The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Amberine lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence of the night weighing heavily on her. The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint embers flickering in the fireplace. She knew she needed to sleep—she wanted to sleep—but her mind wouldn't quiet. Every time she closed her eyes, his voice echoed in her thoughts.

"Yes."

That single word had haunted her since the moment he said it. She had confronted Draven, her professor, the man she had admired and hated in equal measure, and demanded to know the truth. Had he really killed her father? She had expected denial, some cold dismissal. But instead, he had looked her straight in the eyes, his gaze as sharp as ever, and answered without hesitation.

"Yes."

The finality of it had struck her like a physical blow. Her father, the man who had taught her everything she knew about magic, who had been her first and only true mentor, was dead because of Draven. Anger boiled inside her, bubbling up every time she thought about it. Hatred, deep and raw, surged through her veins, making her chest tighten with fury.

How could he say it so calmly, so coldly, as if it didn't matter?

Amberine clenched her fists under the covers, her nails digging into her palms. She could still see her father's face, his warm smile as he watched her practice spells in the garden, his patient voice guiding her through the complexities of fire magic. He had been everything to her—teacher, protector, family. And now he was gone.

Stolen from her by the very man she had once respected, despite his coldness.

Her mind drifted back to the day her father had first shown her how to summon flames with a flick of her wrist. She had been so small, barely able to control the fire, but he had been there, encouraging her, always pushing her to be better. The memory made her chest ache. She had been so young, so full of promise. And now… what was she?

A failed apprentice. A girl lost in anger and confusion.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn't cry. Not for him. Not for the man who had taken her father's life.

But then, another image crept into her mind. A memory, sharp and unexpected. It was of Draven, not cold and untouchable as she usually saw him, but in pain. She remembered the day he had saved her life during the royal banquet at the royal castle, the day he had sacrificed his own hand to protect her from the demon that about to kill her.

She had been helpless, about to be struck down, and Draven had thrown himself in harm's way without hesitation. His face had contorted in pain as the spell hit, but he didn't flinch. He didn't let it stop him. He had saved her.

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The memory unsettled her. It didn't fit with the man she had built up in her mind—the ruthless professor, the murderer of her father. And yet, she couldn't deny that she had seen it. She had witnessed his suffering, his sacrifice. It was a side of Draven she doubted many people had ever seen. Maybe no one else had seen it at all.

Amberine let out a shaky breath, torn between the image of her father's murderer and the man who had saved her life. Hatred and confusion warred inside her, each pulling her in different directions. How could someone so heartless also be capable of such selflessness?

Her hand reached up to her face, wiping away the moisture that had gathered there. She hadn't even realized she'd been crying. With a frustrated sigh, she rolled onto her side, her fiery red hair spilling across the pillow. She stared at the wall, willing herself to push the thoughts away, to stop the endless replay of the past. But it was no use.

The memories kept coming, swirling together in a mess of emotions she didn't know how to handle.

The room felt stifling, the air heavy with the weight of her thoughts. She let out another sigh, long and drawn out, as if she could expel the turmoil in her chest with her breath.

Then, without warning, a familiar presence stirred beside her.

Ifrit, her fire spirit, appeared at her side, his usual blazing form dimmed to a soft glow. Normally, he stayed hidden beneath her robes, a barely noticeable heat that accompanied her wherever she went. But now, he stood beside her bed, his fiery essence flickering gently in the dark.

Amberine blinked, surprised by his appearance. Ifrit rarely showed himself like this, and when he did, he was always a mass of swirling flames, too intense to look at directly. But now… now she could see his true form. His flames had receded, revealing the creature beneath. Ifrit was not the fierce salamander she had always imagined.

Instead, he stood on two legs, his slender, scaled body more delicate than she had ever expected. His eyes glowed softly, reflecting the flicker of the fireplace.

Amberine stared at him in silence, unsure of what to say. It was strange, seeing him like this—so vulnerable, almost… gentle.

Ifrit approached her slowly, his steps cautious, as though he sensed the turmoil inside her. He stopped just beside her pillow, his glowing eyes fixed on hers.

"Amberine," he said, his voice soft but resonant, as if it carried the weight of ages. "You cannot sleep."

She let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. "No," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I can't."

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For a moment, Ifrit said nothing, simply watching her with those ancient, wise eyes. Then, he spoke again, his tone measured, thoughtful. "I have been with you for a long time, Amberine. I have seen your anger, your pain. But I have also seen your strength."

Amberine closed her eyes, her throat tightening as the emotions she had been holding back threatened to spill over. "I don't feel strong," she whispered.

Ifrit's small hand reached out, resting gently on her arm. His touch was warm, but not burning. It was the kind of warmth that soothed rather than scorched. "Strength is not always in what we show to others," he said quietly. "It is in how we endure. How we carry the weight of what we cannot change."

Amberine's chest ached at his words. She opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling again, her voice barely audible. "I hate him, Ifrit. I hate him for what he did."

There was a long pause before Ifrit responded, his voice softer now, more compassionate. "Hatred is easy, Amberine. It is a fire that burns bright and consumes quickly. But not all truths can be seen from the flames of anger."

She turned her head slightly, looking at him through tear-filled eyes. "What do you mean?"

Ifrit's glowing eyes met hers, steady and calm. "Not everyone can know the full extent of the truth," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "History is written by those who survive, but the real truth… the real truth is only seen by those who witness it from the beginning. Your father's death, the choices made—these are pieces of a larger story. And you, Amberine, are only now starting to understand."

Amberine felt the weight of his words pressing down on her. She wanted to argue, to push back against the idea that there was more to the story. But deep down, she knew Ifrit was right. She didn't know the whole truth. She had only seen fragments—her father's kindness, Draven's cruelty. There was so much she didn't understand, so much she couldn'tunderstand without knowing everything.

"There is no use," Ifrit continued softly, "in lamenting what you do not know. The past is a flame that has already burned. You cannot change it. You can only choose how you let it shape you."

Amberine's breath hitched, her chest tight as a sob escaped her. She hadn't realized just how much she had been holding in until that moment, the dam of her emotions finally breaking. The tears came faster now, silent but heavy, her body shaking with the force of them.

Ifrit didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. Instead, he placed his tiny hand on her back, and the warmth that radiated from him was different this time. It wasn't the intense heat of his flames, but a gentle, soothing warmth that spread through her body, easing the tension in her muscles, calming the storm in her mind.

Amberine buried her face in the pillow, her sobs quiet but persistent. Ifrit remained by her side, his hand never leaving her back, his presence a constant, comforting force. The warmth he gave her wasn't just physical—it was emotional, a reminder that she wasn't alone, that there was still someone who cared.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, and slowly, Amberine's sobs began to fade. Her breathing evened out, the tightness in her chest easing. The tears dried on her cheeks, and for the first time that night, the weight in her heart felt just a little lighter.

She didn't know if she could ever forgive Draven. She didn't know if she would ever understand why he had done what he did. But Ifrit's words had planted a seed of doubt in her anger, a small crack in the wall of hatred she had built around herself.

Maybe there was more to the story than she realized. Maybe, just maybe, the truth was more complicated than she wanted to believe.