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The door to the backyard burst open with a bang as a young girl rushed into the house. Her braid of chestnut hair was partially unraveled, and her chest was heaving.
“What's wrong, Julia?” the old man asked worriedly, getting up from the shabby table. An elderly woman standing by the stove turned around.
Julia stood in the doorway to the kitchen, holding onto the doorjamb with her hand as she tried to catch her breath.
“Out there—” She clutched her chest, taking a deep breath. “—there are two people. Some men with white hair and weapons in their hands. They appeared right in front of me. As if out of thin air.”
The old man frowned and hurriedly limped to the cabinet in the living room. An elderly woman, meanwhile, approached Julia and stroked her hair reassuringly, putting her other hand on her shoulder.
“I'll go get Matteo and Valerio, and you stay close to Grandpa. And stay away from those strangers,” she said, and when the girl nodded stiffly, she left through the main entrance, disappearing into the crimson light of the sunset and the coolness of the summer evening.
The old man returned, clutching a hunting rifle in his callused hands. He loaded it on the move, clicking the bolt, and stood by the door leading to the backyard.
“Grandpa...” Julia began.
“Quiet.” the old man hissed and listened—it was quiet outside the door. Then he gently pushed it open. The hinges creaked softly.
***
A glint of metal flashed in the moonlight as the barrel of a gun emerged from a small crack.
“It seems we're not welcome here,” Dante said.
“Quiet.” Vergil shot him a stern look. “We don't want to attract more attention than necessary.”
“Easier said than done,” the younger twin chuckled.
As they were talking, the front door opened in another part of the house and three pairs of feet pounded on the creaking wooden floor. Two young men and a plump elderly woman, Vergil assessed.
After a series of rustles and whispers, the door in front of them slowly opened and the muzzles of three hunting rifles stared at the half-demons. One was held by an old man, the other two by young black-haired men squatting in front of him. Brothers, by the look of it. Behind the three of them, the woman and the girl, who had run away as soon as she saw the twins, looked out in equal measure cautiously and curiously.
In response to the black eye sockets of the guns, Dante, looking unimpressed, lazily raised his arms in front of his chest and after a couple of seconds lowered them, slapping his thighs.
The old man spoke to the Sparda brothers, giving the gun a slight jab in their direction. He seemed to ask something, but Dante didn't understand a thing and pursed his lips in embarrassment.
“Well, we're definitely not in our homeland. What is it? Spanish? Or French?” he asked his brother.
“Hmm, it sounds like Italian,” he replied.
“Fantastic. All I know in Italian is pizza, pepperoni and Mamma Mia.” Dante crossed his arms over his chest.
Vergil sighed quietly.
“Can you keep your mouth shut?”
Meanwhile, the people whispered nervously to each other, not knowing that the brothers' inhuman hearing picked up every sound. Except that it didn't really matter to Dante right now, but it did to Vergil...
“They are worried about our appearance and presence,” he reported to his brother in a low and even voice, watching the people intently.
“No way, really? You're a true master at reading people,” Dante replied in mock admiration.
Vergil just rolled his eyes in displeasure.
The old man said something to them again, slowly lowering his rifle to the floor, but he did not let go of it, ready to raise it and shoot at any moment.
“Put your sword away,” Vergil commanded his brother in a low voice and absorbed Yamato—the katana disappeared in a faint flash of blue light.
Five surprised gasps sounded, and as many pairs of eyes widened, staring at Vergil's empty hand.
“Hey, I think we have to put our swords away in a more human way to calm them down.” Dante leaned over to his brother. Taking off his greatsword from his back, he stabbed it into the ground in front of him and took two steps back.
Vergil, who was watching this, gritted his teeth and reluctantly called Yamato back. He carefully laid it on the grass. After being elbowed in the side by Dante, he reluctantly took a couple of steps back, drawing level with his brother.
The old man probably gave the order to the young men, since they slung their guns over their shoulders, went down the porch steps and grabbed a sword each. While the taller one picked up the elegant Yamato relatively easily under Vergil's death glare, the shorter one was tugging at the hilt of a massive two-handed sword, trying to pull it out of the ground but failing time and time again.
Dante was trying to hold back his laughter at the sight, although the boy could be pitied—the sword was taller and probably heavier than the poor kid. On top of that, Devil Sword Dante, being a fusion of Rebellion and Sparda, did not want to obey those who did not have the blood of the Dark Knight in them.
“Hey, let me help you.” Dante held out his hand with a wide grin that refused to leave his face.
The guy instantly paled, his eyes widening. He stumbled back, falling into the grass right on his ass. Fumbling, he took the rifle from his shoulder and immediately pointed it at him.
The muzzle of the weapon trembled slightly.
Dante blinked at the boy in surprise and stepped back from both the boy and the sword, raising his hands apologetically.
“Come on, I just wanted to help.”
Vergil suddenly raised his index finger, silently signaling for his brother to be quiet—the guy jabbered something to the others. Vergil's previously furrowed brows rose for a second, and then his darkened gaze shifted to Dante.
“What?” he asked in an indignant half-whisper.
“Stop smiling,” the elder twin ordered sternly.
To be like you? Dante almost quipped.
But Vergil, now calmer, cut in, “Your fangs scared him.”
Dante froze.
“Oh.” He covered his mouth with his hand. The overgrown stubble pricked his palm unpleasantly.
Damn it. And when did it even have time to grow back? Vergil seemed to shave him with a Judgement cut not so long ago, didn't he?
The other guy, who had already carried Yamato somewhere into the house, came to his fallen brother and helped him get to his feet. Both of them, casting wary glances at the twins, grabbed the hilt and pulled with all their might. The sword shifted a little, but that was all.
Dante couldn't help but burst out laughing, covering his mouth with his hand in advance so as not to flash his fangs a second time.
“Hey, look, look, it's just like in the legend of King Arthur.” He elbowed the elder twin in the side, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
Vergil crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.
“If this continues, we will wait forever,” he said and took a cautious step towards the brothers. They immediately raised their heads and froze like deer in the headlights.
“Aiuto,” he said, pointing at himself and then at the brothers and the sword.
Everyone present blinked a couple of times and stared at him. The brothers holding the sword looked at each other and, with a timid nod to him, stepped back. Vergil grabbed the hilt and yanked the weapon up. The blade came out of the ground with ease, and the sword, already free of Vergil’s grip, began to fall towards the young men. One of them caught it by the guard and, arching his back, lowered it onto his chest. He held the weapon until the other guy helped him. Together they dragged the massive sword into the house, cutting a furrow in the ground with its tip.
As soon as the two were out of sight, Dante turned to his brother.
“Look at you, was it so hard to say that you know Italian?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips and grinning, his voice full of amusement.
Vergil winced slightly and rolled one shoulder.
“I wouldn't say I know it, at least not well enough to speak it,” he muttered.
“C'mon now, don't be so modest. You can explain the situation to them, can't you?”
“I'll try.” Vergil let out a long but quiet sigh and slowly walked towards the owners of the house.
“Get 'em, tiger, just don't scare them away with your growl and sour face.” Dante smiled wider, narrowing his eyes mockingly.
When Vergil approached the house, the old man didn't point the rifle at him but he didn't put it away either. Taking it as a sign that they were ready to listen to him, the half-demon began to speak.
“Buongiorno, mi chiamo Virgilio.” He put his hand to his chest, and then extended it towards his brother, “Questo è mio fratello Dante. Noi...”
He paused, searching for words in his native language, and then recalling them in Italian.
“Cacciamo,” he finally finished, hoping he had said the verb in the correct form.
After spending so many years among the demons, he hadn't had the opportunity to practice any human language. So it wasn't surprising that much of what had been learned had already been forgotten, especially considering that there had been little conversational practice to begin with. Vergil saw no point in talking to strangers about trivial, pointless things, and his knowledge of the language was enough to read and understand what was written in books.
“Cacciate? Vuoi dire che siete cacciatori?” the old man asked, and Vergil nodded.
The owner of the house looked the twins up and down, seeing them differently now—all covered in blood, dirt and the devil knows what else. They looked at least strange, if not suspicious, in their tattered and singed clothes, which were unusual for these parts.
“Cacciatori di demoni?”
“Sì, e noi—” he fell silent as the old man squinted into the dark forest behind them.
“Avete ucciso i demoni a cui stavate dando la caccia?” the words practically flew out of his mouth.
“Potrebbe... ripeterlo?” the blue twin frowned.
The old man repeated his words slowly and pointed his rifle at the forest behind them. Vergil looked over his shoulder. Dante, who had been standing some distance away, came to his brother's side.
“He's what, shooing us away back into the woods?” the red twin asked half-jokingly, arching a pale eyebrow.
Vergil sent him an unimpressed glare and turned to the owner of the house.
“Sì-sì, e ci siamo... persi. Potrebbe aiu—,” he paused, trying to remember the correct form of the word, “aiutarci?”
The old man nodded vigorously, and his speech turned into a rapid blur of words, as he apparently began to give some commands to the woman and the girl, and then to the young men who had already returned by that time.
***
A stream of water hit the hot stones—a loud hiss sounded, and clouds of steam rose upward.
“Ah, feels so good!” Dante stretched, spreading his arms wide. He was completely wet and stark naked. “Better than those hot springs in the Circle of Lust, although I wouldn’t mind a few gorgeous mermaids.”
“Sirens.” Vergil, equally naked and clean, sat on the lower wooden bench with his eyes closed, his head tilted back.
“Huh?” Dante turned to him.
The light from the oil lamp placed in the corner gently tinted the simple decor of the bathhouse and the brothers’ chiseled bodies a warm amber hue.
“Those were sirens, not mermaids,” the elder twin sighed, feeling the throbbing headache flare up and recede behind his closed eyelids.
“What the hell does it matter?” Dante waved his hand, his eyes dropping to the floor. “You killed them all anyway,” he added, his tone darkening.
“...”
A single drop of water fell from the tip of Dante’s nose. He stood motionless.
The logs in the bathhouse furnace crackled, the stones hummed with radiated heat, and outside the window came the buzz of cicadas and the distant bark of a lone dog.
Dante shook his head slightly, dispelling the gloom that had wrapped his mind like a web.
“Anyway, that’s all in the past now,” a familiar smile slipped back onto his lips as Dante settled onto the lower bench beside his brother.
They stayed like that for a while, until someone knocked on the door. Vergil let out a tired sigh, struggling against his relaxed muscles—which had been loosened by the pleasant heat and hot water—and sheer reluctance to speak to anyone as he prepared to get up. But the elderly woman—Domenica, as she introduced herself—cracked the door open herself and spoke a string of Italian.
As soon as she left, closing the door behind her, Vergil threw his head back and closed his eyes again.
Dante didn’t keep him waiting.
“What did she say?” He propped himself up on his elbows.
“Mmm, our clothes have already been washed and the food will be ready soon. In fifteen minutes, as I understood,” Vergil muttered.
“Well, then,” Dante grunted as he got up. He headed for the door. “I’m going to get dressed, and you better not stay in here too long either.”
The door creaked on its hinges as it shut, leaving Vergil alone with his thoughts, the heat of the bathhouse, and the chirping of cicadas outside the window.
The half-demon exhaled slowly. The pain had already subsided but the storm of thoughts was still raging inside of his head. To make matters worse, his body stubbornly refused to cooerate—hardly surprising after such a run through Hell, but no less irritating for that.
The grass rustled. Someone was sneaking around outside the bathhouse. Vergil instantly tensed up, ready to attack. He wanted to summon Yamato but remembered it was still somewhere in the house. The blue twin pressed his lips into a thin line and let out a long exhale through his nose.
No matter, he thought, I don't need a sword to deal with a threat.
He rose silently and crept over to the open window. The scent of evening dew and grass hit his nostrils immediately. Along with it came the smell of cheap perfume and a girl’s body. Vergil grimaced, feeling bile rise in his throat, and hastened to shut the window with its thick, dirty glass.
He took a dipper, scooped up some cool water and poured it over himself, washing away the sweat and awakening his muscles. He slicked his hair back with a practiced gesture and stepped into the modest changing room, where he saw Dante to his right. The younger twin, only half‑dressed, was squatting by the open window.
Vergil arched an eyebrow. Dante responded with a sly half-smirk to his unspoken question and pressed a finger to his lips before gesturing to the window a couple of times. Vergil stayed put, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. Dante rolled his eyes dramatically, and as a rustle came from outside, his entire body coiled like a panther ready to pounce. A split second, and—
“Graaagh!” He lunged toward the window, hands slamming onto the windowsill as he was leaning halfway out. The girl stumbled back, but then let out a cheerful cry and darted off, her laughter ringing out.
“Ah ha ha,” Dante laughed softly and, smiling, turned to his frowning brother. “What?”
“So old, and you're still chasing after girls.”
“Look who's talking,” Dante muttered, lowering his head as his hair fell over his eyes.
“What was that?” Vergil demanded, voice ice cold.
“Nothing.” The red twin looked up, flashing a fake smile. “And I'm not chasing anyone. She came here herself and I spooked her off so that you—” he grabbed the neatly folded clothes from the bench and tossed them to Vergil, who caught them effortlessly “—could get dressed in peace without getting all embarrassed by a girl’s attention.”
Vergil curled his lip in contempt and scoffed.
“I couldn't care less about anyone’s attention. The sooner we get out of here, the better,” he said, scowling as he pulled up and fastened his trousers.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dante waved his hand dismissively. He examined his shirt. The numerous holes had been hastily patched up — either they had been soaking in the bath for so long, or the lady of the house was a surprisingly skilled seamstress.
“Anyway, we’ll eat and crash here for the night, and who knows? Maybe by morning your mug won't look so sour, and you’ll grumble less,” the devil hunter chuckled, but catching the murderous glare his brother shot him, he quickly added, “fat chance of that, though.”
They continued to get dressed in silence.
Yeah, their relationship wasn’t as smooth as they might have liked. But a truce was a truce — no fratricide, no world-ending apocalypse, and no other bullshit. Even though they still felt like strangling each other sometimes, the fire of their hostility usually died down just as quickly as it flared up.
...
Okay, so it died down a bit slower than it flared up, but the progress was clearly evident.
Now clean and dressed, they left the bathhouse and headed back toward the main house.
***
The midnight guests sat at the table with everyone else and ate the sheep's pluck that Domenica had prepared—wrapped in grape leaves and stewed in a vegetable sauce. The sullen one—Virgilio, as he'd introduced himself, fortunately he could speak Italian quite well—ate reluctantly, though he wasn’t particularly picky. His brother Dante, on the other hand, who clearly didn’t even understand a word being said, pushed aside all his vegetables but scarfed down the meat with great enthusiasm.
Julia and her cousins Matteo and Valerio ate the same food as the demon hunters, while Domenica and Jacopo made do with sandwiches spread with tomato paste and sardines.
“There's something strange about them,” Domenica whispered under her breath to her husband.
Jacopo didn’t take his eyes off the midnight guests, even though he knew it was impolite. But he silently agreed with his wife. The strangers were nearly two meters tall, muscular, and broad‑shouldered. Their gear and attire—high boots, long coats, leather gloves, and sharp swords—practically screamed that they were foreigners with a dangerous profession.
It was also strange that they looked quite young—at least, they certainly didn’t look older than fifty—yet their hair was completely gray. Or rather, white, as it turned out after all the grime had been washed off.
And the way Virgilio’s sword vanished and then reappeared as if out of thin air marked them as no ordinary men, clearly versed in some kind of magic. They were no amateurs. And given their age, they were bound to be seasoned veterans in their line of work—which made it all the more baffling what kind of beast they had been hunting that could have battered them so badly.
But when Matteo fell and, stammering and trembling, claimed to have seen fangs in Dante's mouth, Jacopo could have sworn his heart dropped into his stomach.
What if these two have spent so many years hunting hellish creatures that they have began to turn into these monsters themselves? the thought had crept into his mind at that moment.
Jacopo had quickly brushed it off then. The world was a strange place, no doubt, but who knew what a frightened boy might have imagined? Besides, Dante wasn’t acting aggressively, and even Virgilio, with his imposing presence and formality bordering on coldness, hadn’t caused the slightest bit of harm.
That wasn’t the end of the demon hunters’ oddities, though. Every so often, Jacopo caught their eyes—especially Virgilio’s—glinting in the dim light of the lamp just like those of a cat.
At some point while everyone was eating, Virgilio murmured something to his brother. He sounded quite displeased. Dante merely waved him off, replying with his mouth full. Virgilio's frown only deepened, though he said nothing more.
“What if he didn't like the food?” Domenica whispered in fear and touched her granddaughter’s shoulder lightly. “Julia, the meat isn't too salty, is it? Or the sauce?”
The girl shook her head, casting a curious glance at the hunters. Matteo and Valerio also looked their way from time to time, their expressions far more cautious.
These two men were very strange indeed.
On top of that, they had thrown the whole house into a frenzy with their sudden arrival from the forest right in the middle of the night, covered in goodness knows what and smelling so bad, as if they’d spent a year in the wilderness without washing once.
“They must have had a very tough hunt.” Matteo leaned over toward Jacopo.
“Maybe,” he whispered back cautiously. “But what kind of beast was there in the forest that they had to hunt it for so long? And how could they get lost? The forest isn’t big enough to wander around in for that long.”
Matteo merely shrugged in response.
Jacopo glanced at the brothers—Virgilio’s icy eyes were watching him. A chill ran down the old man’s spine, counting every single vertebrae. He shuddered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. The presence of this man—who was likely the leader of the hunting duo—quickly made him uneasy. His glare was so piercing and hostile, burning a hole through anyone he looked at with those pale‑blue eyes, as cold as ice.
“Hay, k'n ya thangk 'em or say sum kompluhmunt fer dhuh food?” Dante asked, nudging his brother lightly in the ribs with his elbow to get his attention.
Virgilio shot him a look as sharp as a falcon’s talons.
“Ayl thangk dhuhm layter for evreething, if dhats whut yoo wish,” he replied in a cold and even tone. “Az for dhuh kompluhmunt, wai say it wen dhair iz nuhthing ikstrawrdnairee uhbowt dhuh food?”
“Wel.” Dante shrugged. “Its gud manerz er sumthing.”
Virgilio pressed his lips into a thin line and exhaled slowly through his nose. He seemed to be trying to maintain his composure, yet he still hissed through his clenched teeth. “It iz awlsoh gud manerz tuh not tayk advantij uhv dhuh hosts. Ay didnt goh throo awl dheez... nigohsheeayshuhnz just soh wee kud bee throhn owt uhv heer bikawz uhv yoor gluhtnee,” he paused and smirked maliciously. “Uhn yoo hav kwahyt uh rekerd uhv dhat.”
Dante's eye twitched once, but he replied in what was most likely his usual manner—lazy and dismissive. They exchanged a few more words like that. Virgilio kept frowning—most likely not because of the argument with his brother, but simply because that was his default expression—and he didn’t raise his voice, despite the obvious displeasure with his relative.
It was a pity that he didn't know Italian well enough to speak it fluently. Jacopo and his family could use the help and knowledge of seasoned demon hunters. Lately, the creatures had become quite bold and had been coming to their farm more and more often, dragging off livestock from time to time. Thank the Savior, none of the people had been killed yet.
Besides, it would have been interesting to learn more about the hunters themselves. After all, they were unusual and strange people—at least around these parts. And it wasn't as though many visitors came by the farm anyway. So it was doubly unsurprising that the youth, especially young Julia, became so interested in the new faces.
***
The fork clattered loudly as Dante dropped it onto his plate.
“Mmm, you really should have praised the food. It’s actually pretty tasty—you’re just being picky.” He leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the backrest.
“Quite the opposite,” Vergil said, pointing with a meaningful glance toward the vegetables left around the edges of his brother’s plate. “And you do realize you just ate sheep’s offal, right?”
Vergil took pleasure in watching Dante’s complexion taking on a greenish hue.
“But since you're done...” he continued.
Having politely eaten more than half of what had been served to him, the elder twin carefully placed his utensils on the napkin beside his plate. He straightened his back, resting his hands in front of him with fingers interlaced.
The old man noticed that he was being watched and hastened to swallow his food before asking, “Lei e suo fratello siete pieni, signore Virgilio?”
“Sì, signore Jacopo. Il cibo era...” He almost said acceptable, but he doubted the hosts would be pleased to receive such a restrained assessment of their home‑cooked meal. And even though Vergil didn’t care about other people's feelings, he didn’t want to risk losing the favor of those who were willing to provide them with all the comforts on their own free will. So he finished, “delizioso.”
He fell silent then, his gaze fixed on the old man. He, too, waited for Vergil to continue, but shrank under the half‑demon’s heavy stare and offered them a place to sleep—a couple of mattresses laid out on the living room floor.
That'll do, Vergil decided and nodded firmly to the old man.
***
The brothers were already lying on the mattresses in less than an hour.
A grandfather clock was ticking in the corner. A couple of armchairs with worn, blue-and-cream striped upholstery had been pushed against the wall along with a pine coffee table. The old colorful curtains swayed gently in the breeze, which brought in the scent of pine needles and cool night air.
The girl’s steady breathing and the muffled whispers of the old couple were coming from the second floor.
“Tesoro, [don't torment the boy], lascialo [sleep],” a woman's voice said anxiously.
Just beyond the living room wall, a young man was indeed sitting in the hallway with a rifle in his hands.
“[I don't torment him], sto solo prendendo [precautions],” the old man replied indignantly. “Non si sa mai, [those two will decide to rob us]. [You] sveglierai la mattina [and won't] troverai la tua collana di famiglia.”
Both verbs were in the future tense, but Vergil didn’t recall their meanings. He only made out the end of the sentence: a word that sounded like “neck” and something belonging to the family. They must have been talking about some family heirloom—a necklace or a choker.
“[And] allora [thing] daresti in dote a Julia?” the old man said.
Vergil wasn’t certain about the form of the verb, but he definitely heard the root dar, so the old man seemed to say “give something to Julia.” In the context of the family jewels, the discussion was most likely about the girl’s dowry. And the anxious elderly couple believed they were harboring two potential thieves under their roof.
Vergil, lying on his back with his hands folded over his stomach, let out a quiet chuckle. Dante rolled over onto his other side, facing his brother.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, it's nothing.” The elder twin shrugged, and then, with a hint of a smirk on his lips, he added, “They just think we might rob them. They mentioned some kind of necklace.”
Dante snorted with laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle it. Not that it helped much, but Vergil shared in his brother’s mirth with a smirk of his own. The very idea of them robbing someone—Dante, who often worked at a loss, but never resorted to theft even in the worst of times; and Vergil, who had never been interested in money and saw it only as another means to an end—was enough to bring a smile to their faces, if not outright laughter.
Dante’s laughter gradually faded and his shoulders stopped shaking. Silence settled over them once more, broken only by the hooting of an owl in the pine forest and the chirping of insects in the tall, emerald grass. In the nearby barn, the hay crunched whenever the other young man guarding the livestock tossed and turned.
Vergil closed his eyes, drifting into a light sleep—deep enough for his mind and body to rest and recover, yet alert enough that his senses stayed sharp to their surroundings. He lay there like that for a while, until he felt an elbow lightly prod his side.
Dante.
“Hey, Verg, c'mon, I know you're awake.” He continued his elbow-to-the-ribs onslaught until—
“What?” Vergil hissed through clenched teeth, snapping his head toward him.
Dante broke into a sly, cocky grin. “Let’s lie down outside. I want to look at the stars.”
With a completely blank expression, Vergil stared into his brother's eyes for a solid ten seconds, processing just how absurd—and utterly impossible—this suggestion was given their situation.
Dante just kept grinning.
“Dante,” Vergil said, his tone entirely flat.
“What?” This buffoon actually had the nerve to wiggle his toes in some sort of childish anticipation of a fight. And his face, with that smug smirk of his, was practically begging to be punched, but—
Vergil exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Where do you even get the energy for this nonsense?” he muttered, turning away from his brother. After a couple of seconds, he added more clearly, “Go to sleep, Dante.”
“C'mon,” Dante sighed, “you're not gonna fall asleep in here anyway.”
“Sleep, Dante,” Vergil repeated firmly.
This time, his brother didn't answer.
***
The hands of the grandfather clock in the living room read three o'clock in the morning when a door creaked softly on the second floor. The floorboards barely flexed under the light, soft footsteps. The person took their time, placing each foot carefully so an old board wouldn't betray their presence. Carefully going down the stairs one step at a time, they crept down the hallway and paused by the door beside the snoring “guard,” who had been fast asleep for a while.
With a faint click of the mechanism, the living room door handle turned, and a slight figure appeared in the doorway. A shadow glided across the floor—closer to the brothers—and froze. Then it moved again.
Without opening his eyes, Vergil let out a low, guttural growl. The figure froze instantly. Even when she had been standing in the doorway, the cloying scent of her perfume had flooded his nostrils; now, the sweetness was suffocating.
The human still didn't move an inch. The fabric of the nightgown rustled a couple of minutes later. At that, Vergil snapped his eyes open, their azure flame piercing the darkness. A startled gasp broke the silence as the crouching girl instantly slapped a hand over her mouth. Vergil quickly closed his eyes, and moments later she left, no longer caring much to keep her movements quiet.
The sickly sweetness seemed to cling to the very air in the living room, refusing to vanish as its owner had.
Vergil rolled onto his back a few minutes later and stared blankly at the ceiling for just as long. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he said, “Let’s go look at the stars.”
The blanket rustled as Dante turned to face him.
“Thought you'd never ask,” he replied, his voice hoarse yet cheerful.
Strangely enough, his smile didn't irritate Vergil this time.
***
Dante lay on the roof of the house with his hands behind his head. A soft, nostalgic smile played on his lips. He gazed up at the dark-blue velvet of the sky, dusted with white splashes of stars, and breathed in the cool night air. To his right lay Vergil, gazing at the shimmering clusters of celestial diamonds. The crisp air outside was much more pleasant than the stifling air inside the house, and the rustling leaves and chirping cicadas brought a rare sense of peace.
But nothing lasts forever.
“Why'dd you suddenly change your mind, Verg?”
“...”
“Don't tell me it's because of that girl.”
“...”
“Haha, I never would've thought you'll be so popular with the ladies. Eh, Verg?” He looked over at his brother, a half-smile on his face—involuntarily warm and deliberately provocative in equal measure.
When Vergil didn't respond for the third time, Dante let out a sigh.
They were even. In return for Dante bringing up the sirens and the hot springs, Vergil had paid him back by recalling his blunder in the Circle of Gluttony.
And yet...
“I guess I shouldn't even ask about her, huh?” He paused for a moment and placed a hand over his heart, “I swear I won’t laugh. I'm really curious.”
“Dante,” Vergil said, eyes closed and brow furrowed, his voice dripping with such a tone that—
“Okay, okay. I'm shutting up.”
They went back to staring at the night sky. When they were kids, they used to sneak out of the house to lie in the grass and gaze up at the stars just like this. Vergil had even brought a star map once. They’d started trying to spot the constellations, only to end up bickering in the middle of it. Their parents had come running at the sound of their shouting, scolded them, and marched them home by the scruff of their necks. Man, did they get it back then...
“However curious you may be, this is not your story.”
Vergil’s voice pulled Dante out of his memories, making him snap his head around to face the blue twin. “Did it end well, at least?”
Vergil sucked in a breath through his teeth and pursed his lips.
“Overall, yes. But it’s complicated,” he finally replied.
“Nothing is ever simple with you, dear brother,” Dante chuckled.
Maybe he was imagining things, but Vergil’s quiet huff sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.
Meanwhile, the stars—eternal and cold, yet so warm and dear to the heart—continued to twinkle in the sky.
***
The sack fell heavily onto the cart—it swayed, settling a little further under the added weight.
Dawn was barely breaking on the horizon, painting the treetops in a pale gold, but the house was already awake. The woman had gone to feed the livestock, the girl had gone to fetch water from the river, and the two young men were loading the cart with Dante's help them as a token of gratitude for their hospitality. Meanwhile, Vergil was talking to the farm owner, trying—or pretending to try—to understand what the old man was attempting to tell him.
“Sì-sì, segnor. Grazie di tutto, ma dobbiamo andare,” Vergil said, having rehearsed the phrase in advance so that he could finally get rid of the damned old man. But the latter seemed to take the flawlessly delivered sentence as a sign that the half‑demon would now understand every his word, so he began the conversation anew.
Vergil managed to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.
There was a quiet snicker behind him.
Dante.
Well, of course, he would be laughing. Knowing full well what kind of torture his older brother was going through, he was thoroughly enjoying Vergil’s misery. Luckily, the young men seemed to grow tired of waiting for the old man to finish speaking. So they hurried him up before hopping into the cart and settling in the front.
After bidding the farm owner farewell one last time, Vergil—finally—climbed into the cart and sat down opposite Dante, who kept waving at the old man until he disappeared from view.
“Such good people live here,” he noted brightly.
“Yes,” Vergil gritted out, “very good.”
Dante just laughed in response.
The road was rough and bumpy, so they jolted along in the cart for at least half an hour. It felt like an eternity—at one point, Vergil even had the urge to jump off and walk, but Dante seemed to read the intent in his brother’s eyes and stopped him just in time.
Eventually, the dirt road gave way to gravel—a sure sign that they were approaching the city. Sure enough, after a sharp bend around the hill, the painfully familiar outlines of beige-brick buildings came into view, along with the half‑ruined dome of the main church and the narrow, cobblestone streets.
Granted, Vergil had gotten a bit of a “girl’s attention” in this city once, but that was a completely different story…