A/N

I'm going to try and do something different with this story. When I write my stories I tend to wait until a spark of inspiration hits me, and then I start writing a chapter. However, recently I've learned that the spark does not come to me naturally, and appears during random times.

That spark can fade as soon as it appears, and it doesn't help that I want to continue writing but it's hard to find the inspiration to write.

So, I'm changing it up with this story.

Instead of taking months to write 4000+ words for a single chapter, I'm going to shorten them for this story.

At the very minimum, the chapters will have 1000-2000 words, of course there will be exceptions but that's how I'm going to keep the average as, just until I get a better feel for my writing.

Chapter 2

It was a week after Sparda's disappearance. Vergil had been coping differently compared to the rest of his family. Dante tried to hide his smile behind pointless banter and bad attempts at humor.

Their mother held everything behind a beautiful smile, much like she has always done.

He was the only one who wanted to be alone.

He had always been a bookworm, that was obvious to anyone with eyes. So on that day he decided to leave alone, not telling his mother nor his brother where he went.

The village closest to them laid in front of a port, one that takes in items and resources from a faraway empire across the ocean.

No one paid attention to the white-haired child that walked across the streets, they were too busy with their manual labor. He walked across the streets for five minutes before finding his destination.

He truly didn't know that there was a library in this town, he only assumed so because "why wouldn't a town have a local library?"

He and Dante truly aren't that different from each other.

A bell rang as he opened the door, walking past and letting it swing close behind him.

No one else was present– at least, no one that he could see- so he took this time to browse what books they had.

He grabbed a random book off the fiction shelf, the name "Dragon Slayer" plastered on the cover.

He stayed there and continued to read for a full hour, before he realized that he had been gone for too long. Deciding to be a good samaritan, he placed the book right where he left it– slightly folding the corner of the page that he left off on.

"Where did you go?" His mother asked when he got home, he couldn't bring himself to look at her glare.

Looking away in embarrassment he responded, "I went to the library."

The conversation afterwards wasn't that important, Vergil likes to think. However, his mother eventually relented.

"Warn me next time you're going to go." She had relented with a huff.

Every day for the next week he went to the town's library and continued to read for at least a couple of hours.

During this time, he had read a bunch of different genres. From historical texts, to fiction, but something else had got his attention.

Poems.

Something so small, yet it captivated him.

Stories told in single sentences; he couldn't help but continue to read poems.

"Seems like we have a cultured one here." One day when he continued his reading, an old voice broke him out of his stupor.

An old man looked at him with a bemused glance.

"Ah–" He wasn't stealing the books, but he definitely wasn't paying for any of them. "Are you… the owner of this library?" He asked hesitantly.

The old man chuckled with a nod. "I am, and I've been noticing a young rascal coming in and reading for hours during the past week."

Ignoring his own embarrassment for not even noticing the old man, Vergil asked. "I haven't seen you here before."

"And I haven't seen you in this town either, we all have our own secrets." The owner responded.

Vergil couldn't deny that.

"Well, perhaps it isn't good for business, but I haven't had many people visit this old library of mine as frequently as you have.

"How would you like to keep that one?" The old man pointed towards the book in Vergil's hands. The young boy's eyes widened as his gaze traveled from the old man's pointed finger to the book, and then back to the old man.

"Truly?!" He asked with an uncharacteristic raise of his voice.

"Of course, I have not seen someone so dedicated to reading as you have, not in a long while."

"Thank you." Vergil said, completely genuine.

"Don't worry about it." The old man waved his thanks off with a smile. "I'm just glad to know that the stories of this world haven't gone to waste."

Back to the present…

Four days have passed since Vergil's outburst. Those days surprisingly haven't been that awkward, although it wasn't to the point that no one would tell that nothing happened.

Dante didn't notice it, but Eva did. At first it was simply a mother's intuition, but after the spar on the second day, that intuition turned into fact.

Vergil was hiding something. He would talk with his mother about mundane things she would ask, and he would banter with his younger brother, much like how it's always been inside the household.

However, during their spar, he was a lot more… aggressive.

She wasn't a warrior–far from it– but she could tell that there was more experience behind every swing from Vergil.

Every swing had reason, and every attack was part of a greater scheme. It was as if he was trying to wear down his brother over time.

Only for it to end in one final strike, knocking the wooden sword out of Dante's hand.

"Jeez, what got into you?" Dante asked, rubbing his sore palm. Vergil gave a mocking smile in response.

"Nothing, I've merely just gotten better than you."

"Rub it in, why don't you…" Dante grumbled as he got up, wiping the dirt off his pants.

"Alright you two." She called out from the porch, the two brothers turning towards her in acknowledgement. "Time for dinner."

Perhaps now would be a good time to ask. She thought.

As she laid out the table for all three of them to eat, and after they said their thanks. She turned to her oldest, who had just taken a bite out of his food.

"Have you been practicing on your own, Vergil?"

The silence was deafening, to say the least. Vergil's fork stopped an inch away from his mouth, and his eyes did not give a single movement. That was until he finally took a bite, chewing and swallowing his food.

He did not turn towards his mother when he responded, "I have."

"That's… good." There was a pause in her voice, as if she truly didn't believe what she said.

Why wouldn't she though? It shouldn't matter if he trained with a sword by himself, it's no different from his spars with his brother.

They still don't know yet.

In the end, it all comes to that.

She still has not told them the truth.

She truly believes that she needs to let them know, before they learn the hard way.

(A/N)

A word of advice for novices of storytelling (those like me)

DO NOT juggle between five stories at once, I have multiple long-running stories that I'm working on and (while it hasn't been taking a toll) I can't keep my mind focused on one for too long.

Also, expanding upon the note in the beginning of the chapter.

I'm only willing to take a couple of risks with my Fate story (Wrong Side of Heaven) because I've begun to hold that story dear to my heart. That story is a lot more personal so I'm going to be more passionate about that one.

This story I actually didn't expect to get much traction, so for this story and maybe one other story I'm going to take a lot more risks with.

I'm going to do this until I'm able to keep a stable schedule with my writing as well as find a way to get myself motivated to write when I'm not on my Adderall.