The world around her was ablaze, the fierce flames of Crepesculem licking the air with unbridled fury, reaching higher as if determined to consume the heavens themselves.

The sacred grounds were reduced to a smoldering battlefield, blackened and broken, the remnants of what had once been their sanctuary together now nothing but ashes and ruin. Ada sat in the heart of it, crumpled, her body twisted in pain, a crimson stain spreading across her side where Gan's blade had cut deep.

She gasped for air, each breath a knife in her chest, each movement a reminder of her betrayal—no, their betrayal. Her fingers, trembling and blood-stained, reached instinctively to the wound, pressing down as if she could staunch the agony spreading inside her. But it wasn't just the wound; it was everything. It was the memory of the kindness in his voice, the quiet warmth in his eyes when he used to speak her name. It was every word they'd once shared, every fleeting smile they'd given each other, every moment they'd held each other up when the world had tried to pull them down.

Gan, her savior. Gan, her friend. Gan, the only person she had ever trusted with her whole heart. And now... now he was her destroyer.

A bitter sob wrenched from her throat, her vision blurring with tears. How had it come to this? How had they fallen so far from the love, the trust, that had once bound them together?

She wanted to scream, to claw the memories out of her head, to forget the sweetness of his voice, the strength of his embrace, the nights she'd spent by his side, thinking there was no one in the world more worthy of her loyalty. How foolish, how devastatingly naïve she had been.

Her hand dropped to her side, the sword she'd used to fight him lying discarded at her feet. She couldn't even look at it, couldn't bear the sight of the weapon she'd raised against him. The thought curdled in her mind like poison—she had borne a sword against the one person she owed her life to.

She'd crossed a line she could never uncross, severed a bond that could never be mended, and all she was left with was the unbearable ache of it, the agony of knowing she'd lost him, truly, forever.

The fire crackled around her, the heat scorching her skin, but she couldn't move, couldn't find the will to rise. What was the point? Everything was gone. Everything that had once mattered had turned to ash around her, and all she had left was the hollow echo of his voice, the memory of his smile—things that would haunt her forever.

She could feel her strength slipping away, her body growing heavy, her mind sinking into a darkness that felt, for once, almost like a relief. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe she'd paid her dues, and now, finally, she could let go.

"Ada..."

A voice soft, almost a whisper, cut through the haze in her mind. She lifted her head, her vision swimming, and there, through the flames and the darkness, she saw him. Amber eyes, warm as ever, looking at her with something she hadn't felt in so long.

Worry. He must have been searching for her everywhere.

Relief. She was in one piece. A little tattered but she'd survive.

His gaze softened as it met hers, and in that fleeting moment, she thought she saw something she had missed in them, something she had failed to recognise. Something she longed for. Something she would cherish for the rest of her life.

The fear of abandonment dissolve into a tear slipped down her cheek, her lips parting in a trembling whisper she wasn't even sure he could hear.

She wanted to say something, to reach out, but her strength was gone, her body collapsing into the desperate pull of oblivion. She let her eyes close, his face the last image in her mind. Strangely so, a balm to her shattered heart.

She let herself loose for once and a thought lingered, fragile and bittersweet. He had found her. He would make sure she would wake up see another sunrise. She just wasn't sure how much she wanted it though. She wasn't sure she needed that chance at all.

***

Ada drifted in and out of the haze of memory, each scene slipping through her fingers like sand, half-formed and bittersweet. She remembered the days she'd spoken of Gan with Dev, her voice bright, her eyes full of light. She'd raved about Gan's strength, his wisdom, his power—never realizing the pain she was unknowingly twisting into Dev's heart.

And Dev... Dev had always listened, nodding along, clapping for her as if he were her biggest fan. Her best friend, her confidant. The one she'd trusted with her secrets, her dreams, and her love for a man who, in the end, had shattered her world.

How blind she had been.

Now, in the dim light of this strange room, Dev sat by her side, a gentle presence, wiping her forehead with the utmost care, his touch as soft as a feather.

His eyes were filled with an emotion she couldn't quite place, something she'd brushed off so many times as simply friendship, loyalty... but now, after everything, she saw it differently. There had been hints, hadn't there?

The way his eyes lingered on her just a moment too long, the way his smile faltered whenever she mentioned Gan, the quiet way he'd been there, through everything, offering his silent support, his unwavering presence. She had overlooked it, dismissed it, thinking that Dev was simply happy for her.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she felt Dev's thumb brush it away, so gentle, so tender it nearly broke her.

"Dev... Devereaux..." she whispered, her voice rough, her lips chapped, trembling beneath the weight of his gaze.

He was Death. She knew. She learned. Just as well as she learned Gan was a vicious serpent. Neither did scare her. That was her lover. This was her greatest companion. 

She wanted to say something, to apologize for all the things she hadn't seen, for how she'd leaned on him without realizing the cost.

People used say people weren't supposed to see Death. Much less to remember him. Guess she wasn't people. She remembered him alright. Those warm amber eyes, soft smiles. Those weren't easy to just erase from your mind. But she might not really have seem him for who he was. What he was. How he was.

But he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her with the same calm, steady smile that told her he understood, even now, even through her brokenness. "It's alright," he murmured softly, his voice soothing. "It's gonna be okay."

"Gan..." Her voice broke on the name, the wound still too fresh, too raw. "Gan..."

Devereaux's expression softened, a flicker of sadness crossing his face, but he remained gentle, his hand steady against her cheek. "Shh... Ada," he whispered. "He's not here anymore. We defeated him. You defeated him."

A sob tore from her throat, ragged and desperate, as the weight of his words settled over her. She had won, but it felt like the cost had been everything. She buried her face in her hands, shaking, and Devereaux tried to soothe her, his attempts to hush her lost in the torrent of her grief.

Finally, when her strength crumbled entirely, he drew her into his arms, holding her close, his embrace warm and solid, grounding her in the midst of her storm.

"Everything will be alright, Ada," he whispered into her ear, his voice a low, steady hum. "Everything will be alright..."

The warmth of his arms, the tenderness of his voice—it was so different, yet so achingly familiar. Had it been like this with Gan? She couldn't tell anymore, couldn't separate memory from reality.

But here, in Devereaux's arms, she felt a reassurance, a solidity that she'd never noticed before. She didn't know if she was losing her mind, but she clung to him anyways, the ache of lost love and the whisper of regret twisting together until they were inseparable.

***

At the end of the day all Ada could remember was a figure—warm but faceless, familiar yet nameless.

She knew she was alone in Serenel, but there was always that lingering sensation, eyes burning on the back of her head, watching her every move. 

At first, she was terrified, every shadow stretching into something sinister, every whisper of the wind a warning. She had fled to Serenel long before they cast her out, condemning her to Sambili, the forsaken land for the "insane" of magic. They'd called her mad. She knew she wasn't. But how could she prove it? There was no proof, only survival—scraping out days in borrowed breaths, hiding in the spaces between shadows, clutching to the fleeting freedom she had left.

Serenel became her cloak of obsidian, a refuge in a city indifferent to her past, to her fears, to the eyes that haunted her in silence. Those eyes had once terrified her, made her feel like prey under a predator's gaze. But as time wore on, the fear softened into something else.

The eyes watched, but they never harmed. They only lingered, distant and strangely comforting, like a memory she couldn't quite grasp.

At times, it almost felt as if those unseen eyes were her silent protectors, orchestrating strange strokes of luck that felt too precise to be mere coincidence. Unseen hands pulling her back from danger, a whisper of warning she'd feel in her bones. She didn't dare believe it, didn't allow herself to hope. But sometimes, in her weakest moments, when loneliness gnawed at her heart, she'd wonder.

Was there someone who cared for her? Someone forced into silence, forced to watch from the shadows, bound by chains unseen? Someone who yearned to reach out, to tell her the secrets she could not yet understand?

She had no answers, only the vague ache of something missing, something nameless and distant. She thought she would never know. And perhaps, she would have remained in the dark forever—if he hadn't chosen to break the chains. If he hadn't chosen to defy the law that had bound him, bound them both. The law that had moulded him, even as it shattered him, forcing him to live in fragments, hidden, a ghost to everyone but her.