A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

18 | To Break A Heart - Part 2 (edited)

In the hushed embrace of the night, Devereaux stood like a silent sentinel, watching over Ada as she surrendered to the peaceful realm of dreams. The room, adorned in the muted hues of black and grey, exuded an ethereal serenity. The flickering flames in the fireplace cast dancing shadows, painting a canvas of tranquillity.

The walls, adorned with intricate vine decorations, boasted a rough but vibrant green hue added a touch of nature to the otherwise dark aesthetic.

The centrepiece of the room was a stately bed, draped in soft grey beddings, perched on a platform of black oak. The grey seamlessly blended with the walls, creating a sense of cohesion.

The flickering candle lights scattered across the chamber cast dancing shadows, adding an ethereal glow to the space

Ada lay nestled in this bed, her features softened by the gentle glow. The lines of worry etched upon her face during waking hours seemed to dissolve, leaving behind a portrait of innocence.
Her deep brown locks spilled across the pillow like cascading silk, an unruly testament to the untamed spirit that resided within her.

Her breathing, a rhythmic melody, intertwined with the gentle crackling of the fire, creating a symphony of peace in the dim-lit chamber.

Devereaux, observed her with a gaze that bespoke volumes of admiration. In this vulnerable state, she seemed a paradox–a fragile mortal whose spirit radiated a luminosity that rivalled the stars. His fingers, calloused yet tender, traced an invisible line along her cheek, marvelling at the warmth that emanated from her.

She breathed in the quiet cadence of sleep, her lips forming a serene curve, imparting a subtle grace to her slumbering countenance. The flickering firelight played upon her features, revealing the faintest flush on her cheeks from the Devil's Snarl and highlighting the delicate arch of her brows and the curve of her lips like a portrait of resilience that was painted on a canvas, a testament to the life coursing through her veins.

He lingered on the scar near her brow, a faint smile gracing his lips. He remembered hearing the backstory of that particular scar long years back. The young heiress had earned during a mock battle with her brother, training the sword. He remembered her recalling how worried the kid was after accidentally hurting his beloved sister.

The weight of empathy settled in his chest as he considered the extent Auden must have felt, the loneliness that drove him to summon a demon for his rescue. Romersai were born with the duty of combating darkness, not to cradle into it. The path Auden chose seemed a departure from that duty—a plunge into the very shadows they were meant to resist. Devereaux couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for the young man, entangled in a web of despair that led him to desperate measures.

Beneath the empathy simmered a fierce anger, an inferno directed at the vicious snake, Gan Gagagore. The creature had shattered Ada, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. It had dismantled everything that was precious to her, and Devereaux harboured no intention of forgiving that malevolent being easily.

Countless times, he had watched Ada navigate the trials of life from the shadows. Her indomitable spirit, her unwavering determination—it was a testament to the strength that resided within her. Yet, he had maintained a careful distance, a silent observer reluctant to intervene directly. Instead, he had dispatched his trusty elf and other denizens, each tasked with safeguarding her in their own way.

The elf often regaled him with tales of Ada's adventures. Stories of her wrath, provoked by the playful misbehaviors of the very elf, echoed in the wind as they sat on a random rooftop under the dark canvas of late night sky.

Devereaux would laugh his heart hearing how Ada would turn red in anger like a ripe cherry whenever the elf messed with her food, made a mess out of her neatly arranged kitchen or gave her a jump scare, popping out of nowhere. She was not a force to be reckoned with, though the elf paid no heed to her fiery spirit.