Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 152: Stars shine

Chapter 152: Stars shine

I drop the shirt, letting the fabric fall back into place, and my feet carry me almost of their own accord to the table nearby. There, amidst scattered papers and an old ink bottle, I find a blank sheet and a pen. Writing has become my strange, fragile solace in these moments of overwhelming loneliness and uncertainty. So, I sit down, my hands trembling slightly, and begin to write.

They’re letters to Thorne, each one a piece of my heart put to paper. Sometimes they’re simple, filled with the mundane details of my daily life: what we ate that day, how the garden is coming along, or the small, silly things Mimi did that made me laugh. I tell him about our daughter, about how she’s growing so fast, about her laughter that echoes through the empty halls. I paint pictures with words, trying to make him feel as though he’s here, sharing these moments with us.

Other times, the letters hold the deepest parts of my thoughts, things I don’t dare voice aloud. Fears, dreams, memories. I spill everything out, as though my words might somehow reach him wherever he is, as though he might know that I’m fighting to hold on, for him and for our daughter.

But then there are days like today, when the words come out sharp and venomous, born of the anger and the aching loneliness that never quite leaves. I curse him out, hurl insults onto the page that I know are unfair, but I can’t help it. I write things I would never say to his face, things I know he doesn’t deserve. How dare he not be here? How dare he leave me to face this alone, to carry this heavy burden without him?

I know it’s not his fault. I know it’s beyond his control, that he would be here if he could. But resentment is a cruel and insidious thing, and it latches onto the spaces where I feel most vulnerable. I didn’t realize, not truly, how much I depended on Thorne’s strong arms and steady presence until they were gone. It feels like someone has swept the rug out from under me, and I’ve been left stumbling on a wobbly tightrope, desperately trying to keep my balance without the safety net I’d come to rely on.

I stop writing for a moment, my chest heaving as the frustration and grief bubble up. I grip the pen so tightly that my knuckles turn white, and I stare at the angry words I’ve scrawled, tears stinging my eyes. I don’t know how to feel anything but fractured, unsteady, like a glass on the verge of shattering.

But I write on, pouring everything out. Because it’s the only way I know how to survive the long nights and the endless worry. Because maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll read these letters, and he’ll understand everything I’ve felt. He’ll know that even in my anger, I never stopped needing him. I never stopped

loving him.

***

In a different place of the grand palace, the air is thick with tension. A man in a black robe slips out of the king’s private chambers, his face shrouded in darkness, his steps calculated and silent against the polished marble floors. He moves with the confidence of someone who knows every twist and turn of the palace, every corridor that leads into shadow. What makes this man truly remarkable—truly dangerous—isn’t just the regal air of mystery he exudes. It’s the whispers of infamy trailing in his wake: the same man responsible for the fire that devoured the Church of Elaris, the same man who bribed the merchant at the Aspen port.

He walks with purpose, his robe billowing in his wake, until he reaches his private quarters deep within the palace. With a flick of his wrist, he shuts the heavy wooden door behind him, ensuring no curious ears are nearby. The moment the lock clicks into place, the composure he maintained in public shatters.

A primal scream erupts from his throat, raw and furious. He lashes out, his anger consuming him as he smashes furniture to splinters, shattering delicate porcelain and sending books flying from their shelves. A gilded mirror cracks under his fist, splintering his reflection into jagged, distorted fragments. His rage fills the room, but eventually, the chaos stills, and he stands there, chest heaving, surrounded by destruction.

He begins muttering to himself, words dripping with venom and fear. But he isn’t talking to himself—not really. A figure detaches from the shadows in the corner of the room, almost materializing from the darkness itself. The newcomer is cloaked in black as well, his presence ghostly and unnerving.

"Explain to me," the first man snarls, his voice cracking like a whip, "why the king summoned me to inform me there’s a man scouring the entire capital for an omega with green eyes and a female toddler accompanied by a little girl." His rage flares again, and he slams his hand onto the splintered remains of a table, the sound echoing through the room.

The shadowy figure hesitates, but only for a moment. "I covered our tracks," he begins, his voice low and steady, as if hoping to pacify his enraged superior.

The robed man’s eyes blaze with fury.

"If you had done such a fucking good job," he spits, "then why the hell would I have been summoned by the king? Why would he be questioning me?" He picks up a shattered piece of porcelain and hurls it across the room, watching it shatter with a grim sense of satisfaction.

His lips curl into a sinister smile, though the fire in his eyes doesn’t cool.

"Listen to me," he hisses, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Finding that unruly Mirelle’s son was supposed to be my triumph, my rise to power. I’ve earned my standing among nobles, my comfort, and there have even been talks about granting me a title of my own." His gaze sharpens, and he leans in, his voice now dripping with cunning ambition. "I am not going to let something like this ruin me."

The shadowed man doesn’t move, his presence an unmoving silhouette of obedience and fear. "I understand," he says quietly.

The robed man straightens, his voice becoming colder, more commanding.

"Whoever this is—this husband, I assume—take care of it. Make sure he regrets even thinking about this search." The order hangs heavily in the room, and the shadowy figure nods once before melting back into the darkness, as if

he’d never been there.

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