A Journey Unwanted

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

Gretchen let out a long, weary sigh as she sat perched on a smooth boulder just outside the outskirts of Rumpelstadt. The stone was still cool beneath her, grounding her thoughts as she stared out over the uneven dirt path. Her fingers anxiously rubbed at the fabric of her dress, her mind looping endlessly on the same worry.

("Those two really are monsters… causing all those tremors just by fighting?") The question pulsed through her skull.

She rubbed her temples. She had felt those tremors—felt the ground heave violently. The earth had quivered beneath her boots and she wondered—not for the first time—if life in the mines would have been safer after all.

Perhaps she should have stayed deep in the mines, breathing in dust and the scent of ore. Perhaps that life, harsh as it had been, would have been easier to stomach than whatever she had stepped into now.

The tremors had faded some time ago. Lucky, really—Rumpelstadt wasn't built to withstand any sort of calamity, let alone one caused by two terrifying lunatics fighting. A prolonged fight might have collapsed the entire town.

("Alchemy is all well and good,") she thought bitterly, ("but I would've much preferred to be a miller… or a seamstress… something simple. But no—father had to be a boastful fool. Couldn't leave well enough alone.")

She sighed again—louder this time, as though trying to empty her lungs of frustration.

Her eyes drifted to her own hand as she raised it before her face—calloused fingers, dirt still caught along her nails.

"An ordinary life over power, huh…?" The snort that escaped her felt half amused, half defeated.

When she finally lifted her gaze, she froze.

Two figures approached down the dirt road—Dante and Tamamo-no-Mae—walking side by side. Oddly, the fox spirit wasn't lounging on Dante's shoulder this time. Instead, the golden nine-tailed fox padded beside him in an almost casual stride, the tips of her tails swaying.

Gretchen arched a brow.

"Done with your lovers' spat?" she called out as they came to a halt before her.

She rose from the boulder, brushing dirt from her dress as Tamamo responded immediately—far too gleefully:

"Oh, yes—very done. We resolved everything with a very passionate final act." She winked. "All's well." Tamamo declared with a mischievous grin that spread across her face.

Gretchen rolled her eyes. "That's disgusting, but okay."

"Ignore her," Dante said flatly. "The Legatus under that outpost has been handled it seems. The Mortifer interested in you appears to have abandoned her pursuit as well."

Gretchen frowned. "Handled how? You don't sound like you're the one who ended it." She stepped closer, folding her arms. "Did someone else take care of it?"

Dante didn't answer, and somehow that silence felt more unnerving than any explanation. Gretchen sighed, she doubted she was getting her confirmation.

"You'll forgive me if I don't celebrate," she muttered, arms crossing defensively. "Considering I'm still undoubtedly bound to you."

"Merely prove yourself," Dante replied without missing a beat. Those glowing violet lenses locked onto her, unblinking. He added, "If you're no threat to those around you, there's no reason to keep you chained. But until then… there's no reason to linger here. We shall be moving on shortly."

Gretchen let out a breath through her nose, resigned. "Then I suppose I've little choice but to follow."

Her expression lit up slightly as she recalled something. "Ah—that reminds me. You two mentioned the names Alexander and Ivan earlier. I saw two young men head into the town not long ago speaking the names. The blonde was a slightly injured."

"Only slightly, hm?" Tamamo chimed, smirking as she nudged Dante's leg with a tail. "Seems I was really right to let them fend for themselves."

Dante didn't respond to her smugness. Instead, he asked, "Where are they now? Can you sense them?"

Tamamo snorted. "How polite you become when you want something."

He remained motionless, waiting.

"You truly are tactless," she added.

Still no reaction.

Finally, Tamamo rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh—fine, fine. They're in the tavern. Again."

"Then let's not delay," Dante said, already taking the first step forward—forcing the other two to follow unless they wanted to be left behind.

The walk back into Rumpelstadt was short and uneventful, but Gretchen's nerves prickled with each step. The dirt road was uneven, still marked with cracks from the earlier tremors. The closer they drew to town, the clearer the shaken expressions of townsfolk became—wide eyes, muttered prayers, hands clutching rosaries or tools as if they might ward off further disaster.

But what unsettled Gretchen wasn't their fear—it was the lack of emotion from either Dante or Tamamo.

("They're acting as though nothing occurred…") she thought with a hint of unease. As if the rumbling earth and distant booms were not caused by them.

She watched Dante and Tamamo walk ahead—silent and unbothered, almost casual despite the devastation they had caused. It struck her again, painfully, how small she felt next to them. How alien their presence was. How dangerous.

("What kind of people have I become involved with…?")

Gretchen's thoughts never had the chance to settle; they scattered the moment they reached the familiar, dingy tavern. Dante pushed the door open with a shove of his gauntleted hand, the hinges groaning like they, too, were tired of this place. The three of them slipped inside, a gust of wind following them before the door thudded shut.

No one looked up.

The tavern owner wiped a mug with single-mindedness and a few scattered patrons hunched over their drinks, heads bowed low, each man wrapped in his own bubble of misery or routine. Gretchen found herself oddly grateful — fewer eyes meant fewer problems.

She hated the way the men in this town stared at her. Always hungry, always lingering. Every time she entered this place she had to stop herself from reacting violently. And Dante, she guessed, wouldn't tolerate her causing a scene just because some drunk couldn't control his gaze.

She brushed a strand of hair off her face and glanced around. It didn't take long to spot the two young men Dante and Tamamo had mentioned — Ivan and Alexander — tucked in a shadowed corner of the tavern. Dante and Tamamo-no-Mae made their way toward them, Gretchen following behind, though she felt more like a reluctant shadow than part of their group.

"You two look like you've had a… lively day," Tamamo purred as she leapt up, landing delicately on their table with her tails fanning behind her.

Alexander recoiled slightly. He didn't look badly hurt — just scuffed and tired. The kind of tired that suggested he'd had enough excitement for a month.

Ivan, on the other hand, had torn clothes under his cloak and clearly had bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. But he was sitting upright, breathing steadily — not dying. A good sign.

Alexander glared sharply. "Now you show up? Seriously? Do either of you have the slightest idea what the hell we had to deal with? While you were off… what? Frolicking?"

Tamamo clicked her tongue. "Frolicking? Cute. But no. Though it's flattering you think we had nothing better to do."

"Alexander." Ivan raised a hand gently. "Calm down. I'm sure they had something important to take care of." His gaze turned briefly to Gretchen before settling back on Dante and Tamamo.

Tamamo's tails curled. "Oh, we dealt with plenty. But you two… surviving a confrontation with a Legatus? I'll admit, that's impressive." She gave an approving nod.

Ivan shook his head. "Not really."

Tamamo blinked. "No? Why not?"

Ivan hesitated. His eyes lowered. There was more he wasn't saying — that much was obvious.

"There was a third party," he finally answered.

"A Lieutenant," Alexander clarified, leaning back with a tense exhale. "Conroy's, by how he was talking. And those two hated each other."

"Ah." Tamamo smirked with realization. "There it is. That Mortifer mentioned she'd sent someone to relieve dear Conroy of his duties. I suppose that Lieutenant was her messenger."

Both boys tensed.

"Wait—Mortifer?" Alexander sputtered. "You… met one? Like, an actual Mortifer?"

"After our battle," Dante answered at last, his voice smooth. "The Mortifer of the Seventh Seat approached us."

Ivan blinked. "Battle? You two… were fighting?" He seemed genuinely confused.

Gretchen let out a sharp, disbelieving scoff. "These lunatics were the cause of the tremors," she informed him, arms crossing. "Those earth-shaking ones you felt? Yeah. That was them."

Ivan and Alexander both snapped their attention to her.

"Who—wait, who are you?" Alexander asked, bewildered.

"None of your concern," Gretchen replied flatly, adopting Dante's tone without even trying.

Ivan turned back to Dante and Tamamo. "You two… really caused all that?" he asked slowly. "All those tremors?"

"Yes," Tamamo replied simply, as if she were confirming she'd knocked over a cup. "We tend to shake the ground a bit when we argue."

Alexander blinked hard. "So that giant mountain-sized slab—who tossed that? One of you?"

Tamamo pointed at Dante with her paw. "That was him. He gets a little throw-happy when he's irritated."

Ivan stared between Dante and Tamamo, visibly trying to reconcile what he saw — a fox the size of a loaf of bread, and a man encased in a dark, immaculate coat and armor — with the destruction he'd witnessed.

"But… why were you two fighting in the first place?" he finally asked.

Tamamo beamed. "Oh! That's easy. We were deciding who gets to top tonight."

Ivan and Alexander both turned bright red.

"You're—b-but you're a fox!" Alexander sputtered.

Tamamo groaned loudly. "This isn't my real form, fool. I've told Gretchen already — my true form is beauti—"

Dante cut her off swiftly. "Ignore her. She's rambling." His tone turned colder. "We had a minor disagreement. Nothing more."

Gretchen scoffed again. "You call that a minor disagreement?"

Dante didn't respond. He simply turned to Ivan, the violet glow of his lenses dimming slightly as he spoke:

"The Retorta Guild no longer has a purpose here. Their primary interest was her." He gestured to Gretchen. "Now that she's gone, and their Legatus is dead, they will withdraw."

"Don't ask me to explain any of that," Gretchen said quickly. "I'm not in the mood."

Ivan nodded slowly, though confusion still clouded his face. "So she was the reason for everything happening here."

Dante nodded once.

"I see… then if she leaves Rumpelstadt, the town goes back to normal."

"Precisely," Tamamo said. She then arched a brow at Ivan. "Not as glorious as you imagined, hm?"

Ivan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The town is free of the Guild," Tamamo said plainly. "And yet nothing feels different. People here will go right back to their routine. It's almost disappointing, isn't it?"

Ivan looked down at the table. "I suppose…"

He did not expect immediate triumph or celebration. But perhaps something meaningful. Yet there was only the sound of mugs clinking and low murmurs.

Then—

"Ivan." Dante's voice cut sharply through the fog of his thoughts.

Ivan straightened. "Yes?"

"You have a goal, do you not?" Dante asked.

Ivan hesitated. "A goal…?" His brows furrowed deeply. Something he once had… something important. But the memory slipped through his fingers like sand. ("Restore… something? My homeland…? Is that it?") The answer felt incomplete. His kingdom was ruined but was its restoration his end goal?

"Why do you ask?" he said aloud.

"You hold interest in the dragons Albion and Ddraig," Dante continued. "And you know what my objective is."

Ivan's eyes widened. "Right… yes. I was actually going to ask if I could join you. After everything here was settled. Though… we barely know each other."

Dante nodded once. Slowly. "I would accept you. But you must understand the weight of the path you would step into."

Alexander tensed, listening closely.

Dante continued, voice low and unwavering: "This journey has no place for hesitation. No space for comfort. No guarantee of coming back. We walk toward calamity — to prevent one far worse. And we will have to commit acts we do not enjoy. There will be no clear right or wrong ahead of us. Only necessity."

Ivan swallowed. "What does that… mean for us?"

"It means," Dante said gently but firmly, "we shall not be companions."

Alexander clenched his jaw at his words.

"But," Dante continued, "I will treat you as an equal. I will preserve your life. And I will not betray your trust."

Ivan stared at him, unsure how to react.

"This path," Dante said, "is paved in blood. You will spill it. You will walk through it. And you will have to choose whether to keep going even when everything in you screams to turn back."

He extended his gauntleted hand toward Ivan.

"I ask you, Ivan: do you accept such a path?"

Ivan stared at that outstretched hand — the polished filigree, the dark alloy, the reflection of the light across it — and his breath caught.

The tavern around him seemed to fall silent.

He stared.

And contemplated.