Villain Throne:I Build An Empire On Bones

The dream swept over Zairen like a cruel wave, pulling him into its dark depths. She sat on a jagged rock by the shore, where the sea clawed at her feet, desperate to touch her beauty. The moon of Elarion dimmed, as if ashamed of its weak glow. Her hair—long, dark as a hopeless night—flowed like black silk in the wind. Her skin, so smooth, so pale, made the waves look dull, unworthy. She was divine, a vision that cut his heart with a longing he couldn't name.

She faced away, silent, still, like a goddess carved from time itself. Zairen stood frozen, his breath caught, afraid that saying her name would break the world. The sea's mist clung to his skin, cold as a lost love, and a sharp pain—grief, yearning—twisted his chest. Who are you? his heart whispered, aching with a sorrow he couldn't understand.

Her voice came, soft as honey, sharp as a knife. "Zairen… why do you stare at me?"

He flinched, his heart pounding like a drum. "I-I wasn't…" he stammered, his voice weak, shaking with the storm inside him.

She turned slightly, moonlight kissing her veiled cheek, her smile dangerous, like a secret that could ruin him. "Liar," she whispered, her laugh a haunting song that sank into his soul, leaving it raw. She smiled gently, her voice warm but teasing. "You lied, so your punishment is to sing a poem for me."

Zairen's throat tightened, his heart heavy with a pain he couldn't place. He spoke, his voice soft, trembling with emotion:

"Your beauty holds the world in spring's embrace,

No charm exists beyond your sacred face.

Your eyes outshine the stars in heaven's keep,

What's left to love when you're my heart's deep sleep?"

The waves stopped. The wind paused. The world held its breath, caught in her spell.

She turned, her dark eyes—endless, ancient—glinting through the veil, as if they'd seen kingdoms fall and lovers fade. "Beautiful," she said softly, her voice a wound. "But tell me, Zairen… who will stay with you forever?"

He opened his mouth, but she raised a hand, her voice quiet, sharp with pain:

"Who promises to walk till life's last breath?

Even at graves, they switch shoulders in death.

No vow holds strong, no hand stays near,

When souls are lost to night's cold fear."

Zairen's heart ached, her words cutting like a blade from another life. They felt familiar, like a forgotten promise. He stepped closer, his voice breaking. "I'd never leave you. I'd give my life—"

She turned away, her silhouette cold against the sea. "But you don't remember me, Zairen," she said, her voice icy. "You forgot… everything."

His breath broke, a sob stuck in his chest. Forgot what? Who?

THUB.

He woke, gasping, sweat soaking his skin. The moonlight in his room felt dull, empty compared to her. He clutched his head, heart racing. "Who is she?" he whispered, his voice raw. "My friend, my love, my betrayer?The silence mocked him, her accusing eyes burning in his mind.

Zairen sat on the bed's edge, his hands quivering, pale as if touched by a ghost. "This dream… it's breaking me," he muttered, staring at the fading moonlight. Dawn's red glow crept through the window, but it couldn't warm the cold pain in his chest. Am I still whole without her? he thought, fear crawling in his heart like a shadow.

He stood, his muscles stiff, like he'd fought a battle in his sleep. Splashing cold water on his face, he tried to wash away her voice. It didn't work. Her eyes haunted him, deep and blaming. "Enough," he growled, fists clenching until his knuckles turned white. "I need to move."

He slipped into black training clothes—worn, patched, heavy with memories of hunger and pain. The manor's halls were quiet, some servants glancing and bowing as he passed. He ignored them, heading straight to the training chamber, a place where nobles sharpened their blades in solitude. They'll never understand, he thought, bitterness twisting his lips.

The chamber was lit by dawn's gold, shadows stretching across the stone floor like ghosts. He ran first, around the perimeter, feet pounding, relentless. His lungs burned, each breath a struggle, as if the dream's weight pressed on his chest. His thoughts screamed: Who is she? Why me? Why can't I remember? Sweat dripped, stinging his eyes, his heart echoing her words: You forgot… everything.

Then, he grabbed his sword—black, cold as night. His moves were sharp at first, controlled. Slash. Parry. Spin. Thrust. But rage took over, wild and burning. Her veiled eyes flashed mid-strike, taunting him. "I didn't forget you!" he growled, his blade slicing the air like a scream. "I can't forget you!" He fought shadows, her face in the wind, her voice in the dark. He swung until his arms shook, blisters raw, knees buckling. He collapsed on the stone, gasping, hands bleeding. "I won't break," he whispered, but doubt gnawed at him. Am I already broken?

After cleaning up, the sting of his blisters a reminder of his fight, he returned to his room. A knock came. Thump. Thump. "Master Zairen?" a maid called softly. "Lord Draven's gone for a few days—urgent business. Shall I serve your meal here, or with Lady Seressia?"

Zairen's jaw tightened. Seressia. Her name was a spark, igniting memories of her cruel smiles. She thinks I'm weak. "Here," he said, voice cold as steel.

The maid brought silver platters—buttered meat, roasted roots, soft bread, sweet fruit. Zairen's eyes lit up. "Wohh, this food looks amazing!" he said, diving in, finishing every bite. "It's been ages since I ate something this good. Tastes like heaven!" But as he ate, his mind wandered. What's Seressia planning? Hmm, let's see what game she's playing.

He grabbed bread, water, and a small bag, pulling his cloak tight. The city streets were alive—bustling homes, shops, kids swinging wooden swords, a performer playing a sad tune by a fountain. The smell of roasted meat hit him, and he remembered his previous life nights when his stomach ate itself, his uncle's fists bruising his skin. "They feast while others beg," he thought, anger burning his chest. A cloaked figure watched from an alley, vanishing when he looked. His hand gripped his dagger.

At the city gates, a guard stopped him. "Where to, sir?"

"Training. A walk in the woods."

"Don't go far. Monsters are out there."

Zairen entered the forest, sunlight cutting through thick branches, shadows dancing like spirits. The air was heavy with damp rot. He searched for an hour, frustration growing. "Where's that damn tree?" he muttered, the dream's twisted shape vivid in his mind. "It's real."

Then he saw it—black, gnarled, its branches clawing the sky, leafless. The ground was dead, cracked, as if life had run away. A low, wet breathing came from below, like a dying man's gasp. The roots twitched, opening a dark, hungry hole.

Zairen dropped the bread. The tree groaned, a sick sound, and the bread vanished. He poured the water; it sank into the dark. The tree creaked, and one branch sprouted green leaves, glowing like a faint hope. His heart raced. "It's true," he whispered, fear and awe mixing.

In his past life, Zairen heard of this tree—a heartbreaking tale of a Magi and a witch, their love a flame that lit the stars. They shared secret nights under moonlit oaks, her whispers his home, his power her shield. But a wizard slithered into their world, his voice a venomous hiss: "Give me her heart, and I'll forge you into a god among men." The Magi spat in defiance, loyal to her. Yet, his thirst for power gnawed, his spells faltering. One night, madness won—he plunged a dagger into her sleeping chest. Her eyes, wet with betrayal, broke him as he tore out her heart. The wizard's laugh was a cruel blade: "Pathetic fool! Power? That was a lie to feast on your soul!" The Magi lunged, but the wizard's dark magic crushed him. As he died, her soul rose, cursing through tears: "You traded love for greed. Now starve forever, chained to this tree, peace forever lost."

Zairen's lips curled. "Another fool who chased power," he said, but a chill hit him. Am I like him? Her voice echoed: You forgot… everything. "I'm not you," he muttered, yet pity stirred. "I'll bring more tomorrow," he whispered, scared the tree might hear his weakness. The groan followed, a cry of something alive, gripping his soul.

He returned as dusk fell, the city glowing with torchlight. A maid greeted him. "Welcome, Master Zairen. Dinner's ready. Lady Seressia invites you to dine. Lord Draven's away."

Zairen's heart still raced from the tree's groan, her voice lingering. Seressia's up to something—a trap.A cold smile formed. Let's see her try. "Tell her I'll come," he said, his voice smooth, hiding the storm inside.