Ascension Of The Villain

The silence that followed the reading of the prophecy was so thick, it was as though the room itself had forgotten how to breathe. Tension coiled in the air like the aftermath of lightning.

A beat passed.

Then chaos slipped in like a serpent.

Gasps spread like wildfire. The high priests looked at one another with solemn nods, confirming among themselves that the divine message had indeed reached them all. No trickery. No fabrication. The prophecy was real. And its timing… could not have been more damning.

How convenient, Vyan thought, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Easton, for such words to fall days before the crown princess's official coronation.

Whispers broke out like cracks on ice.

"They say it's been raining for three days now—what if it floods? The crops…"

"What if the land really does wither?"

"Is it… is it her? The Princess?"

"Should we send her away? Out of the border? Just until it's safe?"

"It must be a sign. A warning."

A murmur of fear threaded through the room, and like the scent of smoke, it latched onto suspicion. The shadow cast by the prophecy turned, predictably, toward Princess Althea.

The unworthy one. The threat. The cause of nature's fury.

But before it could take root, Vyan raised a hand, commanding silence with the quiet power only he seemed capable of.

"There has been no clear implication," he said, "of who the 'worthy' or 'unworthy' individual may be. We are dealing with divine language—symbolic, layered, not literal."

He let his gaze drift through the room, pausing just long enough on the accusing eyes. "Perhaps this is not a condemnation… but a warning not to doubt Princess Althea. Especially after the incident yesterday, when Prince Easton so conveniently accused her of orchestrating Princess Maria's escape."

That drew a hum of agreement from the nobles aligned with Althea. Their firm voices rose to her defense. But others—the neutral ones—looked shaken. Their loyalties faltered in the tremors of divine omen.

And then came the ones loyal to Prince Easton. Bolder now, their confidence newly polished with prophecy. Bold enough to point a direct finger at the grand duke himself.

"Isn't it obvious?" one of them said. "The flames in the prophecy—the fire that will consume—could it not be referring to the Grand Duke? He's the only one here whose blood runs with fire."

Another chimed in. "It can't be the Grand Duke himself. He has no mana, remember?"

"But fire mages… they hail only from the land of Ashstone, do they not?"

Vyan tilted his head, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement, his fury hidden. "Yes, they do. But you must not be aware that elemental magic can be learned. With enough talent and tutelage, even someone born outside its origin can wield it. The Goddess didn't restrict it only to my domain."

That might've been the end of it—if not for Easton.

He stepped forward. "But the prophecy didn't speak of distant threats. It spoke of someone among us. Someone present in this very room."

And then—he looked at Vyan. Direct. Unapologetic.

Vyan's expression remained neutral, but the chill behind his gaze was unmistakable. He had had enough of these people looking down on him. Did they forget who he was?

"Why, Your Imperial Highness," he said with a soft chuckle, "are you looking at me? Shouldn't you be scouting for mages among us? As Count Controu kindly reminded everyone, I, for one, am not a mage."

Easton didn't flinch. "There's no way to guarantee that you haven't hired one of your Ashstone mages to strike at the empire."

A laugh. Cold, humorless.

"Ah," Vyan let out, his voice sharper now, "so we're not dancing around it anymore. A mere prince is pointing fingers at the Grand Duke of the Empire? I must admit, I'm offended."

"I'm simply listing the possibilities," Easton said.

"And in that case, your list of possibilities is quite… imaginative," Vyan replied, his smile brittle. "Perhaps the next prophecy will warn us of someone choking the empire with baseless paranoia."

The tension escalated, teetering on the edge of an angry confrontation, until a voice cut through it all.

"Enough."

Edgar's voice rang with authority.

"There will be no changes. If we alter my successor every time the wind shifts, the imperial family will become the empire's greatest joke."

The emperor's gaze swept over the court.

"Princess Althea shall inherit the title of Crown Princess, as decreed. The prophecy does not dictate our governance—I do."

And just like that, the court fell silent once more.

———

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone echoed beneath the carriage as the rain drummed steadily against its roof. The gray of the world outside bled into the windows—misty streets, cloaked guards, and the distant glow of lanterns flickering like dying stars in a storm-lit sky.

Inside, Clyde leaned back into the plush seat, loosening his collar with a sigh. "Well," he muttered, arms crossed behind his head, "thankfully Prince Easton couldn't land much damage today either. The man's desperate, sure, but credit where it's due—he is doing a fine job planting seeds of doubt against Athy."

Vyan didn't respond.

He sat across from Clyde, one leg crossed over the other, eyes clouded and unfocused as he gazed at nothing in particular. A single gloved finger tapped against the edge of the window.

Clyde arched a brow. "Alright, you're too quiet. That's rarely ever a good sign. What's on your mind?"

Vyan blinked slowly, then turned his head. "The last part of the prophecy. I can't get it out of my head."

"The bit that was clearly about you?" Clyde said bluntly, lips quirking into a half-smile. "You mean the whole 'flames of wrath' and 'smoldering land' and 'consuming despair' part? Very poetic. Very you. Now, don't you feel special Goddess Hecate didn't forget to mention you—her favorite—in her prophecy?"

Vyan hummed in acknowledgment but didn't smile.

"You think it's about you lighting the palace up in a blaze if Easton ends up with the crown?" Clyde asked, only half joking. "Because if so, I've been mentally preparing myself for that outcome since last year."

"No," Vyan murmured, shaking his head. "It didn't feel like that. The first half of the prophecy was about the crown, sure. But the end… it felt like a separate warning. Something else entirely."

Clyde's expression sobered at that. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "...Yeah. Now that you mention it, it did feel different. Less political, more... personal. Like it wasn't about Easton or Althea. Just you and revenge."

Vyan's voice dropped to a whisper. "I wonder… what would cause me to despair?"

Clyde didn't answer immediately. He studied Vyan's face. "Maybe," he began carefully, "it's the despair you've already lived with. The past—the losses, the betrayals. Everything you've buried deep and learned to smile over."

Vyan shook his head, almost mournfully. "No. That would've felt like a memory. This feels like a warning. Like something still waiting to happen. 'The first fracture of despair,' it said. Which means the real break... hasn't even come yet."

Clyde leaned back, exhaling. "Well, that's sufficiently terrifying. But hey—maybe don't spiral into existential dread on a Tuesday afternoon?"

Vyan chuckled faintly, the sound dry as sandpaper itself. "No time for dread. If Easton's moving on offense… we can't stay on defense."

Clyde groaned. "And here I was, hoping for a peaceful night. You scheming bastard, I really am quitting soon, by the way."

Vyan's head turned sharply. "You said what?"

But Clyde just laughed, waving a hand. "I am just mourning the future loss of such a wonderful boss, that's all. Tragic, really."

Vyan rolled his eyes and leaned his head against the window. Rain slid down the glass in silver rivulets. His gaze drifted beyond the city walls, beyond the palace roofs, toward the land that truly mattered to him.

"It's really raining a lot," he murmured, voice suddenly soft. "At this rate, the northern regions of Ashstone might be flooded. I'll have to order the knights and mages to be on standby with the flood reliefs, that they might have to start the distribution and rescue missions soon." His eyes reflected sadness. "Even so… my people still will suffer far too much. Perhaps, I should personally go."

Clyde watched him for a long moment, his usual playfulness fading into something gentler. He didn't say anything this time. Just looked at the boy with fire in his veins and grief in his bones, the Grand Duke who spoke of flames and destruction—but whose heart, above all, beat for his land and its people.

"Should I go myself to aid them, Clyde?" Vyan asked, looking at him, almost innocently.

"I would suggest no. You can't reveal your magical powers to help them yet, right?"

"Oh." Vyan sounded disappointed.

"However, if the situation gets worse, I'm sure you can go to aid them by concealing your identity."

At that, Vyan smiled in relief. "Good. I have far too much mana to only use it for myself."

And silently and proudly, Clyde thought—

You may be the smoldering fire of the capital the prophecy warned of…

But damn if you're not also the one who keeps the land of Ashstone warm in the coldest of disasters.

You truly are the son of Xandres Kevin Ashstone, my lord.