The cool London breeze drifted gently through the streets that afternoon, carrying with it the faint scent of recent rain mingled with the urban perfume of ancient stone and constant movement. Unlike the underworld, where everything seemed to exist under permanent tension, there was a peculiar fluidity here—chaotic, yet alive, pulsating in a way that didn't require constant attention lest it collapse.
Vergil walked along one of the quieter streets, away from the main flow, where small shops lined up with carefully tended facades and windows decorated with a certain artisanal flair. His presence didn't directly draw attention, but there was something about him that inevitably made the surrounding environment… react. People passed by without quite realizing why they avoided crossing too close, while the space itself seemed to adjust slightly to his existence.
Beside him—
Aphrodite.
