Left to wander the Salvathre, he appeared as a pitiful sight, his ragged clothes and oozing wounds drawing peculiar glances from those who passed him by. Some showed sympathy, others simply curiosity, but none could truly understand the depths of his despair. He was lost in a world that once celebrated his power, but now he was cast adrift like a solitary leaf caught in the wind.

The bustling town was a stark contrast to Devereaux's current state. Colourful attires adorned the townspeople as they went about their daily business, the market teeming with vendors, buyers, and dwellers. An array of sweet aromas from food, spices, and exotic flowers wafted through the air, creating a tantalising sensory experience. The towering red brick buildings provided cool, shadowy shelters to the town's inhabitants, offering respite from the day's warm rays.

Salvathre was truly a unique place . Within the town's confines, beings from all three realms coexisted harmoniously, roaming the streets that housed illustrious mage families like the Romersais. It remained veiled from mundane human eyes by the shroud of magic that surrounded it, accessible only to mages or healers returning from their expeditions beyond to the nearby city of Salvathre.

The air hummed with the ebb and flow of magic, making it a sanctuary for those in touch with the mystical forces that governed their existence. It was a realm of its own; an enchanting paradise untouched and unspoiled by the vices of humanity, such as greed, envy, and wrath, which often tainted the world beyond its magical borders. This hidden sanctuary was a dream destination for anyone with an awareness of magic, a refreshing oasis of tranquillity amidst the desert of chaos.

To Devereaux, who had been raised amidst the temptations of all the sins that one could possibly imagine, the Salvathre felt like a long-awaited respite, akin to rain quenching a drought-stricken land. The allure of the place was undeniable, and even with the familiarity of corruption lurking within him, he could sense the purity that radiated from its very core. It was like a breath of fresh air for his weary soul, a glimpse of the light he had once lost.

The magical allure of the place offered solace to those in touch with mystical forces, but Devereaux found no refuge within its shimmering walls. Instead, he was drowning in his own turmoil, thrashing against the currents of fate that seemed determined to drag him down.

His steps faltered like a wounded creature, and each pebble on the cobblestone streets seemed to conspire against him, causing him to stumble with every stride. Weariness weighed heavily upon him, like a cloak of darkness that sapped his strength and determination. His hunger gnawed at him relentlessly, a constant reminder of his vulnerability in this strange land.

Desperate for support, he reached out, hoping to find something to cling to amidst the chaos of his emotions. But before he could steady himself, the world around him blurred, the colours fading into darkness, and his consciousness slipped away.

When he opened his eyes once more, it was as if he had been transported to another realm altogether. A vision of ethereal beauty stood before him, a woman whose appearance could rival even the most enchanting beings of legend. The deep blue of her eyes held the secrets of the cosmos, and her skin glowed like moonlit snow, a canvas of perfection for her sharp, alluring features. Dressed in the unique attire of the Salvathre, she seemed like a celestial being gracing the mortal world.

"You're awake," the woman's voice flowed like a gentle melody, caressing Devereaux's senses and pulling him back from the abyss of unconsciousness.

Devereaux blinked, trying to focus on the vision before him. "Yeah... how long was I out?" his words came out muffled, still grappling with the fog of drowsiness.

"Two days," the woman replied, her soft smile a comforting ray of light in the darkness. "You were severely injured and in immense pain. We had to put you to sleep to aid your recovery."

Devereaux's stomach growled, a fierce reminder of his hunger amidst the surreal encounter. As if by magic, a plate of tantalising food appeared before him, its aroma weaving an enchanting spell around him. The temptation was irresistible, and he hesitated only for a moment before succumbing to the allure of the meal.

The woman chuckled at Devereaux's voracious eating, the sound as soothing as a lullaby. "Take it slow, kid. I know my pork belly soup is tasty. I'll wrap some for you to take once you're ready to leave if you like it that much."

The unexpected kindness tugged at Devereaux's heart, his walls of despair starting to crumble. Yet, a pang of guilt gnawed at him, burdening him with the weight of his troubles. "I have nowhere to go," he mumbled, his voice filled with vulnerability.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. And then, the woman spoke again, her words like a beacon of hope in the darkness. "Then I guess I'll have to prepare that pork belly soup for you once in a while, huh?"

Devereaux's eyes lifted, meeting the woman's gaze fully. There was a warmth and understanding in those depths that he hadn't expected to find. A genuine and welcoming smile graced the woman's face. "I'm Nova, by the way. It's Lady of Birth to you," she said.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Devereaux perched like a shadowed sentinel upon the Statue de l'Aube looking down to the heart of Serenel. It was a moonless night, where the heavens had shrouded their guiding light, leaving the earth bathed in obsidian—much like the night he had sworn his oath to Lady Nova. 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.

It had been millennia since he had been reviewed as an immortal. And nothing had really changed in the world below. 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, anymore.

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.

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 Death. You would not remember seeing him, no matter how many times you cross paths with Death during this long cycle of life. A tiny part of the Dark Lord hoped she still had him in memories, the way his amber eyes had somehow managed to etch their mark on them.

He could still remember all those moments perfectly. From the day when he saw her for the first time at Crepusculem 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 Crepusculem, 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 hurts. 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. He wouldn't. Not now. Never.

The night's solace shattered when he heard a rustle, the sharp scratch on the moulded stone he sat on. 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. Crepusculem doesn't know yet, but he's hiding somewhere not far from the Sambili forest. He's up to no good," the elf emphasized, his voice taut with urgency.

"Sambili, is it?" Devereaux inhaled deeply, letting the cool night breeze thread through him, as if it might help him gather his scattered thoughts. "Who's providing him shelter there?"

The elf paused, lost in thought for a moment. "Must be the Night Walkers. No way Dagasha's would be harboring their biggest mistake again."

Devereaux's lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "It's amusing how bold he's become over the years. I let him be, thinking he'd find his peace. I understand what it's like to walk that thin line where darkness and light merge." His smile faded, replaced by a grim resolve. "And yet, he mistook my empathy for weakness."

He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of his responsibilities settle over him once more. The intricate web of favours and grudges, alliances and betrayals—each thread tied to him, pulling him deeper into the mire of power.

"Keep a close eye on the snake and the boy," Devereaux commanded, his voice sharp as steel. "Report everything you see, hear, even smell. I don't trust that creature any longer."

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.

"Indeed, my lord,"

"Well then, I'll get going. There's someone waiting for me," Devereaux remarked, stretching as he rose to his feet. It was going to be a long flight back home, and the weight of everything happening lately pressed heavily on him.

"A mistress? Another one?" the elf quipped with a frown.

"You're not judging me, are you?" Devereaux shot him a teasing smirk, knowing it would get under its skin.

The elf's expression didn't change, but its eyes narrowed. "You're heading back to Salvathre." It wasn't a question, just a statement born of familiarity.

"Mhm. See you around."

Without waiting for further commentary, Devereaux leapt from the statue, his form shifting mid-air into that of a raven. The elf watched in silence as the majestic bird cut through the dark, moonless sky, vanishing into the night.