Ascension Of The Villain

Vyan's breath caught in his throat.

He stood frozen, eyes locked on the older woman before him. Ginger-red hair cascaded gently over her shoulders, eyes the soft shade of stormy grey. Just like his mother's. Exactly like hers.

The resemblance was so uncanny that it knocked the air from his lungs.

It was happening again.

That same disorienting, heart-wrenching feeling he had when he first met Celeste at the garden in Crystal Palace. That fragile moment when memory and reality collided, and he saw his mother through someone else.

Only this time, the illusion was heavier.

This time, there was another figure beside the woman—an older man. And the sight of him hit Vyan like a punch he hadn't braced for.

Black hair peppered with gray. The same sharp jawline. The same strong features.

Father.

He looked like him. Not just a resemblance, but a living and breathing echo of the man Vyan had lost. The only difference was in the eyes—amber, not red. Adrian's eyes. Elian's eyes. But everything else was a cruel mirror.

A merciless replica.

And standing side by side like that—Adrian's parents—it was clear. They weren't his parents. But they could've been. They should've been.

Wasn't it cruel?

Wasn't it unbearably, gut-twistingly cruel?

A sharp pressure gripped Vyan's chest, as though invisible hands had reached into him and started pulling everything apart. He didn't know what expression he wore—if he looked lost, or haunted, or just… hollow.

He didn't even know how to feel. Was he supposed to smile? To say something? To act normal?

But how could he, when every fiber of his being was on fire?

Even after all he had done… Even after avenging them… After delivering justice in the only way he knew how… why did it still hurt so much?

Would this grief ever stop gnawing at him?

Would he always ache like this, whenever something… or someone… reminded him of what he'd lost? He thought he had made peace with this fact. He had talked to them above their graves, hadn't he? So why… Why did it hurt again?

His eyes were stinging when a gentle voice reached him.

"Honey, are you okay? You look a little pale."

It was Adrian's mother.

Vyan forced himself out of the haze that had overtaken him. His heart still hadn't steadied, but he mustered a polite smile.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," he said quickly, voice a little too tight with forced cheer. "I just got surprised for a moment. I wasn't expecting you. Actually, I think Adrian forgot to mention that you were coming."

He chuckled softly, pushing his hands into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. "Anyway… hello, Mrs. Evans. Mr. Evans. It's good to meet you both. Did Adrian tell you about me?"

The woman nodded at once. "Yes, he did. You're the new intern who's working as Adrian's assistant, right?"

He nodded.

Her brow furrowed slightly with concern, and her tone dipped into motherly dismay. "Poor thing. He told us you got kicked out of your apartment. That landlord sounds awful. He should've at least given you a warning before selling the place."

Vyan laughed, awkward. "Yeah… it was unexpected."

He nodded along, trying to keep up with her empathy like he wasn't fraying at the edges.

She watched him closely, her eyes scanning his face with open curiosity and something like awe.

"Wow," she murmured. "You really do look a lot like Adrian. He wasn't exaggerating at all."

Her husband added with a chuckle, "Yeah, it's kind of jarring. It's like I'm looking at Adrian during his college years."

Vyan gave them a crooked smile, trying to keep the air light despite the heaviness in his chest. "What a coincidence, right? I was surprised too when I first met him."

Just then, Elian's bright voice broke in, "He feels like he'd be Daddy's twin, right, Nana?"

His grandma smiled softly, gaze never leaving Vyan. "Honestly, if I didn't know any better, I'd think he was my lost child," she said, voice tinged with affection and wonder.

And that was the moment Vyan felt it.

That he could end up crying here for real.

A tight pressure welled up in his throat. He turned away quickly, casting his gaze toward the hallway like it was the most interesting piece of art in existence.

"You two should take a seat," he said, tone still pleasant, but thinner now. "Emma told me it was okay for me to use the kitchen. Should I get some breakfast for you? Or maybe some snacks, Mrs. Evans?"

"Oh, no need for all that," she replied warmly. "And please, just call me Julia."

"Yeah," Mr. Evans added with a grin, "me, too. Atlas is fine."

Vyan didn't meet their eyes.

"Okay," he said quietly, already stepping away. "But still… let me get something for you. Some juice, at least?"

Julia gave a gentle nod. "Okay then. But what's your name again?"

"Vyan," he said, a little too quickly, too softly, then he disappeared into the kitchen before they could see the tears gathering in his eyes.

Behind him, the voices blurred. But inside, Vyan stood alone again—five years old, standing in the shadow of two people who weren't his parents, yet resembled them enough to hurt like hell.

The refrigerator door opened with a soft hum, its cold light spilling out into the quiet kitchen.

Vyan leaned in, searching for the juice he had made up on spot, but his eyes weren't really focused on the labels.

Anger started to simme beneath his skin. His emotions were hot enough to burn, cold enough to ache.

Why?

Why did Adrian get to have them? Why were they still alive in this world? Why did they… not be…

Why did Vyan have to be the one left behind?

He clenched the fridge handle tighter.

He hated that he felt this way. Adrian had been nothing but kind to him, for whatever reason. But even his kindness couldn't erase the ache of absence. Only he knew the nights Vyan had curled up in the dark, the times he had no one to run to, no one to fight for him. No arms to fall into. No soft voice calling him darling, you're safe now.

His parents were gone.

His life was forever scarred by the void they left behind. He couldn't erase that, no matter what he did.

He didn't blame Adrian. He really didn't.

He blamed the gods, the stars, the silent skies that watched him suffer and offered nothing in return. They only added more hardships. Just when he had settled into his life and was on his way to make it peaceful, it was snatched away from him. Iyana had been cursed… and then, he had ended up here in his unknown realm.

Why him? Why always him?

A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.

"Are you not able to find the juice?" Julia's voice floated in gently from behind, startling him.

Vyan flinched slightly, swiftly brushing the tear away with the back of his hand. He grabbed a bottle blindly.

"Oh, no. Yeah, I found it," he said quickly, pasting on another easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

He turned to open a cabinet, pretending to be wholly focused on the task of finding glasses, his fingers moving a little too fast, too clumsily. Good thing Emma had shown him around stuff last night.

Julia stepped inside, leaning gently against the counter, watching him. Vyan felt the weight of her gaze and tried to act nonchalant.

"I hope I'm not being too forward," Julia began softly, "but Adrian told me a little about your situation. It must be… a really tough place to be in. Do you not have any relatives in the city?"

Vyan's hand paused on a glass. He set it down carefully.

"No," he said, voice low. "I don't."

There was a beat of silence. Then she asked, tenderly, "What about your parents? Couldn't you go back home during summer break?"

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to rise again. "I don't have parents," he answered quietly. "They passed away when I was a kid."

Julia's heart gave a painful tug.

The boy in front of her, shuffling around the kitchen, trying to keep his head high while his voice faltered, looked so heartbreakingly like her youngest son—not just in appearance, but in that subtle vulnerability. That hidden ache. It hit her in a way she didn't expect.

There was no logic to it.

She knew this wasn't her Adrian. She knew Vyan was a stranger. But looking at him, his expression tight with restraint, the slight tremble in his shoulders, the way he avoided her eyes, it was like watching a version of her son she'd never met. A son from another life. A son who needed her.

And there it was, an unexplainable pull.

Vyan placed the two glasses gently on the counter, unscrewed the cap, and began pouring. Then, he felt it.

A gentle warmth settled over his free hand resting on the counter.

Julia's hand.

Soft. Comforting. Familiar in a way that healed something she didn't break.

Startled, he looked up, meeting her gray eyes. There was no pity in them. Only warmth. Only kindness. The kind that didn't ask for anything in return. The kind that found you in silence and simply stayed.

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, her voice soft but certain.

"Don't worry, honey. Whatever you're going through... I truly believe it'll be okay soon." Her smile deepened, maternal. "Because even if your parents aren't here with you physically, they're still watching over you. They're still taking care of you… in their own way."

Vyan's throat tightened. His fingers trembled slightly as he set the juice bottle down. He tried to smile, and though it was broken and fragile, it held gratitude. It held the ache of a boy who'd grown up too fast, who never thought he'd hear words like that.

"You know," he murmured, "you look a lot like my mother."

Julia's expression softened even more, her hand moving to rub his back in slow, comforting circles. It was instinctual, like something she'd done a thousand times before, like something she was meant to do.

"And you," she said with a quiet chuckle, her tone turning playful, "look a lot like my son, that is, if you didn't already know."

He let out a chuckle. It made his eyes sting again, but this time... it wasn't just grief.

It felt like he could breathe again.

He was once again reminded that the grief of losing your loved ones never really disappeared wholly. Even if he had made peace with it, sometimes, it just came rushing back. The loss felt raw all of a sudden, even if years had passed by. There was no helping it.

And in times like that, if he was unable to pull himself up, he merely needed a caring hand like this to reach out to him.

Just like Julia did.