A/N: I think Nero has been missing for quite some time.

[Pride]

A man wore a long shapeless coat that brushed his ankles while he walked down the road that led him to the bustling castle-city of Fortuna. A low fedora settled easily over his hair, tilted low enough to cast a shadow over his eyes. Nothing about the man spoke of any significant thing worth remembering, and he was almost a forgettable part of the background when he entered the city proper, blending into the crowd as another faceless individual.

This man paused when he overheard the soft conversation being shared between two men.

"I saw him today." Man #1 said with a proud grin. "He was chasing down some demons as usual, but my wife gave him something to bring just in case he gets hungry. Afar he looks capable, but when he came closer, I was reminded at how young he actually is."

"I know. It is really hard to believe that someone that young actually saved the entire city." Man #2 replied with a voice of awe. "Fortuna owes her good fortune to giving us the boy."

"Who would have thought that that arm would be the thing that would save us all?" Man #1 said incredulously. "I am embarrassed to say that I once thought he was something evil because of the demonic arm."

"Most of us used to think like that. But we were stupid and blind."

"I pray for his and his girlfriend's good health every day so that he may continue to keep us safe from the demons. It hasn't been easy for Fortuna to recover from the massacre, but without him, this place would be a ghost town."

The Visitor in the long black coat approached the conversation from the side, tilting his hat slightly up –but not taking it off his head completely –to make eye contact with both conversing men.

"Excuse me." He cut in politely. "I am new in this town here. Were the two of you talking about the boy who saved Fortuna?"

"Yes." Man #2 replied with a small look of surprise. "Have you heard about him outside of the Fortuna?"

The Visitor nodded. "Rumours came about how a gate opened beneath Fortuna and demons came flooding here. But not long after it opened, it was shut close by a boy with a demonic arm."

"That's our Nero." Man #1 said proudly. "Not only did he shut the gate, he also killed the bastard who was responsible for all this mess."

"The rumours said he was a young boy of fifteen. I find that largely impossible."

"Rumours tend to exaggerate when they spread." Man #2 was the one who answered this time. "Our Nero was 17 when it happened. It's been three years since the fall of Sanctus, so Nero is 20 now. Are you here to know more about him?"

The Visitor nodded. "I admit that I made my way to Fortuna after hearing about this miracle boy with a demonic arm who saved an entire city from demons. If he has a demonic arm, then is he not a demon or at the very least half of one?"

"To be honest, we aren't sure of what he is ourselves either. But it doesn't matter now, because we know where his heart lies. He's on our side and has been protecting all of us against the demons that want to ruin Fortuna."

"Do you know where I can find him? I would like to meet him once and ask him some questions."

"I don't think that's very possible, good sir. Nero doesn't stay anywhere for long, because there's always a demon or another to kill around here in Fortuna. He is busy as a bee and I don't think he accepts social calls during his rest time."

"That is quite a misfortune." The Visitor frowned a little. "I came all the way here to have a word with him."

"If it is of urgent nature, then maybe you could try leaving a message with his girlfriend? We can tell you the address that he and his girlfriend are staying at, but there is no guarantees that you might find the boy there." Man #2 offered in retrospect of turning the poor visitor down so frankly.

"I would like that, thank you."

It took a short while for the men to get a piece of paper out, writing down the address that almost everyone in Fortuna knew by now. It was an address that if anyone had any problems with demons, they would give that place a visit, report that a demon was terrorising them to either Nero himself or his girlfriend (when Nero was out), and the said demon would be gone within the week. Everybody knew how hardworking Nero was, and was utterly grateful for the boy's silent help. Nero had never asked for anything back from anyone –not even a single dollar –but the citizens of Fortuna knew better than the take the young man for granted. They gave donations ever so often to his girlfriend, providing for the two's livelihood through giving things, food and money to Nero's girlfriend who was helpless in refusing these kind intentions.

"One last question." The Visitor said as he tucked the piece of paper with the address safely into his pocket. "Does anyone know what the boy's character is like?"

The strange question made the two men exchange confused looks, but both men gave the question some thought as well.

"I heard from before the Order fell that Nero was a lone worker. The soldiers of the Order didn't like working with him because he did everything by himself, and he rebelled against orders that he didn't like. It was not very significant to us at that time, because we didn't know that he would be our eventual saviour." Man #1 admitted.

"I heard from someone that he actually isn't very good with words. He's a little bit rough, but I guess we can all expect that from someone who hunts demons every day. Still, his heart must be soft enough to do things like killing demons for us for free." Man #2 added with a thoughtful expression, clearly having never considered this side of the city's saviour before.

"I see." The Visitor nodded. "Thank you very much for your help today, men."

"No problem. Say hi to Nero for us if you see him, won't you?"

"If I see him." The Visitor answered in a half-promise, and left the two men in their conversation once more, turning to walk away in search of the address that he had just gained.

________________________________________________________________________________

The second place the Visitor went to was not the address written down for him.

He turned into an alley from a relatively empty street, looking out for the dim lamp hanging low from the wall. A small flight of stairs to the side led down to a door that opened to the basement of the building on his right and the Visitor betrayed no expression on his face as he took the stairs casually, turning the knob and giving the door a gentle push.

The scene before him unfolded to show a window-less bar that was rather dimly lit. The Visitor had no problems with sight, however, as he let himself into the bar, ignoring the casual glances to his direction. The bar was semi-packed, which was a short cause of surprise for him.

The eyes that had tagged on him for his arrival turned away shortly to continue in whatever conversation that had been interrupted, a low buzz of conversation in the background through rough voices. He saw a few feminine figures in the crowd as well, all dressed up and well-prepared for their occupation.

"What will you have?" The bartender offered the newest customer a friendly smile. The woman looked in her early thirties and a little too clean to be running a bar of this sort, but the Visitor smelt something differently as he reached the counter. Still keeping his hat low, he looked up to meet the green eyes of the bartender, and confirmed the suspicion that his nose was giving him.

"Water will do just fine." He replied lowly so as not to take the attention of a pair of men sitting at the table closest to him.

"Water?" The bartender repeated in soft disbelief. "You must be at the wrong place if you're asking for-"

"Water will do fine." The Visitor interrupted with a hard steel in his voice, looking up once more to meet eyes with the bartender. The woman's disbelieving expression faded away quickly into one of shock, then she silently set about to her job; the sounds of glass clinking blending into the background. The glass of water appeared in front of him shortly after, the bartender pushing the glass towards him with a composure that looked almost like a girl confessing to her crush.

"Don't tell anybody, please." He heard the whisper that accompanied the meek offering of water.

"Tell who?" The Visitor answered nonchalantly, bringing the glass up to his nose for a cautious sniff. "Everybody inside this place that hunts your kind for a living?"

"Please don't tell anyone." The bartender looked partially pleading now, her whisper soft. "I have nowhere else to go in Hell, and it wasn't easy for me to blend in..."

"Fine." The Visitor sipped the glass of water, accepting it as offering. "In exchange, you'll answer some questions for me. I assume you have been here for a quite some time?"

"Yes." The bartender grabbed a cloth and glass and started to wipe, standing close to the counter where the Visitor sat, pretending to be engaged in a polite conversation with the man. He decided for what's worth, the demon standing in front of him had a very polished sense of acting –particularly if she could avoid the suspicion of a room full of demon hunters who would turn the entire bar upside down hunting her if they knew the truth.

"I want to know about the young man who saved this city. What can you tell me about him that the gossip on the street hasn't already covered?"

"That half boy?" The bartender paused in her glass-wiping, watching as he sipped on his cup casually. "Why would you want to know about him?"

"My reasons are none of your concern." He answered coldly. "I do not wish to repeat my question."

The warning in his tone was quick enough to jolt the bartender back into rubbing her glass, escaping eye contact with him as she pretended to be concentrated on her job.

"The boy has been taking over the job of everyone here. He is pretty much a one-man job these few months ever since the break-out. The men in here all are unemployed at the moment, waiting for anything that'll come their way." The bartender answered with a quiet grumble.

"Did he come here before the break-out?"

"Often." The bartender answered. "The guys here were uncomfortable that a Soldier of the Order like him was butting on some of their jobs, but he was a good worker. He took the jobs that people didn't want –dirty, tedious and difficult ones."

"He stopped coming?"

"The jobs also stopped coming. It is all going straight to him now. We are all barely surviving." The bartender admitted with an honest sigh.

The Visitor paused their conversation long enough to get a glance at the crowd in the bar, at the weapons and unemployed demon hunters that were gaining dust by sitting idle for too long.

"He had any friends?"

"Girlfriend." The bartender answered shortly. "The boy had a dirty mouth and cocky attitude. I think he has changed since the break-out, but that's only because the son of Sparda came to help him out. I think he must have gotten his ass served to him by the son of Sparda for him to change."

The Visitor thought back shortly on how the said son of Sparda had told him –with true, genuine mocking laughter –about how the kid had looked so desperate and shamelessly romantic when the two of them had battled in the middle of the break-out. Dante Sparda had served the boy's ass on a platter; and clearly the teaching from his elder had done very well to tame the young man's ego.

"I heard that he doesn't ask for bounty from his clients now. Did he use to do that before the break-out?"

"Always." The bartender gave a lady-like snort. "You can't hate him for doing something for the community, but he put the guys here in a bad light. It's hard to run a business connecting jobs to hunter when there's a boy like him running around not collecting bounty."

"Then how did he survive?"

"Hand to foot." The woman exchanged the glass in her hands though both looked equally clean. "The Order paid him a little so he just survived on that. His girlfriend was a songstress, so she got a good income herself as well."

"What an idiot." The Visitor could not help his own comment, taking another sip of water. "The people on the street seems to think that he was the only saviour. Nobody mentioned the son of Sparda."

"They pleasantly ignored the son of Sparda since the guy left immediately after the whole thing died down. They liked to pretend that the boy is their only saviour, but everybody here knows that it was Sparda who saved the day. I heard that there was another demonness as well who evacuated the place when shit got real. They're the real unsung heroes."

"He got paid for the job anyway." The Visitor answered. "Minimally."

"The boy; do you know where he comes from? His parents?" The Visitor asked after another pause in the conversation, putting down his now-empty glass.

"Nobody knows who his parents are, but he comes from an orphanage managed by the church. We used to have this joke about how a half-demon child is staying under the shelter of a God. Then again, the God that used to be revered here was Sparda. The whole time I was here before the break-out, I had no idea what the Order was trying to perpetuate. Demons as God? Demonic Angels?"

"That orphanage; is it still running?"

"You bet. It's getting more donations by the day by thankful people for bringing up the boy." The bartender answered with another scoffed. Clearly the view of the city's citizen through the eyes of this demonness was not pretty. Still, the Visitor could not blame her as well –he thought that these people were the most sightless bunch that he had seen in a long time for being unable to tell the difference between a demon and an angel.

"You have an address?"

"Yeah, give me a moment."

The Visitor took the break in the conversation to turn around, giving another cursory glance over at the group of unemployed demon hunters. Fortuna was clearly full of irony between Demons, Hunters and Angels that he almost could not understand. Worshipping a demon as a god, having a leader who took demons and crafted them into angels, having a half-demonic saviour, demon hunters in a bar owned by a demon... the jokes ran no end in this place.

He wondered briefly what Dante would say if the son of Sparda ever took a step back here in this place.

"Thanks for the drink and address." The Visitor received the piece of written paper minutes later from the bartender, pushing off against the counter. His information collection had gone down well.

"Wait." The bartender stopped him with a word, making him turn back with a curious expression. "Who are you really? You smell familiar, and your eyes are like the boy's."

"I'm a simple stranger." The Visitor replied. "Looking for the man who inherited my sword."

________________________________________________________________________________

He stood at the corner of the small yard where young children ranging from the height of his knees to the height of his waist were playing with each other in fervour. A good gender segregation was seen as the girls played together in the sandbox creating sandcastles and adding flowers to their sand-works while boys tumbled over each other closer to the playground, toy swords and shields hitting repeatedly with sounds of yells and grunts.

He saw no adult figure, but was very sure that someone was responsible over the children playing around here. He watched the innocent children for a little while longer unnoticed until he started making for the front gates. Clear that his purpose was more of concern to the orphanage now, some of the girls paused in their sandcastle-building, turning to look over to him.

He tried to ignore the hope glistening in their eyes as they stared at him.

"Good evening, Mister." A young voice greeted him, and The Visitor turned from the sight of the yard to see a teen in a polite bow in front of him. "May I ask of your purpose here today at our humble orphanage? Matron Gilda is still nursing a weak knee, and so I am here in her stead."

Matron Gilda. That was the name of the owner of this orphanage; the Matron who had watched all the children in the orphanage grow up, be adopted or find their own way in life. Of those children, one of them was the Saviour of Fortuna.

"I would like to have a short talk with her regarding some personal matters. Have I caught her at an inconvenient time?" He addressed the polite teenage girl in the same level of manners that she had done to him, watching the faint blush dotting across her cheeks and nose. While it was reassuring to know that his unnatural charms were still very much active at his age, he had no intention to lead the girl on into believing somehow that something special would happen.

"She is currently feeding the babies. If you can wait for another fifteen minutes, I will have the babies back in their cots. Matron Gilda will be free to attend to you then."

"Then I shall wait."

"Will you like to wait inside, Mister? It will be good shelter from the cold."

He could hardly feel the cold with his half-blooded body, but he appreciated the polite invitation to go indoors. He gave his consent, and made silent passage following after the humble teen who had clearly learnt over time how to attend to visitors like him with utmost manners. While the blush remained on her face the entire time, she had shown him into some sort of an office/waiting room, offering him a cup of tea before leaving him to himself in the room.

There was no worry of him being bored of waiting for the Matron to be done, because the photos that covered the walls, standing on the drawers, on the table and basically covering almost every inch that could be found interested him very much. All of the photos contained smiling children of varying ages, some smiling happily at the camera and others caught candid in their daily livelihood. One woman in some of the photo never changed, and though the visitor could see this same woman in varying ages, the defining features that made her recognisable were still clear throughout the years passed in the photos.

He spent a few minutes glancing at each photo casually, admiring the beautiful smiles on every face. There were photos of some young children carrying toddlers even younger than them in their arms, on their backs and smiling happily at the camera. It painted a very beautiful picture of a lively orphanage, and The Visitor had no doubt that it was like this because of the grace of the Matron who had showered her love to every single children who had the misfortune to end up here for whatever reasons.

The mood for casually perusing through the photos changed quickly, and he found himself looking out for a certain child in all the photos laid out in the room. At first he hadn't been sure what to look for, but he spied one photo that told him the tell-tale clue very easily.

Only one boy –out of so many children captured in the many photos –had silver-white hair.

In this photo –upon closer look –the boy stood at the corner of the big group of children, holding hands with a girl of his same height and brown hair. The boy didn't smile as widely at the camera as the rest of the children were doing, but there was an expression of peace as if the boy was glad to be where he was.

Moving through the photos, The Visitor now actively looked out for more photos of the same boy with silver-white hair, finding him more and more obvious when he looked out for him in particular. He realised –as he went through the photos of the white boy in varying ages –that this boy was always wearing a long sleeve and glove in one hand.

There was no mistaking it; he had come to the right place looking for the right person.

He was slightly confused as to why the silver-white haired boy never seemed to smile as brightly as the rest of his friends in the orphanage, but it was no question that could be answered at the moment. He took to heart that at least the boy did not seem to be particularly unhappy to be where he was, and whenever he appeared in a photo, the same girl in brown hair was also always around. As the two grew up in the photos, he also realised that the height gap between the boy and brown-haired girl grew.

The boy looked scarily like his uncle in his teen years. Though the boy never smiled crookedly at the camera in his teen years, The Visitor could immediately imagine how the boy would look like –and that mental picture was frighteningly close to the boy's uncle.

The Visitor moved from the photos on the walls towards those sitting on the desk at the end of the room. It was safe to assume that the photos sitting on the desk facing the chair were the more important ones, and he was curious to see whether the white-haired boy appeared there as well.

He wasn't disappointed.

In the photo standing beside the file manager sitting at the corner of the table, a young couple stood smiling peacefully at the camera side by side, fingers interlocked. The grown-up version of the brown-haired girl showed a very charming lady who had grown up very well, and the white-haired boy was pretty much not a boy anymore. A young man raised a V sign with his free hand at the camera in a move that was almost outdated for his age, but the innocence of a man just out of his adolescent years still hung.

This was the same man who had saved the entire town?

This was the same man who now was completely busy hunting demons for free, keeping the town free and safe of demons singlehandedly?

The Visitor straightened from staring at the photos when a polite knock on the door sounded, and the door opened. The teen who had greeted him at the front gates reappeared with her polite smile, but she led an elderly woman that he immediately recognised from the photos into the room. In the short quiet totter for the both of them from the door to the sitting area, The Visitor realised two important things.

Matron Gilda was completely blind and while age wrote on her face, the kindness and genteel aura of a woman who had seen many children come and leave her nest still hung around her.

The Visitor did not often make this impression of people he met –particularly considering his line of work –but the impression he made of the woman was instantaneous: she was a Saint.

"Mama Gilda, I'll leave the two of you to talk, but if you are not out in an hour's time, I'll get the girls to help out to prepare for dinner. The boys will clean up."

"Get Emma to check on the babies." The Matron turned to the young teen who had spoken with a beautifully gentle smile, sitting comfortably on the couch, then tapping the hand that still held her as if to say that she would be fine.

"I will. Have a good chat." The young teen smiled back at the Matron though the woman could not see it, looked up at him with another polite smile and blush before she retreated quickly.

"Mister, you must forgive an old woman with bad eyes and equally bad knees. I can no longer see and walking on my own is a small trouble." The Matron spoke up to the air in between them, and The Visitor took his cue quickly to move back to the couch, taking a seat a polite distance away from the lady.

"My family name is Sparda. I have come with questions pertaining to the saviour of this town, Nero."

"Don't try to play me a fool, Nero. This old lady might be blind, but I can still recognise voices very well. What are you doing here today? Is Kyrie not with you?" Matron Gilda's chuckling reply made The Visitor hesitate a little in surprise. A blind woman who was confident about her abilities at distinguishing voices was mistaking him as Nero playing a prank on her?

"I apologise." He replied. "I think you have my voice and Nero's mistaken. I go by the name of Sparda, and I am here to ask about him."

"You naughty boy, I am already in my seventies and still you want to play your pranks on me? You are already in your twenties now, my boy." The elderly lady was clearly not convinced no matter how sincere he made his voice. He thought for a moment about how he could prove himself to a blind lady that he was not Nero, then scooted closer to the lady, scooping both her hands from her lap in his.

"Please feel both of my hands, Madam Gilda. I do not possess Nero's demonic arm. Both my hands are perfectly normal."

"Please use a new trick in the book, my boy. You and Kyrie have fooled me once by giving me her hands, but I know that yours are now rough..." The Matron seemed confident of herself until her fingers felt the hand holding hers in both left and right, slowly beginning to realise that it did not feel like a woman's hands, and that both belonged to the same owner sitting in front of her.

"I apologise, but there is nothing else I can offer to you to prove that I am not Nero. It is quite unfortunate that you mistake me for him. I was not aware that I sound like him." The Visitor allowed the elderly lady to feel him up to his shoulders to make sure that both hands belonged to one person, before shock and realisation made her pull her hands back to herself in an expression of embarrassment.

"I-I-I apologise, Mr Sparda!" The elderly woman professed quickly. "My boy Nero has been very busy and have not visited me in a long while... I assumed that his voice must have gotten deeper since the last time I heard him was a few years ago... I apologise greatly for my mistake."

"It is quite alright." He answered, because there was really no point in being offended. He was surprised, though. The woman who had watched Nero grow up was mistaking him for the young man? They probably shared more similarities than he had initially assumed.

"May I ask if Nero used to be a mischievous boy? You acted as if you were used to his pranks and tricks." He asked before the woman could take the chance to give any more apologies that he did not need. Apparently wrenching this new topic of conversation did very well, because the Matron calmed down visibly, relaxing back in her seat with a distant smile on her face.

"If you watched him for even a day in the past, you would think that his father was the world's greatest con artist and thief all rolled up in one. That boy's hands were quiet and footsteps were even more silent than death. He might not have the glib tongue, but if there is anyone who have been past this orphanage that I trust to get himself out of a situation; it will be that boy." The woman reminisced fondly, a soft chuckle to end off her recollection of this new side of the young man's past that The Visitor had yet to learn.

"Looking at his achievements now, I would hardly imagine him to be someone who plays tricks often." He said carefully as a prompt.

"Don't be taken in by that boy's achievement. He has grown up in body and mind, but his heart is still a child. He is as pure as the baby he was when he came to my doorstep, and even though the world taints everybody, that boy has kept himself rather clean. So has that girl Kyrie. The two of them are really made for each other."

"What was he like as a child?" The Visitor knew better than to take the Matron's words whole. The woman was speaking like a proud mother, and he had not found any reasons why she should not be so far. The young man was nurtured by her own loving hands, and had gone out to save the entire city from a ruined government and demonic invasion.

"He was quite a cry baby when he was still a toddler. The older children hated dealing with him because he always cried because of one thing or another. That blue arm as well... the children were scared that he was a demon in disguise of some sort. He always stuck to me when he slowly became aware of himself and his surroundings. I was a little worried that he might be shunned forever, but you know kids; when they play, differences go away. I guess he made some sort of unspoken bond with the other kids somehow by himself. That boy always has his way with things somehow or another."

"How so?" The Visitor shifted to sit at the edge of his seat, leaning forwards.

"He has some good genes from his parents. I haven't been able to see very well even before the boy came in, but the girls always told me that Nero was the best looking boy around. There was always one girl crushing on him at any time. Beside his looks, he seems to have inherited his intelligence from somewhere. He is smart, but that boy liked to use those brain cells on brainstorming pranks. He got better when he met Kyrie."

"His girlfriend Kyrie also came from this orphanage?" The Visitor asked in small surprise. He had heard many things about how Nero very openly and was shamelessly devoted to his girlfriend. While he didn't really bother very much about the young man's love life, he was surprised at how much they were alike when it came to their level of devotion to their passions –even if he might deny it in public.

"Kyrie and her elder brother came when Nero was 8 years old. Nero and her brother often got into fights and scuffles, but the sweet girl probably got closer to him after he made up with her brother and they became thick as thieves."

"I can imagine how it must have turned out." The Visitor nodded, and could not help himself to add, "I was once in a situation similar to that as well. Defensive and aggressive, but it took me much longer to see the good along with the bad in others around me."

"You do sound like someone who has gone through a lot." The Matron nodded with an expression of distant pity. "You must have walked far to get to where you are now."

"Indeed. I have killed and been killed too many times to count. I fought my way through my life, but I have found myself reaching the age where I am beginning to backtrack and look at all the past mistakes of my life."

"Pray tell, Mr Sparda, is our dear Nero one of those mistakes?"

"A pleasant mistake. I believed that I was doing him a favour in the past, but a few years ago, I started to worry if it was all my fault and my mess. Now that I have come here and asked about him... I no longer know if I am glad, satisfied or simply resigned that he has grown up in such a manner and found his path through so many trials." The Visitor answered with a heavy sigh, but leaned forwards and gently scooped the hands of the elderly lady once more in his. Even though the lady's eyes were no longer in effective use, he made sure to look straight into those glassy texture of the green orbs, and still could see a gentle, loving glint in those eyes.

"Thank you for taking him in. Thank you for loving him, and everyone around him in all equality. I may have failed my responsibilities, but you have picked them up for me. You have turned my mistake into a blessing and a gift to this city. I will not ask for more. Just simply know that you have my utmost gratitude for all the kind deeds that you have done to my family." He expressed, unable to help himself. This was a woman who had showered unfaltering love to every child who had gone through her shelter.

This was a woman who had guided Nero into his path into greatness, moulded his values and instilled an unwavering sense of selfless justice into the impressionable boy in his young age.

"Mr Sparda... By your words... you don't mean to say..." The elder lady was understandably taken back by his sudden expressions of gratitude, the gears in her mind slowly but surely spinning to fit the puzzle pieces in his words in place.

No more words could be said before a knock came on the door, and a muffled voice from a familiar girl came from the other side.

"Mama Gilda, Nero is here to visit! Should I get him to wait until you are done?" The teenage girl from before reported, and The Visitor froze.

"Send him in right away!" The elderly lady cried immediately, and the hands that he had been holding on to gently suddenly grabbed hold of him instead as tightly as the woman could manage with her weak humanly strength while sounds of hurried footsteps away from the door sounded.

"Do not leave." The elder lady warned him when he tried to pull back gently –not wanting to hurt the kind woman in the process of getting away. "Meet him once, Mr Sparda. I do not ask for much; just let him know who it was that helped to bring him into this world."

"He is a grown man now." He answered, shaking his head even though the Matron could not see. "He doesn't need to know who his father is. It is better this way, Madam Gilda. Nero is a fine young man now capable of taking care of himself."

"Even young men of his age will question why he is born. Answer the questions I could not answer, Mr Sparda. Please."

"I... I can't." The Visitor used a little of his strength to regretfully take the woman's hands off his, standing up quickly. "He was my joy for the slightest moment of my life, but I made the decision to leave him and his mother behind to keep them safe. I never looked back when I was young and foolish, and now it is too late for me to try to make up for my mistake. Letting him keep the sword and my power is the only answer I can give him."

"It is never too late for anything, Mr Sparda." The elderly lady rushed to her feet, arms reaching out in hopes of coming in contact with the man. But The Visitor was determined to leave and thus fluidly stepped out of the woman's reach regretfully. He could hear the footsteps approaching the room from the outside. "He is old enough to take care of himself and handle the consequences of your answers!"

"He has grown up well without me and without those answers." The Visitor said with finality in his tone, moving quietly to the window. "I thank you from the deepest corner of my heart, Madam Gilda, but I have no rights to be in his life after being more than twenty years late."

"Wait, Mr Sparda!" The Matron cried, but he did not look back.

The sound of the door opening, followed by a curious and confused young man demanding what was wrong from the Matron came behind him, but The Visitor never once looked back. He had never laid his eyes on his son ever since he left the crying baby with his mother. He had never looked back, believing that the two would be safer away from him.

He had not been able to save the boy's mother, but the boy had saved himself and survived somehow. The boy didn't need him.

The Visitor stood with his back pressed against the thin wall, just out of view from the window that he had just jumped out from. No wonder the Matron had mistaken him for his son. Their voices were almost the same.

He looked at his empty hands. He had told his brother that he was coming to Fortuna to assess the new owner of the sword. Dante had told him that the young one truly deserved the gift, but he hadn't wanted the sword to end up in the hands of an immature child.

But now that he was here, he realised that Dante had been right all along.

The sword was really a gift worth giving, especially if the recipient was someone like Nero.