A QUEST OF DEATH : Shadows Never Lie (undergoing MACRO EDITING)

13 | To Be Seen

Devereaux perched like a shadowed sentinel upon the rooftop looking down to the in the heart of Serenel. It was a moonless night, where the heavens had shrouded their guiding light, leaving the earth bathed in obsidian. Below him, the city pulsed with life. Neon signs painted the streets with vibrant strokes of colour, like electric stars trying to rival the cosmos.

He sat on the edge, feet dangling, face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, the veil finally off and crumpled in a fist– his eyes holding a soft glow like smouldering embers beneath the coal, staring out at the city's sprawling expanse.

He watched the ceaseless flow of traffic, a river of metal and lights coursing through the urban canyon. The cacophony of horns and engines was like a discordant symphony of existence, each vehicle a vessel carrying souls with their stories untold.

Tall skyscrapers reached up to touch the heavens, their windows aglow with artificial light. They were like modern-day ziggurats, monuments to humanity's ambition and arrogance.

From his vantage point, he could hear the city's heartbeat, the laughter and tears of its people, the shouts of celebration and the cries of despair. The sounds merged into a symphony of human experience, the joy and pain intertwined like lovers in an eternal dance.

He heard the whispers of prayers and thanksgiving, the raw confessions of love that tugged at his ethereal heart. These were the moments that reminded him of the beauty of life, its fragility and its fleeting nature.

Devereaux contemplated the nature of life, love, and death. It was a curious trifecta that had intrigued him throughout his existence. Mortals lived, loved, and ultimately met their end, like flames flickering briefly before fading into the night. Their existence was a paradox, a fleeting yet profound journey.

He had once been a king. He still was—of sorts. It just did not feel the same.

His descent into the realm of darkness was not an easy one. The denizens of Hell resisted his authority, challenging his rule and testing his mettle. But Devereaux was no stranger to hardship. Amidst the torment and suffering, Devereaux carved out a home for himself in the depths of Hell.

It just felt strange to be seen, to be seen by a human—one who was not at the brink of death. To be seen by her, to be remembered by her–one that he knew for a fact had long decades of a prosperous life awaiting her.

She might be seeing it as a curse, that the very universe hated her, and her fate could not be any worse. He bet it was just because she did not know that literally her Gran was the one to write it, and she's obsessed with her children learning life the right way—and he was sure she'd be thankful for it all one day.

He wondered how much of her past with him in it that Ada could remember — or she could remember him at all. It was the cost of becoming the Death. You would not remember seeing him, no matter how many times you cross paths with Death during this long cycle of life. 

He could still remember all those moments perfectly. From the day when he saw her for the first time at Luna Sanctum as he was there to reap the souls of her parents on Lady Moira's request, to becoming her friend, to seeing her leave the sanctum, everything was still clearly etched in his mind.

He did not understand it. Why Lady Moira would always push him into her life, no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance. Because being forgotten hurt. And knowing that it was bound to happen and anticipating it through every moment near to her could rattle his core made of everything grim, dark, and brutal. He could not understand Lady Moira or her quests.

The night's solace shattered when he heard a rustle, the sharp scratch of something on the roof tiles. His eyes, initially averted, nose buds now assaulted by a smell—a mix of fish, undone laundry, and a tinge of blood. The one he awaited came into view, excitement gleaming in its eyes, bearing news.

"Master..." the elf cooed, hastily joining him on the roof and kneeling beside him.

"Any news, Flitch?" he inquired.

"Your assumption was correct. The young heir has summoned the spirit using the Luna Pearl. That's why the confines couldn't contain him."

"I believe I know that much already. Anything more?"

"The snake has taken the young heir with him. Sanctum doesn't know yet, but he is hiding somewhere not faraway from at the Mountain of Life. He's up to something," the elf emphasised.

Devereaux inhaled deeply, allowing the soft night breeze to weave through him as if seeking to help gather his scattered thoughts. 

"It's rather amusing to see how bold he has gotten over the years. I let him have his peace cause I know how it feels to walk on the line where darkness merge with the light. And he dared to take my kindness for granted."

He squeezed his eyes shut, the weariness settling within him. The fatigue of being entangled in her intricate web of favours weighed on him.

"Keep an eye on the snake and the boy for now. Report me everything you see, hear, even smell. I don't trust that fella one bit anymore," the Dark Lord commanded.

For a moment, the elf hesitated. "But my Lord..." it trailed off, earning its master's attention. The Dark Lord shifted his gaze to the elf, a raised eyebrow prompting an explanation.

"Young Heiress is alone; I thought you'd send me back to her," the elf said in a small voice.

It wasn't Flitch's place to decide what should be done in which way, but genuine concern for the girl who had served him tea every morning lingered in its words.

The Dark Lord chuckled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "She seems to have grown on you, ain't she?" 

"She seems to grow on everyone. I wonder how she does it, 'cause for me, all she has ever brought is trouble." He remarked.

The elf said nothing, only staring at its master and waiting for further orders. Its suggestion seemed to have been discarded before even being considered.

"She'll need something more than an elf's company, Flitch. Now that our scheme is working as we expected she'll need someone capable of keeping her safe." Another deep sigh weaved out of Devereaux's immortal body. He was sure with this amount of sighing if he had happened to have a soul it would too have woven out of himself in one of those long days. 

"I'll do something about her. You just do what I asked you to do, yeah?" He commanded the elf.

With that, the Dark Lord leaped off the roof, transforming into his black bird form. The elf gaze trailed behind as the raven swarm crossed the moonless sky in silence.