Ascension Of The Villain

Iyana sat at Vyan's bedside, his body trembling with emotion. She gently stroked his back, trying to offer comfort amidst the storm of his tears.

When his silent sobs finally subsided, she dared to ask, "Can you tell me what is troubling you?"

Vyan shook his head, his grip tightening around her. His breath tickled her ear as he murmured, "Not yet."

Iyana tried to pull away, her concern mixing with a hint of amusement. "Your Grace, you know, this isn't quite appropriate."

"Didn't you once boast that your fiancé wouldn't bat an eye if you pulled the entire town into your bed?" Vyan's voice was laced with a touch of sarcasm.

Her cheeks flushed, caught off guard. "Why bring that up now?"

"No reason," he replied casually, pulling her closer. His cold touch sent shivers down her spine, contrasting with her warmth.

The closeness was overwhelming. His hands around her waist, his knee brushing against hers, his face nestled against her neck—it was all too much. If he held on any longer, she feared she might combust.

"Your Grace—" she had started formally, only to be cut off by his interruption.

"Vyan," he had insisted, his tone unusually soft. "Call me Vyan like you did just now."

Her heartbeat skipped a rhythm at his request. "Why…"

"I like it." Her breath hitched as his lips brushed against her skin—intentionally or not—setting off a chain reaction of jitters in her stomach. "I like it when you call my name."

"Why is that?" she dared to ask, despite the nerves making her words falter. "You couldn't even tolerate the sight of me before. So why do you suddenly enjoy hearing your name from me?" Her whisper betrayed both curiosity and a hint of vulnerability.

"I can't tell you that," he replied cryptically, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I will only reveal it when your memories return."

"Why?" she protested softly, her frustration tinged with a strange longing.

He chuckled lowly, the sound reverberating in the small space between them. It was unnerving yet oddly comforting.

"Vyan," she finally said, unable to maintain their physical contact further, "Please let go of me. You are making me uncomfortable."

It turned out 'uncomfortable' was the magical word she needed for Vyan to finally release her.

He murmured an awkward, "I am sorry," as he scratched the back of his neck.

She felt her heart squeeze at the sight of his bashful demeanor. Why did he have to look so endearing now of all times?

"It's okay," she managed, her voice softening despite herself as she looked away. "I should get going now—" As she attempted to stand, he caught hold of her wrist.

"Um, thanks for staying," he mumbled, his sincerity cutting through the awkwardness.

"Anytime," she replied, surprised at the warmth in her own voice before quickly making her exit.

Leaning against the wall outside, she took deep breaths, trying to steady her erratic heartbeat. It seemed like she had forgotten to breathe properly while she was inside.

"What the hell was up with him today?" she muttered, her annoyance masking a deeper concern. "He cried so much… I wonder what made him so sad… or who."

Little did she have any idea, it was her. Only she held within her the power to reduce Vyan to tears.

———

Vyan lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling like it owed him money.

"Well, well, well," he muttered to himself, "look at me, the mastermind of my own misery."

Everything up until now, he had brought it on himself. If only he had kept his faith in Iyana back then…

"But seriously, who knew black magicians had such good acting skills?" That person totally had Iyana's walk and essence down to a note.

He sighed dramatically, contemplating his life choices. "Still, it's my fault. I flushed four years of trust down the drain because I couldn't see through a spell. Bravo, Vyan, bravo."

"Why did I not keep the small things that she did for me in mind?" he questioned himself.

Maybe it was true that even if one does ninety-nine good things for someone, all it takes is one bad thing to erase it all.

That's what he did to her.

He discarded everything Iyana did for him based on that one day—the day he was made to believe that Iyana betrayed him.

"But the bigger question is, who was that impostor? What is their endgame—other than ruining my life and confusing my emotions? And Iyana, oh, sweet Iyana," he said, almost fondly, "why did you never tell me? Why did you keep up the act?"

He flopped onto his back on the bed dramatically, arms flung out. "I guess I will never know now until your memories return."

If only he could go back into the past, he could find out about the imposter at least and sort this mess out.

But nope, here he was, hands shaking like a leaf in a storm, unable to even summon a basic spell, let alone a temporal vortex to transcend timelines.

He chuckled bitterly, sarcasm dripping like honey, "Oh, yeah, there is no way I can use that spell to go fifteen months back into the past for quite some time."

Otherwise, this time, his soul and body might actually separate and never reattach.

"Goddess Hecate…" he called out. "Did you intentionally send me to that timeline in Iyana's bedroom so that I come to this realization?"

Hecate's silence was as good as a confirmation, and Vyan couldn't help but grin.

It really was strange how he had ended up in that exact timeline, despite making no apparent mistakes in the incantations. Goddess Hecate must have been annoyed at him for not having figured out the truth yet.

"Thank you." His grin became wider. "Thank you so much for clearing up my misunderstanding."

"What are you muttering to yourself?" Clyde's voice cut through Vyan's reverie, full of mischief.

"When did you sneak in?" Vyan shot back, not bothering to turn his head.

"Just now," Clyde replied, sidling up to Vyan's bedside. "So spill it. What's got you grinning like the village idiot?"

"Clyde, brace yourself," Vyan began.

"Is it something important, or can I first scold you for almost withering away like a flower?" Clyde teased, eyebrow raised.

"You will want to hear this before you dish out any lectures," Vyan retorted confidently.

"You better be right."

As Vyan spilled the beans, Clyde's face was a rollercoaster of emotions, ending in pure glee.

"I knew it! My gut feelings are never wrong," Clyde crowed triumphantly. "I always knew she had a heart of gold."

Vyan sighed, a content smile lingering on his face. "You and your gut instincts, Clyde."

"Hey, speaking of instincts," Clyde nudged him playfully, his head tilted, "where do you stand with Lady Iyana now?"

"What do you mean?" Vyan blinked in confusion.

"I mean, are you back to being head-over-heels for her?"