The flames around me flickered, casting jagged shadows against the cavern walls. The air crackled with the scent of old battles—steel, blood, and something more ancient. I had been waiting. Not for him specifically, but for something to break the monotony of my existence. And then he walked in. Dante. The name carried weight even down here. Son of Sparda, hunter of my kind—though I never considered myself among them. His silver hair caught the dim light, his coat billowed slightly as he stepped forward, casual, like he was walking into a bar instead of the depths of an abyss. "You don't look surprised," he said, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword. "Either you're stupid, or you've been expecting me." I chuckled, folding my arms. "I was starting to think you’d never show. I heard you were fast." His eyes narrowed just a fraction, amused but cautious. "And you are?" "A question for a question, then. Why are you here?" He exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers on his sword hilt. "Looking for something. Or someone. Not sure yet. But you... you’ve got that ‘important NPC’ vibe. So, you gonna give me a boss fight, or are we talking first?" I tilted my head. "That depends. You looking for a fight, Son of Sparda?" For a moment, there was silence between us, the kind that could snap into violence in an instant. His smirk widened, sharp as a blade. "That depends," he echoed. "You gonna make it worth my time?"