There was something strange in Fortuna that air. The air felt heavy and dense, the usual clear sky was hovering with grey clouds that threatened to send a downpour, and the usually quiet streets were filled with noise coming from a thousand people navigating them.

Vergil walked along the streets as another stranger in the foreign land. With the prospect of rain, no one paid attention to the hooded figure gracefully moving in the throng of people. Vergil wasn't afraid to get wet by the imminent rain, but he was aware of the implications the task at hand required. Stealth was essential as well as swiftness, and he was well prepared to handle both of them accordingly. He wanted to keep his position as a ghost; and seeing familiar faces was something he strived to avoid.

His eyes scanned the streets around him and, spotting the familiar pebbled road, he walked towards it. The antique and tall buildings that once had been the source of his attention were lost in focus as he stared at the church standing tall at the end of the street.

He found it ironic that, of all the places he could've been taken, a church had been the chosen option; but it was not the time to dwell in musings.

The letter he received had been unsettling, to say the least. She was a smart girl, he didn't doubt that. But he still wondered how she was able to find him when all she had was just the name of a city that he might or might have not visit again. Still, it was relatively easy to find out the address once she found the right side of town; after all, there were not many men with white hair living in the city.

He didn't consider it luck that he found the letter in readable conditions; it was more of a curse than a strike of luck. His curiosity was peaked when he saw the yellowing envelope with his name scribbled in sloppy handwriting sticking from the rusting gates. His expression hardened once he found the dreaded notice inside.

Of course it had to be a lie. He didn't doubt it could have occurred, but he believed it to be an elaborate scheme that the cursed woman had done in order to see him again. Inevitably, that worked in some extent because, even if he didn't show up at her doorstep, he was heading towards the mentioned area.

There were no pictures inside the letter, no trace of her whereabouts, only one name: Nero. Vergil had scoffed when he read the name; if it was true, he had to acknowledge that it had been a smart choice.

He opened the wooden doors of the church, whose hinges creaked. The sound resonated through the empty building and the flames of a few candles close to the door flickered as the cold air from the outside blew in. Vergil had visited the location before in order to witness if the claims were actually true. It was pathetic to see that humans were glorifying a demon to the point of calling sacrilegious the ones that didn't fit in their so-called religion.

A door creaked to his left, but Vergil remained still as he inspected the marble figure at the end of the hallway.

"May I help you?" The nervousness of the voice translated into a soft tone that barely managed to produce an echo. It didn't surprise Vergil to see that the owner of the voice was all clad in white, adding more to their little play of a religious satire.

"I am here to visit a child from the orphanage."

The words sounded foreign to him. The man didn't ask questions, and for that Vergil was glad. The last thing he wanted was to strike a fruitless conversation that would only delay the inevitable.

Vergil was led through the corridor on the other side of the door the man had just gotten out of. The air inside smelt like humidity, but that didn´t faze his companion at all. The corridor was connected to a fairly big room full of individual beds. Vergil caught a glimpse of the neatly folded clothes on top of the beds and a couple of toys scattered under them. They were disciplined; that was good.

"What is the name of the child you are looking for?"

"Nero."

The white-clad man retreated through the door at the end of the room. In the brief seconds the door opened, Vergil could see the opaque, silvery color of the sky that made the grass from the yard look bleak. He witnessed a couple of kids halt halfway through their running games when they spotted the male figure entering the yard and, with a curt nod, got out of the way. Vergil scoffed.

After a couple of minutes, the door opened. A small child came in by himself, and, almost mechanically, closed the door behind him. Nero gave him a long and harsh stare. His eyes darted from the top of his head to the visible part of his boots with a prominent frown. He kept his back towards the door, leaning heavily against it with his hands clasped behind him.

Vergil could see the resemblance. It was like he was staring at his younger self through a mirror. He had inherited the color of his hair, the shape of his nose and lips and the same pale skin. His eyes were a shade darker than his, and there was something slightly feminine about his features, but that could have something to do with his young age.

Nero looked like he had been scolded and yearned to go back out again, yet he said nothing. Slowly, Vergil took the fabric of his hood with one hand and pulled it down. Nero's frown deepened. Of course he could place two and two together.

"What do you want?"

Was Vergil supposed to feel guilt by the child's words or the bitter tone of his voice? Because looking at the frail and weak miniature version of himself made him feel nothing but contempt. He was staring at his mistake, one he couldn't simply erase from his memory. Nero was his flesh and blood waiting for something he could never find in Vergil.

Vergil could walk away now that his initial assumptions have been proven. He had nothing to stay for. The child could live on, hating the man that turned his back to him and deeming him nothing more than a coward. Perhaps he would never remember his visit or image.

Yet, there was a fire that burned inside the boy's eyes that betrayed the words that he didn't say. He was going to be feisty, temperamental, make his life a living hell for the years he was kept in the dark. Those musing reminded Vergil not of himself, but of his twin. It was pathetically humorous how that child could have so many similarities to strangers.

But Vergil didn't have time for him. It wasn't in his nature to be neither a teacher nor a caregiver. He couldn't offer what others would give him. Vergil couldn't see forgiveness in his own mistakes, and the child couldn't see the crime he was personifying. Matters were better off that way.

It started raining in the late afternoon. Vergil was in the comfort of his hotel room, watching the rain fall from the room's window. The droplets of water ran swiftly down the crystal and into the concrete abyss below. The room felt cold, almost as cold as the surface of the window. By looking outside, Vergil could transfer that coldness to a tranquility that soothed his mind as he focused on the rain falling, dampening every inch of the intricate architecture in Fortuna. Yet, there was a feeling of dismay overpowering the serenity.

He wasn't afraid of the decision he had taken; he could badly describe it as a distress, an ache at the back of his mind that gave way to doubt. It hadn't been the smartest choice, he knew that more than anyone, but there was no going back now.

The sound of static coming from behind him disrupted his train of thought. Turning slightly, he saw the child silently browsing the channels of the television, stopping every once a while when the images pleased his eye. They did not speak much on the course of the day, let alone try to figure out more about each other.

Their relationship was strained from the moment they met, but perhaps Nero would turn out to be a mistake willing to be corrected.

Happy spring break!

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters belong to Capcom.