"Well, he died of natural causes," Dante was perched up above a hill of sand.
"Wh- you buried him alive!" Serah counters with wide eyes.
Dante glances at her with a smirk, "Dirt is natural."
Serah then shakes her head at him, "What if he was-"
"He's a murderer here, Iracia. We just did the humans a favor, and Mother Nature will take care of him underground anyway. I'm sure he's having a good time with the air down there,"
Serah gave him a look, "You're like a psychopath."
"It takes one to know one."
Serah threw a blade at him while he laughed, dodging it, and landed on the tree branch above them.
"So, how does it feel knowing that you haven't been in Iracundia for a week?"
Serah hums, "Has it been a week that I've been gone?"
"On Terrae, it's been a week, but time flows differently in the realms, so a week here is a couple of hours unless time was frozen."
"So I've only been gone for a few hours," She scoffs, throwing another blade at him.
"Hey! Watch it, I'm being nice here!" his lips tugged up.
"You're annoying, you know that,"
He smirked, "I know, I get that a lot."
Dante flipped off the branch with feline ease, landing in front of her with the grace of someone who never took anything seriously except maybe killing people. The sand shifted around his boots, and for a moment, Serah thought she saw something black writhing beneath the surface. Shadow?Remnants of his Darkside again?
She didn't ask. She didn't want to know.
"You're avoiding the question," he said, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "How does it feel, being away from home? From your precious demon court and the lovely Iracian sun that never actually rises."
Serah crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. "Home is overrated. Especially when your entire bloodline wants you dead for being a half-breed."
Dante's smirk faltered for half a second, just long enough for her to catch it.
"Touché," he murmured, tilting his head. "But admit it. You don't hate being here."
She didn't answer immediately. The desert wind whispered through the trees, those twisted, sand-rooted things that only grew in liminal places. Between worlds. Like her.
"I hate that I don't hate it," she finally said, quietly.
Dante looked at her then, really looked. His usual grin softened into something unreadable. "You get it now, don't you?" he said. "The pull. That itch under your skin. Terrae changes you."
"I'm not like you," she snapped.
"Not yet," he said, and there was no smugness in his tone now. Only certainty. "But you will be. This place feeds on the broken parts. It sharpens what's already cracked."
Serah felt something stir in her chest, something cold and familiar. Her Darkside, latching on to his words like a whisper in her blood.
"And when it does?" she asked, voice barely above the wind.
Dante turned away, eyes scanning the horizon where the dunes bled into a bruised sky. "Then you'll stop throwing knives at me and start aiming for the heart." He looked over his shoulder, his grin returning like a mask. "Assuming you can find it."
She rolled her eyes, trying to banish the unease curling in her gut. "You're insufferable."
"And you're cute when you're in denial."
Another blade flew, this time aimed at his smirking mouth. This time, he didn't dodge. He caught it.
"Iracia," he said, voice low now. "You're not ready for what's coming. You think you know what war is, what curses do. But this world—these realms—they don't play by the rules you were taught."
"And you do?"
He gave her a grin like the edge of a blade. "No. I just stopped pretending they mattered."
Dante twirled the caught blade between his fingers, inspecting it like it was a love letter instead of a deadly weapon. "You know," he said casually, "for someone who wants me dead, you sure keep giving me gifts." He looked up through his lashes, flashing that too-easy smile. "You flirting with me, Iracia?"
Serah sputtered. "Flir—what? No! I was aiming for your face!"
"Aw, you noticed my face," he teased, stepping closer. "That's already more affection than I usually get from demon royalty."
Her cheeks warmed, a betrayal she immediately scolded herself for. Focus, she told herself, but her body betrayed her further, muscles tensing as he closed the space between them like the air was his to command.
"He's insufferable," growled a voice in the back of her mind—low, feminine, cold. Her Darkside stirred like a restless serpent, coiled in her chest. "Pluck his tongue out before it ruins you. Again."
Serah clenched her fists, jaw tight. Not now, she snapped back internally, the familiar pressure behind her eyes starting to build. The voice only chuckled.
Dante raised a brow at her silence, catching the flicker in her gaze. "Let me guess," he said, leaning in just enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the arrogance of his presence, "she still doesn't like me?"
Serah blinked, startled. "You—how do you—?"
"Lucky guess," he said smoothly, tapping his temple. "Your eyes do this thing when she's talking. You get this look like you're trying not to punch the sky." He mimicked her expression with exaggerated pouty lips and furrowed brows.
Despite herself, Serah choked on a laugh. "You're unbelievable."
"Unbelievable and charming," he corrected. "The full package."
She rolled her eyes, but the flustered flush on her cheeks deepened. 'He's getting to you,' the voice warned darkly. 'He always gets to you.'
Before Serah could respond, the wind shifted. A pulse rippled through the air, like a thread snapping tight. Dante stiffened, all flirtation vanishing in an instant.
"Shit," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "That's not weather."
From the crest of the nearest dune, a shadow descended, not walking, but gliding, like the sand bowed beneath him. Cloaked in black and crimson, face hidden beneath an obsidian veil, the figure moved with the weight of authority and ancient violence.
Dante straightened. "Well," he muttered under his breath. "Guess the other babysitter found me."