Devon jolted awake, his breath quick and shallow, his eyes widening in shock, scanning his surroundings with a palpable sense of unease.
Everything seemed unfamiliar, as if he had been transported to a completely new reality. His gaze darted anxiously from one side to the other as fragments of his past flooded back into his consciousness.
His father, his grandfather, and the horrifying events that unfolded nearly nine years ago—they all came rushing back to him in a torrent of overwhelming images.
"DAD!!!" His younger self yelled in his mind.
Gripping his hair tightly, his face contorted in anguish, he was overwhelmed by a torrent of vivid images that bombarded his mind.
"No," he murmured, shaking his head as he witnessed his younger self charging towards his father, who was locked in a fierce struggle with his own grandfather in their living room.
"NOOOOO!" he screamed, his voice echoing with pain. Falling off the couch, he collapsed to his knees, clutching the side of his head tightly as the memories consumed him.
His entire body trembled, shaken to the core by the haunting recollection of his grandfather's brutal act—decapitating his own father.
In a state of horror, he gasped and instinctively clutched his chest, as he remembered that the sword used to decapitate his father was plunged into him too.
His entire being stiffened, eyes widening in sheer terror at the realization that he, too, had faced the brink of death.
He died that day.
"Devon!" Olivia's voice pierced through the haze of his distress, and he could hear the urgency in her tone.
Alongside her mother, they hurriedly made their way towards him, concern etched on their faces. "Devon, are you okay?" Olivia asked, her voice filled with worry.
Devon remained on the floor, his body trembling, struggling to regain his composure. He reached out, placing his left hand on the couch for support, but before he could lift himself up, Martha rushed to his side, offering her assistance.
Observing his pale complexion and obvious trembling, Martha's concern deepened.
She gently placed the palm of her hand against his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his feverish skin. "Oh, my God, you're burning up!" she exclaimed, her voice laden with worry.
Devon remained seated on the couch, his gaze averted from Olivia and her mother, lost in the whirlwind of his own thoughts. The revelation about his past was overwhelming, a forgotten tragedy that resurfaced with vivid clarity.
That fateful event, etched in his memory like a fresh wound, marked the end of his previous life and the beginning of his journey with his adoptive family. In that moment, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude that they weren't his biological relatives.
"Devon," Softly calling his name, Olivia expressed her growing concern. "Mom, don't you think we should do something?" she inquired, her worry evident.
Olivia's concerned voice broke through his contemplation, prompting Martha to suggest taking action. However, before Martha could leave to fetch water and a clean cloth, Devon interjected, looking directly at them and halting her in her tracks.
"I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just... I need to go home," he uttered in a deep, husky voice.
"Are you sick or something? Do you have a terminal disease that you didn't tell us about?" Olivia asked, her mind racing through possible scenarios.
Devon shook his head, feeling overwhelmed and not ready to delve into explanations or engage in conversations.
A throbbing headache added to his frustration. "Just let it go, Olivia. I'm fine," he replied, his voice tinged with irritation.
Martha nodded, releasing a sigh of understanding. "Alright then. I suppose we'll have to take you to the bus stop early, considering how important it is for you to get back home."
Devon agreed with a nod, a sense of clarity settling within him. "Home holds all the answers," he murmured to himself, also finally realizing his true identity as a Blackwood.
And his family had known all along where he had been.
Devon exited the house and observed the bustling streets of Solhaven, now filled with men, women, and children going about their daily routines. Concerned about being recognized by his kidnappers, he was given a cap to conceal his identity.
As he glanced back, he saw Olivia standing in the doorway, waving at him with a smile. He made his way towards her, gently cupping her face and planting a light kiss on her forehead. "Don't get yourself killed. We'll meet again," he said, his voice filled with a mix of affection and concern.
"Of course, you better call me," she responded with a smile.
Devon nodded in agreement, then turned to find Martha looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Choosing to ignore the expression, they both embarked on a leisurely walk towards the bus stop.
After reaching the bus stop, Devon boarded the bus bound for Crystal Springs, but before stepping inside, he turned to face Martha. "I'm grateful for your help. I wouldn't have made it here without you," he expressed sincerely.
Martha smiled warmly and nodded, taking his hand and placing some change into it. "Just some extra money for transportation, in case you need it to get back home."
Examining the money in his hand, Devon nodded gratefully and looked at Martha with appreciation. "Thank you, Mrs. Wyatt. I'll find a way to repay your kindness," he assured her.
Martha simply nodded in response. "Go ahead and find a seat."
Devon acknowledged her words with a nod and proceeded further into the bus, finding a chair to sit on.
Lost in contemplation, Devon's gaze dropped as he delved into thoughts of his late father and grandfather, the certainty of his own demise that fateful day, just like how he was sure that he was killed by Victor Hades and buried here in Solhaven.
None of it made sense, leaving him perplexed and yearning for understanding. There were countless unanswered questions about his life, the events of the past, and the reasons behind them.
The echoes of Declan's parting words resonated within him, assuring him that he knew where to locate him and truly he did.
Deep down, Devon believed that these answers he sought were within reach, held by the enigmatic Declan himself.
However, before pursuing the answers he sought, his top priority was to return home and uncover what had transpired during his absence, even though he suspected his adoptive mother would display little concern for his whereabouts.
It was a mystery as to how much time had elapsed since he had been gone, or more accurately, how long he had been considered deceased.
Exhaling deeply, he leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a moment of relaxation as the bus commenced its journey…