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The rain in Fortuna did not fall like the downpours of Red Grave City. It was lighter, mistier, carrying the sharp salt of the sea and the faint, sickening stench of long-decayed sulfur across white buildings that climbed impossible cliffs. Church bells rang somewhere in the distance, and the fractured circle of an unfamiliar cathedral loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the quiet plaza. Vergil stood on the slick stone, resting the tip of Yamato lightly against the ground as he scanned the perimeter. No battle, no enemies, just an irritatingly peaceful silence. He remembered cutting through an ancient relic hidden beneath forgotten ruins, a sudden pulse of chaotic demonic energy cracking against Yamato’s edge before the world folded in on itself.
A relaxed, heavy footstep echoed behind him.
Vergil turned instantly, his hand snapping to the hilt of his sword. The man approaching him looked entirely ridiculous. He wore a long red coat, his silver hair let down loosely, and a rough patch of stubble grazed a jawline that carried an annoying, carefree smile. One hand was stuffed lazily into his pocket while the other carried an enormous, familiar broadsword over his shoulder as if it weighed absolutely nothing. He looked older, far older, weathered by time and carrying the immense, suffocating weight of an apex predator who had nothing left to prove. Yet, the facial structure was familiar enough to make every instinct in Vergil's body tense.
The stranger stopped, his playful grin faltering for a single heartbeat as he stared at Vergil's pristine, youthful face. Then, the easy mask slipped back into place.
"Well," the man said lightly, his voice carrying a deep, gravelly warmth, "ain't that one hell of a surprise."
Vergil’s eyes narrowed, his thumb shifting the guard of Yamato with a lethal click. "And you are?"
The stranger looked almost offended, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "Ouch. Didn't expect that one." His gaze lowered to the azure wrap of Yamato, then slowly lifted back to Vergil’s face with an expression that was painfully quiet, devoid of any mockery.
"...You really don't know me?"
"Should I?" Vergil appraised the older man's crimson attire, a cold realization settling into his chest. Silver hair, demonic aura, for sure not ordinary man. And this man knew Vergil, enough to expect Vergil knew him.
*He could be an acquaintance in the bloodline of Sparda, another member of the extended family, or even, one of Sparda's descendants, one of my unknown brothers.* Vergil thought. Sparda was a legend from 2000 years ago who only recently disappeared, Vergil never limited his expectation to his father having only a set of twins.
And Dante... Dante was gone, in that fire... Also, this man was too old to be that brat.
Dante opened his mouth, a sudden wave of defensive, raw emotion rising to his throat. He wanted to explain the complex mechanics of space-time anomalies, to tell this stubborn teenager that he had survived that horrific night, that he had fought through hell and back just to stand here. But looking at Vergil, so young, so untouched by the corruption of the tower, and entirely convinced he was utterly alone in the universe, Dante stopped himself. What would it change? The timeline would eventually correct itself. Telling him the brutal truth of the future would only taint the rare, unblemished sanctity of this moment.
But Vergil wasn't looking at Dante's face anymore. His gaze had locked onto the massive blade resting over the stranger's shoulder.
Rebellion.
In a flash of blinding blue light, Vergil drew his blade. "Where did you get that sword?" He demanded, his voice dropping into a lethal, venomous register, as if the devil was so close to be triggered.
Before the accusation could even fully leave his lips, Vergil lunged. The air split under a barrage of lethal arcs, a Judgment Cut tearing through the square with terrifying precision. Yet, the stranger didn't even flinch. Moving with an infuriatingly relaxed familiarity, the older man casually swung Rebellion, intercepting every trajectory before the cuts could even fully manifest. Steel rang sharply through the empty plaza. The man wasn't trying to overpower him, he simply understood every angle, every habit, and every timing Vergil possessed.
"Gifted". Dante gave a light smirk. With one clean, effortless twist of his broadsword, Dante caught Yamato’s guard and disarmed his twin, sending the katana slipping free from Vergil’s grip. Before Vergil could even process the loss, a heavy, solid arm hooked tightly around his shoulders, dragging him forward in a warm, annoyingly casual embrace.
"Liar!" Vergil snarled, struggling fiercely against the iron grip. "That belongs to my brother. You dare take it as a trophy?"
A brief moment of shock flashed through Dante's heart. Ah, yes, this Vergil's still thinking his 'little' brother was dead, and now it seems this scornful, flippant, definitely-not-little-anymore middle aged old man standing in front of him has become a shameless villain who had looted the sword from the ill-fated boy.
"Nope," Dante chirped, completely unbothered as he physically paraded his deeply offended brother down the street like an angry cat. "Tell ya, kid. The brat wasn't dead, and handsome guy like me loots from nobody!"
Dante kept on with his playful voice, "Play nice, and I'll give you a loose lead on that 'dead' brother of yours. I might just have some clues about where he's hiding."
Vergil froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He forced his rigid posture to relax, his voice barely keeping its composure.
"He is alive?"
A fleeting look of joy crossed Vergil's face, barely perceptible to others, but too obvious to Dante. It was like New Year's fireworks, brief, but impossible to ignore. In the time of less than a single slash, Vergil's eyes encompassing all the most beautiful skies Dante had ever seen. His eyes' corners were as usual sharper than blades, yet their gaze was softer than flowing water, brighter than sunlight, and bluer than the aura of mirage edge.
And joy. Oh such joy! Vergil's voice rose slightly when he heard Dante wasn't dead, added in a little more excited. His lips curved faintly like a fleeting smile that carelessly left a trace on his face while running away in rush. Oh Vergil's joy, it's like an invisible embrace that stirred Dante's heart.
"You know where he is? What have you done to him?"
"Ah-ah-ah, patient, kid. Curiosity killed the cat," Dante laughed boisterously, ignoring the bewildered stares of the Fortuna citizens passing by. "Mission objective updated. If you want the info, you're coming with me."
"I decline."
"Too bad. This is a main story line mission."
The small, dimly lit tavern on the outskirts of town smelled of grease and old wood. True to his word, Dante had ordered an absurdly large pepperoni pizza, which now sat heavily between them. Vergil sat rigidly across from him, refusing to touch a single slice, though his eyes remained fiercely fixed on the older man. Despite the ridiculous nature of this 'abduction,' Vergil found himself deeply on guard. This stranger was an appalling liar, hiding behind layers of theatrical nonsense, yet he carried Rebellion with a level of mastery that shouldn't be possible unless he had stripped it from Dante's corpse.
"You're playing a dangerous game," Vergil murmured, his gloved fingers clenching into his sleeves. "You sit here gorging yourself while my brother's fate hangs in the balance. If you have brought harm to him, there is no corner of this world where you can hide from Yamato."
Dante stopped chewing, his playful demeanor softening into something profoundly quiet. He looked at the sheer, unguarded anxiety bleeding through Vergil's stoic mask. Vergil wasn't seeking power right now, he was genuinely, deeply terrified for the safety of his little brother.
"He's fine, Vergil," Dante said softly, his voice dropping into a register that made the room feel suddenly smaller. "He's alive. He's safe. In fact... he grew up to be pretty damn strong. Broad shoulders, tough jaw, eats way too much junk food, and still manages to kick a lot of demon ass."
Vergil stared at him, absorbing the words. He didn't connect the description to the ragged, middle-aged man sitting across from him. To Vergil, his brother would always be a child frozen in time. But the absolute certainty in the stranger's voice left no room for doubt.
Dante was alive.
The realization shattered Vergil's icy facade into a million pieces. For a single, fleeting microsecond, the harsh, defensive walls of his mind collapsed. His eyes widened, the permanent tension around his brow entirely vanishing as his mouth softened into a delicate, radiant ghost of a smile. It was an expression of pure, unadulterated happiness, a sudden, profound relief that he was not alone, that his twin had survived the fire.
It lasted less than a heartbeat. Before anyone else could have caught it, Vergil snapped his mask back into place, looking away sharply to clear his throat.
But Dante had seen it. He had captured every single frame of that transformation. A heavy, aching warmth bloomed behind his ribs, a pain far deeper than any sword wound. He chuckled softly, leaning back.
"Man. You really suck at hiding stuff."
"I have hidden nothing," Vergil snapped coldly, though the tips of his ears flushed slightly. He stared out the window, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts.
For the past few minutes, Vergil had been silently formulating a dozen plans. He would demand the location. He would track Dante down. He would bring him along on his quest for power, protect him, and rebuild the legacy of Sparda together. But as he looked at the ancient, weathered sword Rebellion resting nearby, a deeper, colder logic took hold of his mind.
If Dante was alive, he was safe. He was hidden from the eyes of Mundus. If Vergil dragged him into his own chaotic, blood-soaked path, if he forced a reunion now, Mundus's shadows would surely find him again. Vergil's hands tightened. No. His quest for power was a lonely one, a dangerous path born of weakness. Dante did not need to be a part of it.
"Where is he?" Vergil asked, his voice unexpectedly quiet. "Tell me his location."
Dante leaned forward, ready to give a cryptic answer that would guide Vergil to his future, but Vergil raised a hand, cutting him off before he could speak.
"No," Vergil whispered, the word carrying a sudden, crushing weight of finality. "Do not tell me."
Dante blinked, genuinely surprised. "Huh? Changed your mind just like that?"
"Knowing that... is sufficient," Vergil said, his eyes darkening as he looked away. "A reunion would only breed unnecessary variables. Let him remain wherever he is."
Dante stared at his young brother, the realization of what Vergil was doing hitting him like a physical blow. Vergil was choosing loneliness to keep a ghost safe. Dante swallowed the bitter lump in his throat and let out a soft, melancholic sigh. He decided right then not to push, not to reveal his true identity. If Vergil wanted to protect a memory, Dante would let him. He would just enjoy the fleeting hours they had left without interfering with fate.
"Alright" Dante smiled gently, his voice carrying a rare, profound warmth. "Have it your way, kiddo."
The rest of the afternoon devolved into pure, unadulterated absurdity. Since Vergil refused to look for his 'brother', Dante took it upon himself to drag him through the bustling streets of Fortuna on a thoroughly unwanted, ridiculous sightseeing tour.
"This is kidnapping," Vergil grumbled as Dante casually caught him by the back of his collar for the third time before he could slip into a dimensional rift.
"Yep," Dante replied cheerfully.
"You are behaving like an imbecile."
"Yep."
They walked past merchants and screaming children, Dante talking almost constantly about terrible landlords, pizza toppings, and whether strawberry sundaes counted as a religious experience. Vergil responded with visible suffering, calling his palate childish, yet he failed to escape because Dante's grip remained stubbornly, unnecessarily persistent. Vergil didn't fight back with lethal force anymore, despite his better judgment, he found a strange, grounding comfort in this eccentric stranger's presence. It felt... distantly familiar.
When a stack of lumber accidentally tipped over in a crowded square, Vergil moved purely on instinct, Yamato flashing in one clean motion to split the beams harmlessly into neat pieces before they could strike anyone. The crowd erupted into applause, and a terrified Vergil found himself physically handed a bouquet of flowers by a beaming little girl. He stared at the stems as if holding an eldritch horror, muttering that he had no use for free flowers, while Dante nearly choked to death trying to suppress his laughter.
By the time evening approached, they stood overlooking the grand sea cliffs, the wind catching their silver hair. The sky was painted in rich, bleeding golds and purples. Suddenly, the air behind them trembled, blue cracks spreading across the empty space as the temporal relic began to correct itself.
Vergil turned toward the glowing distortion, the blue light slowly enveloping his coat. He stopped at the threshold, looking back at the older man who had given him a day of bizarre peace.
"I still do not know your name, stranger" Vergil said quietly, the wind whipping past his face. "Nor do I understand why you granted me this knowledge."
Dante shrugged, his hands deep in his pockets as he offered a small, bittersweet smile. "Let's just say... knowing just that, is sufficient. Take care of yourself, Vergil."
Vergil gave a sharp, definitive nod, a silent acknowledgment. He thought of his twin brother, safe and alive somewhere in the world, completely unaware that the man standing before him was that very brother, grown up and unbreakable. With a final flash of cerulean light, the rift collapsed, and Vergil vanished back into his own tragic timeline, his heart lighter than it had been in years.
Dante stood alone on the cliffside for a long time, the cool wind blowing through his crimson coat. He looked down at the stone railing. Still resting there was the tiny bouquet of flowers, the one Vergil had vehemently insisted he didn't want, left behind as a silent thank you.
Dante picked up the faded petals carefully, a helpless, breathless laugh escaping his chest. "...Liar."
Those flowers would sit on the desk of the Devil May Cry office for years to come. Whenever anyone asked where they came from, Dante would only shrug and call them a gift from 'some annoying guy.' But late at night, when the shop was empty, Dante would look at those dried stems and remember a stubborn teenager who had looked at him with quiet, unguarded happiness. It didn't change the tragedy of what was to come, but it made everything just a little easier to bear.
He hadn't changed the past, and he hadn't corrected Vergil's misunderstanding. But as Dante looked out over the ocean, he knew he would carry this memory forever. For one impossible afternoon, his brother had found peace in a beautiful lie, and Dante had been allowed to protect him, just for a little while, before time stole him away again.