The sun had just begun to set, casting an orange hue over the shrine nestled in the mountains. The scent of incense lingered in the air, and the sound of the distant river echoed through the sacred forest. However, inside the main prayer hall, there was a tension that was palpable.

Dante and Vergil, both still adjusting to this strange new world, stood facing each other in the middle of the room. Their argument had reached a boiling point again—no surprise, given their personalities.

"You always think you know best, don't you?" Dante's voice was laced with irritation, his youthful face scrunched up in frustration. "Just because you're older, you act like that makes you right all the time."

Vergil stood there with his usual composure, his cold blue eyes staring down at Dante. "It's not about age, Dante. It's about discipline and understanding what’s at stake. You’re too reckless, too emotional. You need to learn control."

Dante threw his hands up in exasperation, the silver strands of his messy hair catching the light. "I don’t need you to tell me what to do! I can handle myself!"

"You don't even understand half of what's happening here," Vergil shot back, his tone sharper than usual. "You think this world is just another playground for you to—"