Ascension Of The Villain

As Jade continued to plot, next came House Ashstone.

The most indomitable pillar of Haynes—the empire's heartbeat. And so, naturally, Jade chose them as her next prey. She didn't care that they were innocent. No, to her, innocence was just a luxury afforded to those who hadn't been torn apart yet. The entire empire had failed her once, and in her eyes, all of it deserved to rot. Even if the Ashstones hadn't raised a hand against her, they had still let it happen. Their silence had been loud.

Besides, they were powerful. Revered. The most influential noble house. Of course, they would've been part of the circle that had pushed Edgar to marry a foreign princess for alliance and power.

So she dug in her claws, whispering venom into Edgar's ears like a serpent in the dark. He was paranoid and insecure enough to believe it.

"House Ashstone," she'd hissed to him, "is a threat to your throne. Their heir is a well of mana—if you capture him, you can siphon his energy. Turn him into a supply unit. You'll be unstoppable."

And the fool listened.

He framed the Ashstones, branding them as traitors. And with them gone, the empire's foundation cracked like brittle glass.

Haynes wasn't how it was today, not exactly. No—once, it was vast. Unshakable. Its influence stretched like vines across the continent.

But with Ashstone falsely condemned and out of the picture, its borders weakened. Tensene couldn't attack due to the peace treaty, but Haberland—they didn't flinch.

They swept in like vultures, tearing land after land from Haynes, reclaiming power in chunks. Jade watched it all from the shadows—smiling. The mighty empire that had sold her soul now crumbling from within.

But just as the blood dried on one part of her revenge, Edgar, ever the pathetic romantic, found himself a new fixation. Celeste, daughter of Duke Preaton.

And Jade?

She didn't take kindly to being replaced. Once she had tasted the glory of being the only empress, it clung to her like a second skin. The power, the attention, the fear—it was intoxicating. She had craved it like air. Needed it like salvation.

No, she didn't kill Celeste. Edgar forbade it. But that didn't mean Jade let her live in peace.

It all made sense now. Iyana had heard from Vyan, who had heard from his aunt—how Celeste had always been ill, always brushing shoulders with death. How her screams echoed through the palace walls at night, raw and guttural, like something was being torn out of her. But no one spoke of it. No one dared.

Because by then, Jade had already started to change.

Dark magic wasn't a clean instrument. It was a ravenous thing. It feasted on pain, gorged on suffering, and in return—it granted power. Ugly, volatile, and impossible to contain. She had learned to harvest that energy.

Jade's strength grew. Her fingertips hummed. Her senses sharpened. She felt alive.

But that small taste wasn't enough. Not anymore.

She wanted more.

Hundreds. Thousands.

Children. Elders. Servants. Nobles. It didn't matter. They all bled the same. They all screamed the same. Their lives became the bricks in her hidden fortress. Their agony, the lullaby that rocked her ambition to sleep. Their corpses, the scaffolding for her reign.

And Jade loved it. Every second of it. The searing, wild power coursing through her veins. The strength. The control. The quiet satisfaction of watching someone crumble beneath her, and knowing she could do it again. And again. And again.

At some point, somewhere along the years, revenge stopped being the reason. She didn't even care about ruining Edgar or the empire anymore.

Iyana had watched it happen from Jade's eyes. How she began to enjoy cruelty. How her smile lingered just a second longer when someone begged for mercy. How her soul rejoiced as her demons consumed the innocent, bloating themselves with life and growing stronger.

Jade—once a helpless, broken girl—became the very thing she once feared. The wielder of pain. The architect of destruction. A woman who had once been powerless now took pleasure in breaking the powerless.

Even her own son wasn't spared.

She neglected him. Ignored him. Gave him absolute freedom and never once tried to shape him. Let him rot into something inhuman—a monster, a rapist, worse than his father had ever been.

But Jade didn't care. Not about the broken girls. Not about the ruined lives. Not even about Izac. He was just a consequence. A child she never wanted, forced into her life, and now just another piece of baggage she had no patience for. He wasn't even worth grooming into a successor.

He wasn't competition to Easton or Althea. He was irrelevant.

And when women began to speak up, trembling and broken, Jade didn't bat an eye. If the truth got out—if Izac's actions were exposed—it could ruin everything she had built. So she silenced them.

Jade had no softness left. No maternal bone. No guilt. Just a throne, and a crown that she would drown the world to keep.

Because this was an empire where dark magic was forbidden. Witches were burned. Tortured. Hunted.

She had to be careful. Unseen. Untouchable.

And she was.

Jade was not naïve. She knew how this would end. Someone would try to kill her. Maybe Edgar himself, when she stopped being useful. She didn't fear death—not really. But she feared losing everything. So, she built her safety net. She made sure that if she fell, she'd drag her killer with her.

With a curse.

One that would only activate upon her death—placed like a final laugh at the end of her story. A sleeping curse.

Not the fairytale kind.

No, this was different. A curse that would freeze the killer's heart. A curse that would suspend them in eternal stillness. No heartbeat, no warmth. They'd remain alive, technically—but empty. Trapped. As good as dead.

There was nothing that could undo it. Jade made sure of it.

So, as she fought against Vyan, her smile never wavered. Even if he landed the final blow, even if he killed her—he wouldn't live to see the next dawn. The curse would activate as the new day began, snuffing out his heart like a candle's flame. Her killer wouldn't outlive her by a single sunrise.

But fate—fickle thing that it was—had other plans.

Because it wasn't Vyan who struck the final blow.

Iyana remembered that moment clearly, the blood splattering against the cracked floor, the eerie silence that followed as Jade's head hit the ground. She had wanted to say something, but Iyana hadn't let her.

The moment Jade's soul slipped away, Iyana felt it—something curling around her chest like chains dipped in ice. It was subtle at first, small throbs that she ignored in Vyan's worry.

But then, as the clock struck midnight and a new day began, her heart stopped. Not figuratively. Not emotionally. Literally. Like someone had torn it out and replaced it with stone.

Because the curse had found its home.

It had chosen Iyana.

And Iyana couldn't be more grateful for it.

In some cruel, unknowable twist of fate, she had protected Vyan.

Not by strength. Not by choice. But by the cold hand of a curse that chose her instead.

Because if it hadn't—if she hadn't struck the final blow—it would've been his heart that stopped beating.

That thought alone was enough to keep her grounded through the encroaching numbness. Even as the ice climbed higher in her chest, even as the world blurred at the edges.

After what felt like an eternity trapped in Jade's hellish memories, her body finally responded to the world around her again—and the first thing she saw was Vyan's face hovering over hers, close and breathless.

His hands trembled where they cupped her cheeks, as if he was trying to piece her back together with touch alone.

It couldn't have been more than a minute for him. But for Iyana—it had been a lifetime. A lifetime spent watching through Jade's eyes. Reading her records. Living her regrets.

And now she knew.

She wasn't going to survive this.

This was her ending.

And gods, how she wished it wasn't.

Of course she wanted to live. Of course she wasn't ready to say goodbye. She wanted to wake up beside him again. To argue with him over tea. To steal kisses in hallways and share silly little dreams. She wanted all of it—the future they'd barely begun to build.

But sometimes... wanting wasn't enough. There was no point flailing, no use in denying it.

This was a curse that couldn't be undone. Not even by the fiercest will to live.

She blinked slowly, her eyes meeting his, and she felt the tragedy of it all settle like dust in her bones. In the novel Leila had read in her world, Vyan had been the one to die. But in this life... it was her.

Was that their fate, then?

To always be star-crossed?

To always lose each other at the end?

A tear slid down as she raised a weak hand, brushing it gently against his cheek.

"You know, Vee," she whispered, her voice cracked but soft, "maybe... I should've said yes. That day you asked me to marry you right away."

Her thumb stroked his skin shakily. "Even if it was just for one day… I would've loved to be your wife."

Her smile quivered. "But it's okay. Yesterday... I got to be the happiest woman alive." Her breath hitched. "I love you so much, Vee."

And she did.

Even if their love was cursed to always lead them to some cruel fork in the road, even if it always ended in parting—

She would still choose him.

In every life. In every ending.

His eyes widened, tears threatening to spill over as he leaned closer.

"Why…" His voice cracked, full of quiet panic. "Why are you saying that all of a sudden?"

She tried to answer, but her heart was tightening further.

Still, she smiled for him. For the boy she loved, for the man who loved her back in every impossible way.

"You've always made me feel lucky, Vee," she murmured. "Thank you… for loving me so much."

"No, no—don't say things like that," he choked out, shaking his head. "You're going to be okay. I'll take you to Harvey, or Thea—they'll fix this, they can—"

"There's no point," she whispered.

"There is a point!" he snapped, voice rising in desperation, eyes ringed red with unshed grief. "Unless we try, you don't know that!"

"But I do." Her voice was barely audible now.

She had seen the curse. Known its shape. Its grip. This was no ordinary death—this was a sleep sealed in silence, one that even the greatest healers and mages couldn't undo.

"I can't be saved, Vee."

"You can," he insisted, fiercely, his hands trembling where they held her. "I'll find a way. I'll fix it."

"Don't…" she pleaded. She didn't want him to waste away chasing ghosts. Searching for a cure that didn't exist. "I need you to live. Please, Vee… you must live."

His voice broke on a whisper. "Then what do you want me to do? Just… accept it? Let this curse steal you from me?"

His hands clenched, as if trying to keep her tethered to the world by sheer will. "I'll kill myself before I let this world take you away from me," he said.

"No…" she gasped. Her breath came in shorter bursts now. "No. That's the only thing I won't let happen." But her strength was slipping, her vision dimming, the cold finally reaching her throat.

"Please…" he begged. "Stay with me, Iyana. Please. Don't leave me."

"I wish I didn't have to. But no matter what happens to me… you must live on, Vee."

Those were the last words she could utter.

The last thing she saw was his face—his beautiful, broken face—those wine-red eyes swimming with grief, glassy with the weight of love and loss, but still refusing to cry.

The last thing she heard was the sound of his soul breaking. A sob wrenched from his chest so raw, it cleaved the silence like a star dying quietly in the night sky.

And then...

She was still.