If you're going to make someone regret something, do it with style. The kind they'll remember when they're alone and bitter.
Regret It
I found Violan in one of his usual spots—a dimly lit room where the air was thick with incense, and the cushions were too plush to be practical. He was perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, his appearance sharp enough to cut and exuding effortless charm as always.
He noticed me the moment I entered. His gaze swept over me with a flicker of interest before narrowing into something sharper. "Shay," he drawled, voice smooth but edged with irritation. "What an unexpected delight. I assume you're here to apologize?"
"For what exactly?" I replied, moving to stand opposite him.
Violan arched a perfectly groomed brow. "For the bounty. For the chaos. For, oh, I don't know, not warning me that your little nemesis had it out for people like me."
"That was… regrettable," I admitted, keeping my tone even. "But the Time Mage's actions were beyond my control. She targeted anyone she thought might side with me, and unfortunately, that included you."
His smirk didn't waver, but there was a coldness in his eyes now. "How very convenient for you. And yet, here I am, alive but inconvenienced, and my apprentices afraid to even leave the house. What could you possibly want from me now, Shay?"
I stepped closer, lowering my voice to something softer, almost personal. "Vio, I didn't come here to argue or trade barbs. I need your help."
Violan's reaction was instant, his expression sharpening into something colder, more closed off. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate casualness, though his eyes betrayed his annoyance. "Oh? The Hueless King, deigning to ask for help? What's next—groveling? Flattery?"
I let out a small sigh, keeping my stance open but measured. "Vio, I know you're angry. You have every right to be. I should've warned you or protected you somehow."
He regarded me with a detached sort of amusement, his smirk intact but his words sharp. "How noble of you to admit your mistakes. I'm sure that's a rare occurrence. But tell me, Shay, why should I care? My allies are gone. My network is in shambles. And you—" his voice dipped into a low, dangerous register—"are the reason my name was on every bounty board in the realm."
I took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing into my chest. The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the corner. I could feel the tension stretching between us, a thin line that threatened to snap with the slightest provocation.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words slipping out before I could catch them. They sounded foreign, a raw honesty that surprised even me.
Violan's eyes widened, the icy sheen of his expression cracking for the first time. His smirk faltered, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief, as if he hadn't expected such words from me. He leaned forward, fingers gripping the armrests of his chair as if to ground himself.
The silence that followed was heavy, but it was different this time. It wasn't the silence of an argument about to turn sour; it was the silence of realization. Violan's eyes softened, the sharpness in his features giving way to something I didn't recognize. He blinked, once, twice, as if the words I'd spoken were reshaping the reality he knew.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He just stared, and I thought maybe I'd pushed too far. But then he exhaled slowly, a tension releasing in his shoulders as his lips curved into a small, cautious smile. It was a smile that was more fragile than any I'd seen from him before.
"Maybe… you're not as unfeeling as everyone thinks," he said, a trace of amusement returning to his voice, though it was tinged with something deeper.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Maybe I'm not," I said, meeting his eyes.
Violan's expression shifted, the cold edges melting away. A wicked gleam lighting his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, the weight of the moment receding. Without breaking eye contact with me, he called for Onyx. A moment later, the door creaked open and a familiar figure stepped in.
"Shay," Onyx said quietly, his deep voice carrying a note of friendliness.
I nodded back, but before I could say anything, Violan leaned forward with an exaggerated flourish.
"Onyx, bring something sweet for our guest," Vio ordered, his voice light but with an underlying edge of mischief.
Onyx bowed slightly and, without a word, turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
The moment he was gone, Violan collapsed back into the chair with a theatrical sigh, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Do you know how hard the Time Mage has made my life?" he whined, the words dripped in such exaggerated melodrama that I almost couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"Hardly a moment goes by without some mess," he continued, raising his hands as if to ward off an invisible threat. "There was a time, Shay, when I could leisurely stroll through my days, bask in my own glory, and enjoy the sweet, decadent life of a lust mage. But now? Now, I'm dodging bounty hunters, avoiding traps, and dealing with ridiculous, mundane issues like getting a proper dessert without it being poisoned."
I stared at him, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all. My decision to come here was starting to feel like one of those regrets you get when you eat the last slice of cake, only to find out it was made with spoiled milk.
Violan sat up suddenly, eyes narrowing playfully. "Do you know how many times I've almost been caught with a pudding that was less dessert and more death sentence?"
I looked away, taking in a shaky breath as I tried to suppress a laugh. This was not the intense conversation I'd envisioned.
"Should I be worried about the sweets here?" I muttered, half-joking, half-serious.
Violan's pout deepened, and he folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, you should be. You should be very, very worried."
Just then, Onyx returned, a small silver tray balanced in his hand. On it sat an elegant, oddly extravagant pastry topped with golden flakes and a sprinkling of powdered sugar. The absurdity of the situation struck me, and I couldn't help but chuckle.
Violan's eyes twinkled with triumph as he motioned to the pastry. "And here, for our beloved guest, is the only thing in this world that isn't trying to ruin my life. Sweet, simple, and safe. For now."
As Onyx placed the tray in front of me, I glanced at the dessert, and then back at Violan. I took a cautious bite of the pastry, the flaky layers melting on my tongue as the sweetness seeped into me. I nodded, a smile tugging at my lips. "This is actually really good," I said, adding a touch of sincerity. The corners of Violan's mouth twitched upward, but it was the glimmer in his eyes that gave it away. He was the one who had made it.
A sly smirk danced across his face as he leaned back, eyes narrowed with something akin to pride. "I told you, I don't do anything half-heartedly. Even a simple dessert deserves my touch."
"Clearly," I replied, chuckling softly. "But I have to say, it's not just the Time Mage causing you trouble, you know. Her apprentices are living in a kind of terror, too."
Violan raised an eyebrow, the smirk faltering as confusion crossed his features. "What?"
I tilted my head innocently. "The Time Mage's apprentices, you know. They're terrified. My fans are out for their blood."
For a moment, the room went still. Violan's eyes widened in disbelief, the humor in them momentarily stilled. "Your fans?"
I nodded, lifting my hand in a casual shrug. "Yep. I'm apparently so beloved that when word spread about the apprentices causing me a headache, they decided to take things into their own hands."
Violan blinked at me as if he couldn't quite process it. Then his eyes narrowed, studying me with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "You have a fan club?" he asked, the words coming out with a disbelieving laugh.
I nodded. "Oh, you'd better believe it," I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone. I unlocked the screen and opened the page, showing him the profile with a couple of hundred followers, their posts filled with fan art, theories, and discussions. The banner was a picture of me in my signature stance, wearing my fancy mask.
Violan's eyes widened as he took it in, the smirk he had worn slipping into an astonished smile. "This… this is real?"
"Absolutely," I said eating another bite of the pastry.
Violan's eyes flickered from the phone back to me, his lips curling into a playful but teasing smirk. "I'm the prettiest mage in this realm," he said, eyes narrowing with mock offense. "How come I don't have a fan page like this?"
I couldn't help but let out a laugh, the sound ringing through the room.
"Maybe they just haven't seen the full picture yet," I said, leaning forward, a sly grin on my face. "You know, maybe you should start your own fan club. I could even help with the marketing."
Violan's brows lifted, his smirk turning into an intrigued smile. "Help with the marketing, huh? Are you sure you're ready to share the spotlight?" he teased, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.
The corner of Violan's lips twitched. "I think I can manage," he said, the teasing edge giving way to something more genuine. "But don't get too comfortable being the only one with a cult following."
"Noted," I said, nodding with mock solemnity.
Violan's smirk deepened, and he leaned back with a look of sinister satisfaction. "But I am a bit happy," he said, the glint in his eyes sharp and merciless. "Those worms should suffer."
"Yeah-yeah," I said. "So what about beating the Time Mage to a pulp? Do you wanna join?"
Violan's smirk didn't falter, but the glint in his eyes shifted, sharpening with an interest that made me hold my breath. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and for a second, I could almost see the gears turning in his head.
"You know," he said, tilting his head with that calculating look, "I should say no. It'd be better for my reputation to stand aloof, watch the chaos unfold, and bask in the aftermath." His eyes narrowed into slits, and he let out a low chuckle that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "But there's something about the idea of making her regret ever crossing paths with me that's... enticing."
I exhaled slowly, trying not to show how relieved I was that he was considering it. "So that's a 'maybe'?" I pressed, meeting his gaze with an intensity I hoped spoke volumes. "Because I could use every powerful ally I can get."
He stood up suddenly, the fabric of his robe shifting as he moved with a predator's grace.
"I'm not one to let the world forget what happens when it dares to provoke me," Violan said, voice dropping to a whisper that was still laced with power. "I prefer to light the fire myself and let everyone see what happens when you poke a dragon."
A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips. He leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breath, cool and electric. "Count me in. But if I'm going to risk getting my hands dirty, I want something in return."
I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms as I braced myself for whatever he was about to ask. "And what would that be?"
He straightened, eyes dancing with mischief. "Victory should be savored, don't you think? I like mine with a side of indulgence and a touch of power."
I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips. "You'll have all the pastries you can eat."
The room was dim, the light from the candles flickering across his sharp features, casting shadows that made him look even more formidable.
"And?" he said, voice low, tinged with intrigue. "I'm listening."
I leaned back, crossing my arms as I met his gaze. "If you help us, I not only officially ally myself with you and announce you my equal but... I'll make sure the world knows exactly what you did. Don't you want to show Livius what he missed when he declined your alliance?"
As Violan's eyes widened, the shock was so raw, so unguarded, that for a moment, he looked like the master I remembered. Then his eyes darkened, the playful glint giving way to something far more intense.
"How do you know that?" he demanded, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. The room seemed to shrink around us, the air thickening with unspoken truths.
"I was an informant, Vio. I have my ways," I said, my voice steady as I watched the storm shift in his eyes. I didn't tell him the truth—not the whole truth. I hadn't told him anything, not the depth of my knowledge, not the lives we'd shared. I couldn't.
He hadn't told me this in this lifetime. But I knew him—knew the weight of his pride, the secret shame he bore like a second skin.
Livius's betrayal, his abandonment of the lust mages, had haunted Violan. He cursed Livius, the Sorcerer Lord, calling himself a white mage, a leader so far removed from the mage who once pledged to protect mages. Frankly, he refused Violan's proposal for a potential alliance. Violan had always wanted Livius to regret, to come back and beg for the loyalty he'd cast aside.
But that had never happened before.
Violan's eyes narrowed, the fire flickering and then dying down to a smolder. He was studying me, searching for something I couldn't give him. Whatever he found, it seemed to settle his doubts, if only slightly. He sat back, fingers drumming against the arm of the chair as the room settled into a tense silence.
"You have your ways, huh?" he muttered, the rough edge of his voice softening.
"Yep," I nodded.
"He was a fool," Vio spat, eyes burning with an intensity that made me wonder how many nights he'd spent replaying those moments. "He never understood the true strength of what we had."
I nodded, remembering the rage that had flared in Violan's eyes when he'd cursed Livius, when he'd called him every name under the sun. "I know."
Violan's eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of a lie, but he found none. His breathing had quickened. There was a flicker of hope, and something else—pride.
Violan's eyes narrowed, a sharp glint of indignation flashing in their depths. He paced in front of me, fists clenching and unclenching as he continued, his voice taking on a dramatic, almost theatrical quality.
"Do you know what he did?" Violan's tone shifted, taking on a whiny, exasperated edge. "He waltzed around, thinking he was the king of all mages! Like his hair was spun from the sun itself, and he could see through to the future or something ridiculous! 'Look at me, I'm Livius, the Great and Mighty, Sorcerer Lord!' Ha! The pompous, haughty fool!"
I raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smirk.
"Not only that," he continued, now pacing with a flourish that would have made a stage actor proud, "he abandoned us, just like that. He's going around with that 'white mage' title, acting like he's suddenly too pure for us. Pure! As if we're the ones with the tarnished souls! I swear, it's like he thought he was some sort of righteous deity!"
I smiled a little, unable to resist. "And here you are, hoping he'll come crawling back begging?"
Violan's eyes shot to mine, and for a moment, the flames of his fury dimmed to something almost vulnerable. "Exactly! But he never has! And you know what? I hope he finds out how wrong he was. How stupid he was for not taking my offer. For thinking he was too good for all of this." He spread his arms wide, gesturing at the room as if it were some grand stage for his grievances. "Too good for me, too good for us, too good for—"
Before he could finish, I interrupted, "Too good for sweets, too?"
Violan paused mid-stride, blinking as if just realizing where we were. He let out an exaggerated sigh and dropped dramatically into the chair across from me. "Yes! Too good for these, too!"
For a moment, I found myself lost in a memory, a brief flicker that took me back to the past. The room around me melted away, replaced by the warmth of late evenings spent in deep conversation, the flickering light casting long shadows across stone walls.
There he was, the Vio of my past: grand, arrogant, powerful, but with a softness that only I ever saw. When the world was not watching, when the masks slipped, he would sit with me and whine about the world's injustices, about mages who couldn't see his worth, about Livius' ridiculous sense of superiority. He would talk with that dramatic flair, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes, as if every slight insult were an epic tragedy he had to bear alone.
It was strange to think that, even in his grandeur, he had always sought comfort in those quiet moments, in the only person who knew him without the gold-trimmed robes, the brilliant smirks, or the hard, imperious tone. I was the only one who knew how much he loved to complain about being the most overlooked and underappreciated mage in the realm.
There was a part of him, an echo of that old Violan, that I had missed more than I realized. He hadn't changed. He was still the same, underneath it all—still whining, still dramatic, and still fiercely loyal in his own, complicated way.
In the past, I would have just listened to his whining, letting the words wash over me while my mind drifted to other things. Maybe I'd stare at the flickering fire, watching the way the flames twisted and curled, or think about the tasks I needed to complete. His dramatics had always been background noise, an odd comfort in a world that was anything but predictable.
But now, something was different. For the first time, I found myself wanting to really hear it, wanting to lean into the exaggerated sighs and the self-righteous complaints that were so uniquely Violan.
I chuckled lightly. "You know," I said, eyeing him with a smirk, "I think I actually want to hear this one. Go on. Tell me more about how Livius is the universe's greatest fool."
Violan's eyes widened, and then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. He sat up straighter, the intensity in his eyes sparking with that familiar fire as he prepared to launch into his dramatic monologue. I could already see the storm brewing behind those eyes, the kind of storytelling that would involve grand gestures and a raised voice, as if he were the star of a play that only he could act in.
"Let me tell you about the day he said he was a 'true mage of light,' when he had never once seen what real power was!" he said, a note of mock grandeur in his voice.
And for once, I didn't try to block out the noise. I let it in, enjoying the theatrics as Violan spun his tale, the drama more vibrant than ever.
When he finally stopped, gasping for air, it struck me, a realization I hadn't ever let myself dwell on before: I had never thanked him. Not once. The memory of that night when I had run from the hunters, exhausted and terrified, seeped into my mind. I remembered how Violan had taken me in, sheltering me beneath his roof when the world seemed to have turned against me, and how he had kept the secret of my blood locked within his own heart, despite knowing the consequences.
And all I'd done in response was scoff at his dramatics, dismiss his quirks as an annoyance, and brush off his attempts to talk.
This man, this fool with his endless complaints and pompous airs, had protected me with a fierceness that made me wonder how many times he had risked his life without ever asking for thanks. He had fought for us all, for the apprentices he called his own, with a loyalty that could only be called fierce and unyielding. He had fought until his last breath, and the memory of that, more than anything else, struck me in the chest.
Violan's eyes lit up, ready to dive back into his tirade. "He never understood the true strength of what we had," Violan spat, voice dripping with contempt. "The arrogance! The audacity of that man, to call himself a white mage, a Sorcerer Lord of all things. He was a disgrace to his own title, a self-important puppet who couldn't see past the end of his own robes!"
"Oh, absolutely," I agreed, leaning in as if I were hanging on his every word. "He probably thought his sparkling white robes would hide his flaws. But instead, they just made him look like an overgrown peacock who couldn't even keep his feathers straight."
Violan's eyes widened, a hint of laughter flickering behind his fury. He let out a harsh, mirthless laugh, and I took that as my cue to keep going.
"And don't get me started on his 'noble' ideals," I added, rolling my eyes. "He abandoned the lust mages and he had the audacity to lecture everyone else on morality."
Violan threw his head back and laughed. His eyes met mine, and there was a spark of something—victory, maybe.
"Exactly!" he said, almost breathless with the intensity of it all.
"Let's not forget his 'sacrifices' for the Greater Good," I scoffed. "As if we were all supposed to bow down to his 'selfless' decisions. I'd rather take the wrath of a hundred hunters than listen to him preach about his ideas of a Greater Good."
Violan's laughter turned into a more genuine chuckle, a sound so rare and infectious that it almost stunned me. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, then looked at me with a smirk that spoke volumes.
"You've got a point, Shay," he said, voice shifting into something almost conspiratorial. "He might have been an incredible mage, but he was a terrible... whatever he thought he was trying to be."
"Yep," I nodded.
"I never thought you'd understand," he murmured, voice raw, almost vulnerable.
I leaned in, my smile small but sincere. "I do, Vio. And I can promise you this: when we defeat the Time Mage, you'll have the respect and recognition you deserve."
He opened his lips to speak but I was quicker.
"Livius will curse the day he refused your offer! You're a great mage. You fought for the lust mages when no one else would, and that's something he'll never have. He'll see it, eventually."
For a moment, there was silence. Then Violan's eyes went wide, his expression shifting from surprise to something that almost looked like hope. And before I could blink, he lunged forward, grabbing me in a hug so sudden and tight that I nearly choked.
"Oh my stars!" he wailed dramatically, pressing his face into my chest with such force I could feel his tears dampen the fabric. "You do get it! I knew it! I knew you'd understand, but I never imagined—"
He paused mid-sentence, a hiccup interrupting his words, and I felt my chest tighten with a mix of exasperation and something I couldn't quite name. I wrapped my arms around him, patting his back with as much composure as I could muster.
"Vio, you're squeezing the life out of me," I muttered, my voice muffled as he clung to me like a barnacle to a ship.
"Sorry, sorry!" he said, pulling back with a sheepish grin, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. He sniffled, wiping at his face with a sleeve as if trying to convince himself that the moment had never happened.
I sighed, forcing myself not to smile at the ridiculousness of it all. It wasn't like him to show weakness, and I'd never seen this side of him before. It felt... strange, yet somehow comforting.
He nodded, a decision solidifying in his gaze. "I'll help you, Shay. But know this—if I'm going to do this, I do it on my terms, not his."
I reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, the weight of the promise settling over us like a shared oath. "Your terms," I agreed. "Always."
He looked away for a moment, a hint of something complicated flickering across his features. But when he turned back, there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Vio, I want to thank you for accepting this alliance. I'm honored," I said.
Thank you for saving me. Thank you for fighting for me. I am honored to have you as my master. The thought was almost foreign, tangled with the shadows of past regrets and things I'd never said out loud.
Violan's smirk returned, but it was tempered with something warmer, less sharp. He crossed his arms and looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
"You're welcome, Shay. And don't think for a second I'm doing this just for you," he said, though there was no bite in his tone, only a subtle hint of pride. "I'm doing it because the world needs to know that when they push, we don't just stand there. We fight."
I nodded, feeling a rare kind of peace settle into the tension I didn't know I'd been holding. I smiled. This time, in this life, I thought, I pay back all the favors I owe you, Vio.
"Then let's win this war, together," I said, voice steady, eyes locked on his.
Violan's smirk returned, sharper and more confident than ever. "Oh, we will."
I chuckled. "That's the spirit."