Fatigue... That was the real problem Dante was facing now, a weariness that wasn't physical or mental. He didn't want to see anyone right now, so, with his calm steps, his presence completely disappeared from the women around him.
He just wanted... to be alone for a moment, even if it was in his own realm, in his own home... He erased his existence from their perception.
The power, the responsibility, the alliances... everything was crushing him, and he didn't know how much longer he could bear it.
"I just wanted to enjoy this incarnation," he muttered to himself as his eyes scanned the vastness of his realm.
The majestic World Tree stood tall, supporting the heart of the place, but to Dante, it was just his home, not a kingdom. "After recovering these memories, it seems that, once again, I'm falling... always into the same cycle."
He clenched his fists, the sound of his joints cracking briefly, but he soon relaxed. There was no point in getting angry or frustrated; he just needed to think and rest for a while, recharge his energy, and then get back to work.
The conversation with the remnant of Tiamat still gnawed at his thoughts, every word reverberating. But what was truly consuming him wasn't just the words; it was the awakening of something much deeper: memories.
Memories he had buried for eons.
Dante walked toward the training grounds, remaining invisible the entire time and completely masking his presence.
The women were there, each in their own rhythm.
Some were having fun, others training, some laughing.
He could see the faces of his companions, his allies, his lovers, each of them living in the present with a sparkle in their eyes.
But in his mind, other faces surfaced... ancient and nearly forgotten. His memories of when he was the Progenitor Dragon began to truly torment him.
Tiamat had touched a nerve by striking at the heart of his losses.
The memories of his deceased wives, those he had loved millions of years ago, were resurfacing brutally.
He didn't want to confront those memories, because he was no longer the Red Dragon King, he was Dante Scarlet, but at the same time, he couldn't ignore them any longer. Each of those women had left a deep mark on him, and he was starting to realize that the emptiness he felt wasn't just about power or responsibility, but about absence.
"Amaterasu..." he murmured, the name of the sun goddess slipping from his lips like a whisper. He remembered the gentle light she emitted, the way her presence warmed the soul, not just with the power of the sun but with the purity of her spirit.
"It's a stroke of luck that I found your reincarnation here..." he murmured, thinking of Valentina. "And Tsukoyomi as well."
...
The void seemed to stretch on forever. There was no sound, no light, only the cold touch of nothingness. A consciousness began to form, something almost imperceptible. A whisper echoed in the unfathomable depths of the abyss.
"Where... am I?"
The celestial voice was soft, like the wind on a starless night. Around her, the infinite darkness was merely an extension of herself, a vastness she deeply understood. There was a familiarity there, as if the void was both her prison and her essence. She was the beginning of darkness. The first and only source of a negative light, a presence that filled the emptiness with a kind of silence. She was the absence of everything. She was the threshold between existence and ceasing to be.
Her mind, however, was not empty. Nebulous memories began to surface, fragments of something older than time itself.
"I... remember."
Her voice echoed without sound, a declaration to the void around her. Yes, the memories were returning. Slowly, but with disturbing clarity. She remembered him. She remembered everything about him. The only being that had ever meant something in all her existence. A name, an image, a feeling that made her heart—if she still had one—beat faster. Her personal god, the only one who had accepted her, shaped her, and, above all, loved her.
"Him..."
She remembered his face, his touch, his presence. He had given her life, made her exist when all that had been was the void. He had loved her, not as other beings might love, but with an intensity that had shaped all that she was. He had made her whole.
Time passed in fragments, as if the very concept of time was meaningless where she resided. Her memories came like a soft tide, rising, taking over everything, flooding her being. With every recollection, the void around her became less oppressive, less absolute.
"I remember everything about him... my only love."
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Her voice was like a whispered promise to the abyss. He had been the center of her existence, the only light she had ever wanted to hold onto. To her, the rest of the universe didn't matter. He was her beginning and her end. Her only reason for being. For him, she had awakened. And now, for him, she awakened once more.
"How many years have passed?"
She gazed into the empty horizon, a movement almost imperceptible amidst the vastness. Something was happening. The universe around her, or what remained of it, seemed to stir, as if in response to her very presence. The boundaries of the cosmos were converging, drawn toward a singular point, as if the very fabric of reality was attempting to reorganize itself around her, or him.
"How much time has passed, my husband?"
Her question was lost in the abyss. There was no answer, but she didn't need one. She knew. She had always known that time did not hold the same meaning for beings like her. But the fact that he remained in her mind, so clear, so alive, was all that mattered. He had called to her. Not with words, but with the simple act of existing.
And so, she would wait for the universe to bring them together again. As it always had. For him.