Dante felt the darkness around him ripple, like a shroud tightening, pulling him deeper into an abyss. Suddenly, a sensation of cold shadows wrapped around his body, an unsettling discomfort gnawing at his core. His heart raced as he felt himself falling, plummeting through endless voids.

In a jolt, Dante's eyes shot open. His breath hitched as he stared up at a ceiling, bathed in the warm, orange hues of a setting sun. The light streamed in through cracked windows, painting the walls of the room with an eerie glow. He was lying on the floor of what appeared to be an abandoned classroom, the smell of dust and age heavy in the air.

"What the hell…?" Dante muttered, his voice hoarse.

He pushed himself up slowly, his head throbbing as if it were being squeezed in a vice. He winced, bringing a hand to his temple. The pain was sharp, real—too real.

"How… how am I alive?" he whispered, trying to piece together his last memory.

The image of the colossal, flesh-bound creature flashed in his mind—the Calamity, the grotesque monstrosity that had torn his world apart. He remembered the battle, the screams, the sight of Arthur's lifeless body, and then... darkness.

"I died… I know I did," he muttered, his voice shaky.

The memory of his arm being ripped away, of the searing pain in his stomach—it all felt too vivid to be anything but real.

Desperately, he pinched his arm, wincing as the sharp pain confirmed his suspicions.

"This… this isn't a dream…

Dante stood up, his legs trembling beneath him. He looked around the room, trying to make sense of where he was. Desks and chairs were scattered haphazardly, some overturned, others broken. The chalkboard was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the air was stiflingly stale.

His mind raced with questions, but none of the answers made any sense. Why was he here? How did he survive? And where were the others?

"Arthur… the others…"

Dante's heart sank as he recalled the last moments of the fight. His fists clenched in frustration. He had failed them—failed to protect anyone.

Dante's head pounded as he staggered toward the window, a sense of dread creeping up his spine. Each step felt heavy, his body still aching from a battle he knew should have ended his life. As he reached the window, the last rays of the setting sun warmed his face, but it did little to comfort him. He looked out, squinting through the dirty glass, and what he saw made his heart stop.

Outside, an abandoned schoolyard stretched out before him. The place had been left to rot, overtaken by time. But in the middle of the yard, a fire burned brightly, its flames casting flickering shadows across the cracked pavement. Around the fire sat people—men, women, children, and the elderly. They were laughing, talking, and eating as if the world beyond this small bubble of warmth didn't exist. The scene felt almost too normal, too peaceful.

Dante's breath caught in his throat as realization dawned on him. He knew this place. The familiar layout, the faces, even the fire—this was his old camp, the Resistance they'd built just before the fourth bell tolled. The same camp where they had banded together, fought side by side, shared hopes, and prepared for the worst.

"But that's… impossible…"

He whispered to himself, gripping the window ledge for support. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible sight before him. The camp had been destroyed. He had lived through its fall. And yet, here it was, alive and thriving.

He blinked, shaking his head, trying to push the scene away. Was it an illusion? A trick? Was this just some kind of hallucination, like those stories of people seeing their lives flash before their eyes in the moments before death? He reached up, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, but the camp remained, unchanged.

The faces by the fire were familiar—faces he hadn't seen in years, some of them long dead. There was the blacksmith, always with a bright laugh. The young boy who had once looked up to Dante like he was a hero. Even the elder who had guided them through the darkest times. They were all there, laughing, living as though none of it had ever happened.

Dante felt his throat tighten, emotion overwhelming him. He had seen all of them die—had witnessed their suffering, their loss. How could they be here now, living in peace, when all he remembered was the chaos, the death? His hands trembled against the windowpane as his vision blurred. He wiped his eyes, but the tears kept coming.

"I'm… I'm alive?" he muttered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, mingled with a sob he couldn't hold back. "Is this… is this real?"

His chest ached, not from the physical wounds he had suffered, but from the rush of emotions surging through him. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe it was real—that somehow, impossibly, he had come back to a time before everything went to hell. His old life, the people he cared about, his camp—it was all right here in front of him.

Dante wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, still grappling with the bizarre reality unfolding around him. His heart raced as he tried to make sense of the impossible—the camp, the faces, the laughter. Then, as if the strangeness wasn't enough, a faint sound reached his ears. Footsteps. They echoed in the deserted halls, growing louder with each passing second, breaking through the silence of the abandoned school.

Dante froze, every muscle tense. Someone was coming. He cautiously turned toward the door, uncertainty gripping him. Was it one of the people from the camp? A mutant? Another twisted game of his mind? Before he could take a step forward, a familiar voice pierced through the lingering dread.

"Ah, so this is where you were. I've been looking for you forever, you know?"

Dante's breath hitched in his throat, the voice instantly recognizable. He blinked, his mind refusing to believe what he was hearing. But as the door creaked open, there she stood—Alicia Leblanc.

Alicia was just as he remembered, but even more radiant in this moment. Her long, chestnut hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief and warmth, just like they had back when they were children, untouched by the horrors of the world. She wore a worn leather jacket over a simple white shirt and dark jeans, her usual adventurous, tomboyish style. A thin necklace with a small, silver crescent moon pendant hung around her neck, something she'd worn since they were kids. Alicia was always strong, determined, with a touch of wildness in her—a fierce survivor.

Dante didn't say a word. His heart leapt, and before he could stop himself, he bolted toward her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. The flood of emotions hit him all at once—the disbelief, the joy, the confusion. He buried his face in her shoulder, the weight of everything crashing down on him.

"Woah, woah, what's gotten into you?" Alicia's voice was filled with surprise, but she chuckled softly, hugging him back. "Did you have a nightmare or something? You're acting all weird."

Dante didn't respond. He couldn't. His throat felt tight, and for a moment, all he could do was hold her, clinging to the feeling of her warmth, the comfort of something familiar. Alicia—his best friend, his anchor—was here. She was real. It was too much to process.

Alicia, clearly not understanding his sudden emotional outburst, stepped back slightly but still kept her arms around him. She looked at him with those familiar eyes, her brows furrowed with concern.

"Hey, you okay? What happened?"

Dante swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly.

"I… I don't know. I thought I… I thought I lost everything." His voice cracked, and he pulled back, looking at her face again, making sure it was real. "You… you're here."

Alicia gave him a lopsided smile.

"Of course I'm here, dummy. Where else would I be?" She laughed softly. "You must've had one hell of a dream."

Dante's thoughts swirled, and he couldn't help but let the memories rush back—the life he had once known, the loss, the pain. He remembered how, when they were younger, Alicia had always been by his side, through thick and thin. She was there when his world started falling apart.

Dante had lost his mother when he was just a child. She had succumbed to a relentless illness, one that drained her life away in front of his eyes. He remembered how she had smiled at him from her bed, even in the worst of it, telling him to stay strong, to survive, no matter what. After her passing, Dante was sent to an orphanage. He was only seven at the time, confused and heartbroken, feeling abandoned by the world.

That's where he met Alicia.

She had been at the orphanage too, abandoned by her family when they could no longer take care of her. But unlike Dante, Alicia was full of fire. She refused to let the world beat her down. She fought back—against the kids who tried to bully them, against the caretakers who were too strict, and against the despair that tried to creep into their hearts. She was the one who taught Dante how to fight, how to stand up for himself, and how to survive. They became inseparable, always looking out for each other, dreaming of a better future, far from the cold walls of the orphanage.

They had escaped together when they were older, making their way through the harsh world, finding family in one another. And now, seeing her here, alive, smiling—it was as if the years of suffering and loss had never happened.

Dante's heart ached with the weight of those memories, and yet, standing there with her now, he felt something he hadn't felt in years. Hope.

But how was this possible? He had died, hadn't he? That creature, the fight—it had all been real. And yet, here he was, in a place that should have been long gone, with people who should have been lost forever.

His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke again.

"Alicia… am I dreaming?"

Alicia rolled her eyes playfully and gave Dante a sharp flick on the forehead.

"Does this feel like a dream to you?"

She asked with a mischievous grin, laughing softly as she watched his reaction. Dante winced, rubbing the spot where her fingers had struck, a small smile forming despite the confusion still swimming in his mind

Her laughter was soft, gentle, like it always had been.

 "Come on," she said, her gaze briefly scanning his disheveled appearance.

"You look like hell, but that's nothing new. Let's head downstairs. Old man Frederick's back—he's got some kind of announcement to make."

Without another word, she took his hand in hers, leading him down the creaking staircase of the abandoned school. The warmth of her touch felt grounding, tethering him to this strange reality. As they descended, the sounds of the camp outside became clearer—the crackle of a fire, distant murmurs of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter.

When they finally reached the courtyard, the sight hit Dante like a wave of nostalgia. It was all so familiar—the makeshift campfires, the ragtag collection of tents and old benches, the people gathered in quiet conversation. He could see the faces of men, women, children, and the elderly alike, each marked by the hardships of survival but softened by the fleeting moments of peace they shared. A community, something that had been torn from his world.

As Alicia led him closer, they found a spot on one of the benches near the fire. Dante's eyes shifted around the camp. There were about 23 people—faces both familiar and not. It was hard to believe that any of this could still exist, but it did, and that only added to his confusion.

At the center of the gathering, a man stood by the fire. He was older, with thin gray hair and a scruffy, unkempt beard. His frame was wiry, his face lined with age, but his sharp eyes held a glint of wisdom and resilience. Frederick, the old leader of their camp, leaned on a worn rifle, its barrel resting against the ground, while the other hand gripped the butt of the gun with casual familiarity.

Frederick looked over the gathered group, his presence commanding respect despite his frail appearance. The camp fell into a hushed silence as he cleared his throat, preparing to speak. Alicia and Dante sat down with the others, joining the circle of weary survivors who had once fought together, lived together, and hoped for something more.

Dante still felt disoriented, but for a moment, he let himself focus on the present. This was real, or it felt real enough, and as he looked at Alicia's calm expression beside him, he decided to follow along, if only for now.

Frederick sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he stepped forward into the firelight. He looked worn—like the weight of leadership had taken its toll. His voice was gravelly, and though it was firm, there was an undeniable exhaustion behind his words.

"We made it back from the nearby city with some supplies," he began, "but it's not enough. Not for all of us."

His gaze scanned the crowd, pausing for a moment on each weathered face. "We'll need to send out another team... but this time, we'll have to go farther."

A heavy silence fell over the group. No one moved. The air was thick with unspoken dread, the knowledge of what lay beyond their fragile sanctuary keeping them rooted in place. They all knew the dangers of venturing too far, especially after the last few missions.

But before the silence could linger any longer, Alicia's voice cut through it.

"I'll go!" she said, raising her hand without hesitation.

Dante's heart skipped a beat. The sudden rush of memories hit him like a sledgehammer—this mission. He remembered it all too clearly. Alicia had gone on this same mission before, and she hadn't come back. The realization sent his mind reeling. Was this all really happening again? He didn't know what to believe, but whether this was a dream or something else, one thing was certain: he couldn't let her go alone.

"I'll go too," Dante said firmly, his voice steadier than he felt inside.

Frederick gave him a nod, seemingly grateful.

"Thank you, son. We'll need every able hand."

Dante could see the faint glint of surprise in Alicia's eyes, but she didn't question him. Instead, she flashed him a quick, reassuring smile—the same one she always gave when she thought everything would be alright. But Dante couldn't shake the unease bubbling up inside him. He had seen this play out before, and he wasn't about to let history repeat itself, not even in a dream.

After a moment of tense quiet, a few more hands rose from the crowd. Two men, a woman, and an older teenager—all willing to volunteer for the dangerous mission.

"Good," Frederick said, his voice tinged with relief. "We'll go over the details later with the team, but there's something else we need to address first."

His face grew more serious as he straightened, the weight of what he was about to say pressing down on the group.

"When we were out there, we spotted them—the Annihilators"