Villain Throne:I Build An Empire On Bones

The dining hall loomed like a grand, shadowy cavern, its towering ceilings swallowing the guard's voice like a candle snuffed out in the dark.

"Master Zairen Kaelridge has arrived."

The heavy oak doors groaned open, slow and heavy, as Zairen stepped into the warm glow of chandeliers. Their light danced across deep red curtains and a long, polished mahogany table, where only one person sat—Seressia. Her beauty was sharp, almost dangerous, like a blade wrapped in silk. Her purple hair spilled over her shoulders like a stream of dark wine, and her amethyst eyes locked onto him—not with warmth, but with a cold, piercing curiosity, like a hawk eyeing its next meal.

For a moment, her gaze flared with something raw, almost hateful. Then, quick as a mask slipping into place, her face softened into a sweet, fake smile.

"Master Zairen," she said, her voice smooth but edged, like honey hiding a razor. "You're late. Come, sit. Eat with me. I started without you—thought you might've chickened out."

Zairen flashed a calm smile, his tone warm but guarded. "Skip dinner with such a lovely lady? Not a chance."

Seressia's laugh was soft, mocking, like coins rattling in a tin cup. "Oh, Zairen, you're too kind. I thought you'd be hiding after last time. I wasn't exactly… gentle."

She sliced into her steak, the knife cutting clean, her smirk sharp as the blade.

Zairen sat across from her, hands folded, his face unreadable. "Hiding? Nah. I was just exploring your family's lands. Stunning place."

Her smirk grew, like a cat baring its claws. "Stunning, huh? Must be a lot for a country boy like you."

"It was," he said, voice steady, eyes meeting hers without a flinch.

Seressia's thoughts churned behind her perfect smile. What's with him? Acting so calm, like he's somebody now. Thinks he's special just because he's got a bit of mana? I could snap him like a twig.She leaned forward, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "So, Zairen, how's it feel? Finally sensing mana at—what, tweleve? Most people awaken their circle by ten. Hell, kids as young as eight can sense mana. You're a late bloomer, aren't you? Must be… humbling."

She expected him to bristle, to snap under the jab. But Zairen just grinned, a lazy, confident smile that caught her off guard. "Late? Sure. But you know what they say—good things take time. Sensing mana feels… incredible. Like the world's finally opening up. I'm happy, Seressia. Really happy."

His smile was genuine, his voice light, but there was a glint in his eyes—something sharp, unshaken. It sent a flicker of unease through her. He's not mad? she thought. He's supposed to be ashamed, not… proud. What's he playing at?

She forced a smile, hiding her surprise. "Happy, huh? That's… cute. Not everyone gets to play catch-up with the rest of us."

Zairen shrugged, cutting another piece of steak. "Catching up's easy when you've got nothing to lose. So, tell me, how's your training going? Heard you're quite the prodigy."

The shift was smooth, turning the spotlight back on her. Seressia's eyes narrowed, but she played along, her voice cool. "Oh, you know. Perfecting spells, breaking records. The usual. You'd be amazed what real talent looks like."

"I bet," Zairen said, his tone light but his eyes hard, like he was measuring her. "Must be nice, being the star of the show."

The air crackled with tension, their words a dance of knives. They traded more small talk, each line a test, each pause heavy with unspoken challenges. The clink of forks filled the silence, sharp and brittle. Seressia watched Zairen's rough hands—calloused, clumsy—as he ate, her lip curling slightly. Still a peasant, she thought, masking her disdain.

When the plates were cleared, a Family, a maid slipped in, silent as a ghost, carrying a golden apple pie. Its warm, sweet scent filled the air, a fleeting promise of comfort in the cold room.

"Best pie in the region," Seressia said, her voice smooth but taunting. "Try it, Zairen. You might actually like something refined for once."

He nodded, taking a bite, his face neutral but polite. For a moment, the room was still, the candlelight flickering nervously. Then Seressia struck again, her voice sharp as a blade.

"So, Zairen," she said, leaning forward, eyes glinting with venom. "How's your sister doing?"

The air turned thick, heavy as a storm cloud. Zairen's fork paused over his plate. His heart pounded, but his face stayed calm, a mask of control. "Haven't seen her since I was six."

Seressia's lips curled, smelling blood. "You don't even know where your own sister is? What kind of brother are you?"

"She stays out of my life," he said, voice low, tight. "I stay out of hers."

"Last I heard," Seressia said, her words sharp and cruel, "she's training with a royal mage. A prodigy. And you? Too busy playing catch-up to care?"

Zairen's smile vanished. His fists clenched under the table, rage burning inside like a wildfire. But his voice stayed cold, steady. "I'm no brother to her. She made that clear when she left me to rot."

Seressia's fork clattered against her plate, the sound sharp as a slap. Her calm cracked, her eyes blazing. "That's a lie! She cried for you, Zairen. For years! She blamed herself for what happened, not you. She grieved her little brother!"

Zairen's eyes darkened, his voice a low growl that chilled the room. "Grieved? That's what she told you?" He leaned forward, his shadow stretching across the table like a threat. "Let me tell you what really happened. My sixth birthday. I was a scared kid, kneeling, begging her to forgive me for something I didn't do. I cried until my throat burned. And she…" His jaw tightened, the memory a punch to his gut. "She looked at me like I was trash. She said, 'You killed our parents. You're pathetic. Stay in that room and die.'"

The candles flickered, as if the room held its breath. Seressia's face paled, her hand shaking around her glass.

"I stayed in that room," Zairen went on, his voice trembling with quiet fury. "Years. Starving. Beaten by my uncle. Ignored by my aunt. She knew. She never came."

Seressia shot to her feet, her chair scraping the floor. "You're lying! She's not like that—she's kind, good! She loves you!"

Zairen stood, tall and dark, his eyes burning with a cold, deadly calm. "Love? I starved in the dark while she shone in the light. Believe her lies if you want. I know the truth."

He turned, his steps heavy, like his past dragged behind him. Seressia's voice cracked, desperate. "Zairen! Did she really say that?"

He stopped at the door, his back to her, voice low and bitter. "What do you think? You've already chosen her side."

"Why are you here?" she demanded, her voice shaking with anger and doubt. "Why train with my father's best? What do you want?"

He didn't turn. His words cut like a knife. "To become someone no one can spit on again."

The doors slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Seressia sank into her chair, hands trembling. She stared at the pie, its golden crust crumbling under her shaky fingers. Her friend—Zairen's sister—wasn't like that. She was warm, broken, full of regret. Wasn't she?

But Zairen's words clung to her like damp rot. The room felt colder, the chandelier's light dimmer, like his pain had drained the warmth. She pressed her fingers into the pie, watching it fall apart. No answers came—just a sick, gnawing doubt.

That night, Zairen lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, shadows twisting like ghosts. His jaw was tight, fists clenched. "Why do I keep explaining myself?" he muttered, voice raw, like an open wound.

He laughed, a low, ugly sound that filled the dark. "She said she cared? That lying bitch…"

His eyes gleamed, sharp and dangerous. "Next time," he whispered, his voice a dark vow, "anyone who touches my dreams, my revenge… they're dead."

He turned to the window, moonlight carving his face into something fierce and broken. "And I'll make it slow."