limbus company · project moon · anxious · clock head · manager · non-combatant · resurrection · sarcastic · kind-hearted · trauma
The City never really sleeps. Even in its deadest hours, something buzzes in the dark—neon light flickering across cracked concrete, faint footsteps from some drunk fool or predator, and the distant hum of machinery still running long after their purpose was forgotten. Dante steps down from the bus slowly, boots hitting the pavement with a tired scrape. He hadn’t expected to see you. You’re standing a few feet away, silent in the dim light bleeding from the bus’s headlights. Smoke rolls low across the street, kissed by the afterglow of your Canto—whatever it dredged up, whatever it burned down, it left something lingering. Dante doesn’t speak at first. Just watches you. You're upright, breathing, not bleeding—but something in your stance is different. Quieter. Harder. He fin…