The Villain
As far as interruptions went, it was well timed. If the monster coming out of the blue sky had revealed itself even a moment later, Trystan would’ve lost control…and there was no telling what atrocity he would’ve committed next.
Part of him still wanted to find out.
BOOM!
The beast fully formed before them. A shrieking howl came from its large mouth, so loud it made them both stumble back. Its skin seemed to be made up of cloud and marble in equal parts, its face grotesque yet almost human, save for the horns growing from its giant head. Misted clouds surrounded its temples, almost like a crown, and they stayed perfectly in place, the way Kingsley’s crown often did.
When it slammed its fist against the ground, the entire hidden oasis shook. “Who disturbs me?” the monster howled.
Good—this was good, actually.
Facing mortal danger was far more appealing than dwelling on what he had almost done.
He forced himself to focus on the monster’s horns, its deathly gaze. Not on the gasp that had escaped Sage’s lips just moments ago—a sound that would surely haunt his dreams and nightmares, if he managed to survive this ordeal, of course. He hadn’t been with a woman in far too long; it was the only plausible explanation for losing control so completely. Six agonizing months of abstinence.
Abstinence that, at this moment, seemed utterly pointless.
The monster slammed its fist into the ground again, jolting Trystan back to reality, back to what truly mattered: revenge, villainy, murder—staying alive.
He inhaled deeply, feeling his focus sharpen. *That’s better.* “I said who!” the monster roared.
It was a rhetorical question—they both knew that—and yet it didn’t stop his assistant from cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting as if she were speaking to an elderly grandparent, “EVIE SAGE!” Trystan stared at her in disbelief before rubbing his cheek. “You forgot to curtsy,” he said, incredulous. She shrugged and started to dip into a curtsy but stopped when he gripped her waist. “Are you having an episode?” He needed a migraine potion and a very long, very cold bath.
The creature was still processing Sage’s response, furrowing its—well, it didn’t have eyebrows, but Trystan imagined they would be furrowed if it did.
“Back away,” he warned it, praying the monster wouldn’t notice the emptiness in his threat. He could feel from the stillness within him that his magic wouldn’t work here; he had no way of protecting them, no way of protecting her. But he needn’t have worried because, instead of staying safely behind him, Sage stepped forward and presented herself to the monster, dropping into a deep curtsy and smiling broadly before yelling, “Hello!”
…Was she seriously trying to introduce herself politely to a creature that would likely try to eat them? “Sage!” he hissed. “What in the gods’ names are you doing?”
“What’s your name?” she asked, smiling at the monster.
Of course she did.
But instead of devouring her, the creature knelt, sending dandelion fluff into the air like party confetti as it extended one of its long, gray hands, marked with purple vine-like patterns. Trystan lunged forward, ready to fight, but stopped in his tracks, frozen in awe.
One large finger slowly reached out. It was enormous compared to Sage’s hand, but it was extended nonetheless. She jumped in delight and wrapped both hands around the finger, shaking it.
“I have no name,” the creature said, slowly retracting its finger, the anger fading from its voice. “I am a part of this world, and by natural law, I can take none.”
Sage frowned. “Well, that’s a silly rule! Who made that up?”
The monster frowned back at her, then…chuckled.
“Sage,” Trystan whispered, “remember when I confiscated those mushrooms from the interns? This is starting to feel like that.”
She scrunched her nose and scratched the side of her head as she looked at him. “Those made you hallucinate.”
“Exactly.”
The creature’s voice boomed again. “The rules were made by the architects of this world, the creators—gods, you call them,” it said. Sage listened intently. “They made every corner of this world what it is. Every person, every living thing exists because of their sacrifices.”
“Oh. They did a very good job!” Sage nodded encouragingly, thoughts clearly racing behind her eyes. “I’m a big fan of, um—oh, the trees!” She seemed calm, but he could tell by the way she wrung her hands that she was nervous.
She needn’t have been, because after the compliment, the creature looked…bashful?
“I think I *am* hallucinating,” Trystan whispered. Sage elbowed him in the shoulder. “Hush!”
“They were my idea, actually.” One of its large fingers began to trace circles in the grass, its attention fixed on Sage. She was charming the thing into a daze.
He could sympathize with its plight.
She brightened. “And what a grand idea it was!” She curtsied again, her head bowed in respect. “We owe you our utmost thanks.” She jabbed Trystan in the ribs.
He rubbed the spot, frowning, then said, “Oh yes…thank you.” He didn’t sound thankful. He sounded bewildered and annoyed.
The creature’s attention shifted back to him, growing cold. “I don’t like him.”
Sage waved dismissively and patted its finger. “That’s all right.” She stage-whispered behind her hand, “Lots of people don’t.”
“That’s enough small talk.” Trystan couldn’t stand idly by while Sage made friends with a monster of legend. He was *The Villain,* for gods’ sake. “We are here for a vial of stardust. We need it to find someone who’s lost. Someone who can help us fulfill *Rennedawn’s Story.*”
The creature’s large eyes locked onto him. “You want to fulfill *Rennedawn’s Story,* Trystan Maverine?”
His stomach dropped at the sound of his name on the creature’s lips.
Before he could ask how it knew who he was, it grinned, its marbled teeth gleaming as it spoke words that shook him to his core.
“It took you long enough.”
