The sky above was not a sky—it was a sea of stars, frozen in time, swirling silently in a dome of cosmic glass. Thunder cracked through the silence, but no clouds formed. Only light. Unnatural, divine, terrifying.
Dante stood at the edge of the carnage.
His cloak, shredded and scorched, clung to his frame like ash on stone. Blood—not his—dripped from the edge of his spear. Eikon pulsed in his grip, alive with a low hum that echoed the heartbeat of Olympus itself. The morphing weapon—forged from the clouds of a forgotten world—shimmered with celestial light, shifting subtly from spear to blade to staff as if undecided on what form it wanted to kill with next.
Thousands of bodies lay behind him—monsters, void-touched abominations, creatures of nightmare and shadow. He had cut them all down. One by one. Without help. Without rest.
He limped forward.
The stars above flickered as he approached a massive golden gate wreathed in smoke and silence. Cracks ran through the marble columns holding it aloft, and from within, something breathed. Slowly. Heavily. Like a mountain dreaming.
His pendant glowed at his chest—a tiny flicker of warmth in a dead land. TLOG. The Library of Gods. Now resting in a single gem, bound to his soul. Behind that gate lay the hundredth floor. The final trial. The truth.
"Dante…"
The voice came like thunder softened by rain. Familiar. Heavy with memory.
"Brother…"
And Dante stepped forward.
The first punch knocked the book from Dante's hands.
He hit the ground hard, mud splashing into his mouth, and felt the weight of a boot press into his shoulder. Two boys laughed above him—older, stronger, meaner.
"Still think you're gonna be a mage, bookworm?" one of them sneered, flipping through the pages of Dante's journal with mock curiosity.
"Give that back," Dante said, his voice quiet, but firm.
Another kick answered him.
Then everything changed.
Miguel barreled into them like a human boulder, knocking both bullies to the ground with a wild roar. A stick swung overhead, cracking one across the back. Olivia stood tall, missing a front tooth, swinging like a warrior out of the very stories Dante loved to read.
"Back off!" she screamed.
The boys scrambled up, bruised and limping. One spat into the mud. "You won't have your protectors forever, Dante! Just you wait!"
When they were gone, Olivia dropped the stick and helped Dante up. "You okay?"
He nodded, brushing dirt from his shirt.
Miguel picked up the fallen journal and handed it back. "What was it this time?"
"They tore a page," Dante said quietly, opening it to the damage. "It was one of my favorites."
Olivia leaned over. "Another spell?"
"No," he said. "A rite. From House Daelos."
Miguel groaned. "Daelos again? Man, you really think they'll pick you?"
"I think… maybe," Dante whispered. "I have to believe."
Olivia ruffled his hair. "If anyone's gonna be a mage, it's you."
The Hidden Alcove
Dante sat in his secret spot that night—a cramped corner behind the old library shelves. Candles flickered. Pages covered the wall, filled with rune sigils, spirit theory, elemental diagrams, and his own sloppy sketches of relic weapons.
In his lap sat his journal, worn and weathered.
"Rite of Binding—flame types respond better to direct emotion."
"House Daelos known for dual spirit contracts by age 16."
"I'll be ready."
He sketched a mock core—like the ones he'd read about in forbidden books—shaped like a burning star. The page curled in the candlelight.
The Orphanage Test Day
A week later, everything changed.
The orphanage was buzzing. Kids ran back and forth in cleaned-up clothes, hair brushed, shoes scrubbed until they gleamed. It was the week of the Aptitude Selection. One of the Three Great Houses was rumored to be visiting.
Dante had read everything about them—House Daelos, House Malgrave, House Verdugo.
He picked his best shirt, combed his wild curls flat, and practiced his posture in the mirror.
The noble entourage arrived in sleek carriages laced with arcane coils. They carried polished potential stones, not for mana, but for resonance—the deeper, ancestral energy that hinted at who a child might become.
Dante stepped forward, hand trembling.
The stone flashed briefly… then dimmed.
The number glowed.
0.1
Gasps. Giggles. Snorts.
One of the testers whispered, "He's got less potential than a broomstick."
The crowd moved on. Dante backed away, heart hammering.
Losses
Olivia was picked that day. She ran to him, hugged him tight, and whispered, "I left something for you in your nook." Then she was gone.
Miguel left two days later. "Don't stop dreaming," he said. "If they don't pick you, make them regret it."
He smiled and handed Dante a rough-carved wooden token. Their handshake—etched into its surface.
Then he was alone.
Life Without Them
Dante buried himself in chores and reading. He helped the sisters wash, clean, and cook. The younger children adored his stories, and the Father kept a growing list of new books to request—at Dante's request.
He'd read the entire library ten times.
Once, the Father found him reciting an entire book aloud to a toddler, word-perfect.
"You're not just smart, Dante. You're... something else," the Father had said.
Dante smiled and looked at the pendant he kept hidden—Olivia's ribbon tied into a loop.
The Final Day
Only two children remained: Dante and Wilford.
Evening shadows stretched long. They sat by the window in silence. Then came the hum.
A car—black, sleek, ancient in design but impossibly advanced—pulled up the gravel road.
The sky seemed to still. Wind died. The air tightened like a held breath.
The door opened.
Niko Verdugo stepped out.
He wore black robes trimmed in gold, his eyes cold as winter. The ground beneath his feet steamed faintly with each step.
Dante ducked instinctively as they locked eyes. A wave of pressure swept through him, stealing his breath. Sweat beaded at his neck.
The man said nothing as he entered the orphanage.
The Office
Inside, the Father wrung his hands. "Young master Niko, we weren't told—"
Niko said nothing.
Sona, the silver-haired woman beside him, stepped forward. "My master has come to adopt the final two children."
"The other boy, Wilford, is clever, if not bookish," the Father began. "But… the other…"
He looked to Dante's file, then paused. "He was found six years ago. A freak storm hit, and void beasts swept the forest. I was hiking nearby. I thought I was going to die."
He looked directly at Niko.
"One of them stopped right in front of me. Looked at the boy… then turned and left. Just like that. I believe I was meant to find him. That he's… a light."
Sona nodded. "He'll do."
Niko turned. "We leave in thirty minutes."
The Goodbye
Dante packed nothing but his journal, Olivia's ribbon, and Miguel's token.
As he reached the front gate, one of the sisters stopped him and handed him a small pendant. A rosary—an old, chipped thing with the image of her goddess.
"She watches over fools and heroes," she said. "I don't know which you are yet."
Dante bowed his head, eyes stinging.
In the Carriage
Niko sat in silence. The woods approached.
Sona asked, "Do you believe either will survive?"
Niko closed his eyes.
"They don't need to survive," he said. "They just need to endure."
And the carriage rolled into the trees.