The banquet hall glittered with gold. Crystal chandeliers spilled light across marble floors, and nobles' laughter chimed like a thousand tiny bells. For the Sethvyet family, today was important: the ninth birthday of their second son, Cayenne.
But amidst the celebration, the boy himself sat quietly at the long table, a cup of tea in his delicate hand.
Cayenne Sethvyet.
The boy everyone whispered about behind fans and wine goblets. Arrogant. Foolish. Destined to be a villain whose life would end tragically.
Yet Cayenne, with his sapphire eyes reflecting the glow of the candles, looked strangely detached. He did not care for the empty praises. Nor the nobles fawning, nor the hidden sneers. His voice, when he finally spoke, was mellifluous—gentle, soft, with that soothing lilt that made people pause even when they disliked him.
"It's sweet," he murmured, gazing at the tea as though it were the most important thing in the world. "Too sweet."
The servant standing behind him bowed, hiding a faint smirk.
The evening blurred. Nobles danced. His sister, radiant in a dress of white lace, basked in admiration. The Male Leads— young heirs, talented swordsmen, the kind of children who seemed carved for greatness— hovered near her like stars around the moon. Cayenne, meanwhile, was ignored. Forgotten. A pale boy with hair like spun sunlight, flowing down to his hips, sitting in silence.
It happened suddenly.
A sharp sting spread through his chest. His fingers spasmed, the cup falling from his hand. Shards scattered across the floor, tea blooming like blood against the marble.
"Cayenne!" his sister gasped. For a moment, genuine concern flashed across her young face. But then her expression shuttered, replaced by the cold poise of the heroine-to-be.
He couldn't answer. His body convulsed, the world blurring at the edges. Voices grew distant. Every nerve screamed, yet at the same time, his thoughts felt… sharp. Too sharp.
'Poison?'
The boy collapsed, his vision narrowing to a tunnel of gold light and blurred figures rushing toward him. The nobles shrieked. His father barked orders. His sister reached out, but her hand trembled before she could touch him.
And then—
It broke.
The barrier.
The dam.
Memories flooded in like a tidal wave.
Not of this banquet, not of this family, not of this fragile world of swords and nobles. But of steel towers scraping skies of black. Of warships the size of cities. Of voices chanting one name— his name— until the sound shook the galaxies.
The throne of Syvthoth.
The endless armies.
And above all, the Zergs.
They had been monsters to others, horrors of claw and carapace. But to him, they had been loyal. Devoted. Bound by a soul-link that tied their existence to his heartbeat. They had never known pain, never known sorrow— until the day he drank poisoned tea. Until the last breath rattled from his chest.
And when his soul shattered, they felt it.
They went mad.
They tore apart empires.
They drowned the stars in blood.
All for him.
Cayenne's tiny hands curled weakly against the marble as the visions seared through him. He felt both lives at once: the frail noble child dying at nine, and the immortal Emperor whose end had sparked a cosmic rampage.
When the pain dulled, a hollow laugh trembled from his lips. It sounded so out of place, so soft amidst the chaos.
"...What a hassle."
The hall froze. His family stared, unsure whether he was delirious or mocking them. But Cayenne's sapphire eyes, glazed with tears and poison, shone with a clarity that hadn't been there before.
The boy who had been arrogant, gullible, and destined for tragedy… was gone.
In his place sat someone else.
A tired emperor.
A man who had lived too fast, burned too bright, and died too cruelly.
He let his lashes fall, as gently as butterfly wings.
'This time… I won't struggle. I won't fight. I won't die for someone else's story. If I am to be the villain, I will be the laziest, most bothersome villain they've ever seen.'
And as the nobles panicked around his slumped body, Cayenne smiled faintly. For the first time, it wasn't arrogance. It was a promise—to himself, and perhaps, to the restless shadows of Zergs still clawing at the void for him.
The villain was no longer the same.
The world simply didn't know it yet.
—
Cayenne Sethvyet stirred.
The world was dim, softened by the early morning sun spilling through heavy velvet curtains. The warmth of the bed pressed against him, a cocoon of softness that seemed almost criminal after the chaos of the night before. For a moment, he didn't remember where he was, or why the taste of iron lingered faintly in his mouth.
Then the memory crept back—the tea, the sudden sting, the dizzying collapse. He blinked slowly, allowing his voluminous, golden hair to tumble around his shoulders like a waterfall, catching the light with its silken sheen. His long lashes fluttered against pale cheeks, his sapphire eyes— brighter, clearer than ever— opening to take in the familiar yet suddenly alien room.
He was alive. Somehow alive.
A soft sigh escaped him. "Well… that was annoying."
It wasn't fear that lingered, nor panic. It was… tiredness. Exhaustion that came from living a thousand lifetimes in one. Cayenne shifted slightly, letting his slender, svelte fingers graze the cool sheets. Each touch felt exquisite, grounding him. A small smile tugged at his lips.
'I see. So the story begins anew.'
The child, who had been the archetypal noble brat—arrogant, gullible, easy to manipulate—was no more. In his place sat something different: a being who had seen the rise and fall of empires, who had commanded legions that spanned galaxies, whose heartbeat had been felt by thousands of obsessively devoted Zergs.
Yet the change was subtle. He didn't rise in a flurry of ambition. He didn't demand attention. He stretched, long and languid, letting the blankets fall loosely from his shoulders. His voice, mellifluous and gentle, echoed softly in the room.
"Breakfast… can wait," he murmured. "Everything else can wait too."
It was a decree, though it sounded like a suggestion. He had the air of a ruler, yes—but one who had discovered the true luxury of time: the power to do nothing.
From the corner of the room, a figure stirred. His personal attendant, young and nervous, had spent the night outside the boy's chamber after a failed attempt on his life. The man's eyes widened at the sight of Cayenne alive, sitting with the slow grace of someone who had all the time in the universe.
"Y-Your Highness… you're awake," the attendant stammered, relief and fear warring across his features.
Cayenne's smile was gentle, almost serene, but it carried an undercurrent of something dangerous. "I am. And I have… quite a bit of work to do today."
The attendant blinked. Work? At nine? But the boy didn't move, didn't rush. He leaned back against the pillows, a languid monarch surveying his kingdom, yet the soft intensity in his sapphire gaze suggested every word and motion mattered far more than anyone could imagine.
"You may… prepare tea," Cayenne continued, voice soft, almost musical. "Though I doubt I'll drink it. Perhaps the poison last night made me overly cautious. Or perhaps I simply enjoy testing your composure."
The attendant swallowed hard. His hands trembled as he bowed. "I… I understand, Your Highness."
Cayenne let out a small, amused laugh, almost inaudible, like a bell chiming in a distant tower. "No, you don't. And that's… perfectly fine."
His mind wandered, unbidden, to the Zergs—the loyal, overpowered creatures that had once been instruments of galactic warfare, whose entire existence had been tied to his own heartbeat. He could feel their devotion even now, a latent echo across realities. They would obey, yes. They would protect. But they were waiting, biding time, sensing his faint stirrings of will.
And Cayenne—languid, gentle, deceptively lazy—smiled.
'Let them wait.'
The events of the past night had changed him. He would no longer be the villain they expected. He would no longer be the prey to schemers and psychotics wandering for a thrill. He would do as he pleased. Slowly. Carefully. Lazily. And everyone—siblings, male leads, the entire court—would learn the price of underestimating him.
With a stretch, he let his pale, slender fingers brush across his hair, smoothing the cascade of golden strands over his shoulders. "Today," he murmured, voice soft yet resolute, "I begin the life I want to live. The rest… Can rot."
From somewhere deep, the faintest echo of claws skittered across metal floors— the Zergs, still linked to him, sensing the calm before the storm.
They were ready.
And Cayenne, languid emperor of a life reborn, simply smiled.