Too Lazy to be a Villainess

[Lavinia's POV—Within the Void]

The silence pulsed. A heartbeat made of nothing. Or maybe… my own. I wasn't sure anymore.

It was cold here—not the kind of cold that bit at your skin, but one that sank straight into the soul. Every breath, if it could be called that, felt heavy, like inhaling shadows. I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or closed; darkness looked the same either way.

"Am I… dead again?" I whispered.

No one answered. The words fell into the void and vanished, swallowed whole. Just like me.

I hugged my knees tighter, curling smaller, as if I could disappear into myself completely. My hands trembled against my legs. Even here, even in nothingness, I could still feel—the ache in my chest, the sting in my throat, and the echo of his voice.

Papa…

That word should have been a comfort, but it burned. Because if I reached for it—reached for him—I might have to remember everything else too.

The moment I remembered who I truly was. The blood that tied me to two worlds that would never accept me. The faces of those who had once loved me… and those who had watched me die.

Tears didn't fall here. They couldn't. The void drank everything before it ever reached the surface.

"I don't want to go back," I murmured to the dark. "It hurts there. Everything hurts."

The darkness stirred faintly—almost as if it listened.And then it answered.

A ripple, faint and soft, brushed across the emptiness. It wasn't sound, exactly. More like… thought. A whisper made of shadows.

"Then stay."

I froze. My eyes darted around, though there was nothing to see. Only darkness—endless and heavy. But that voice… that wasn't the voice of the void. It was too warm. Too human.

"No…" I whispered, shaking my head. "That wasn't the darkness."

My throat tightened. "Who… who is it?"

Silence answered. A long, suffocating silence that pressed against my chest like a weight.I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky laugh. "I guess… my ears were ringing."

Then—

"Lavinia…"

The voice came again. Soft. Gentle. A melody that drifted through the dark like a memory of sunlight. I shot to my feet, my heart pounding. The nothingness beneath me rippled like water.

"Who's there?!" I called, my voice echoing far, far away.

There was no answer. Just that silence again—deep, unbroken.

And then, slowly, the voice spoke once more. "Do you really want to stay here?"

I didn't answer. My throat locked. I could feel the words I wanted to say clawing at the inside of my chest, but they wouldn't come out.

Finally, I whispered, "Can I not even stay here?"

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, softly—almost like a mother humming to a restless child—came the reply:

"My dear… You can stay here if you feel safe. No one will lie to you. No one will leave."

My breath caught. It was tempting. So tempting.

The darkness wasn't cruel—it was safe. It didn't ask for anything. It didn't demand that I be strong, or forgiving, or brave. It just was. It let me hide. It let me rest.

And for a moment, I thought maybe that was enough. But beneath that calm whisper, something else stirred—faint, distant, but unmistakable.

A heartbeat. Not mine. Steady. Strong. Familiar.

Papa's.

The sound pulsed faintly through the void, and I turned toward it without thinking. The air trembled—or maybe it was me.

Before I could take a step, the voice spoke again. "Are you sure you want to stay here, my child?"

The words froze me where I stood.

That tone—tender, soft, almost loving—made something deep inside me twist. I clenched my fists.

"Don't call me 'my child'," I said, my voice shaking. "Only Papa has the right to call me that."

A soft laugh answered—fragile and sad. "But… you are my child, my dear."

I blinked, frowning. "What?"

And then… the darkness shimmered. Like a veil lifting. From within it, light unfurled—pale and soft, rippling through the void like the first dawn after endless night.

A woman stepped forward.

She wore a flowing white gown that glowed faintly against the shadows. Her hair, long and dark as midnight silk, framed a face I knew by heart—though I had only seen it in faded portraits.

Eyes—green like emerald leaves glistening in morning dew—looked at me with warmth that felt achingly familiar.

My breath caught. My heart stuttered.

"Mo… Mother?"

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, so full of affection that my knees nearly gave out.

"I see…" she whispered softly, stepping closer. "So my sweetheart recognizes me."

Her voice was gentle. Calm. I stood frozen, staring at her, my hands trembling, my heart torn between disbelief and desperate hope. The void around us seemed to fade, growing thinner and weaker, as if it too dared not intrude on this moment.

She was my mother.The one who had given me life.

Now, she stood before me—smiling, radiant, and impossibly real.

And all I could whisper was, "...Mother."

***

[Emperor Cassius's POV—Imperial Palace, Dawn]

The sky outside the palace was pale—neither night nor morning—that bleak hour when even light seems unsure if it should return.

I hadn't left her side. Not for a second.

The healers had begged me to rest, but how could I? My daughter—my precious daughter—still lay motionless, her chest rising and falling in fragile rhythm. A faint shimmer of magic pulsed around her, soft as moonlight, but it wasn't ours. It was hers.

Her power had awakened. And it terrified me.

The air inside the chamber shimmered with tension—the scent of herbs, the low hum of incantations, and the sound of Solena's quiet chirps from the windowsill. Marshi still curled protectively beside Lavinia, his tail flicking now and then, every motion restless and defensive.

Theon stood by the door, stiff and sleepless. His usual laziness had vanished entirely—replaced by grim focus. Ravick stood beside him, silent, eyes flicking toward me every few minutes as if afraid I'd collapse.

Osric? He stood there, eyes on her.

The silence broke with the sharp clang of the great doors.

SLAM!!!

The doors burst open—the cold wind of dawn sweeping into the hall, snuffing out half the torches and scattering parchment across the floor.

I looked up sharply.

Three figures stood framed in the light of the rising sun—tall, cloaked, regal, and unmistakably elven.

"MY PRECIOUS!!!"

The thunderous cry belonged to none other than Thalein, the ancient Lord of Nivale, Lavinia's grandfather. His usually serene composure was gone—his eyes wide, his voice breaking as he hurried forward, robes billowing behind him.

Eryndor and Lysandre followed close, their faces pale with fear, their movements too swift to match their kind's usual grace.

Thalein's gaze landed on the bed, on the small, pale figure lying motionless amidst silken sheets and glowing wards. He froze, breath catching, his hands trembling.

"What… what happened to her?" His voice cracked—half fury, half terror.

I rose from my chair, my body heavy with sleeplessness but my mind sharp with dread. "She fainted," I said hoarsely. "And she hasn't stirred since. The priest believes… she has locked herself within a void."

Silence followed.A silence so deep that even the hum of magic seemed to falter.

Lysandre was the first to break it. His tone was clipped, disbelief warring with dawning realization."Wait… are you saying Lavinia has awakened her power?"

No one answered. We didn't need to. The truth hung in the air, pulsing softly from the faint golden shimmer around her body.

Thalein took a slow step forward. The light seemed to sense him—stirring, flickering—like a child reaching for something familiar. He knelt beside the bed, his hand hovering over her forehead.

He didn't touch her. He didn't dare.

And yet the moment his hand neared, the air shifted—Lavinia's magic reacted, pulsing gently, as if greeting him.

Thalein's lips trembled. "She's trapped herself deep," he whispered, voice breaking under the weight of grief. "Far deeper than I feared."

Eryndor took a step closer, his jaw tight, eyes glassy. "Grandfather… is there a way to reach her?"

Thalein didn't answer immediately. He simply stared at Lavinia—the granddaughter who carried the legacy of two worlds, lying silent between life and dream.

I swallowed hard, forcing the question out. "Tell me what to do. How do I bring her back?"

At that, Thalein finally turned to me. His eyes—green like ancient forests—were heavy with both power and sorrow.

"We must bring her back," he said softly, but there was steel in his tone. "Before the void claims her completely."

He rose slowly, his cloak whispering against the floor as he faced me fully. "She has entered the realm of her own magic—her essence. It is a place where light and shadow merge, where her fears take form. She is not merely unconscious, Cassius—she is lost within herself."

My heart clenched. "Then guide me there," I demanded. "Take me to her."

Thalein's expression hardened. "It is not that simple. Even for us, entering another's essence is forbidden—it risks tearing the soul itself."

"Then I don't care about the rules of elves," I snapped, stepping closer, my voice shaking. "She is my daughter. I will walk into that void myself if I must."

For a moment, Thalein's gaze met mine—ancient, assessing, filled with something almost like pity.

He sighed, his voice quiet. "You truly are her father," he murmured. "Reckless. Stubborn. Willing to defy heaven and hell alike."

Then, more firmly, he said, "Very well. But if you wish to follow her, Emperor, then you must understand—her void will not welcome you. It will test you. It will show you her pain, her doubts, her fears… and your own."

"I don't care," I said through clenched teeth. "If that's what it takes, I'll face them all."

Thalein nodded slowly, the faintest ghost of a sad smile crossing his lips."Then let us prepare. The bond between father and daughter will be your guide. But remember, Cassius…"

He placed a trembling hand over Lavinia's heart."If you lose yourself in her darkness, neither of you may return."