The Last Villain’s Lament

I shouldn't be here.

The thought echoed in Ezra Veyne's mind as he jolted awake, lungs burning as if he had been drowning in the void between worlds. His vision swam, flickering between darkness and sterile light until his gaze settled on an unfamiliar ceiling.

A ceiling carved from ancient stone, humming faintly with an energy that didn't belong to this era. Faint runes etched into the surface pulsed in sync with his heartbeat—no, his heartbeat. Too perfect. Too synchronized. Each pulse was a reminder of something foreign digging its roots into his consciousness, clawing into his very existence.

This isn't my body.

The realization struck him like a blade through the chest. His hands—slender, pale, and calloused from training he didn't remember—moved on their own. Every joint felt too fluid, too accustomed to movement patterns unfamiliar to his own experience. His heartbeat remained steady, unnaturally controlled, as though this body had lived a thousand lives without him.

His reflection in the polished glass across the room confirmed it: angular cheekbones, sharp jawline, and eyes the color of storm clouds. A face that wasn't his—one that belonged to someone else entirely, a stranger staring back with unsettling familiarity.

[SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETE]

Name: Calveros Nacht

Class: ???

Race: Human (Cursed?)

Alignment: Undefined

Ezra's breath hitched, the weight of recognition crashing down like a tidal wave.

I recognize this system.

His eyes scanned the glowing blue screen hovering in his vision. The interface was supposed to be familiar—it mirrored the system from Chronicles of the Eternal Throne, the novel he had read obsessively.

But this wasn't how it should have started.

[ERROR: FATE ALIGNMENT MISMATCH]

[ANOMALY DETECTED]

[CORRECTION INITIATING…]

The text blinked out before he could react, replaced by a flickering void. His pulse quickened. This wasn't a game. This wasn't just a story anymore. Reality itself bent around him like a vice tightening with every breath.

I'm Ezra Veyne.

No… I'm… Calveros Nacht?

Two sets of memories collided in his mind, shattering the illusion of certainty. One screamed of familiarity—a life of mundane comforts and human struggles. The other seeped in like a corrosive poison—memories of duels fought under blood-red skies, betrayals carved into flesh, and a destiny shackled in chains of inevitability.

[Sanity: 98% → 96%]

The chill that followed was colder than death.

Why is there a sanity stat?

His thoughts spiraled as fragments of both lives tangled into an unrecognizable web. Every familiar sensation of his old existence—his family, the comfort of routine, his quiet moments of peace—felt distant, consumed by the oppressive gravity of a narrative he didn't belong in.

A knock shattered the suffocating silence.

"Calveros?" A voice—soft, melodic, yet haunting—drifted through the door. "It's Liora. You'll miss the Academy's opening ceremony if you don't hurry."

Ezra froze.

Liora Vayne.

The name stabbed through his consciousness like a jagged shard of glass. Her face surfaced unbidden—emerald eyes glowing with fierce defiance, lips curved into a smile that carried warmth and promises of trust.

But something was wrong.

I shouldn't remember her like this.

She was meant to be a side character, a background figure swallowed by the tides of a grander narrative. Why did her name feel so important? Why did the memory ache like an old scar?

"I'll be right there," Ezra managed, voice steady but hollow.

His body moved with mechanical precision, rising from the bed and crossing the small dormitory room in carefully measured steps. Each motion felt rehearsed, as though invisible strings pulled him along a script already written. When he opened the door, Liora stood there—vibrant, alive, and impossibly real.

Too alive.

Her eyes softened with relief. "You look pale. Are you sure you're alright?"

No, Ezra wanted to say. You're not supposed to be here. Not yet.

Instead, he nodded. "Just… adjusting."

Her laughter rang out like the first crack in a flawless facade. "You've always been dramatic. Come on, let's not be late."

[REALITY STABILITY: 87%]

A glitch. A flicker. Her form shimmered, just for a heartbeat—her face hollowed into something inhuman, empty sockets staring into him with soulless hunger.

Ezra blinked, and everything was normal again.

But the truth burrowed deeper into his mind: The system isn't stable.

The corridors of the Academy stretched out before him, an endless maze of marble arches and towering obsidian pillars. The air buzzed with arcane energy, thick and oppressive, each breath filling his lungs with something that didn't belong in this world—or any world.

Liora chatted beside him, her words blending into the static hum of fractured reality. She spoke of the ceremony, the professors, the expectations placed upon House Nacht. Each word was a reminder of a destiny Ezra was never meant to inherit.

Fragments of memory fractured across his thoughts—memories of another life layered atop this twisted existence. Every step forward was like wading through tar, thick with fear and certainty of an inevitable downfall.

I need to survive.

And survival meant playing along until he understood the rules of this broken game.

As they neared the grand hall, the system flickered again.

[WARNING: FACTION DETECTED]

[Aurelian Veris – Protagonist – Danger Level: UNKNOWN]

Ezra's stomach turned to ice.

A familiar figure stood by the entrance, golden eyes sharp with predatory precision. His posture was relaxed, but the tension in his gaze betrayed something far more dangerous.

That wasn't the smile of a hero.

Ezra's pulse spiked. The narrative was broken.

And the story hadn't even begun.