Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 38: Ridiculous

"What?" I say, pausing mid-motion, unsure if I heard him correctly. My hand freezes over the weeds, and I look at Roman, waiting for him to repeat himself, hoping I misunderstood.

Roman sighs, avoiding my eyes, his voice heavy. "Victor was poking around your disappearance... pissed off the wrong people."

My heart stutters in my chest. "What for?" I ask, dumbfounded, my confusion quickly morphing into anger. The tension in my body coils tight, my thoughts racing to keep up with the implications of his words.

Roman looks down, his expression one of exhaustion. "Apparently, Victor is being accused of being responsible for the suspicious disappearance and suspected murder of war hero, the Crimson General—Thorne Alden." He scoffs, as if the absurdity of the accusation is too much to handle, even for him.

I blink, the sheer stupidity of it momentarily silencing me. Then the anger hits, slow at first, then rapidly building. "That’s ridiculous! Victor would never do anything like that, and even if he wanted to, the man doesn’t have enough brains to pull off a stunt like that," I snap, the absurdity of the claim grinding against my last nerve.

"I thought so too," Roman says quietly. "But everyone who could clear his name has either been bought off, fallen ill, or had suspicious accidents." His voice drops, sounding more defeated than I’ve ever heard him.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply to steady the rage rising in my chest. It wasn’t enough that they tried to kill me, now they’re dragging Victor into this mess. The man was nothing if not loyal—loyal to a fault, and now he’s paying for it.

I let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Give me some time." The words come out clipped, more a command than anything. Roman doesn’t push, just nods and silently leaves.

Once he’s gone, I sit down on the dirt ground, the weight of it all pressing me down. I thought I could leave all of this behind. But the past always has a way of creeping back, doesn’t it?

I barely register the sound of footsteps approaching until I feel a presence settle next to me. Noelle.

"How much did you hear?" I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Everything," Noelle replies softly.

I let out a long sigh and lean my head against his shoulder, seeking comfort in his steady presence. The warmth of his body next to mine feels grounding, yet my mind is racing, filled with the things I don’t want to face.

"You have to go," he says, his voice gentle but firm.

"I know," I reply, resignation creeping into my words. It’s the last thing I want to do, but deep down, I’ve always known it would come to this.

"You’re sad," Noelle says, his tone soft, almost as if he’s afraid to disturb the fragile calm that’s settled between us.

"I love our life here," I confess, already mourning the quiet, peaceful days we’ve built together. It feels like I’m losing it all before I’ve even had the chance to fully appreciate it.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then, in that knowing way of his, he says, "You know what’s funny? I’ve always known we would have to leave someday."

I turn to look at him, a little surprised. "Huh? Really? Since when?" I ask, curious how long he’s had this feeling.

"Since you told me about your life in the capital, your life on the battlefield," he begins, his eyes distant as if remembering those nights we spent talking. "I thought, my alpha is such an amazing man. There’s no way we’d have this peaceful life forever."

I frown slightly, the ache in my chest growing. "But I don’t want to be this amazing man. I don’t want to be a general or a hero. I just want to be your alpha," I say, my voice dipping into a quiet whine. "I want to be the father of our four and a half kids."

At that, Noelle chuckles softly, but there’s a sadness behind it.

"You remember that?" he asks, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

He’s talking about that winter night, the first time we ever got drunk together. Noelle had slurred through his dream of having four and a half kids, a large garden, and even more farmland.

"I’ve never been the type who wanted kids," I admit, leaning into the memory, "but since that night, I’ve had this version of the future in my head. With you. When I close my eyes, I can see it so clearly. The mini versions of you and me running around, destroying your beloved plants." The image is so vivid in my mind, so tangible, that it hurts to even think of letting it go.

Noelle is quiet for a moment, then he speaks, his voice laced with a yearning that mirrors my own. "Wow. You really thought it through, didn’t you?"

I nod slowly. "Down to the names," I say, watching as a pair of butterflies flit around a nearby flower, their delicate movements so peaceful, so unlike the storm of emotions inside me.

I can feel him smiling beside me, but there’s a weight to the air between us now. We both know the peace we’ve built here is slipping through our fingers, and no matter how hard I try to hold on, reality is pulling me away.

I grab Noelle’s hand, gently interlinking our fingers. His hand feels small and delicate in mine, a contrast that somehow makes me feel both protective and vulnerable at the same time. I glance down at our joined hands, noting how much smaller his arm is compared to mine, yet the strength I find in his touch is undeniable.

The warmth of his skin against mine is grounding, a reminder of the life we’ve built here—simple, quiet, and full of moments like this. But as comforting as it is, the weight of the decision ahead lingers, pulling me further from the peace we’ve created.