Dante's return to consciousness was a slow crawl out of a deep, black pit. The first thing he registered was a dull, throbbing ache at the core of his being. The second was a soft warmth beneath his head and the scent of woodsmoke and rain. He opened his eyes to a blur of firelight and worried faces.
Erica's was the closest, her eyes wide and luminous. Before he could speak, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder in a desperate, trembling hug.
Dante froze. Physical contact was a foreign language. Her embrace was a confusing mix of warmth and restraint, a clinging that spoke of profound fear.
"You're awake," she sobbed into his shirt. "You're finally awake. I thought we lost you. Don't you ever do that again! Don't you ever scare me like that again! You can't leave us. You can't."
Her words were a frantic torrent of relief and terror. Dante remained still, his mind slowly piecing together the events before his collapse. The fight. The victory. The strain of raising Derek's spirit. A tactical error—a miscalculation of my own limits. A mistake I will not make again.
"He's awake!" Rina's voice, filled with exhausted relief, broke the spell.
The rest of the team crowded in. Masha was there, her usual composure gone, replaced by a weary relief. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You had us worried, Dante," she said, her voice unsteady. "Profoundly."
Eric knelt, his massive form seeming to block out the night, and simply nodded. In his eyes, Dante saw not just relief, but the renewed faith of a soldier in his commander. Jin and Talia stood behind him, their expressions mirroring his stoic approval.
They were all there. Eight of them. Two were missing. Neil and Juno.
Their absence is a hole in the formation, a loss of vital assets. But as Dante looked at the emotional faces surrounding him, he felt nothing for the dead. No sadness. No grief. This was a trial of attrition.
"We lost them," Jin said, his voice low and heavy with a guilt Dante did not share. "Neil and Juno… Derek's team, they…"
They served their purpose. Their usefulness was expended.
"I know," Dante said, his voice raspy. He pushed himself into a sitting position, gently dislodging Erica's embrace. She pulled back reluctantly, her hands hovering as if to steady him. "I was there."
His cold, detached tone seemed to sober them. The raw relief was replaced by a grim remembrance of the battle. They were still clinging to the sentimental notion that every life had inherent value. They had not yet learned what he already knew. Value is determined by strength and usefulness. Nothing more.
"Their deaths were not in vain," he said, his words a carefully crafted balm for their misplaced emotions. "They bought us the victory that ensures the rest of us will live to see another day. We will honor them not by mourning, but by winning."
He let his gaze sweep over each of them, reasserting his control. "Rest. We have a long road ahead. The next phase begins now."
Later that night, the camp was quiet. A rotating watch had been set, with his five shadow puppets standing motionless in the darkness beyond the firelight—a far more effective security system than any living guard. Dante sat alone by the bonfire, staring into the flames. The physical weakness had receded, but a deep, soul-wearying exhaustion remained.
The wish. The ultimate prize. A secret that sets me apart from everyone, even them.
A soft footstep made him look up. It was Masha. Her once impeccably styled hair was now a messy ponytail, a smudge of dirt on one cheek. The firelight caught the intelligence in her eyes, an intensity sharpened by a deep, weary anxiety. She sat on a log across from him. For a long moment, she just stared into the fire.
"Things are really going bad, aren't they?" she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn't a question so much as a confirmation.
Dante didn't answer, simply watching the flames.
"We lost two people today, Dante," she continued. "Not to monsters. To us. And we… we killed ten. I keep trying to justify it, to tell myself it was self-defense, but it feels like we've crossed a line."
"There are no lines here," he said, his voice flat. "There is only survival."
"Is that all this is?" She finally looked at him, her eyes searching his face for something other than cold logic. "Just survival? What happens next, Dante? We kill the dragon, and then what? We become soldiers or slaves for some king we've never met? Is that the victory we're fighting for?"
Her questions hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken fears of the entire team.
"Will we even survive that long?" she pressed, her voice cracking slightly. "Derek's team was strong. What if there are others like them? Stronger?" She hugged her knees to her chest, a gesture of profound vulnerability. "Dante… will we ever go home?"