Ascension Of The Villain

Vyan stirred his tea with deceptive calm, the spoon clinking rhythmically. "Ah, I didn't drop by your office yesterday because I figured you'd be busy at that time," he said casually, eyes fixed on the swirl of liquid.

Iyana was unamused. "Idiot. As if you've ever cared whether I was busy or not."

"Hey! I'm not that thoughtless, you know."

She rolled her eyes so hard it was practically audible. "Anyway," she leaned back against her seat, voice tinged with suspicion, "why'd you suddenly drop by to see Her Imperial Majesty Celeste?"

"No special reason," he said far too quickly, before adding with a shrug, "Just felt like it. I haven't talked to Tia ever since that little… incident where I got arrested, remember?"

She raised an eyebrow, watching him a second too long. That answer didn't sit right.

"You went to her because you needed emotional support, didn't you?" Her voice was softer now, gentler. She knew that Vyan often didn't share his burdens with her because he didn't want to increase the load on her, and she never forced him to, because she knew he'd eventually come around with it and tell her.

Vyan gave her a look of the most deliberate blankness. "For what exactly? Do I look like I'm sad or something? I'm ecstatic, Iyana. I'm on cloud nine."

"Your face doesn't show it," she deadpanned.

"Well too bad, because I really am," he insisted, trying very hard not to smile.

"If you say so," she muttered.

He sighed and let himself melt into a loving smile, assuring her with his expression that he really was fine. It helped her expression ease into something almost fond and relaxed.

They didn't talk about it anymore. There was no need. Some truths were best left in shared silence, lingering in the way her foot nudged his under the table and the way his gaze lingered on her between bites of dessert. They chatted about everything and nothing until time forgot itself, the air filling with light laughter and the scent of tea leaves.

After the last sip, Vyan stood and offered her his hand. "Let's walk. I'm not done showing around yet."

"You talk as if you grew up here."

"I have been here once, and that's enough. I have an excellent memory, you know?"

Outside, the crowd had thinned, and there was a hush in the air that only came with the late afternoon air.

He brought her to a quiet botanical garden tucked between city walls—a sanctuary draped in ivy and fading light. The moment they stepped in, the atmosphere shifted, reverent and soft, like the world had slowed down just for them.

Vyan's eyes grew distant as he walked her to a bench beneath a flowering tree. "This is where my parents met," he said, voice dipped in nostalgia. "Right under this tree. Apparently, this is the place Mother came to whenever she was sad. She brought me along once I remember." A small, rueful smile graced his lips. "I'm not sure why, but she was apologizing to me about something that day—that she was truly sorry for hurting my feelings."

She watched him closely. There was a softness in his features she rarely saw—one not forged by sarcasm or wit, but memory.

"Vee," she began gently, "do you remember who my idol was?"

He chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Ironic, no? At that time, I had no idea that woman you used to gush over was my mother."

"And I can't believe," she said, folding her arms with mock offense, "that my idol's son was right by my side and I never even realized his talent. I never corrected the hand you held the sword in."

Vyan's smile was a little crooked, a little wistful. "It's funny, isn't it? All those years being called talentless, weak… just because I held the sword in the wrong hand."

Estelle's swordmaster had never accepted his left-handedness. No matter how many bruises or how hard he tried, Vyan had been shoved into a mold that would never fit him. And people who didn't fit in would always get bullied.

It wasn't until he came home—his real home—that someone finally said, Use the hand you were born with.

"It's all in the past," Vyan murmured, brushing a fallen petal off her shoulder. "Those things don't matter anymore. What we have now… that's what counts."

Iyana smiled at him, softly. Genuinely.

And for a while, they just sat there, beneath the same tree that once brought two people together—the people who brought her Vyan into this world.

———

They reached a lake just as the world began to hum in gold.

It wasn't just any lake—it was a mirror of the heavens, cupped in the hands of the earth. The summer sun had kissed its waters all day long, and now they shimmered with lazy warmth beneath an amber sky. Dragonflies hovered like living stardust, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming water lilies and the distant hush of cicadas.

Iyana stopped walking.

She didn't say a word, but Vyan caught the subtle change in her. Her shoulders softened. Her eyes grew wide, reflecting the glimmering expanse like they were born to hold starlight. Awe didn't quite cover it. It was reverence.

"You want to ride the boat?" Vyan asked, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

"Are you kidding?" she breathed. "Yes."

The little wooden boat creaked softly as they climbed in. Vyan untied the rope and began to row, sending gentle ripples across the glassy surface. The sun dipped lower, spilling liquid honey across the lake, and the whole world seemed to sway with the boat.

They drifted in silence, the kind of silence that didn't need filling.

Iyana leaned slightly over the edge, watching the golden water curl around the oars like silk threads. The air was thick with summer warmth and the faint fragrance of jasmine. Her platinum hair fluttered against the side of her cheek, caught in a lazy breeze.

She closed her eyes.

Peace. Real, untouchable peace. Something rare. Something sacred.

Then—splash.

Her eyes snapped open.

The oars floated, abandoned. A circle of ripples spread across the surface, mocking her. Iyana's heart seized.

No.

She stood up so fast that the boat rocked dangerously. Her breath hitched. "Vee?" she called, voice cracking, eyes darting across the lake. "Vyan!"

Nothing.

Cold dread gripped her, cutting through the summer warmth. She hadn't seen it coming. She'd let her guard down. How could she be so stupid? How could she have not noticed—

She cursed under her breath and bent her knees to leap in—

But then the water began to burn.

A thin, glowing line of fire spread across the lake like a paintbrush dipped in molten gold. It hissed as it moved, carving letters onto the lake's surface. Fire flickered, bold and alive, against the calm ripples.

Iyana froze.

Her breath caught in her throat as she squinted through the shimmering blaze.

Words began to form—elegant, sweeping, dramatic as hell.

"Will you do the honor of marrying your idiot, my lady?"