aamon paxley X o.c. • the duke and the runaway

38.

He never would have thought that seeing the evening moon— his favored scenery— can actually make him feel so lonely.

Aamon was the only person who stayed awake while the rest of his companions drifted off to their slumber. Besides, he thought that it would be best to stay up for a few hours since he got to relinquish in the silence that he desperately craved. However, earning both the loud silence and the glowing sight of the celestial orb from the sky gnawed a huge gap in his beating core.

He really missed them.

If anyone else could look at him right now, he would appear nonchalant. Though, underneath that cold and reserved exterior, is a miserable shadow of a young man.

Reminiscing those deep blue eyes and chestnut brown hair, he knew that he had failed to look after his younger sibling. He lost his delinquent brother to the evil deity and witnessed his descent down the dark Abyss. Both of them reconciled back then when they left Castle Aberleen, but the time of their mended closeness didn't suffice due to this undesired phenomenon.

Brother. My little brother Gusion.

The duke raked his ash grey strands through his gauntlet-clad fingers and shakily sighed, he was becoming an emotional mess once more. He wished he could laugh at himself for being so vulnerable during times like these but his teeth bit down on his lower lip, refusing to let him crack up at his weaknesses.

An image of her materialized within his head as he imagined the golden brown-haired woman he love. He didn't know why but he felt as if his soul was beginning to dissipate at the thought of truly losing her. Those emerald green irises that surrounded her tempestuous pupils he adored, those waves or curls of her silky mane and those light pink lips that he desired. Those parts of her only caused him to long deeper for her through memory.

Seraphima. My lady Seraphima.

Then he recalled his gift, the Agate. He fished it out of his pocket and stared at it with a heartbreaking gaze. He can see his faint reflection on its pink crystalline surface like a misty mirror from an abandoned castle. Initially, he did wanted to give this gift to her in a whole piece, however, he did not regret its current shattered state. He was at least appreciative of its broken presence because it felt like she was there. That she is there.

"Aamon." He snapped towards the source of the soft, flowing voice that called out for him. With his right hand, he summoned his blue mana shards what circulated around his opened palm like a swift dragonfly. Bringing himself up on his feet, he searched the area around him, looking for a possible stalker that lurked in the shadows.

But no one was there and others were asleep.

Slowly, Duke Paxley stepped forward away from the dark oak trees then out in the open, sauntering on patches of green grass. His blue-grey orifices inspected every blind spot that he could see, expecting an enemy or a spy. But then that voice rang out again in his ears.

"Don't look for me, Aamon. Find her. Find my daughter." The last three words puzzled the ash grey-haired man who steadied himself in one spot, the iridescent shards spiraling around him, its gentle light clashing with the shiny half piece of his Agate.

"Who are you? I want you to show yourself," he said, his voice deep and his words profound, "Stop playing games with me."

"The Eruditian is right. My daughter is not supposed to be exist." Aamon raised a brow, unsure of what was happening. The voice doesn't sound like a threat from an evil entity. It sounded like a female, laced with sorrow and pain that he somehow can relate to.

"I am going to question you once more," he flexed his fingers then the shards dissolved into nothingness, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" She repeated his words, "Then can I ask who are you to my daughter Seraphima?"