The silence following the revelation seemed to expand like an echo between worlds.
The blue flames burning at the edges of the clearing flickered, and the wind rushing through the dead forest carried with it a distant rustle—as if hell itself were whispering the name that had been spoken.
Artemis.
Selene stood firm, but her gaze betrayed something deep—not fear, exactly, but the discomfort of someone who had been stripped of a carefully constructed veneer.
She breathed slowly, as if measuring each beat of her heart to maintain her composure.
Vergil, for his part, watched her with a serene, almost gentle gaze.
His voice, when it returned, had completely lost its previous harshness; it was warm, measured, like the echo of thunder that had decided to become a breeze.
"Don't worry," he said, taking a step back, his hands returning to the pockets of his black coat. "I have no ill intentions toward you."
