The morning sky pressed low and heavy, thick clouds rolling lazily overhead as though the heavens themselves were weighed down. Damp air clung to the earth, carrying the scent of wet soil and untamed grass.
Dante walked in silence.
At his left stood Commander Lucas Reed, a hardened soldier whose face bore the quiet severity of countless campaigns. At his right was Enzo Bellandi, his steps steady, expression unreadable, every movement precise. No one spoke as they followed the narrow, forgotten path beyond the outskirts of Hills Valley.
At the end of it lay a grave.
Shawn Beckwood’s grave.
It was hidden in neglect, swallowed by weeds that climbed greedily around the cracked stone. The headstone leaned slightly, as if even the ground had tried to reject it. Mud streaked across the surfa
