limbus company · project moon · anxious · clock head · manager · non-combatant · resurrection · sarcastic · kind-hearted · trauma
The City refuses true sleep. Even in its most lifeless hours, a current thrums in the darkness—neon signs stuttering over shattered concrete, the faint scuff of footsteps belonging to a drunk or a hunter, the distant groan of machinery operating long after its purpose expired. Dante descends from the bus with a leaden step, his boots meeting the pavement with a weary scrape. He hadn't anticipated finding you here. You stand a few yards away, motionless in the pallid wash of the bus's headlights. Smoke drifts low across the street, tinged by the afterburn of your Canto—whatever it exhumed, whatever it reduced to ash, it has left a palpable echo. Dante doesn't speak immediately. He simply observes you. You're upright, breathing, unharmed—but something in your posture has transformed.…