Ascension Of The Villain

The moonlight trickled in through the curtains, draping the room in a serene, silver veil. Iyana lay beside Vyan, her elbow propped on the pillow, watching his chest rise and fall in rhythmic breaths.

His fever had finally broken, but every so often, a cough would escape his lips, causing a faint flicker of worry in her gaze.

Her eyes traced the contours of his face, the strong lines softened in the stillness of sleep. The steady rhythm of his breathing was a comfort to her, despite her mind not being able to shake off what she had learned today.

Though she appreciated the calming effect of his presence, she had been absolutely set on sending him home. But, in typical fashion, his stubborn streak kicked in, and he refused to budge.

She had only yielded after his wry declaration, "I am not completely stupid," when he revealed the magical artifact nestled beneath his coat—a direct link to Clyde in case trouble stirred.

Still, as her gaze lingered on him now, she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice. That fleeting doubt, however, melted away as her eyes softened, watching the gentle flutter of his lashes and the faint frown that occasionally shadowed his brow.

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With a tender sigh, Iyana reached out, her fingers barely grazing his skin, tracing the small scar on his forehead. It was a scar she had always found endearing, but it was the only one she wished to see. One scar was enough.

"I won't let anything happen to you," she breathed, her voice no louder than a whisper. It was a promise only the quiet room bore witness to.

She wouldn't lose him—not to the cruel prophecy that threatened his future, nor to the darkness that haunted his past. Whatever it took to save him, she would find a way.

For all his flaws, for all his mysteries, Vyan was hers to protect.

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Her lips lingered longer than she intended, as if that brief touch could shield him from harm.

Then, she nestled herself beside him, slipping her arm gently around his waist and drawing him close. Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she let the sound of his heartbeat soothe her. It was a quiet assurance that, for now, he was safe in her embrace.

———

When morning came, Vyan stirred, groaning softly as he pushed himself upright. He frowned, blinking sleepily around the room. No Iyana in sight. He ran a hand over his forehead, relieved to feel that the fever had finally broken.

"Iya—" His voice cracked mid-call. "Oh, great," he muttered, wincing at the raspy, frog-like sound that escaped his throat. "Seriously? Could I sound any worse?" His voice had gone from slightly rough to downright squeaky. "Ugh," he groaned in disbelief, sounding like a deflating balloon.

Throwing off the duvet dramatically—as if he were casting away all his troubles—he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His body still felt annoyingly sluggish.

Yesterday, it had been a miracle he even managed to walk in a straight line. But he would never admit that to Iyana. Or worse… Clyde. If Clyde found out, he would probably have Vyan buried six feet under, then throw a party on his grave.

On the other hand, Iyana was usually as sweet as sugar when it came to Vyan. She never bothered with scolding him for his reckless antics. Instead, her go-to punishment was wrapping him in bone-crushing hugs. Well, except for yesterday, of course. Her demonic personality had been leaking out. Oof, scary.

Vyan dragged himself upright, taking a moment to steady the world from spinning. His eyes swept over the room, a space much larger and more refined than he expected.

Polished floors gleamed under the sunlight streaming in from large windows, and the furniture was sleek and elegant, offering an understated blend of comfort and practicality.

"Not bad," he mused, since it was much better than the old spartan he had pictured her living in. He picked up his pocket watch from the oak desk where she had neatly arranged his things. A smile tugged at his lips. "No wonder she left me alone here."

It was already seven-thirty, and Iyana was probably deep in her morning training session. Of course, she would assume he would still be fast asleep—he was rarely up before ten, after all.

"I wonder if I can catch a glimpse of her," Vyan muttered to himself, wandering over to the large windows.

Sure enough, from his perch on the third floor, he could see the training grounds below, a sea of soldiers swinging their swords. And there—right in the middle—was Iyana, her braided platinum hair catching the light like a beacon.

Vyan rested his elbow on the windowsill, propping his chin on his palm as a goofy smile spread across his face. He always found her mesmerizing, whether she was leading a fierce charge or trying to playfully tease him.

But his smile faltered as he watched her sparring match. Iyana was struggling to keep up with Terrence—someone she could usually wipe the floor with.

A concerned frown tugged at Vyan's brow as he thought, that thing from last night must still be bothering her…

His eyes drifted to an ashtray, tucked away in the corner of the windowsill. It was hidden behind the curtains, mainly to hide its existence from Vyan. But despite his congested nose, he still caught a faint whiff of smoke in the air, especially when he was in close proximity to her.

Yet, he didn't point it out. He knew that she only smoked when she was too stressed.

"Whatever it is, it's really messing with her," Vyan muttered, narrowing his eyes as Terrence landed a solid blow, knocking Iyana back a few steps. He winced on her behalf, fingers drumming impatiently against the windowsill.

"I wish I could help," he grumbled and gnawed on his bottom lip. He felt useless, unable to even figure out what was the cause of her worries. After all, she had done so much for him—supported him unconditionally, gave him a shoulder to cry on, gave him the time he needed, went against her morals, and put him above everything else. He wanted to do his best for her as well.

"Wait…" His eyes widened, a lightbulb moment flashing in his mind. Could it be…?

Just then, the door clicked open, and Vyan turned around to see Iyana walk in, looking every bit like she had just faced a wrestling match with a mountain. Which, considering Terrence's physique, wasn't far from the truth.

"Well, look who is up early," she said, sounding in a much better mood than he expected.

"Yeah, barely," he croaked, his voice continuing to sound like a dying frog.

Iyana chuckled, half in sympathy and half in amusement. "You sound worse than last night."

Vyan gave her a helpless smile before stepping toward her with open arms, ready for a hug. But, of course, she pushed him back with an outstretched arm, giving him the classic "No touchie" look.

"I am all sweaty," she insisted, "I need to freshen up first."

"Sweaty? Oh, no, how terrible. I think I am about to get sicker." He rolled his eyes dramatically, feigning a disgusted look.

She ignored his sarcasm and pulled out a balled-up handkerchief filled with suspiciously green herbs. "Here, I brought you this. I will brew it for you soon. The knights usually use it for colds and fevers. It works like a charm."

Vyan took the handkerchief and sniffed the herbs before cringing like he had just smelled death. "Oh, perfect. It smells exactly like that concoction Benedict gave me yesterday. You know, the one that made me feel like I was dying."

She laughed softly and set the herbs down on the oak desk. "Well, that's probably why your fever broke so fast."

"Sure, magical swamp juice. Who knows where it grows?"

"Hey, if it works, it works."

He shot her a mock glare. "Fine, fine. Just go freshen up and become a fresh, huggable person again, or whatever."

She smiled, shaking her head fondly as she headed toward the bathroom. "You are not getting out of it, just so you know."

"Sure," Vyan said, waving a hand nonchalantly, "but if I am going to miraculously recover because of this," he gestured at the herbs like they were some sort of disgusting weeds from a dirty swamp, "I want to come to your duel tomorrow."

She stopped mid-step and gave him a flat look. "I told you, there is no need."

"But I want to," he insisted. "I mean, I will be perfectly fine by tomorrow, so why can't I come?"

She sighed in that long-suffering way, hands on her hips. "Because it's not exciting. You would be wasting your time."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he responded, staring at her with that I-am-not-moving-an-inch-from-my-ground determination.

She huffed. "You are so stubborn."

"And you love it."

"Debatable," she grumbled, then met his eyes, and he arched a challenging eyebrow.

"I am not drinking that concoction unless you let me come," he added.

"Fine, you can come," she conceded, groaning.

Vyan grinned widely and wrapped his arms around her from behind, ignoring her protest. "You are the best."

"Ugh, I told you I am all sweaty!" she laughed, her annoyance with him melting away. She tried to wriggle free, but there was no stopping him now.

"Eh, sweat just means you worked hard," he replied, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Besides, tomorrow is going to be way more fun than you think. I am sure of it."

"As if."

"It will be," he whispered softly, with a teasing hint of promise she missed.