CHAPTER 142: STORM WARNING

The murmur of the chapel had thinned into silence. Candles hissed softly, shadows dancing on stone. Hermes tried to steady his breath, but his pulse spiked the moment Dante Quasar walked through the door.

The CEO of the Golden Apple moved as though he owned the room. Crisp suit. Silver hair slicked back. And that smile... That sharp, smooth, and unreadable smile.

Hermes’ chest clenched when he saw Dante stride toward the Luxurias.

"Dione. Jove." Dante said warmly.

His arms spread wide. "Still the most lovely couple I laid my eyes on. Wouldn’t you give an old bastard a hug?"

Dione blinked, stiff as a rod, but she accepted the hug with the barest inclination of her head. Jove returned it with a quiet smile, his hand patting Dante’s shoulder like greeting an estranged brother.

Hermes froze. His stomach dropped as if the floor had given out.

He spun on his heel, striding back to his companions. "Did you see that?"

Somner already had his pamphlet rolled into a makeshift telescope, peering through it. "Yeah, I saw. Hug quota exceeded. What the hell is the Time Magic Man doing hugging Ditee’s parents like a family at Thanksgiving?"

"Not just hugging them." Hermes said tightly. His voice came out like gravel. "Like he knows them."

Ymir’s eyes narrowed. "Do you?"

Hermes hesitated, then shook his head. "No. Not like that."

His chest tightened. "But... maybe I should have."

Magni leaned in, eyes wide and gleaming with curiosity. "Is this... a human ritual? A wealthy stranger appears at funerals, binds the mourners in embrace, and secretly claims kinship? If so, I must ask Mr. Jove for literature on this strange rite."

Ymir groaned. "It’s not a rite, Rockhead."

"Then why is he here?" Hermes snapped.

His voice rose enough for a few villagers to glance their way.

He lowered it quickly. "Why is the CEO of the Golden Apple at Elder Thales’ funeral? He’s not family. He’s not a villager. He doesn’t belong here."

Aphrodite’s quiet voice slipped in. "Hermes... that isn’t your only concern, is it?"

Hermes’ jaw tightened. "I know what I saw in that recording. Thales. Dione. Jove. And the tour guide."

His voice cracked low. "If Dante was that tour guide, then he’s known me since the day I... Since the day the Rift spat me out. Which means..."

He trailed off, but the thought coiled sharp and cold: which means maybe his whole life had been nudged, steered, shaped.

Ymir frowned. "You think he... manipulated everything?"

Hermes’ throat closed. "I don’t know. That’s the problem."

His fingers curled, trembling. "I don’t know what’s real anymore."

For a heartbeat, none of them spoke.

Then Somner muttered, trying to change the topic. "Well, if I had a multiversal time-warping power, I’d use it for cheese discounts. Just saying."

Hermes ignored him. His body moved before his brain caught up. He strode across the room, straight toward Dante.

The man turned as if he’d been expecting him. That smile widened. "Ah. There you are. I wondered when you’d come."

Hermes stopped a step too close. His voice was rough.

"Were you there?"

Dante’s brows lifted. "At the funeral? Of course. Paying my respects."

"Don’t act like you don’t know. You always know." Hermes hissed. His hands trembled. "Were you there the day I was born?"

The smile flickered, just for an instant, like a shadow across glass. Then it returned, smooth as silk. "What a curious question. You haven’t even said hello, and already you’re flinging accusations."

"I don’t care about hello." Hermes’ jaw clenched. "I saw the recording. Thales, Dione, Jove, and a guide. If that was you—"

"Then what?" Dante interrupted gently. His eyes gleamed. "What would you do with the answer?"

Hermes’ patience frayed. "Stop dodging me. A blackhole turned into a child. Into me. You knew. You were there."

Dante’s chuckle was soft, almost indulgent. "You know, many religions believed the cosmos may have started from nothing, until it became everything. Creatio ex nihilo."

"Answer me!" Hermes snapped. His voice cracked enough to draw a few looks from the pews.

Dante only raised a placating hand, as though soothing a child mid-tantrum.

"Hermes." He said. "I’m here to see an old friend. Thales was... important to me too. That’s all."

Hermes’ chest heaved. "You expect me to believe that?"

Dante leaned forward suddenly. The distance between them shrank until Hermes could feel the faint warmth of his breath.

His voice dropped lower. "I expect nothing. Least of all from you."

Hermes’ body went rigid. Every instinct screamed danger, but he couldn’t step back.

"You owe me, remember?" Dante’s words slid like smoke. "I gave you what you asked for. Somner’s bloodline saved. Apple separated and returned. Every plea you whispered, I granted. Freely."

Hermes’ voice rasped. "Why?"

For the first time, Dante’s smile dimmed. His eyes softened, and it almost hurt to look at them.

"Because you asked. I only ever do what you ask."

Hermes froze.

Dante’s hand lifted slowly, not forceful, just deliberate. His fingers brushed Hermes’ cheekbone. The touch was gentle, almost reverent. Hermes jolted as if burned, but the hand didn’t press, just lingered.

"You think I twisted your life," Dante murmured. "Perhaps I did. Or perhaps you’re giving me too much credit."

His thumb ghosted along Hermes’ jaw. "The truth is not so simple."

Hermes’ breath shuddered. His body screamed to pull away, but something in him...

Remembered.

As if this gesture wasn’t foreign. As if it had happened once before, somewhere he couldn’t name.

Dante leaned closer, lips near his ear, voice hushed. "So instead of an answer, let me give you a gift. A warning."

Hermes’ throat tightened. "...What warning?"

"A storm is coming," Dante whispered. His words curled warm and cold all at once. "Larger than anything you’ve faced. It will tear at your friends, your loyalties, even your sense of self. And when it comes... you may find yourself very alone."

Hermes’ fists clenched. "...You’re threatening me."

"No." Dante’s voice was soft, almost tender. "I’m reminding you. Even if they turn from you, never turn from yourself. Do not lose the truth of who you are."

Hermes swallowed hard. "...And what if I don’t know who that is?"

Dante’s smile returned, faint and mournful. His thumb brushed the corner of Hermes’ mouth before he pulled his hand away.

"Then find him. That is your storm to weather."

Hermes staggered back, breath ragged. The crowd blurred around him. Ymir’s sharp voice rang from across the room.

"Hermes!"

Hermes’ stomach knotted. He shoved Dante’s hand away fully, stepping back. "Stay away from me."

Dante only chuckled, smooth as ever. "Anything for you."

He straightened his suit, unbothered, and turned back toward Jove and Dione, as if nothing had happened.

Hermes’ heart pounded. His skin still burned where that hand had touched him, a phantom heat he couldn’t shake. He didn’t trust Dante. Not for a second.

But those words dug deep, like hooks.

And the worst part, the part Hermes couldn’t admit to anyone... was how that touch had felt less like a stranger’s, and more like something lost.

Something that terrified him to remember.