The sun had begun to set just beyond the treeline. The day had gone by fast, faster than she would’ve liked, but time waited for no man nor woman, all of which proved itself as each second droned on, as she slowly, but ever so surely ran out of time.

Rosalie felt the autumn air on her face as she rode closer to his farm. It was a familiar sensation she had felt since childhood, but she couldn’t enjoy it. Not now. Not until her son was safe.

In the distance she saw him, working outside his small shack, shoveling hay and tending to the various animals around: Mr. Matrona, or so she had been told. 

Although his time in the village had been short, he had grown accustomed to the land, and so had its locals to him. They said he was a veteran of the Nine Years War, and Rosalie knew he could help.

Past the open gate of his land, she dismounted off her horse and fell to her weak knees. After hours of searching and asking around, the tears had begun to fall.

“Mr. Matrona,” begged Rosalie, “you must help me!”

The shovel in his hands had become all but forgotten, and in an instant, Dante was crouched at her side, his hands in hers.

“What’s happened?”

“My son, he had left last night with friends,” she said, “they had gone to that mansion, and by sunrise, only his friends returned.”

Dante’s eyes dilated. That mansion; it was said anyone to enter would never exit, that even a fraction of hope couldn’t penetrate through the building’s cold, ungodly walls.

“Please, you must help me! With Vergil gone, Lucien is my only son! I can’t live without knowing he is safe, Mr. Matrona!”

Vergil? 

The name struck a chord deep in Dante’s body. She couldn’t be… no, it was impossible.

“Do not worry,” assured Dante, “return home and I will take my leave at nightfall.”

Rosalie lifted her head to Matrona’s level. Her eyes were red and watery, her tears stained against her cheeks like rain on a window.

“I will return your son to you by sunrise. I give you my word.”

She nodded and Dante helped her to her feet. The mother shook with each movement, and she struggled to stand alone.

“Thank you, Mr. Matrona. I am forever indebted to you for your assistance.”

“With a final glance back, Rosalie saddled onto her horse and rode back through the forest. As the foliage encased her, Matrona returned to his cabin.

He removed his sword from the wall it had hung on since arrival, took his finest clothes from his dresser, and when the moon took the sun’s place in the sky, he climbed atop his horse and began his way to the mansion.

Through a crystal ball, something watched as Dante rode through forest, rivers, and rocks, growing ever so closer to his destination. The creature simply smirked.

“To those of you who can hear the sound of my voice,” it said “there appears to be a guest who will be joining us for the evening.”

The thing waited for a moment. Its words rang out through the halls of the mansion, reverberating against every sound surface until it finally reached its listeners.

“Whoever brings him to me, dead or alive, will set free.”

To Be Continued.