21. Dante
21
Dante
T he flames encircled Dante, rising high and shifting as if alive. He stood at the center of the chaos, his breath shallow, every muscle taut. Heat pressed in from every direction, searing through his battered body, daring him to falter. The pedestal and the Blade loomed ahead, fiery and untouchable, as though mocking his resolve.
“Prove yourself,” the voice commanded, reverberating through the chamber, its force making the fire swirl tighter. “Show your worth.”
Dante’s fists clenched, his amber eyes narrowing as he took a deliberate step forward. His ribs protested, pain shooting through his side, but he didn’t stop. The flames surged higher, cutting off his path as they twisted into shapes—vivid, cruel images that stopped him cold.
His father’s face formed ahead of him, stern and unyielding, his gaze heavy with disapproval. “You can’t do this,” he said. “You’re not strong enough. Always reckless. Always a failure. A disappointment, especially now.”
The last words hit harder than the rest, the sharp edge of them slicing through his resolve. His breath caught as the illusion’s expression twisted, its disapproval deepening. “You think you can carry this power? Be someone worth remembering? You can’t even figure out who you are. Men like you—” the words filled with disgust, each one biting, “—don’t have the strength to lead. You’re an embarrassment. Weak, useless. Always were.”
Flames wavered in his hands, flickering unevenly as the sting of the words seeped into his chest. He clenched his fists, his magic faltering as the doubts buried deep within him clawed their way to the surface.Dante froze, his breath catching as the flames twisted into Lucas’s form, his electric-blue eyes gleaming with disdain. “You think this is about power? About proving yourself? You’re a liability, Dante. To the team.”
Lucas stepped closer, the sparks around him flickering dangerously. “You don’t think, Reed. You act first, and everyone else pays for it. We’re cleaning up your mess half the time, and for what? Because you can throw a bigger fireball than the rest of us?”
He tried to push the illusion’s words aside. “That’s not—”
“It is,” Lucas snapped, cutting him off. His electric gaze narrowed, his presence towering. “How many times do we have to pull you back before you take us all down with you? Do you even care? Or is it just about proving you’re the best? The strongest?”
The flames around Lucas surged higher, crackling with raw energy. “You think Sebastian can’t see it? That he doesn’t notice how reckless you are? He’s smarter than that. He’ll figure it out eventually—if he hasn’t already. And when he does, he’ll leave, just like everyone else.”
The words hit harder than Dante expected, his flames sputtering at his sides. He stared at the illusion, its electric-blue eyes boring into him with an intensity that felt too real, too sharp. “You don’t belong here,” Lucas said, his tone low but laced with venom. “Not with us. Not with him.”
Another figure emerged, the flames twisting into Sebastian’s form, his silver-gray eyes colder than Dante had ever seen them. “You’re not ready,” the illusion said, each word sharp. “You’ll burn out before you ever reach the Blade.”
Dante froze, his breath catching as the illusion stepped closer, its gaze filled with disdain. “You’re reckless,” he continued. “And for what? To prove something to me? To yourself? You’re not enough, Dante. Not for this, and certainly not for me.”
He tried to turn away, to block out the words, but the illusion stepped closer, its presence impossible to ignore.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” the illusion said, tilting its head, its silver eyes narrowing. “A boy playing with fire, hoping it’ll make him something he’s not. Hoping it’ll make him forget he doesn’t belong. You think someone like me—someone from my world—could ever take someone like you seriously?”
The words dug deeper, hitting wounds Dante hadn’t even realized were still raw. “You’re from nothing, Dante,” the illusion spat, its tone dripping with disdain. “Scraping by with a dead father and a mother who barely held it together. Meanwhile, I have the Blackthorn name, their legacy, actual power. What could you possibly offer someone like me? You’ll just drag me down.”
Dante staggered, the flames in his hands extinguishing completely as the words cut through him. His fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling as the illusion’s stony gaze bore into him.
“You know it’s true,” the illusion pressed, its expression twisting with cruel satisfaction. “You’re nothing more than a charity case, a distraction. You’ll never be more than that.”
The last words struck like a physical blow, sending Dante to his knees. His breathing came short and ragged, his flames entirely gone as the chamber seemed to close in around him. Every fear he’d buried, every doubt he’d tried to ignore, rose to the surface, pulling him deeper into the darkness.
His jaw tightened as the illusions’ words echoed in his mind, circling like vultures over prey. His flames sputtered weakly in his hands, flickering in and out of existence. The faces loomed closer—his father’s disapproval, Lucas’s condemnation, Sebastian’s rejection—all of them pressing in, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of judgment.
“No,” he muttered. “That’s not real.”
The illusion of Sebastian leaned closer, its silver-gray eyes filled with disdain. “You’re lying to yourself. You know it’s true.”
Dante clenched his fists, his flames sparking brighter in defiance. “It’s not. He wouldn’t—he doesn’t think like that.”
Lucas’s form twisted back into focus, his electric-blue eyes narrowing. “What about me? Do you really think you’re cut out for this team? For any of this? You can barely control yourself. You’ll fail us. Again.”
The words hit hard, but Dante gritted his teeth, forcing his magic to burn steadier. “I’ve made mistakes,” he said, trembling but unrelenting. “But I own them. And I learn from them.”
His father’s face emerged again, cold, and unyielding, his expression filled with the same disapproval that haunted his youth. “And what about me, boy?” the illusion said, its tone sharp. “You think your fire makes up for your failures? For everything you lack?”
His breath came faster, but this time, he didn’t back down. He stepped forward, his flames reigniting with each step. “I’ve spent my whole life chasing your approval,” he said, his amber eyes blazing. “But I don’t need it anymore. I’m more than what you thought of me.”
The illusions flickered, their edges fraying as his flames burned hotter, pushing back the oppressive energy pressing in from all sides. The figures dissolved into a storm of fire, twisting chaotically as the voice returned. “You doubt yourself,” it said, the words vibrating through the chamber. “You fear your power. You fear what it means.”
Dante staggered as the flames lashed out at him, his body trembling under the unrelenting pressure. His ribs ached with every breath, his vision swam, his flames faltered, flickering weakly as his insecurities bore down on him.
But through the chaos, a single memory emerged—Sebastian’s words piercing through that storm of doubt. You’re in control, Dante. Fire doesn’t control you.
His chest rose and fell as the words sank in. His breathing steadied, each inhale stoking the embers inside him. He wasn’t running from his fire—it was part of him. Always had been. But it didn’t own him.
He pushed himself to his feet, the fire within him roaring back to life, hot and steady. The swirling energy recoiled, its oppressive force retreating as his flames flared outward.
His amber eyes flared brighter as he straightened, his flames reigniting with a force that rippled outward. The chaos recoiled, the oppressive energy shrinking against the strength of his will. “You’re right. I’ve been afraid. Afraid of losing control. Of hurting people. But not anymore.”
His fire surged, not wild, or untamed but steady and deliberate, wrapping around him like an extension of his will. “Fire doesn’t control me,” he said. “I control it. Because I am Fire.”
The swirling flames around him stilled, their chaotic edges smoothing as they bent to his command. Sigils on the walls pulsed brighter, responding to the shift in energy, and that oppressive pressure lifted as his doubt dissolved. The pedestal glowed brighter, the Inferno Blade’s fiery patterns flaring as if acknowledging him.
Flames surged in response, brighter now, their patterns shifting to form a clear path to the Blade. Dante stepped forward, his injuries screaming in protest, but his determination burned stronger. When he reached the pedestal, his magic surged as he extended his hand.
The moment his fingers brushed the sword, the chamber exploded with light and heat. Flames engulfed him, but there was no pain—only raw, unrestrained energy coursing through his veins. His body lifted from the ground, every injury evaporating as that fire transformed him. His skin glowed like molten metal, his eyes blazing with uncontained power. For a brief, breathtaking moment, he wasn’t just Dante—he was fire itself, an elemental force made flesh.
I. AM. FIRE.
Soon, that energy stabilized, those flames receding back into the Inferno Blade as Dante landed on his feet, the weapon clutched tightly in his hand. He stood taller, his pain and injuries healed, his mind clear as the glow of the chamber dimmed. The sword pulsed in his grip, alive and waiting.
***
There was low rumble coursing through the walls as the flames receded and the chamber shifted. His grip tightened on the sword, its warmth coursing through his hand like a second heartbeat. The weapon glowed in his grasp, its molten patterns still pulsing in rhythm with his fire. He stepped forward, its once-searing heat now a welcome presence, guiding him toward the exit.
The walls parted with a sharp crack, revealing a path back to the surface. Cool air rushed in, chasing away any lingering heat. He moved through the opening, his steps steady, no trace of his injuries to be found.
Sebastian stood at the other end of the passage, his silver-gray eyes locking onto Dante with an urgency that stopped him mid-step. Relief swept across his face as he rushed forward. “Oh, thank gawd , you’re okay!”
Dante blinked, surprised by the raw worry in Sebastian’s voice. He adjusted the sword in his grip, its molten edges pulsing. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Sebastian didn’t stop until he pulled him into a firm embrace. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. His grip was steady, holding Dante as if making sure he was real. “What happened down there?”
Dante stiffened at first, but Sebastian’s touch eased something deep inside him. “It wasn’t exactly a spa day,” he said. He let the weapon rest against the cavern wall, his free hand hovering awkwardly before settling on Sebastian’s back and hugging him back. “But I made it.”
Sebastian pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, his silver-gray gaze searching his face. “You’re sure? No broken bones? No burns? Not bleeding anywhere?”
“I’m fine,” Dante said, his mouth tugging into a smirk. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Sebastian’s grip loosened, though his hands lingered on his arms, his gaze flicking to the Inferno Blade before returning to his face. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said. “When the chamber cracked open, and you fell—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I-I thought I’d lost you.”
His smirk faltered, something unspoken aching in his chest at seeing him so upset. “I’m here,” he said. “In one piece. And I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
Sebastian exhaled, stepping back but keeping his gaze fixed on Dante. “You’re covered in soot, and you’re holding a sword that looks like it could torch the world. Forgive me if I’m not completely reassured. Don’t downplay it like it was nothing. You scared the hell out of me.”
Dante glanced at the Blade in his hand before looking back at Sebastian. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Sebastian let out a soft breath, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, though his hands lingered on his arms. “Just—don’t do it again,” he said, his tone softer but still firm. “And next time, we bring backup. Like I said. You know, the thing you ignored?”
Dante smirked, the tension easing from his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on the Blade. “Speaking of which…”
Sebastian frowned, his silver-gray eyes narrowing. “What?”
Dante tilted his head toward the path ahead, his smirk sharpening. “The others. They’ll want to know what we found.”
Sebastian’s expression softened, though he still looked unimpressed. “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”
“Didn’t think for a second I was,” Dante said, his tone dry. He started toward the exit, the Blade pulsing in his hand as he moved. “Come on, Cyclone . Let’s go report back before Orion sends a search party.”
Sebastian snorted at his codename, falling into step beside him. “For once, I wouldn’t have argued with him.”
Dante chuckled under his breath as they walked side by side toward the surface. Whatever came next, at least they’d made it out together.