Regression of the Tower's Final Survivor-Chapter 53: Old Ghosts

Night on Floor 11 was stunning in a way that felt almost cruel, the crystalline trees of the forest below catching ambient starlight and refracting it into a million shards of cold blue and violet until the landscape looked like a frozen ocean stretching toward the horizon.

Dante stood on the balcony of the suite with a glass of expensive wine in his hand that he hadn’t touched, probably wouldn’t touch, because drinking alone on a cold balcony while staring at a pretty view felt too much like something a man did when he was processing his feelings. The wind up here was sharp, biting with the chill of altitude, but the Ancient Core in his chest kept him warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. It was always there now, humming with power that felt less like a tool and more like a second, predatory instinct waiting for something to hunt.

Inside, the team was asleep, and he could hear Ren’s steady snoring and the soft rustle of Ravenna moving in her sleep, the sounds of people who trusted him enough to let their guard down. They were safe, at least for tonight.

But safety was a lie, and he knew that better than anyone.

"You’re not good at hiding," Dante said without turning around.

There was a soft gasp from the shadows near the trellis that climbed the side of the hotel, and a moment later a figure pulled themselves over the railing and landed silently on the balcony stone like they’d done this kind of thing before.

It was Seira.

She looked even worse up close, the moonlight stripping away whatever glamour distance had provided and revealing the dark circles under her eyes, the fraying hems of her robes, and the way her hands trembled slightly even when she clenched them into fists. This wasn’t the confident, radiant woman who had charmed her way into the top ranks in his past life. This was a scavenger, holding onto dignity by a thread and pretending she wasn’t one bad dungeon away from falling apart completely.

"I didn’t think you’d notice me," she said, her voice tight with something that might have been embarrassment or fear or both.

"I noticed you the moment you started climbing because you breathe too loud." Dante finally turned and leaned back against the railing, not offering her a drink or a seat or anything that might suggest she was welcome here. "How did you get past the guards?"

"I... I healed one of them last week, a nasty poison bite that would have cost him his arm. He looked the other way."

"Resourceful." It wasn’t a compliment, and his tone made that very clear. "What do you want, Seira? It’s late, and I have a war to start in the morning."

She flinched at his tone but stepped closer into the light anyway, desperation winning out over self-preservation. "I want to know why."

Dante swirled the wine in his glass and watched the light dance through the liquid. "Why what?"

"Why you hate me."

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw, and Seira took another step forward as her frustration bled through her fear.

"I don’t know you, Dante. I’ve never met you before today, we’ve never spoken, never fought together, never even crossed paths as far as I know. But back in the plaza..." Her voice cracked slightly. "You looked at me like I was something you scraped off your boot. You barely let Leon speak to me. What did I ever do to you?"

Dante looked at her. Really looked at her.

He saw the woman who had nursed him back to health on Floor 20 after a dungeon nearly killed him, the woman who had sworn she loved him on Floor 40 when the world felt like it might be worth surviving after all, the woman who on Floor 52 had opened the door for Adrian Cross and watched as Dante’s entire team was slaughtered because she wanted to be on the winning side.

’I’m sorry, Dante,’ she had said then, standing over his bleeding body while Adrian’s people finished off the survivors. ’But Adrian says he can get us to Floor 100. You... you’re just hitting a wall.’

The memory was sharp enough to cut, but Dante didn’t let it show on his face. He took a slow sip of wine that tasted like ashes.

"You think I hate you," he said calmly, like they were discussing the weather. "That implies I care enough to have an emotion about you, and I don’t."

"Don’t play games!" Seira snapped, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "I’m a Healer, a damn good one! My party is... struggling, yes, but I could be an asset. Any other team would kill to have me, but you treated me like trash and I deserve to know why."

"Are you an asset?" Dante asked, setting the glass down on the railing with a soft clink. "Or are you a parasite?"

Seira froze like he’d slapped her. "What?"

"I watched you fight in the arena on Floor 10," Dante lied smoothly because he hadn’t actually watched her do anything in this timeline, but he knew her style intimately from eight years of fighting beside her and then being betrayed by her. "You hang back. You heal only when it’s safe, when you’re sure you won’t be targeted for it. You attach yourself to the strongest tank, the highest DPS, and you make yourself indispensable to them. Not because you want to help, but because you’re terrified of dying."

He pushed off the railing and walked toward her, and she tried to hold her ground but couldn’t stop herself from shrinking back as he loomed over her.

"You seek strength because you’re empty, Seira. You look for the brightest light in the room and you cling to it until it burns out, and then you find the next one before the warmth even fades." He stopped a foot away from her, close enough to see the tears forming in her eyes, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Right now, that light is me. But I don’t need moths. I need wolves."

The color drained from her face, and Dante could see the words hit her like a physical blow because deep down, even without the regression, even without knowing what she would become, that was who she was. A survivor who survived by using others.

"That’s not fair," she whispered, and the tears pooling in her eyes finally spilled over. "Everyone is afraid. We’re in a tower filled with monsters that want to eat us."

"My team is afraid," Dante said flatly. "Ren is terrified every time he lifts that shield because he knows a single mistake means someone dies behind him. Astrid shakes after every rage because the bloodlust gets harder to come down from each time. But they stand. They bleed for each other because that’s what pack does, and they don’t look for a savior to carry them to safety."

He leaned in, his green eyes boring into hers.

"You aren’t looking for a party, Seira. You’re looking for a carrier who’ll do the hard parts while you ride on their back. And I have enough baggage without adding you to it."

The tears tracked hot paths down her cheeks, and she opened her mouth to argue, to defend herself, to say something that would make this hurt less, but nothing came out. His words had dismantled her defenses with surgical precision, cutting through every lie she’d told herself about why she was really here.

"Go back to your team," Dante said, stepping back and turning toward the glass door. "Or abandon them like you were going to do anyway. I don’t care. But don’t come back here until you have something to offer besides your own fear."

"You’re a monster," she choked out behind him.

Dante paused at the glass door and looked back over his shoulder, his silhouette framed by the warm light of the suite.

"I know," he said, and something in his voice sounded almost tired. "That’s why I’m going to win."

He slid the door shut and locked it with a click, leaving her alone on the balcony.

Outside, Seira stood in the cold wind for a long time, shivering not from the temperature but from the terrifying realization that the man behind the glass had seen right through to her soul and hadn’t liked what he found there. Eventually, she turned and climbed back down into the darkness.

Inside, Dante picked up his wine glass again and downed the contents in one swallow. It tasted bitter, but that might have been the regret.

"You were hard on her."

Ravenna was awake, sitting up in bed with the silk sheet pulled to her chest and her orange eyes glowing in the dim room like embers.

"I was honest," Dante said, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"She felt... broken." Ravenna’s voice was soft, troubled in a way that made Dante’s chest ache. "I could taste the shame from here, it was thick enough to choke on." 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"Good." Dante lay back and stared at the ceiling, watching shadows play across the expensive molding. "Shame is useful. Shame makes you change, makes you look at yourself and decide to be something different. If she breaks, she was never going to make it anyway. If she rebuilds herself..."

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

"Then maybe she’ll be worth saving."