Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 206: Anymore

I’m not dead, I think to myself as I sit by the window, sunlight spilling across the wooden floor. My gaze drifts to my son, sitting cross-legged with his wooden toys spread out around him. His little brow furrows in concentration as he carefully stacks one block on top of another, his tiny hands steady and sure.

Without Thorne, I didn’t think I would ever feel this okay, let alone happy.

I lean back in the chair, my fingers brushing over the armrest as I watch him. He’s a perfect blend of us, carrying Victor’s dark, unruly mane of black hair but my green eyes and smile. My chest tightens with a warmth that’s both comforting and overwhelming.

The setting sun bathes the room in a golden glow, the kind of light that makes everything feel a little more magical, a little more peaceful. I stretch, my joints popping softly, and just as I stand, I hear it—the unmistakable clippity-clop of hooves approaching.

"Daddy!" my son shouts, his small voice brimming with excitement, and I can’t help but laugh. He knows exactly who’s arrived, as if his little heart has been tuned to Victor’s presence from the moment he was born.

I scoop him up, his giggles infectious, and we move to the window. Together, we watch as Victor dismounts his horse, his polished armor gleaming faintly in the fading light. He carries himself with a quiet strength, the very image of poise and control. No one would ever guess that he was once known as the Mad Dog.

"Daddy!" my son yells again, wriggling in my arms with boundless energy, and I chuckle as I turn from the window. "Alright, let’s go see him."

The stairs creak under our feet as we descend, my son’s anticipation bubbling over in the form of excited squeals and endless fidgeting. I hold him tighter, his warmth pressed against me, and my heart swells at the thought of the life we’ve built.

After two flights of stairs and an anxious, giddy little bundle of energy in my arms, we reach the bottom. Victor is already there, his arms wide open, and our son practically launches himself from me into his embrace. The hall fills with the sound of giggles and soft laughter as Victor spins him around, his deep voice rumbling with affection. Watching them together is a quiet kind of joy. Victor is an amazing father and an even more incredible husband—attentive, caring, and endlessly patient. These past couple of years, despite everything, have been more fulfilling than I ever thought possible.

Victor’s laughter echoes behind me as I leave them to their bonding and head toward the kitchen. Dinner’s already prepared, I’m sure. Nancy’s efficiency leaves me spoiled—I truly don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s more than just a chef or a nanny; she’s the glue that keeps our little home running smoothly.

I glance around the house as I walk, a content smile tugging at my lips. It isn’t a sprawling estate or a cold, impersonal castle, but it’s perfect. A six-bedroom haven: one room for Victor and me, one for our son, two for the staff, and a couple of spares just in case. It’s more than enough. There’s warmth here, something I’d never felt in the grand, empty halls of my childhood home.

Reaching the kitchen, I lift the lid off a pot and inhale the rich, savory aroma of stew. Nancy, as expected, has outdone herself again. I set about warming everything, my mind drifting back to the laughter echoing through the halls.

This is the life I chose, the life we built together, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Younger me would’ve been horrified at that thought, the very idea of finding comfort in such a simple, quiet life with someone not Thorne. The notion makes me chuckle softly. I can almost see my younger self, wide-eyed with disbelief, shaking his head at this newfound contentment.

Speaking of which, I really should write to my sister back in Aspen. I asked her to leave with us amidst the chaos, but she chose to stay, as did my father. Their decision still baffles me. I understand their attachment to the place—it was home for them, after all—but for me? I’ve never held any sentimental value for that kingdom.

I wonder how my father is faring now. The rumors we heard after we left... they painted a disturbing picture. We eventually learned why he often stares blankly into space, lost in some dark, distant memory. Apparently, something happened at the castle that day. He was drugged, and while I refuse to dwell on the details, the thought of my father and the king, the very old king is enough to churn my stomach. Whatever occurred, it must’ve been horrifying, enough to leave scars no one could see.

No one knows the full story, though it’s clear that the incident shattered something within him before anyone could find out the reason, the crown prince—deranged and out of control—made the fatal mistake of targeting Noelle. And everything unraveled after that.

As much as I understand Thorne’s grief and rage over what happened, as much as I can empathize with the unbearable loss he must’ve felt, I can never forgive him for the destruction that followed. Thousands of lives lost in the blaze of his fury, entire cities left in ruin. His wrath was relentless, unyielding, and devastating.

The messy way our son eats is an amusing sight. It reminds me of Victor before he was subjected to etiquette lessons upon inheriting my father’s title. Not that those lessons stuck for long—we eventually abandoned the formalities. Watching the little one now, it’s clear he’s his father’s son through and through. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

"Sure, how was work?" I ask, sliding another piece of chicken onto our son’s plate.

Victor groans, leaning back in his chair. "Same old, same old. Paperwork. I don’t know why a city guard needs to do this much paperwork," he says with a dramatic sigh.

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. "You’d think they’d prioritize action over bureaucracy."

"Tell that to my superiors," he mutters, though there’s no real venom in his tone. We lapse into a comfortable silence after that, the only sounds being the clatter of utensils and the occasional giggle from our son.

I glance at Victor. He tries to hide it, but I know him too well. He’s not exactly the happiest with our current lives. Then again, neither am I. We’re far from the dreams we once had, but reality has a way of twisting even the best-laid plans.

"Gimme!" Tiny hands wave eagerly in the air, breaking the moment as our son demands another piece of chicken. I hand it over, smiling as he devours it with gusto. Well what can we do, our lives are not solely ours anymore.