A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

11 | A Shoulder To Lean On (edited)

Pain. That was all Ada could feel. It was happening again—history repeating itself, like an old wound torn open. Dropping onto the stool, she held her head as an agonizing surge shot through her skull. Gan Gagagore was on the loose, and their last fight had left Crepusculem vulnerable once more. The weight of guilt clung to her like an iron shroud, suffocating her with each shallow breath. The echoes of past mistakes rang in her ears, a haunting reminder of how dangerously close she'd come to the darkness she had once sworn to fight.

She blamed herself for it all. Trusting Gan, giving him her heart, letting him weave his way into her very existence—it had all led to this. She, who had vowed to be a bulwark against the shadows, now found herself entangled in them. Love had betrayed her, twisted her fate, and now that twisted path threatened the sanctuary she'd built. The lives of those in Crepusculem—people who had accepted her—were now at risk, and the guilt was an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest.

Tears welled up as the memories of the destruction they had already suffered flickered before her eyes. The city, her home, her friends—she couldn't lose them. Not again. Not because of him. Her breaths became shallow, her vision narrowing as the helplessness gnawed at her like a living thing.

And then—ring!

A shrill sound pierced the suffocating silence, making her heart lurch. Startled, Ada blinked through her tears and looked around in confusion. What was that?

At first, she thought it was her phone, but the device lay still on the counter. The ringing morphed into a whimsical chime, and then the distinct clatter of pots and pans echoed from the living room. Panic shot through her as she shot to her feet. Something was moving in her house.

Not now, she thought. Her head throbbed, her magic drained, her spirit ragged—but she didn't have a choice. Fear gave her adrenaline, and she snatched the nearest weapon—a frying pan from the stove.

"Flitch?" she called out tentatively, half-hoping the mischievous elf had returned to torment her. At least he was familiar. There was no response, only the sound of something—or someone—rustling in the next room.

She approached the living room, heart hammering in her chest. The once tranquil space was in chaos. The standing lamp lay across the floor, its bulb shattered. Ash trailed ominously from the fireplace to her couch. Stools had been knocked over, and dust swirled in the air. Her breath hitched. Something—or someone—was in her home.

A shape stirred behind the couch, just a subtle shift of the shadows at first. Then, to Ada's horror, a hand appeared, rising slowly from behind the cushions.

Her breath hitched, the sound caught in her throat, and before she could think to act, a scream erupted from her chest. She staggered backward, eyes wide in shock. The frying pan she held felt heavy, and yet it was her only defense in this impossibly surreal moment.

But instead of an attack, her scream was answered by a voice—a very human voice.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, woman!"

Ada blinked. The voice was deep, laced with a touch of alarm but also amusement. Confusion clouded her panic, and her heart skipped. A man—no, more like a figure, dark and imposing—rose from behind the couch, tall and draped in black from head to toe. His raven hair fell in dishevelled strands around his face, and those eyes—those amber eyes—glowed unnaturally in the dim light of the room, locking onto hers with a mix of curiosity and fear.

"Who—what—how did you—?" Ada stammered, struggling to piece together words as her mind spun.

"Relax! I'm not here to hurt you!" He raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping cautiously out of the wreckage. "Though, judging by your reaction, maybe I should've knocked."