Fortuna had already fallen into its usual northern slumber – that quaint city where even the wind sounds like a prayer. Under heavy clouds that obscured the moon, the narrow streets were only briefly illuminated by lanterns. The rain-soaked cobblestones were lit by their light, which left behind trembling reflections, reminiscent of the ancient faith. In the temple of Order, far away, stained glass windows continue to bright, painted in a cold blue light, while activity there still went on until rest.

Silence ruled behind the old buildings walls, which separated it from the city; the only living flame in the darkness was a bright yellow light that flickered intermittently in the high windows. This library exhaled tranquility, dust, dry herbs, binding oil and old paper. In the far corner, a fireplace cracked slightly, unable to dispel the cold that seeped though the stone, and a little spider hung from the ceiling, like a silent observer. The long oak table was adorned with open volumes, scattered parchments, drawings of ancient symbols, and notes that he'd composed himself.

Vergil ignited an antiquated lamp. A darkened glass oil lamp; with brass monograms which left warm stains on the bookshelves. The long, uneven shadow of his body moved on the wall, like an echo of the two entities that lived in him. And for a while, he sat still. Only his fingers slowly turned the pages of some old book with the feather touch despite the roughness of his skin. The small printed words kept going through his eyes, each movement of his fingers appeared methodical and measured, as though air around him followed his inner cadence.

"...The birds are silent in their nest... And I must seek for mine." ,- these words rang out of his mouth slowly and quietly, but he wasn't paying much attention to them. His mind was somewhere else, thinking about the past, the present. The future. Will everything be as he wants, or...?

Beyond the walls, the sea hit the rocks, sending tiny snowflakes onto the shore as in silent reminder – winter already touched the island. Fortuna's roofs were occasionally contracting by lighting as heavy clouds and fog moved over them. And suddenly, the wind was rising outside, while the flame flickered as the lamp clicked softly, making Vergil to look up with his unchanged expression. He just leaned back a little and ran his hand over the page, stopping at a symbol that appeared to be familiar. And after a long period of thick silence, soft but steady footsteps were heard from behind finally.

She's like a shadow between the rows of books. She didn't speak; she simply watched him with a faint and warm smile on her face, while holding a wooled blanket in her hands. Her movements were delicate and effortless, yet there were replate with the simplicity that Vergil had long since forgotted in his own world of cold logic and demons. The lamp flared up brighter again, as if sensing this silence between the two.

And then, the blanket fell on his shoulders. Warmth – homely and living – spread down his back, contracting with the cold of the stone floor. He didn't turn around, but a faint, an almost involuntary smile played on the corners of his lips. He closed his eyes for just a second. At that moment, he may have felt something he'd called peace, along with a sense, anticipation that something was about to happen that'd change his life forever.