Ascension Of The Villain

One moment, their fingers were laced. The next—

Gone.

A sudden shove from a passerby, a brief stumble, and Iyana's hand slipped from his just as a surge of festival-goers pushed between them. Vyan tried to push back, tried to hold his ground, but the current of bodies dragged him down the street like a leaf in a flood.

"Wait—excuse me—move—hey—!"

But it was no use. The crowd was too cheerful and entirely unbothered by the fact that they had just separated him from his date.

By the time he managed to escape the flow and duck into a quieter side lane, his chest heaved—not from exhaustion, but from a creeping sense of déjà vu.

He'd been here before. Not in Preaton, but in a crowd like this in the capital. A few months ago. Swept away by people with no faces and too much noise. He remembered reaching out, calling for his aide. He was too excited to meet his crush. Clyde hadn't noticed, hadn't bothered.

But Iyana would. Oh, she absolutely would.

If she thought even for a second that something had happened to him—

Vyan's heart slammed against his ribs. He didn't think. He ran.

He darted through alleys and cut across vendor stalls, ignoring the annoyed shouts and clatter behind him. His only focus was her—where is she where is she where is she—

And then—

There.

Just up ahead, standing frozen amidst the crowd, bouquet of hydrangeas clutched so tightly in her hand that some petals had crumpled under the pressure. Her violet eyes were wide, darting through the street with a wild sort of panic, like she was ready to level the entire town if it meant finding him.

Her breathing was short, controlled—but her chest rose with that sharp tension that only came when a soldier was trying not to fall apart.

He didn't call her name. He didn't need to.

He reached for her hand.

Her head snapped toward him, and the moment her eyes landed on his, every tight line in her expression melted. She didn't say a word.

She launched forward and pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder. Her voice was muffled, but shaken. "Thank goodness… I thought you got kidnapped or something."

Vyan was startled and then let out a small, breathy laugh. "Kidnapped? Seriously? You think anyone could take me without getting roasted alive?"

She didn't answer. Just clung tighter.

His smile softened. He stroked her head gently, the way one would calm a frightened child or a shivering animal. "I'm alright. I just got… carried away. Not voluntarily."

She finally pulled back just enough to glare at him. "Next time, hold onto me tighter."

"Yes, ma'am."

They resumed walking into the heart of the festival. The music swelled again. Colorful stalls, food carts, acrobats twirling in midair—it should have felt magical. But all Vyan could feel was the grip of Iyana's hand wrapped around his.

Her eyes swept the crowd like a hawk scanning a battlefield. Every passerby was a potential threat, every jostle a silent warning. She was calm on the surface, but Vyan could feel it.

Death grip. No exaggeration. She was holding on like he was a lifeline and she'd just come back from drowning.

His hand began to tingle. Then ache.

Then, slowly, go numb.

But he said nothing.

If she needed to break every bone in his hand just to feel safe, he'd let her.

She glanced down at her hands. One tightly woven with Vyan's—his warmth grounding her, reminding her that she wasn't alone. The other clutched a rather impractical armful of lavender-hued hydrangeas.

Beautiful? Yes.

Convenient to carry around in a crowded festival full of rowdy children and dancing adults? Not at all.

She tugged his hand lightly, "Vee… wait a minute."

He immediately matched her pace, looking at her with concern. "Hmm? What's wrong?"

She shook her head once. "No. It's just… what do I do with this?" she lifted the bouquet, her tone somewhere between fond exasperation and practical dilemma. "I love them, but I'm starting to look like a confused wedding guest."

Vyan chuckled, amused. "We should've left that back home, to begin with. Do you want me to teleport it back home? I can do it in a second."

But just as his fingers twitched to summon magic, Iyana's gaze shifted and caught on something.

A little girl.

She couldn't have been older than seven. Dark curls bouncing around her face, clutching a stick of candied fruit in one hand, and looking up at the flowers in Iyana's arms with awestruck eyes.

"You want it?" she asked bluntly, her face as straight as a ruler.

The girl flinched slightly, as if scolded. Iyana wasn't glaring, not even close, but with her poised posture, deadpan tone, and knightly presence, she may as well have said confess your sins.

Realizing her mistake, Iyana slowly let the tiniest smile curl at the corner of her lips—barely there, but soft. Gentle. Honest.

The little girl relaxed.

She nodded shyly.

But before moving, Iyana paused. Right, this was a gift from Vyan.

"Love," she said quietly, "Do you mind if I give it to her?"

He was a little confused. He stared at her. The girl. The flowers.

A flicker of something tender danced in his eyes… but so did mischief.

"Um… sure," he replied slowly, then added with a faint grin, "But I thought you didn't like sharing?"

Iyana raised an eyebrow—but then something rare and dazzling bloomed on her face.

A sweet smile. Warm. Genuine.

"You gifted me an entire garden of these flowers," she said softly, her voice a little amused, a little touched. "I can afford to give away a few of them without feeling bad, don't you think?"

Vyan's grin widened. "Then it's okay. I don't mind."

Iyana knelt gracefully and extended the bouquet toward the little girl. The child's eyes widened like she was staring at something straight out of a fairytale.

"Really? For me?" the girl breathed, as though even saying it too loud might make the moment disappear.

Iyana gave a slow nod.

The girl squealed in delight and hugged the flowers to her chest, petals brushing against her cheeks. "Thank you!"

A soft chuckle escaped Iyana. "What's your name, little one?"

"Lisa!"

"And where's your family, Lisa?"

She pointed toward a nearby stall where a couple stood, waving gently. Iyana gave a nod of acknowledgment before watching Lisa skip away, giddy and glowing.

Vyan didn't speak. He just watched her.

There was a quiet shine in Iyana's eyes—barely noticeable if you didn't know her well. But he did. And he recognized that sparkle. It was the same glint she had when she spoke about her soldiers' progress, or when she indulged in traditional feminine activities, such as cooking, shopping, makeup, etc.

It was fondness. Softness.

She really liked children. There was no armor in her gaze, no detachment—just quiet warmth and gentleness.

She'd be such a good mother.

The thought struck him unexpectedly. A warm ache in his chest.

Would he be any good as a father? He wasn't sure. From what he remembered about his own father, he was quite a busy man but still was a doting father who often brought presents, played games, helped with studies and magic lessons, and read bedtime stories. He never neglected Vyan or treated him less than Aster, even though Vyan wasn't the family heir. Vyan was always his precious son, just like Aster was.

Vyan aspired to be like his father in the way that he juggled his family and duties.

But he didn't want to be such a benevolent, humble, and respected figure like his father. Because what was the point of earning so much respect when everyone turned on him the second he was accused of treason? It was much better to be a villainous figure. In that way, no one would dare to mess with him and his family.

That being said, as a son, he didn't want his father to lie in his grave, disrespected and falsely accused.

Just one more day, Father, and the truth will come out.