A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

09 | Awake • Part 2(edited)

In the realm of Existence where Birth, Death, and Fate converged, the fabric of life was shaped and guided. Each individual's journey was orchestrated by these powerful entities, each with a unique purpose.

Fate stood at the centre, a formidable force with an insatiable appetite for weaving intricate threads of destiny. With near-obsessive precision, Fate mapped out the lives of each soul, intertwining their paths with complex choices and consequential encounters. She delighted in the complexity of existence, always eager to manipulate and shape future outcomes. Currently, she was seated in her high-backed chair, her silver hair tied back in a neat bun, wisps framing her weathered face.

She puffed thoughtfully on her pipe, the sweet aroma of tobacco mingling with the scent of aged parchment. Her eyes were intensely trained on a newspaper from the early '80s, though for the past half-hour she hadn't read a single sensible line. It had been a difficult task to comprehend anything with a loud whimpering child in her presence. She willed Birth to arrive soon, trying her best to drown out Death's complaints in the background.

Birth was the gentle harbinger of new beginnings, bringing forth souls into the world and infusing them with potential and purpose. She marked a moment of hope and anticipation, the start of a unique journey that would unfold over time. It was all good until she met a mortal child named Devereaux, took pity on him, and literally took him as her foster son. The woman was supposed to be an entity, just like Fate herself, void of emotions, just there to manoeuvre the balance of Existence - but apparently, the traits of this half-dead human she had appointed as the Lord of Death had rubbed off on her.

Fate was worried that the manifestation of Lady Birth here would not make a big difference, given the circumstances. She anticipated her arrival nonetheless, hoping she could at least shut him up for a good long minute so she could explain herself. Sure, Moira had agreed, even played a big part in making his mortal existence immortal - but with the volume of his complaints that threatened to deafen her immortal ears, Lady Moira had begun to reconsider her choices.

Devereaux paced back and forth, his agitation palpable in the air. His normally composed demeanour was shattered, replaced by a simmering anger that threatened to boil over at any moment. Each step he took echoed through the silent library, a testament to his restless energy. His worst fear had manifested. Death in question was so riled up. His vacation was suddenly called off. His last assignment had suddenly bestowed upon him. Both he wasn't mentally prepared for.

He was the inevitable conclusion to every tale - casting his gaze upon souls, guiding them to the final threshold of existence. He performed a solemn and sacred duty, ensuring that every life had its appointed end, completing the cycle of existence and making way for new beginnings. But right now he was none of it. He was no better than a child denied his favourite candy.

The golden light from the antique lamps cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating the intricate patterns of the green and gold wallpaper that adorned the walls.

"You pacing around like a volcanic eruption isn't going to help either," she remarked calmly, her gaze never leaving the newspaper spread out before her. "You're making me restless too."

"Then just tell me precisely, with great detail, what the hell should I do? She's hurting out there, and what do you expect me to do? Sit here and smoke a joint with you?" Devereaux snapped, frustration seeping into his voice.

"You can't just destroy him. He has a piece of her in him. And vice versa. If he's gone, she'll be gone too. A soul can't last with a missing piece. That's against natural order."

"This whole ordeal is against natural order!"

"Wasn't my plan, was it?" Lady Moira sighed, folding the newspaper neatly and setting it aside. "You haven't changed at all, Severan. You're still that eighteen-year-old Nova brought to me - restless, nearsighted."