Echoes of Desolation

After the violence of the moment when Dante dragged her onto his horse, the world around Selene seemed to shatter into fragments of shadow and pain. The scene had erupted in chaos, but now she found herself transported to an isolated place, far from the inquisitive eyes of the clans. The rhythmic pounding of the horse's hooves on the dry earth mingled with the erratic beating of Selene's heart.

Inside the somber compartment of the transport, the air was dense and suffocating. Dante, still wearing an unbothered expression, kept his gaze fixed on her, while Selene battled the storm of helplessness and revulsion boiling within her.

— "You dragged me like I was nothing but an object, Dante!" — she spat, her voice sharp, trembling with fury and pain.

Dante held his posture, but the fire in his eyes betrayed the tension beneath his calm facade.

— "You know there is no choice, Selene. The fate that binds us allows no hesitation."

His words struck her like blades, each syllable cutting deeper. Darkness stirred inside her, pulsing with fury. As the horse pressed forward along forgotten paths, she raised her hands, and a shimmering aura of black energy bloomed around her fingers.

— "I will not be your prisoner, nor your toy!" — she cried, unleashing a burst of raw energy that made the very air around them tremble.

Dante reacted instinctively, shielding himself with the force of his will. In one swift motion, he reached for her, trying to contain the surge. But in the heat of the clash, a blade—his cursed weapon, forged to sever energy—slipped from his grip. In a blur, it grazed Selene's arm, slicing deep into her flesh. A sharp cry escaped her lips.

— "You… you hurt me!" — Selene screamed, eyes widening in pain and disbelief.

Dante froze, regret flickering across his features, quickly drowned by frustration.

— "It was an accident—I didn't mean to—" he muttered, his voice tight with conflict.

She struggled violently in his arms.

— "Don't touch me! You ruin everything you lay hands on!" — she cried, her voice cracking with pain and rage.

In a sudden surge of desperation, she broke free. The horse neighed in protest, rearing back, but Selene used the moment to leap from its back. She hit the ground hard and rolled across the dirt, but without a glance back, she pushed herself to her feet and ran.

The rain began to fall—soft, mournful—like the sky itself wept for her.

She didn't stop until the path brought her to the edge of the Forest of the Condemned. Shrouded in fog, its twisted trees loomed like ancient sentinels whispering forgotten sins. With her breath ragged and her body aching, Selene stepped into the mist.

A shiver ran down her spine. The forest felt alive—haunted. The wind whispered in voices too quiet to understand, as though the dead told secrets only the cursed could hear.

Soon she came upon a river, its waters black as night, reflecting the agony within her soul. She fell to her knees by the bank, plunging her wounded arm into the icy current. Blood swirled into the water like ink, and she pressed her palm to the wound.

— "May hell consume you, Dante… May every wound you've given me return to you a thousandfold." — she whispered, her voice choked with sobs and venom.

She let it all pour out—every scream she had silenced, every tear she had swallowed. She wanted to purge not only the pain in her flesh, but the poison of her bond with him.

Minutes passed like lifetimes.

When she finally stood, her reflection in the water startled her. The girl staring back had wild eyes and a hardened face—no longer the daughter of shadows, but something more dangerous. Something untethered.

She continued along the muddy trail, deeper into the forest where ancient trees twisted overhead and the ground pulsed with forgotten magic. It was there, among the branches, that she sensed a presence.

A figure emerged from the fog—an old woman draped in rough, earth-colored garments, amulets glowing faintly on her chest. Her eyes were ancient wells, dark and knowing.

— "I am Morgana, guardian of the forgotten paths," the woman said, her voice like a whisper from the roots of the earth. "I see pain haunts you, child of shadows."

Selene, still trembling, met her gaze.

— "My pain is mine alone." — Her voice cracked, defiant, but weak.

— "And yet it echoes through the forest," Morgana replied. "Your fate is entwined with Dante's. You cannot run from what has been sealed."

Selene's fists clenched.

— "I never chose this path. I never asked for this curse! He hurt me—and now he wants to bind me to him as if I belong to him!"

The witch stepped closer, her gaze deepening.

— "Since the first blood was spilled in the world, there have been bonds that no blade can sever. Not even death can untie what fate has woven."

Selene's breath caught in her throat. Her voice turned hoarse.

— "Then let fate burn. Let him burn. If I must fall to be free, then I'll drag him into the abyss with me."

Morgana raised a hand gently.

— "You may scream, you may fight, but the truth remains. The bond between you and Dante is not something that can be undone."

Selene staggered back, sinking slightly into the mud.

— "Empty words. Ancient lies. I will not be a pawn in a story written without my consent."

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with rain and mud. She whispered her own name like a spell against destiny, her curses lost to the forest's breath.

Morgana's gaze didn't falter.

— "Ah, Selene… What you seek is freedom. But what fate has in store… is far more dangerous