Ashen Requiem

The train roared through the night, gliding along the magnetic platform suspended over the waters of Almeria.

In the distance, the first lights of the city came into view—a Bastion of Light¹, or so they said. Also the city where he died, sweet nostalgia.

A land so purified by white meteorites and sacred rites that it snuffed out even the faintest trace of dark energy.

And yet, Dante couldn’t sleep.

He sat cross-legged in the middle of the cabin, arms resting on his knees, palms facing upward.

The train swayed with every turn, but he remained still, eyes shut.

His breathing was steady. A red aura flickered faintly around him.

— "Something’s off." he thought.

His senses had been on edge ever since they entered Almeria’s territory.

He should’ve felt drained, hollowed out. But instead, a pressure was building.

Something abnormal. A dissonance in the energy of this so-called bastion of light—and it wasn’t coming from him.