Misery no ordinary rejection

In the heart of New York City, where neon lights cast long shadows over the concrete jungle, Aiden moved like a specter among the masses. His disguise was impeccable; to the world, he was just another man in a black trench coat, his silver hair tied back, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses even at night. But beneath this veneer, he was a witch of ancient power, his life spanning over a thousand years, spent in the relentless pursuit of demons. The city was a playground for dark forces, and Aiden had made it his hunting ground.

   His coven had long ago turned away from such battles, choosing peace over conflict, but Aiden could not ignore the cries of the innocent. His nights were filled with the hunt, his days with the study of spells that could bind or banish the infernal. It was on this particular evening, under the moon's silver glow, that he found himself in an alley behind an abandoned theater. His latest quarry, a lesser demon with eyes like burning coals, lay vanquished at his feet, its essence dissipating into the night air. But tonight, his heart wasn't in the fight. A whisper, carried on the wind of magic, had reached him-a whisper of a name that hadn't crossed his lips in centuries:

Chantel.

 Chantel, his first love, whom he believed lost to time. He had seen her fall in a battle against dark forces 500 years ago, or so he thought. The news was like a bolt from the blue, and it brought with it a storm of emotions he thought he'd buried under centuries of cynicism and solitude. The mere thought of her alive sent his heart racing with a mixture of hope and dread. Aiden made his way to a small, esoteric bookstore in Greenwich Village, a place known in certain circles for its connections to the supernatural community. There, he found Elara, a witch as old as he, whose knowledge of the arcane was matched only by her love for gossip. The bookstore was cluttered with tomes and artifacts, each one vibrating with its own kind of magic.

"Chantel lives?"