You Really Are A Villain

Morning rose like a bruised sun over the fractured western part of the Western City, bleeding faint orange through the smoke that still clung to the shattered rooftops.

Screams had dulled to whimpers by now. The cries of the injured were still heard echoing in the half-collapsed market districts, and the acrid scent of scorched blood mixed with charred wood lingered in the air like a haunting reminder of the chaos from the night before.

The western district was in ruins.

Not the kind that crumbled from age, but the kind born of one night's madness and a single chase that had ended with entire alleyways erased, hundreds of Sentient Krepsunas mangled or outright destroyed, and whole households leveled with not even a corpse to recover. The Invisible Beast Ghost had carved a rampage across the veins of the city, all for one man.

Veyn.

The Western Chieftain stood in what had once been his city square, now reduced to debris and scorched pavement, his eyes twitching with barely concealed fury as he watched the repair squads struggle to move collapsed stone.

His people mourned in the background. The air was heavy with loss. Funerals were being prepared as fast as bodies could be identified, though most had none to recover. Craters and collapsed buildings had eaten many of them whole.

And he knew. He knew exactly why it had all happened.

He stared at Zarvana from across the street, arms folded. The woman stood in a composed, regal manner in that unshakable way that only someone backed by raw, unyielding power could manage. Her armor shimmered faintly in the smoky morning light, polished and untouched by the previous day's bloodshed.

Her posture was unbothered. Her expression was cold.

That infuriated him.

Because the truth, which even the Chieftain couldn't ignore, was that all of this was technically not her fault.

That's what burned.

The Fallen Bridge was made of five civilizations, each with their own domain and responsibilities. It had always functioned under this structure, flawed but rigid, traditional but effective.

Zarvana's domain, the Northern Underground, had a singular purpose: subjugate the beasts of the Bridge. Destroy the monsters that lurked in the shadows. Kill the infections before they spread. That had always been her jurisdiction.

The Western City's domain, on the other hand, was commerce. Trade flowed through its veins. Market law and balance of prosperity were its foundation. The lives of Krepsunas, the order of society, that was his job.

So when Zarvana's soldiers—Vastarael's soldiers—stormed the streets, dragged a monster out of hiding, and caused the beast to rampage, he was left holding the bloodied blade.

But he couldn't even point the finger.

Why?

Because Zarvana's actions fell under their tradition. She was doing what she was tasked to do and that was to subdue a monster. And the army she led, though many assumed it was hers, was in truth Vastarael Richinaria's private legion, lent to her by his command.

So when Zarvana looked the Western Chieftain in the eye and shrugged with nothing more than a clipped, "It was my job," he had no ground to argue on. And he knew it.

Because any opposition wouldn't fall on her. And so Zarvana, with her usual military grace, handled the aftermath with chilling efficiency.

The city's remaining forces were folded into logistical support. She rerouted her units to help clear the wounded, but only because it allowed her to show "good faith."

Her medics handed out rationed healing, her chains were used to keep city areas cordoned for safety, and all of it painted the illusion that she was the one saving them, not the one who caused it.

In truth, she was just covering her tracks.

And behind the scenes, another darker thread was being woven by Vastarael's command.

She'd received it in private, written in his pristine handwriting, given by Chrysanthemum to her.

"Shift the narrative. Frame Raika."

And she did. She obeyed.

Because if Vastarael said burn a city, she would ask whether he preferred fire or acid. Her loyalty wasn't out of love. It was because the influence she'd gained under him was immeasurable.

She had more control now than ever before, even within a web of rivalry among the five Fallen Bridge leaders. The fact that she now had political leverage over the Western Chieftain, whose city had been ravaged while she stood blameless, made her a queen in everything but title.

So she spun the tale.

She let the word leak through whispers in the corridors, spoken behind doors and in hushed courtrooms.

The Invisible Beast Ghost hadn't gone rampant just because.

It was chasing Veyn. And Veyn wasn't just any man. He was Raika's childhood friend.

He was a failure of a man who had been so desperate for worth, so broken by the abandonment of someone he once trusted, that he'd sought forbidden methods of power. And in his pursuit, he was captured, corrupted, baited like a bleeding fish on a hook.

And then he was rescued at the cost of hundreds. Hundreds dead… all because Raika didn't handle her own mess.

Zarvana didn't even bother dressing it up. She let the implication do the work.

"If this Raika hadn't made him so desperate to prove himself," the whispers said, "he wouldn't have tried to become stronger."

"If he didn't try that… he wouldn't have been captured."

"And if he wasn't captured… the beast wouldn't have entered the city."

It was clean, brutal and effective.

Zarvana didn't know why Vastarael wanted Raika to suffer but it wasn't her business. Maybe he hated her. Maybe she was part of some grand plan of his, a piece he needed broken for another to move. She didn't care.

All she knew was that while the Western City burned, she walked through the ashes untouched.

People looked at her like a hero. The soldiers of the west bowed. The other leaders of the west eyed her with wary new respect. Even the Chieftain, fuming because of the event, had no choice but to offer her temporary jurisdiction over repairs, on paper, at least.

She was reaping rewards simply for following Vastarael.

And now… the second day dawned since their arrival in the Western City. Raika was likely somewhere unaware of what was being said about her. But she didn't care.

After all, she hated her for denying her the man she wanted. Now, she didn't want him. He was too weak. But seeing Raika suffer brought her pleasure.

She was a hater.

°°°°°°°

The bedroom was heavy with silence. The castle's stone walls usually echoed but in this moment, even they stayed quiet.. The bed creaked softly as Raika sat at its edge, her back hunched, hands clenched into trembling fists against her thighs. Veyn lay there, still recovering, his body not nearly as broken as the weight hanging on his chest.

He smiled.

But it wasn't a smile of comfort. It was the kind of smile that cracked through sorrow, a bitter, fractured thing, more apology than expression.

"You were right. I'm a coward, Raika."

Her eyes widened a little, but she didn't speak. He went on, looking up at the ceiling like it was the only thing keeping him from crying.

"I used you. Maybe I didn't know it back then but now I do. You were my escape. My shield. You were strong and brave and sharp, and I just… hid behind that."

Raika's lips trembled. Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, and it wouldn't come out. So she sat there as he turned his head to look at her.

"And I'm sorry. But we're done, Raika."

The words struck her like a war hammer to the gut. It was as if the entire room tilted sideways and she couldn't keep her balance even though she was sitting. Her lungs forgot how to breathe.

Her entire world was collapsing—no, it had collapsed. Between Vastarael's accusations, the public outcry, the whispers that now spread like wildfire across the Western City, and the guilt gnawing at her from inside out… she felt hollow.

And now the only person she thought would never leave her… was doing just that.

Veyn gave a bitter chuckle.

"You know what this means, right? With what you did? You're not joining Insignia."

Her head snapped toward him, her voice finally tearing through the silence like a scream without volume.

"What?"

"You argued with Vastarael because of me. Your request forced Insignia's hand, even after they said no. And because of that, three hundred and forty-five people are dead. You made them listen. You made them act. So now… we both get to hear their screams for the rest of our lives."

Raika swallowed hard. Her stomach twisted like it was trying to devour itself.

"No—no, Veyn, please. You can't do this."

But he was shaking his head.

"This is it, Raika. We go our separate ways."

She dropped to her knees beside the bed, hands reaching for his. Her voice cracked like a dried riverbed.

"Please. Don't leave me. You… you're all I have, Veyn. You're the only reason I ever kept going. All these years, I thought I was protecting you, but m—maybe I just needed you to be okay because I couldn't be. You're my anchor."

"Then cut the chain, Raika."

"I can't! I don't want to!"

He looked away.

"Even if I stay, what's the point? I'm the reason they died. And now that I know that being near you just makes me a threat. You might survive this. You're strong. You can live in the wild. Become something more. But me?"

He exhaled a shaky breath.

"I'm weak. I won't survive a week out there. That's why I'm going to Central. My relatives live there. They'll take me in. At least I will be far away from here and not be killed."

Raika's fingers slipped from his slowly, as though losing their grip on a cliff. Her mouth opened to say something but nothing came out. The words stuck behind the pain.

"You are not going to be allowed into cities anymore. Not with the way the rumors are spreading."

Raika stood slowly, her limbs as if dipped in lead. Her body moved, but her soul stayed there, crushed beside that bed. She walked to the door, didn't say a word. Her footsteps faded into the cold hallway until even their echoes died.

And Veyn was left alone.

He let out a sigh, turning his head toward the broken window. The city below was still smoke-wrapped, grieving. Birds didn't fly through skies like this.

"…Was that good enough?"

A second later, the air behind him shimmered.

And from it, Vastarael emerged. The Nineteen Hours enchantment faded off his body like curling steam, his golden eyes shining like judgment. He gave a single nod, approving.

"It was perfect."

Veyn didn't respond. He just closed his eyes.

"You've done what few could. You tore her apart. You struck at the heart she buried for years. And now… all that's left is for you to wait."

Veyn's fists clenched under the blanket. Vastarael stepped forward slowly.

"You wanted strength, didn't you?"

He leaned in close, voice like venom wrapped in velvet.

"Then you better get stronger. Because the strength you'll gain from this… came at the cost of three hundred and forty-five lives. That's how much your cowardice was worth."

He straightened again.

"And when the day comes, and she finally admits how she feels…"

He paused, tilting his head with that same calculated coldness that made even generals flinch.

"You'll have to decide, Veyn. If you'll be the man she loves, or the monster I made."

Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned, and vanished once more into thin air.

And Veyn, still lying there, now truly alone, let the tears fall.

Because this time, he had become the villain.