The streets were quiet in the way only ruined cities could be—like the silence had swallowed every scream that ever echoed there.
Dante walked with one hand on his blade, eyes scanning every alley, every window, every shadow that might not be a shadow. Behind him, Caius moved like a ghost, bow drawn, always two steps behind and never out of range. Mikael led the group, map in hand, eyes sharp. No one spoke.
The air was thick with old smoke, the stench of sulfur baked into the bones of the city. Demons hadn’t been seen in this sector for weeks, but that didn’t mean it was safe. It only meant something worse might be waiting.
They were looking for a ghost.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEH5UZ6mZ3g
Or, more accurately, a legend that had chosen to disappear.
Isaac.
One of the last remaining Fallen Hunters.
Dante didn’t know why the name bothered him. He didn’t remember meeting him. Didn’t think he had. But still… the thought of seeing this man made something inside him itch. Like an old scar being pressed.
“We’re close,” Mikael muttered, stopping at the corner of a shattered building.
Caius rolled his eyes. “You’ve said that for two blocks.”
“Because we are close. He’s hiding in plain sight—this is the district where he was last seen.”
“And what makes you think he hasn’t moved?”
“Because,” Mikael said, folding the map and tucking it away, “Isaac doesn’t run. Not really.”
Caius scoffed. “Funny. That’s all the Fallen Hunters seem to do.”
Dante stayed silent. But his jaw tightened. He didn’t know why that comment pissed him off.
They turned a corner.
A small café sat on the edge of the block, the only building still intact, untouched by war or flame. Its windows were boarded, but a faint trail of light escaped through the cracks.
Mikael held up a hand. The group froze.
“There,” he whispered. “That’s him.”
Inside the café, a tall man stood behind the counter, his movements casual, like he had no idea the world outside was crumbling. He was pouring coffee into a chipped mug, back turned, posture relaxed.
“That’s the guy?” Caius asked, doubtful.
“That’s Isaac.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he’s doing exactly what I expected him to do—pretending none of this affects him.”
Dante narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t see the man’s face yet. But the air around the café felt different. Heavier. Like something was waiting inside.
“Let’s go in quiet,” Mikael said. “No weapons drawn. No threats. We’re not here to fight.”
“Yet,” Caius muttered.
They entered.
The door creaked open, and the man didn’t flinch. He turned slowly, mug in hand, and looked at them like he’d been expecting company.
Isaac was tall, broader than any of them, dressed in a dark, fitted shirt with rolled sleeves. His hair was black, a little messy, and a faint scar ran over his left brow. His eyes were blue—cold, calculating. No fear. No surprise.
“Well,” he said calmly, “you finally found me.”
Mikael stepped forward. “Isaac.”
“That’s my name.” He took a sip from his mug. “You must be Mikael.”
Caius snorted. “He’s not even surprised. Like he invited us.”
“I knew someone would come crawling eventually,” Isaac replied. “Didn’t expect you to be dumb enough to lead them, though.”
Mikael ignored the jab. “We need your help.”
Isaac’s gaze flicked over the group. “Looks like you need more than that.”
Dante stepped slightly forward, studying him. Something about the way Isaac held himself... it reminded him of someone. Not the face. The presence.
“You’re the one who trained with Lucas,” Dante said slowly.
Isaac’s eyes darkened just slightly.
“I was more than that,” he said. “He was... close.”
“Dexter too?” Caius asked suddenly. His tone was clipped. Guarded. Almost angry.
Isaac looked at him carefully.
“Dexter is dead.”
The air shifted.
Dante saw it in Caius’s eyes—something flickered there. Pain, quickly buried under anger. He looked away. No one said anything else.
Isaac set his mug down. “So what is this, huh? An emotional reunion? Or are you just desperate enough to crawl back to the people your leaders abandoned?”
Mikael stood his ground. “We need to talk.”
Isaac leaned back against the counter. “Talk.”
“We’re losing ground. Demons are moving like soldiers. Organizing. They’re not what they used to be.”
“I know.”
“And there are whispers... about something bigger. A shift.”
Isaac gave a humorless smile. “So now you come running to the people who already lost one war.”
“We didn’t come to beg,” Mikael said. “We came to warn you. And maybe to learn something.”
Isaac’s gaze drifted to Dante. “And who’s he?”
“Dante,” Mikael said. “One of our best.”
Dante tilted his head. “We’re not here to impress you.”
Isaac smiled. “No. But some of you still try.”
Before anyone could respond, a voice came from the back—another Fallen Hunter, a man with short hair and a jagged scar down his neck. He leaned on the doorframe, eyes sharp.
“Isaac. We’ve got movement. South entrance. Could be scouts.”
Isaac nodded. “I’ll check.”
Then, almost absentmindedly, he added, “Should we bring Rhea in too—”
He stopped herself.
Too late.
The silence was deafening.
Mikael looked up sharply. “Rhea?”
The man stiffened. “Forget I said that.”
Isaac’s jaw tensed. “Go. Now.”
He disappeared into the back without another word.
“Who’s Rhea?” Mikael pressed.
“None of your concern.”
“I just heard the name—”
“You heard nothing,” Isaac snapped. “And if you’re smart, you’ll let it go.”
Caius stepped forward. “What the hell are you hiding?”
Isaac’s eyes went cold. “A lot more than you’re ready for.”
The tension in the room thickened.
Dante’s mind spun. The name Rhea echoed in his head like a bell tolling in fog.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUWJX5YPjjy
He didn’t know her. But something about the sound felt wrong. Or right. Or... familiar.
Isaac sighed and stood straight.
“You want help?” he asked. “Fine. I’ll come with you. But you follow my lead. You stay out of rooms you’re not invited into. And you don’t ask about people you’ve never met.”
Mikael hesitated. “Why now?”
“Because,” Isaac said darkly, “if you’re right about the demons changing... then we’re already out of time.”
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