DRIP. DRIP.
Dante floated in the center of the pool.
The tyrant in him was quiet. Soothed by a peace so deep it felt strange.
The constant, grinding calculations slowed. The gnawing hunger for power was calmed.
For the first time, he simply... was.
Erica drifted closer. Movements shy. Hesitant.
As if afraid of breaking the quiet moment.
The glowing water swirled around her. The silver-blue light catching in her fiery red hair.
She stopped a few feet away. Arms wrapped around herself. Gaze fixed on the water.
"Dante?" she whispered. Voice barely a ripple in the quiet air.
"I'm here, Erica," he replied. His voice softer than he'd heard it in a long time.
"Are you... are you okay?" she asked. Finally looking at him.
Her eyes, usually burning with fierce, obsessive light, were now soft. Vulnerable.
Full of deep, real concern.
"The dragon fight... you were burned so badly. And your arm..."
"The water is healing it," he said. Gesturing with his remaining hand.
