By the time Dante reached the elders' tower, the air around the place already felt wrong.
The structure stood crooked against the cliffs like an old scar carved into the mountain, its black stones weathered and stained by decades of neglect. Even the protective runes carved along the outer walls looked faded, their glow weak and uneven, like ancient light bulbs no one had bothered to replace.
No one stopped him.
Not a single guard stepped forward.
Not a single servant dared question his arrival.
The guards stationed outside the gate lowered their heads the moment they saw him approaching, fear already visible in their stiff posture. One of them dropped his spear. Neither moved to pick it up.
Dante did not slow down.
He walked straight past them without sparing a single glance.
"Where is she?" he asked quietly, his voice carrying a coldness that made the nearest guard visibly flinch.
The guard swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.
