Pablo Veylan's life had always been a war against the world. From his earliest memories, humanity had marked him as a pariah, hunted for crimes he had been manipulated into committing, judged by rulers and heroes alike. A tyrant's whisper, a dictator's cruel hand, and history's blind obedience painted him as the villain — the one the world must destroy.
But Pablo didn't care for heroes. He never did.
While the masses cheered for William and his virtuous companions, Pablo found his eyes drawn elsewhere. Not to the shining swords or the songs of salvation, but to the stories of the villains. Among them, one figure captured his fascination above all: the prince Alex.
Alex, the cursed, the hated, the one the world had written to fail. Every mockery, every exile, every betrayal that struck Alex didn't break him. It forged him. Pablo read of Alex's struggle like a man reading poetry, marveling at the sheer defiance of someone the world expected to crumble. He didn't just survive; he evolved, rising from scorn and humiliation to a power that even fate itself could not bind.
For Pablo, that was life. That was beauty. That was everything he had ever wanted to see: a villain who did not lose, who did not submit to the moral narratives of the world.
He fought, he survived, and he learned to hate the so-called heroes more with every passing day. William, the golden savior, the boy the world celebrated — he never understood. He never would. Pablo's delight was not in defeating William, but in witnessing the world crumble in pursuit of him.
Years of blood, betrayal, and manipulation carried Pablo to the end. The hero finally came, sword blazing, heart full of righteousness — and Pablo fell. But he didn't scream. He didn't plead. He laughed.
Not at William. Not at his death.
He laughed because even in the face of annihilation, he had lived by his own rules. The world had hunted him. It had despised him. It had sought to erase him. And yet, in death, he remained unbroken.
As his final breaths faded, Pablo's mind clung to one thought: the stories of villains who refused to die were stronger than any hero's legacy. And Alex — that cursed, hated prince — was proof of it.
Pablo's soul drifted into the void, lingering in the darkness between life and death. He would not fade completely. He would watch, remember, and in time, his existence would intertwine with the one who had inspired him the most.
Because Alex was not a hero.
Alex was the one who would defy destiny.
And Pablo… Pablo would become a hidden part of that defiance.