I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 777: [The Rewritten Lost Past] [17]

Throughout his long existence within Sancta Vedelia, Sirius had never once contemplated forging genuine connections with any of its inhabitants.

His mission was conquest; that was the sole reason for his presence, his mother’s command etched into his very being before he ever set foot on that land. Every action, every decision, every deliberate maneuver across those centuries was aimed at that singular objective. The establishment of Raven House was a strategic move, a patient investment that yielded returns far quicker than he had ever imagined. The House ascended through the ranks of Sancta Vedelia with remarkable speed, rapidly accumulating both prestige and influence. By any standard, it stood as one of his most significant accomplishments.

Then came the period of waiting. He observed the continent ebb and flow, evolve and dispute for decades, inhabiting different bodies. He subtly influenced events, manipulated circumstances when it suited him, and allowed events to unfold naturally when that was the more advantageous path. Time was an abundant resource for him. He always had time. And Sancta Vedelia, despite his outward disdain, had captivated him far more than he cared to admit. There was an inherent vitality within it, a persistent and intricate nature that defied its mortal origins.

Yet, he maintained a deliberate distance from its people. This was a principle he had never compromised, or at least, never fully allowed himself to break. Proximity constituted a vulnerability in a place slated for destruction. Over the centuries, he encountered acquaintances, a few individuals who served as proxies for friendships—like shadows offering fleeting, ultimately meaningless, respite. He often forgot them shortly after their demise.

Amael Falkrona was an entirely unforeseen development.

Their initial encounter was peculiar enough: a nocturnal intrusion into a child’s chamber that culminated in a shattered spine and a snapped neck, inflicted by the most formidable woman he had ever encountered, all while the very child lay in bed, calmly counting to ten. He departed that room in fragments, both physically and mentally. Nevertheless, something from that interaction lingered.

When they crossed paths again years later, Amael visibly aged, standing in Sancta Vedelia with that same unnerving composure in his eyes as a child, Sirius found himself taken aback. It wasn’t his presence itself, but rather what it lacked. There was no animosity. It wasn’t a ploy, a negotiation, or any of the outcomes that logic would have predicted. Amael had simply appeared out of curiosity. Apparently, their previous conversation had left an enduring impression on him as well.

As for how he had been located, how Amael possessed the knowledge to identify him across his various host bodies, Sirius harbored strong suspicions. He never sought confirmation, but every fiber of his being pointed towards Belle Falkrona. A single glance from those silver eyes, he surmised, allowed her to imprint his mana signature as effortlessly and permanently as others recall faces.

It was plausible she had even discerned the hidden corruption within him, the mark that facilitated his transference between vessels. The notion that she had been aware of his location all along and had chosen inaction after their first meeting was, undeniably, somewhat unsettling.

However, he eventually came to understand that Amael's approach was self-motivated. He wasn't acting as an agent of his mother, nor was he a pawn deployed by Horus. He had simply sought him out, driven by a burgeoning curiosity about Sirius's existence, much like Sirius found himself contemplating the Vampire Witch, drawn to an enigmatic life without fully grasping the reasons why.

Thus, defying every ingrained instinct and self-imposed regulation, Sirius found himself with a companion.

It was an unconventional designation. Their rendezvous were infrequent, occurring only a handful of times, interspersed within the mundane flow of existence, in secluded corners of Sancta Vedelia where their quiet conversations went unnoticed. They would sit, sharing accounts of their experiences, their observations, and their unique perspectives on the world from their respective vantage points. There was no pretense involved, no outward display.

Simply candid discussions held in mutual confidence.

With each encounter, Sirius felt the bedrock of his original purpose begin to erode incrementally.

Amael never engaged him in direct argument; he was far too astute for such an approach. Instead, he spoke, offering insights on perspective, on the protracted decades spent conforming to another's agenda, and on the essence of truly inhabiting one's own life rather than merely executing a predetermined plan. He skillfully utilized Sirius's own history against him, employing a gentle, non-malicious touch, transforming his centuries of experience into a reflective surface that revealed something Sirius had long ceased to seek. He was being guided, a fact he recognized. He perceived the clear outline of Amael's intentions, evident enough that only a fool would have overlooked them.

Yet, he could find no fault with the process.

Therein lay the disarming aspect. Amael wasn’t steering him toward something sinister; if anything, Sirius was a dead man walking the moment Belle Falkrona’s gaze fell upon him. His continued existence in Sancta Vedelia was, most likely, something Amael had subtly ensured. He had already been exposed, already been targeted. The fact that Horus hadn't descended upon him, that Belle hadn't tracked down every vessel he inhabited and extinguished it, was no accident. This was Amael's doing, one way or another.

Knowing this, paradoxically, bolstered Sirius’s trust in Amael, rather than diminishing it.

Amael possessed a quality Sirius had seldom encountered in his long and predominantly empty existence.

Certainly, intelligence was present. But more than that, there was a mental clarity that existed alongside apparent chaos. The man grappled with immense confusion regarding his identity, the entity he harbored within, and the blurred boundary between himself and Samael Eveningstar. Yet, his values were unwavering. His objectives were pure. He was aware of what he cherished and held onto it without hesitation. This combination was something Sirius had never managed himself, and he envied it more than he ever admitted.

Perhaps this was why Amael’s counsel finally resonated. Perhaps this was why Sirius had begun, incrementally then all at once, to do something he hadn't in five centuries.

He started prioritizing himself.

Initially, it was a minor shift. Honoring a personal preference here, making a choice solely for his own pleasure there, carving out a small act of selfhood from a life entirely dictated by obligation. Yet, small things flourish when nurtured. To his own quiet astonishment, Sirius discovered that selfhood wasn’t a fragile concept once allowed to exist. It was vast, demanding, intricate, and undeniably his.

Regrettably, granting freedom to an individual after centuries of confinement doesn't always yield the anticipated results.

Freedom, bestowed upon someone who has never truly experienced it, whose sense of self was exclusively constructed around service, duty, and another person's agenda, tends to lead to unforeseen consequences. These are outcomes the giver never fully intended and cannot easily retract.

And Sirius, for the first time in a profoundly lengthy life, was beginning to grasp precisely what he desired.