Ascension Of The Villain

The rain had ceased its soft patter, leaving behind a quiet, silver-soaked world. It was just past seven in the morning. The sky still wore the muted blue of dawn, and the estate grounds glistened faintly under the retreating mist. Iyana's boots made no sound against the marble floors as she walked, her steps echoing her unspoken concern.

She had woken to an empty bed.

Vyan wasn't in his office, but considering how deeply he had been buried in books the night before, her next guess was the library. If not there, he was likely tucked away in his private magic research facility. But if that were the case, she wouldn't be able to see him at all—his wards were complex, layered with magic and reinforced security measures she couldn't bypass without triggering a full lockdown.

She exhaled quietly, the thought leaving a hollow ache in her chest.

To her quiet relief, the grand library doors stood slightly ajar. Slipping inside, she found him curled into the corner of a long velvet settee, still surrounded by stacks of books and scattered parchments. He had fallen asleep with his fingers loosely holding a tome, his expression gentle and unguarded in sleep.

A tender smile tugged at her lips.

She padded away to retrieve a blanket and returned silently, her fingers trembling slightly as she prepared to drape it over him. But before she could, she paused—her eyes lingering on him, on the shadows beneath his eyes, on the way his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than he let on.

He was exhausting himself—again.

All for Althea's coronation day. All to make sure he would be unshakable, untouchable, unbreakable. She admired him endlessly for that. But dear Goddess, how she hated watching him burn himself down just to make sure he was invincible on that day—from dark magic, his only weakness.

Even now, recalling what Leila had revealed to her caused her to shudder.

Only six more days…

She blinked, only to find a single tear had slipped down her cheek.

It wasn't fair. It never had been.

Ten years of his life—gone, sacrificed without hesitation, just to save hers. And now, they stood here, still dealing with the aftershocks of that choice. Of his love. That came with an apparent too-early expiration date.

And yet... how could she regret it?

If he hadn't done that, she would never have known what it felt like to love him. To be loved by him. The thought stirred both guilt and overwhelming gratitude, crashing into each other inside her heart.

She finally lowered the blanket over him with the softest of motions.

But then, a hand caught her wrist.

Before she could speak, she was pulled gently onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his voice still laced with sleep.

"Mm... if you're here, then just stay a little longer," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "I'll wake up in a bit and go back to studying. Just let me enjoy this... just for a few minutes."

She placed a hand on his back, feeling the tension there. "If you're awake, you should go to bed properly. Not here."

He only tightened his hold slightly. "I will. Later. You're warm."

She sighed. "I have to leave for work."

"I'll teleport you," he said lazily, nuzzling her. "Takes less than a minute. You just have to be there by nine, right?"

She hummed softly in response, deciding to close her eyes just for a second.

She hadn't slept a wink after he had left the bedroom last night. But now, in his arms, his warmth seeped into her bones, quieting the restless thoughts that had plagued her all night.

She meant to stay awake.

But instead, her body betrayed her.

Within moments, she was fast asleep—her breath syncing with his, her head resting on his shoulder.

The peaceful silence lasted for an hour or so until—CRASH!

The sound of the library doors nearly being flung off its hinges jerked both Vyan and Iyana awake.

"Vyan! We have a prophecy!"

Clyde's dramatic voice exploded into the library like a cannonball.

Vyan stirred awake with a groan, his face half-buried in Iyana's shoulder. The warmth was too comforting. The library was too quiet. And the interruption?

Far too loud.

"Prophecy?" he croaked, his voice still husky with sleep. He didn't even lift his head. "Are you serious right now?"

Clyde stood by the doorway, panting since he had sprinted through three hallways in his search for Vyan. He first went to his bedroom, second, his office, then his magic research facility, and finally, the library.

"Yes!" Clyde nodded so fast his curls bounced. "The imperial scroll just arrived and I also talked to Athy—it's official. It's real. Like, divine message descending-from-the-sky kind of real."

Iyana blinked, rubbing her eyes before gently slipping off Vyan's lap. His arm instinctively reached out and caught her hand, holding onto her like a sleepy child not ready to let go of his blanket.

Still blinking the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Vyan muttered, "Who even believes in that bullshit? Our empire isn't big on religion."

Clyde let out a very pointed groan. "Says the man who has actual conversations with a goddess."

"That's different," Vyan mumbled, rubbing his temples. "I'm personally a devout believer because Goddess Hecate has proven herself worthy of devotion. You know—saving my ass, unlocking my powers, and occasionally dropping cryptic hints into my dreams…"

Iyana stifled a laugh, even as she gave Vyan a look.

Clyde rolled his eyes. "You probably don't know that your beloved goddess has another favorite besides you. She granted the power of purification magic to that person. He also has a direct link with her."

Vyan's fingers froze mid-rub. He stared blankly at Clyde, the reality slowly sinking in.

"…Why didn't I know about this?" he asked, eyes wide in genuine offense.

Clyde shrugged with the calm of a man who knew he was about to ruin someone's morning. "Because, my friend, I didn't want to burst your adorable little delusional bubble."

Vyan looked personally betrayed. "So what you're saying is… it's Easton who got the prophecy?"

"That is correct," Clyde confirmed.

Iyana, who had been watching this conversation volley back and forth with growing curiosity, finally stepped in. "Okay, but what exactly is this prophecy about?"

Clyde straightened, the humor leaving his voice—just a touch. "We'll only know the full details at the emergency imperial court meeting today."

Vyan exhaled like a man who'd just been sentenced to torture.

"Ugh… another meeting." He leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Guess sleep and I are breaking up again."

Clyde clapped his hands once, far too chipper. "Better get dressed, my lord. You have about—" he checked the library's clock "—one hour and forty minutes before your presence is demanded by the emperor."

Vyan flopped back on the settee like a defeated hero, eyes on the ceiling.

"I miss when mornings don't involve imperial business," he grumbled.

Iyana leaned over, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead with a fond smile. "You'll survive, my dearest."

"Will I?" he whispered dramatically.

"Mm. Maybe."

And with that, she tugged him to his feet.

———

The chamber was cold. It was raining again.

The walls of the imperial court meeting hall—usually a place of controlled politics was filled with the shuffle of ceremonial robes and hushed prayers echoing from the high priests seated in solemn ranks.

This wasn't a typical emergency session. The presence of the clergy made that clear enough. They were rarely summoned unless divine intervention had been declared. Along with Easton, there were also able to sense the revelation of a prophecy by the Goddess of Magic.

At the center of the room stood the Archbishop of the Temple, his staff of white ash aglow with a faint bluish aura. The man's voice cut through the silence like a blade through silk:

"The crown shall find its rightful bearer,

for in their hands, the land shall prosper.

But should the unworthy seize its weight,

ruin shall carve its name upon the empire's bones."

There was a shift in the room. A collective, invisible flinch.

Vyan's fingers tapped rhythmically on his upper arm. Not in boredom. In calculation.

"Cast the blight beyond the borders,

lest the soil wither beneath their shadow.

Heed not this warning,

and the heavens shall weep, rivers shall rot,

and the air shall choke with death."

He could feel the weight in every word—a prophecy wasn't poetry. It was a verdict waiting to unfold. And the priests, now muttering soft affirmations and glancing toward Easton, confirmed its authenticity. None of them dared to challenge its validity.

Vyan had a straight face until the last part was read out; it made a ghost of a smirk form on his face.

"And beware—

the heart of the land smolders with unseen fire.

For among you walks one whose flames carry wrath,

waiting for the first fracture of despair

to consume all in its wake."