked away.
Eva’s expression didn't change, but her eyes flicked down—maybe at the way Lady’s fingers dug into her arm, maybe at the tremble she was trying to hide.
Eva reached out and touched Lady’s shoulder.It was light, tentative… like she wasn’t sure if the contact would be accepted.
Down the hall, a door creaked.
Both women turned.
Dante stood at the end of the hall, a vague silhouette in the moonlight. His shirt was rumpled, hair messier than usual. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.
“Didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Eva’s face warmed. “Couldn’t sleep too?”
He hesitated before replying, voice low.
“No, I couldn’t… A lot’s on my mind.”
The truth trembled beneath his words, the fear that morning light would reveal this all to be some cruel dream, that he'd wake to cold emptiness again. He'd come to check, to reassure himself she was real.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But when he heard their voices in the hall, something in him pulled him toward it. Toward her.
Their eyes met - mother and son - and in that glance passed a thousand unspoken things. They both knew. Lady knew too, standing slightly apart yet irrevocably part of this moment now.
Eva clapped her hands suddenly. The sharp sound made both Dante and Lady flinch.
"I know!" Eva declared, cheer cutting through the heavy air. "I'll make us something warm to drink. Help us all relax."
Dante and Lady exchanged glances.
Eva’s room was small, but there was something comforting about it.
The tea kettle hissed softly in the corner.
Soon enough, they were all sitting on around the round table.mugs steaming in their hands. The tea was green, with threads of saffron swirling gold in the cup.
Lady sipped carefully. The warmth bloomed in her chest.
Dante looked unsure what to do with his hands. Or his words.
Until Eva leaned over and, with a wicked smile.
The stories flowed - of childhood mischief.With each tale, the lines of tension eased from Lady's shoulders, until an actual chuckle escaped her.
Followed by Dante’s red face.“Ma—come on—!”
Dante groaned and dragged a hand down his face.
“Im starting to feel you're on a mission to embarrass me".
Lady glanced at him through her lashes, smile lingering.
For a while, it was just… this.
Tea.
Laughter.
Something soft and warm in the middle of a world that had been so cold for so long.
Eventually, the warmth made Lady’s eyes heavy.
She blinked, tried to fight it, then set down her empty cup.
“I think… I’ll turn in,” she murmured. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Eva nodded gently.
Dante didn’t say anything, but his eyes followed her all the way to the door.
Lady paused there, one hand on the frame.
She looked back, her voice carried.
“Thank you… for the tea.”
And she was gone.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
Dante sat back, staring into the bottom of his cup.
Eva didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then:
“She’s strong,” she said quietly.
“But don’t mistake that for unbreakable.”
Dante swallowed.
“I know.”
Eva pours more tea for Dante, who hasn’t touched his. He stares into the liquid like it holds answers.
She watches him.
Then says quietly.
“You were always so loud as a boy.”
Smiles faintly.
“Always running toward something. Or away from something.”
Dante huffs a breath through his nose.
“Guess not much’s changed.”
She doesn’t argue.
He leans back, eyes on the ceiling. The flickering candlelight dances across his tired features.
“I keep thinking I’ll wake up tomorrow…
And you’ll be gone again.”
He swallows and hesitates.
“ This— it's not going to last isn't it?"
Eva’s gaze softens.
"Dante.”
She reaches across the table.
He looks at her hand, hesitant—like touching it might shatter the moment.
But he takes it.
Her palm is warm. Solid. Real.
He swallows hard, blinking fast.
“I was angry for a long time.”
“I know.”
“At you. At Father. At… everything.”
His voice cracks around the edges.
“I used to imagine what it’d be like if you’d survived. If I’d had a real home. If maybe—just maybe—I’d turned out different.”
Eva brushes a thumb over his knuckles.
“You turned out beautifully.”
Dante scoffs. Looks away.
“You should hate what I’ve become.”
“I could never.”
Her voice trembles now, like the weight of everything they never got to say is catching up to her.
“You survived a world that should’ve broken you. You fought demons inside and out. And you kept going.”
Tears slip down his cheeks, silent.
“I missed you so damn much.”
Eva stands, walks around the table, and kneels beside him. She pulls him into her arms like she used to when he was small.
And Dante—Dante, who always bears the weight of the world with a smirk and a shrug—finally lets himself be held.
They stay like that. Two broken pieces, somehow fitting together.
And for the first time in years, Dante breathes like never before.
───⊹⊱✙⊰⊹───
End of chapter 4