Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
248 – Surface Tension

"Well, well, Lord Navarre, is that you?" Eos Kirmizi, the pristine white-winged unicorn, greeted with mild surprise. "You have... legs."

Aidyl Navarre gave a sheepish smile. "Yes, it appears I underestimated the mana density of this landlocked kingdom—and the unfortunate distance from the ocean. My highly adaptable body decided to take matters into its own hands. Or rather, its own legs."

"How enviable," Eos mused. "If only we unicorns could spontaneously remodel ourselves like that."

Aidyl let out a thoughtful hum, resuming his walk through the corridor this morning, now alongside Eos. "Must be quite the restrictive existence. I can’t even imagine being stuck in just one form."

Unicorns, after all, were the embodiment of purity, truth, and blessings. They couldn't outright lie—but that didn’t mean they weren’t masterful manipulators. Take Moslast, for instance, the unicorn Burn had the pleasure of slaughtering and devouring. 

Moslast had an interesting little hobby: coercing desperate virgin women into surrendering their chastity in exchange for minor blessings. Technically not illegal. But preying on young women and children with nothing to lose? That was a one-way ticket to moral bankruptcy.

And, of course, everything had a price. Vampires who gorged on sentient blood eventually became walking allergy attacks around Holy Power. Likewise, unicorns who strayed too far from their True Good attributes? They got an upgrade—right into the charmingly twisted existence of a bicorn.

"Lord Burn was right," Aidyl muttered, rubbing his chin. "We’re like two sides of the same cursed coin. Our bodies can cure just about anything, yet our attributes couldn’t be more at odds."

Unicorns were the darlings of the world—prized for their blessings, their ability to grant luck, and, on rare occasions, even love itself. Merfolk, on the other hand? They were avoided because they didn’t give luck, blessings, or love—they received them, but only if they successfully lured someone into the depths.

Then there was the matter of transformation. Unicorns, bound by their truth attribute, were locked into their form, as if the universe had declared, one look fits all.

Meanwhile, merfolk were the epitome of adaptability, shifting into whatever best suited their surroundings before they even had the time to process the change. When you lived in an environment that could kill you in a dozen different ways before breakfast, evolution didn't wait for permission.

For a unicorn to become a bicorn was no simple matter—it was a slow descent, a deliberate unraveling of their very nature. But once the transformation was complete, there was no room for doubt. A bicorn wasn’t just tainted—it was wholly and irreversibly corrupt.

Merfolk, by contrast, had no such struggle. Becoming a siren was as easy as breathing, an effortless shift dictated more by circumstance than by sin. And unlike bicorns, sirens weren’t inherently wicked—just changed. Adapted.

The difference lay in the aftermath. A siren, for all its eerie allure, still retained the merfolk’s miraculous healing properties, their bodies just as valuable in death as they were in life. A bicorn, however, was another story entirely. Whatever divine essence they once held was gone.

A fitting consequence, perhaps. Those who twisted their gifts into something monstrous found themselves stripped of them entirely.

Perhaps that was why sirens longed so desperately for blessings, luck, and love—so much so that they became creatures of allure, drawing sailors into their grasp, hoping that this time, fortune would finally favor them.

After all, a single fateful encounter with the right person could change everything. Prosperity, security, even love—just one stroke of luck could grant them the very things they had spent their existence yearning for. And if the ocean wouldn’t grant them those gifts freely, then they would simply take matters into their own hands.

"Lord Navarre, isn't it rather irresponsible for a monarch like you to leave the ocean unattended? And, well… if we’re being honest, should you even be leaving it at all?" Eos asked, curiosity laced in his tone. "You could always send someone else to attend the Mythical Assembly."

"Why?" Aidyl chuckled, tilting his head. "Worried my people might stray?" His smirk was sharp, his voice dripping with amusement. "Let them try."

Eos let out a deep, amused laugh. "Such confidence."

Now fully dressed like the land-dwellers—an experience in itself—the monarch took a moment to marvel at the sheer absurdity of air and wind. No crushing weight of the deep, no relentless pressure threatening to squeeze the life out of him. Just open space and a breeze that, while novel, felt oddly invasive.

He took a deep breath, exhaled like he actually belonged here, and nodded. “The surface is so amusing,” he mused, equal parts wonder and thinly veiled superiority.

“Wait until you see the sky,” Eos chimed in. “Let me take you flying after the assembly.”

Aidyl’s eyes widened, feigning exaggerated excitement. “You’d personally chauffeur me? How generous. That does sound like fun.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “In that case, I suppose it’s only fair I return the favor with a grand tour under the sea. Now, let’s figure out how to drag you into the depths without drowning you…”

Eos neighed, shaking his immaculate white mane as his wings fluttered with barely contained excitement. “I simply can’t wait!”

“I’ll be the perfect host for you,” Aidyl declared with his usual flair. “It’s only right that I prepare a grand undersea banquet fit for a king—ensure you feel right at ho—”

He abruptly stopped mid-sentence, his confidence evaporating like mist under the sun.

Princess Shorof Reyrie had just passed by, walking beside her sister, both trailing behind their mother—the Elven Queen herself.

The once-proud and self-assured ruler of the ocean all but shriveled, shoulders tightening as if he were trying to make himself invisible.

Eos blinked. “Lord Navarre, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aidyl muttered hastily, eyes glued to the floor as if hoping it would swallow him whole. His hand, entirely of its own accord, drifted to his crotch—just in case.

Because if there was even the slightest chance that Princess Shorof Reyrie was about to relive that night in vivid detail and react accordingly… he needed to be prepared.

Shorof kept walking, her posture straight, her expression calm—too calm. Aidyl, on the other hand, remained stiff as a board, staring at the floor like it had personally wronged him.

Eos raised a brow. Something was off. Aidyl had been brimming with confidence just seconds ago, and now? He looked like a man on the verge of a spiritual crisis.

Meanwhile, Shorof—who had every reason to ignore his existence—didn’t so much as glance at him. But Aidyl swore he saw the tiniest twitch of her fingers, the way her hands clenched just slightly before she relaxed them again.

He swallowed. She remembers.

Of course, she remembered.

How could she not?

That night was burned into his memory with the force of a divine curse, and judging by the faint stiffness in her stride, it was the same for her. Yet, worst of all, neither of them could acknowledge it. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

Shorof disappeared down the hall. Aidyl exhaled, running a hand down his face.

Eos’ equine visage frowned. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

Aidyl sighed. “I’d rather not talk about it.”