Chapter Text
Redgrave
Redgrave felt wrong.
Mary decided that the moment the car stopped.
The buildings were too tall, the streets too loud, and the air smelled unfamiliar—not bad, just different enough to make her chest feel tight. She stayed buckled in her seat long after the engine cut, staring out the window at a row of houses that looked exactly like they were supposed to belong to someone else.
“This is it,” Kalina said softly.
Mary didn’t answer.
She pulled her knees up and hugged them, resting her chin against her arms. The drive had been quiet—too quiet. No radio. No jokes. Just the sound of the road and the low murmur of her parents talking like they didn’t want her to hear.
Arkham stepped out first, already scanning the street like he was memorizing it. His eyes lingered in places Mary didn’t understand—shadows, corners, the gaps between houses—before he opened the trunk.
Kalina turned around in her seat. “Mary.”
Mary sighed loudly but looked up anyway.
“I know,” Kalina said gently. “You didn’t want to move.”
“That’s because it’s stupid,” Mary snapped. “My school was fine. My friends were fine. My room was fine.”
Arkham didn’t look back. “Change is necessary.”
Mary scowled. “You always say that.”
“And I’m usually right.”
Kalina shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Arkham.”
He closed the trunk and finally faced them. “What? It’s true.”
Mary unbuckled herself and shoved the door open, hopping out before either of them could say anything else. Her shoes hit the pavement harder than they needed to.
The house was beige. Neat. Too neat. Like it hadn’t been lived in yet.
“This doesn’t feel like home,” she muttered.
Kalina came around and crouched in front of her, brushing Mary’s hair back from her face. “It will,” she said. “Just not right away.”
Mary crossed her arms. “I don’t like it.”
“That’s okay,” Kalina replied. “You don’t have to like it yet.”
Arkham glanced down the street. “There’s a playground nearby.”
Mary followed his gaze despite herself.
At the end of the block, past a line of trees, stood a small playground. Metal bars, a slide that caught the sunlight, swings gently creaking even though no one was on them.
“There,” Kalina said. “Why don’t you go check it out? Maybe meet someone.”
Mary hesitated. “By myself?”
“We’ll be right here,” Kalina assured her.
Mary frowned, then turned away before they could see her think better of it. She walked stiffly down the sidewalk, arms crossed, kicking at pebbles as she went.
The playground was emptier than she’d hoped.
Just when she thought she’d been sent out for nothing, she heard voices.
Loud ones.
“Bet you can’t catch me!”
“That’s cheating!”
“Is not!”
Mary slowed.
Three kids were near the jungle gym.
Two boys stood out immediately—not because they were loud (they were), but because their hair was white. Not blond. Not gray.
White.
Mary stared.
They looked about her age. One was laughing, sprinting across the sand with reckless confidence, while the other stood back, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.
The laughing one tripped, rolled, popped back up like nothing happened.
The other sighed. “You’re an idiot.”
Mary blinked.
Old people had white hair.
She marched closer before she could stop herself.
“Why do you look like grandparents?”
Both boys froze.
The laughing one turned first, eyes lighting up like he’d just been given a new toy. “Whoa,” he said. “Vergil, look. An alien.”
“I am not an alien,” Mary snapped.
Vergil—apparently—tilted his head slightly. “Then why are you staring at us like that?”
“Because your hair’s white,” she shot back. “That means you’re old.”
The laughing boy gasped dramatically. “Rude. I’m six.”
Vergil added flatly, “So am I.”
Mary frowned. “Liar.”
The laughing boy puffed out his chest. “My dad’s like two thousand years old.”
There was a pause.
Vergil closed his eyes. “Dante.”
“What?” Dante shrugged. “It’s true.”
From a nearby bench, a tall man with silver hair sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. A woman beside him laughed softly, hand covering her smile.
Mary glanced between them, confused. “That’s embarrassing.”
Eva smiled brightly. “It is.”
Sparda didn’t argue.
Dante grinned at Mary. “See? Not lying.”
Mary hesitated… then uncrossed her arms.
“…My name’s Mary.”
Dante beamed. “Cool. I’m Dante.”
Vergil nodded once. “Vergil.”
Mary studied them for a moment longer, then said, “You’re weird.”
Dante laughed. “You too.”
The awkward silence didn’t last long.
Dante was the first to break it, as expected.
He plopped down onto the sand right in front of Mary like it was the most natural thing in the world, legs crossed, hands planted behind him.
“So,” he said, grinning up at her. “You gonna stand there forever or are you playing?”
Mary blinked.
She hadn’t expected that. At all.
“I— I don’t even know you,” she said, hugging her arms to herself.
“That’s how it works,” Dante replied easily. “You don’t know people until you play with them.”
Vergil, still leaning against the jungle gym, let out a quiet huff.
“That’s not how anything works.”
Dante waved him off. “Ignore him. He’s weird.”
“I’m right here.”
Mary glanced between the two of them, uncertain, then finally sighed and sat down across from Dante. The sand stuck to her jeans immediately, and she grimaced.
“I just moved here,” she said after a moment. “I don’t like it.”
Dante tilted his head. “Why not?”
“Because I had friends back home,” she answered, voice softer now. “And my room was bigger. And I knew where everything was.”
Vergil’s eyes flicked toward her at that. Just briefly.
Dante frowned, clearly thinking hard. Then his face lit up like he’d just solved a great mystery.
“Oh. That’s easy.”
Mary looked up. “It is?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You just need new friends.”
He pointed at himself with his thumb.
“Me.”
Then, without waiting, he jabbed a finger back at Vergil.
“And him.”
Vergil scowled. “I didn’t agree to that.”
Mary let out a small laugh before she could stop herself. It surprised her almost as much as it did them.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked Vergil.
“I talk enough,” he replied.
“That’s not much,” Dante said cheerfully.
Dante was already on his feet again. “Okay! What do you wanna play?”
“I don’t know,” Mary admitted. “At my old place we mostly played tag.”
Dante’s eyes practically sparkled. “TAG!”
Before she could react, he bolted.
“HEY—!” Mary shouted, scrambling to her feet as Dante tore across the playground, laughing like he’d just been given permission to cause chaos.
Vergil sighed deeply.
“…I hate tag.”
But he still pushed himself off the jungle gym and followed.
Mary chased after them, her earlier heaviness slipping away with every step. Dante zigzagged wildly, deliberately easy to catch, while Vergil moved with far more precision, cutting corners and blocking paths like he was playing an entirely different game.
“You’re cheating!” Mary accused, pointing at Vergil when he intercepted her.
“I’m thinking,” he corrected.
Dante skidded to a stop nearby. “Thinking is cheating!”
Eventually they collapsed near the swings, breathless and laughing — even Vergil, though he tried very hard not to show it.
That was when Mary noticed a woman approaching from the sidewalk.
“Mom,” she said quietly, standing up and brushing sand from her hands.
Kalina Ann stopped just outside the playground fence, watching the scene with careful eyes. When she saw Mary smile and wave, her shoulders eased.
Eva and Sparda were already there.
Eva knelt beside Dante, wiping dirt from his cheek with a fond shake of her head. Sparda stood a little apart, hands folded behind his back, posture calm but attentive.
Kalina stepped closer. “You must be their parents.”
Eva looked up and smiled warmly. “Guilty. I’m Eva. And that’s Sparda.”
Kalina nodded. “Kalina Ann. Mary’s mother. We just moved in down the street.”
“Well,” Eva said, glancing at the three kids now arguing over who won tag, “looks like they’ve already settled that.”
Mary lingered by Dante and Vergil as the adults talked, listening more to the rhythm of friendly voices than the words themselves.
Eventually Kalina crouched beside her. “It’s getting late, sweetheart.”
Mary’s face fell for just a second before she turned to the twins.
“Can we play again tomorrow?” she asked quickly.
Dante didn’t hesitate. “Yeah!”
Vergil nodded once. “Sure.”
Mary smiled, stepping backward toward her mother. She lifted her hand and waved.
“Bye, Dante. Bye, Vergil.”
“Bye, Mary!”
Dante waved both arms wildly until she disappeared down the sidewalk.
Vergil watched a little longer, then turned away.
“…She’s not an alien,” he said.
Dante grinned. “Told you.”
The playground felt quieter after she left — but not empty.
The walk home was slow, not because the distance was far, but because Mary kept glancing back over her shoulder as if the playground might vanish the moment she stopped looking at it.
Kalina noticed, of course. She always did.
“So,” her mother said lightly, adjusting the strap of her bag. “You were gone quite a while.”
Mary kicked at a loose pebble on the sidewalk, sending it skittering ahead of them. “I made friends.”
Kalina smiled. “Friends?”
“There were two boys,” Mary said, warming to the subject immediately. “Twins. I think. They look the same, but not really. One of them talks a lot.”
“That would be?” Kalina prompted.
“Dante,” Mary said. “He’s loud. And fast. And he doesn’t stop moving. He tried to climb the slide from the wrong side and almost fell.”
Kalina hummed. “And the other one?”
Mary’s pace slowed. “Vergil. He’s… quiet. He didn’t talk much. But he watched everything. Like he was thinking all the time.”
“And you liked them?”
Mary nodded, a little more firmly than necessary. “Yeah. Dante’s fun. Vergil’s weird, but not in a bad way.”
Kalina laughed softly. “High praise.”
By the time they reached home, the sky had begun to shift into deeper shades of orange and blue. The house still felt unfamiliar, boxes tucked into corners and pictures not yet hung, but it was starting to feel less like a stop along the way and more like a place meant to stay.
Arkham was seated at the kitchen table when they entered, papers spread neatly before him. He looked up as Mary all but burst into the room.
“I made friends!” she announced, dropping her shoes by the door.
Arkham raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. “Already?”
“They live nearby,” Kalina said, setting her bag down. “Twin boys. Dante and Vergil.”
“Energetic and quiet,” Mary added helpfully. “Like… fire and a library.”
Arkham smiled at that, but when Kalina continued, his attention sharpened.
“Their parents seemed kind,” she said. “The mother’s name is Eva. And the father—”
She paused only briefly.
“Sparda.”
Something flickered behind Arkham’s eyes. Curiosity, perhaps. Or recognition. But whatever thought crossed his mind, he kept it to himself.
“I see,” he said simply, returning to his papers.
Mary didn’t notice. She was already halfway up the stairs, excitement buzzing under her skin.
That night, after Kalina tucked her into bed and smoothed her hair back from her face, Mary stared at the ceiling long after the door softly clicked shut.
Tomorrow, she thought.
She smiled to herself.
⸻
The next afternoon, the playground was bright with sunlight and laughter carried on the breeze. Mary nearly ran ahead of her mother, scanning the familiar shapes of the swings and slides.
She spotted Dante first.
He was standing near the jungle gym, arguing animatedly with a woman who could only be his mother. Eva’s voice was calm, patient, and entirely unbothered by her son’s energy.
“Vergil didn’t want to come,” Dante was saying, arms crossed. “He said books are better than people.”
Mary frowned. “That’s rude.”
Dante shrugged. “That’s Vergil.”
With no further ceremony, they launched into play. Racing from one end of the playground to the other, climbing, jumping, daring each other to do things that were probably not meant to be attempted.
At some point, Dante decided it would be funny to steal Mary’s spot on the swing.
She did not find this funny.
“Give it back!” she demanded.
“Nope!” he grinned, pumping his legs higher.
Mary narrowed her eyes.
Then she ran.
Dante laughed as he bolted, but laughter quickly turned into panic when Mary lunged and caught him by the collar of his shirt. He skidded to a stop, eyes wide.
“H-Hey—!”
“Got you,” Mary said triumphantly.
Across the playground, Kalina and Eva turned at the same time.
“Mary!” Kalina called. “Be nice with Dante!”
Mary turned, cheeks puffed in a pout, and released her grip. Dante stumbled back, rubbing his neck.
Eva chuckled. “That’s what happens when you never learn when to stop,” she said to her son. Then, with a teasing smile, she added, “You should know better than to make a lady angry.”
Dante froze.
Slowly, a grin spread across his face.
“A lady?” he repeated, eyes lighting up.
Mary’s stomach dropped.
“Oh no,” she muttered.
Dante pointed at her. “Hey, Lady! You hear that? You’re a lady!”
“Don’t call me that!” Mary shouted, already chasing him again.
“Lady! Lady! Lady!”
Their laughter echoed across the playground as the chase resumed, the kind of sound that lingered long after the sun began to dip.
From a nearby bench, Kalina watched with a soft smile.
Somewhere, she thought, this was the beginning of something important.
And Mary, breathless and grinning as she ran, would have agreed — even if she didn’t yet know why.