Fall had arrived, though Atlantis remained mostly unchanged by the season’s arrival. The stiff sea breeze that ruffled Dante’s red mane was a smidgeon colder, but the leaves still remained on the tropical trees and the sun was warm on his back. He basked in the pale pink glow of the remnants of the sunrise, looking out to sea with his one good eye. His expression was foggy, contemplative, as he gazed at the glittering, turquoise ocean as it sloshed rhythmically up and down.

Belita had vanished shortly after her two boys had left upon reaching maturity, and Dante hoped that her disappearance had nothing to do with him. Maltese had arrived then, however, and injected a new sparkle of life into the Paradise’s quiet, golden-white beaches. The birth of their son had been a shock to Dante, but once he had gotten over his initial confusion and uncertainty, he had become overwhelmed with the paternal love he had always desired.

Soren was lucky to have this time away from his father, wherever he was exploring today—it was not often Dante would allow himself to leave the poor colt alone.

Almost six months had passed since he had commandeered the Paradise, and since then Dante had accomplished very little, but he was happy. He considered himself successful, in that he had succeeded in pleasing himself. He was content. He was content to stand and wait for life to throw its next challenge his way.

DANTE
a man possessed of some radical notions