Chapter Text
Chapter XIV: Point Of The Story
"The greatest gift one can offer
is to be a safe harbor
in someone else’s storm."
About 6 years ago…
Hidden behind the arched double-door entrance - covered with nonsensical symbols and sigils associated with the Order of the Sword - held Fortuna’s greatest literary archive.
Inhabiting intricately carved stone statues and jewelled chandeliers, the library’s walls were dominated by large multi-coloured stain glass windows that cast an illuminating glow across the main floor, adorning the entry way with stretches of light.
The size of these walls was never-ending. With the ceilings soaring impossibly high, it was out of the question not to gaze upward. After all, there was a grand painting featuring a celestial battle between what looked like angels and demons across the ceiling.
It was breathtaking.
The pillars supporting the gothic building stood tall, too. Columns of limestone embellished the hall, as did the vines that circled the entirety of them. Many different mythical creatures were magnificently carved within the bodies of the pillars, bringing forth a unique and enchanting look to the overall design and detail.
And of course, hundreds of bookshelves made from dark polished wood dominated the space.
Shrouded in the shadows, there were small reading nooks tucked into the corners – providing a sense of quiet seclusion.
But at the heart of the library lies a circular arrangement of wooden tables. Green lamps offered a muted glow and within the array of tables stood the most eye-catching piece of all.
An enormous yet exquisite sculpture of Sparda.
Your footsteps echoed softly in the vast space. There weren’t many people still here, in fact, most people were getting ready to leave. It made sense though – it was getting awfully late. But at least now you had the opportunity to trifle through the aisles to your heart’s content without being interrupted by anyone.
There was no real reason as to why your feet had led you here. But now that you were, you couldn’t fight off the desire to find a book and get lost in a reality that wasn’t yours. The ability to leave your responsibilities aside, even for a short while, was something you craved for a long, long time.
Walking past more and more shelves, your fingers lightly grazed along the spines of books as you tried to search for something that called out to you. Something that would be worth a while.
And after walking many, many aisles, nothing appealing caught your eye. You embarked onto another floor, and then another, and so on, until you reached the final level.
Still, unfortunately, you were only met with books that seemed a little too dull for your tastes.
“What’s with this place and boring books? The supplier must’ve died or something…” You muttered. Picking up a random book from a shelf in disinterest, you skimmed the pages before deciding to place it back – pausing when you see a mop of grey on the other side of the shelf. You squint, trying to make sense of what was before you, but then its head turned to the side a little, ash-coloured hair brushing against the collar of a black trench coat.
It was a man.
Curious, you circled around the shelf, approaching the man dressed in dark attire. It was probably not the wisest choice, but nonetheless, he appeared more interesting than the books perched on the shelves.
The man didn’t seem to notice your presence treading towards him; or, if he did, he made no effort to acknowledge you.
He was holding a book in his hands. They were gloved, but there were still parts of the glove that revealed skin. Milky white skin. Skin that seemed almost too perfect, as if he had never been tarnished with a graze in his entire life.
As you stepped closer towards him, you couldn’t shake off the feeling of danger that emanated from him. It brought forth more mystery to his character, yet you couldn’t help wanting to figure out why. He didn’t seem like he was from Fortuna. So what was his purpose? Why was he here?
You tried to peep over his shoulder, but the man was so tall you were sure that if he were dressed in white instead he’d probably blend in with those gigantic pillars holding up the infrastructure of the old building. Instead, you settled on trying to get a good look at the book from approaching closer to his side, your head just behind his elbow as you eyed what he was reading – instantly recognising the words on the page.
“The Divine Comedy… doing some spiritual reading, hey?” You let out a light-hearted laugh, in an attempt to make conversation with the mysterious figure.
You weren’t sure if he even heard you because he made no move to turn around and face you. His body was so eerily still, as if he were a replica of the gigantic statue in the middle of the library. Was he even breathing?
“I read it once when I was younger. It… sure is something, right? Virgil was my favourite, but I do think he should’ve had more of a purpose than just being Dante’s tour guide.”
The man twisted around then, and you stepped backwards from the abruptness. An expression of shock took over when you laid eyes on him.
He had a striking appearance, his sharp cheekbones and perfectly arched eyebrows complimented those enigmatic eyes of his. They were painted a blue so dull it appeared grey, much like his hair. Those irises looked like the aftermath of a silent storm. Quiet. Captivating. Alluring. That stern expression made his eyes appear almost deadly. A gaze so cold and calculating, you could’ve sworn you felt a shiver go down your spine.
He was staring deep into your soul.
You broke the eye-contact and stared down at your feet, not being able to bear another second of his scrutinising gaze. You were about to mumble an apology for interrupting him, that you just wanted to know why he was so engrossed in such a book and if he could help you find something you could get lost in the same way he was, but the words were caught in your throat when he decided to speak.
“Virgil,” said the man in a sultry voice. The name rolled off of his tongue so perfectly as if it were his own. “Wasn’t just his ‘tour guide’.” Echoing that last part in a mocking tone. “He was his protector.”
You blinked. Trying to formulate a reply.
“I guess so. But I still think he should’ve become something… more. His entire existence was solely there for Dante to depend on.” You argued. You didn’t really remember much of the story, but from what you could recall Dante Alighieri wrote The Divine Comedy to depict the journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. Essentially the story was meant to make one strive for salvation. It follows a fictional depiction of Dante, the author himself, and a character called Virgil, who was based off of the poet who lived centuries before Dante – Virgil mainly served as a mentor of some sort, guiding Dante through each 'circle' of Hell.
The man in front of you kept his gaze fixed on your face. You hardly noticed the slight eyebrow raise that overtook his features for a split second. “Because that was his purpose.”
“His purpose?”
“Yes.”
You shook your head. Wondering why he was so hell-bent on Virgil not needing to have his own story.
“Whatever floats your boat, I suppose.” You say, not really knowing how to respond. “I actually had a friend called Dante once. But funnily enough, I think I depended on him as much as your Dante depended on Virgil.” You say, nodding towards the book in his hands. You didn’t really know why you were telling a stranger about all of this, you didn’t even like thinking back to those times with Dante because you missed him so much. But maybe it was the fact that this man before you was a stranger - one who you’d most likely never see again - which was what made talking about it so easy.
If it weren’t for the emotion conveyed in his eyes, you would’ve never caught that glimpse of surprise that flickered through his expression. A second passed, and it was gone. His stoic face returned, masking on a neutral, unbothered look. The man stayed silent and so you took that as a sign to carry on.
“What I’m saying is, I think the story would’ve been more enjoyable if there was an instance where Virgil depended on Dante for once. It doesn’t matter if Virgil has more wisdom and knowledge, even if he had a companion to rely on it would’ve given him more emotional depth. Don’t you think?”
He scoffs, shaking his head in disagreement. He looked at you weirdly for a moment, like he was baffled you’d even consider such a thought. “That’s not the point of the story.” He mutters it quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than to you.
You raised an eyebrow, finding this man a little strange. It was almost like the two of you were speaking about different things here.
Come to think of it… this man and the way he seemed to be radiating control and precision in the way he presented himself, as well as the way he carried himself with an odd sense of aristocratic quality, it made you think back to the times where Dante would speak about his brother. How he was said to be so utterly composed and intimidating that it would only further tempt Dante to rattle him. His brother was a man who was not fond of speaking much, yet he liked taking in the many words a book could hold. Similar to the man in front of you.
It was stupid, of course, to tie two and two together. You hadn’t seen Dante in years, and Dante himself hadn’t seen his brother in years…
Because he was dead.
But other than the danger that seemed to pulse off of this man, there was something more to him that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. Something that made you think back to those times Dante would speak about his brother, to the point you yourself felt so familiar with him because of all the things you knew about him.
Could he really be...?
The man turned away from you, almost as if he could hear your absurd, spiralling thoughts, and then he carefully placed the book back where he found it. Moving past you in an attempt to leave.
Just as you were about to speak, to ask him something – anything – like what his name was or where he came from. He halted.
A monstrous snarl cut through the air. The sound of some kind of demonic creature pouncing on bookcases, one after the other, was approaching quickly. You looked around, eyes widening a little in shock.
What the hell was a demon doing in here?
You reached for where you usually kept your daggers, only to realise you hadn’t taken them with you.
Shoot.
Panicking, you looked over to the cloaked man. He narrowed his eyes at you over his shoulder as he reached for something in his cloak. “Leave.”
You gave him a bewildered look. “What?”
“Leave.” He says, more bitterly this time. His patience was quickly wearing thin. “I will take care of this.”
…Who does this guy think he is?!
You let out an awkward laugh, looking around for something you could use in replace of your daggers. “Listen, I’m not sure who you really are, dude, but I’m quite the skilled fighter when it comes to demons. I can handle this myself, so you should probably get to safety.”
The demon didn’t pause for the man to respond. The winged creature circled around the room – in search for you and Mr Tough Guy, trying to follow you both around from the sound of your voices. It let out another snarl, this time blowing out a stream of fire, ruining many shelves in the process. Books fluttered down to the floor, wooden bookcases collapsing in its wake.
The man you were bickering with quickly pulled you by the arm, you both squatted down behind a barely in-tact bookshelf, using it as a temporary shield as the demonic creature swung around the entire library. Another shriek rips out, and it seemed to have called its friends over because a swarm of demons burst through one of the stain glass windows. You raise your hand to protect yourself from the sudden blow. These demons... they were nothing like what you've seen before. They truly looked like they crawled their way out of the bottomless pits of Hell just to get here. They seemed so much more stronger than the usual ones you were used to seeing. More powerful.
You notice a stray piece of wood with a broken yet sharp edge to it lying beside where you crouched – it was most likely a product of one of the shelves the whiny demon had destroyed. You attempt to pick it up, to use it as a weapon to take down at least one of the creatures, but you’re stopped when a flash of light pierces the space in front of you.
You stare at your reflection on the katana, your eyes slowly going down the long sword until you find the pointed tip of it lodged into the wood of your would-be weapon, right beside your hand. You whip your head around – facing the man holding the shiny blade. A mix of shock, fear, and anger etched into your face.
“What the hell is wrong with you!? You could’ve poked a hole through my hand!” You whisper-shouted at him, eyebrows furrowing. He didn't say it aloud, but he found the look to be quite amusing.
The man only drew his weapon back once he was satisfied your rage was enough to stop you from making such a foolish, weak attempt at trying to take on the demons.
“I will tell you a final time – leave this place.” He says, coldly. “This is my mess so I will be the one to sort it. Go.”
You had questions. Too many questions. But there was something about his authoritative tone that had you obeying almost immediately. Whoever this man was, he knew what he was doing. It was better to just leave him to it, especially since you weren’t exactly well equipped right now. The demons were growing far more impatient now, almost setting the entire floor alight. The enigmatic man didn't wait for your reply, in a flash of light you saw him charge straight towards one of them. His movements were fast and sleek, but it was too dark to make out what was happening, lightning sparks of blue were all that you could witness in the blur of the battle.
Who the hell just casually carries around a katana anyway? And what does he mean that this was ‘his’ mess? Who exactly was he to have devils chasing after him?
But you pushed your thoughts and endless unanswered questions aside. Instead of breaking your promise and choosing to stand by his side to face the demons together, you chose to have faith in his skills and let his actions protect you as you made your escape.