Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 153: Reconsider

Chapter 153: Reconsider

Callan watched Thorne walk away, his gaze lingering on the figure that so closely resembled Celia. The resemblance was uncanny: those piercing blue eyes, nose and facial features. Thorne carried the kind of beauty that Callan had long associated with Celia, but that was where the similarities ended.

Where Celia had always been gentle and warm, Thorne was a storm of anger and pain, a smoldering fury simmering beneath the surface. It was a rage Callan didn’t entirely understand but couldn’t really blame him for. A pang of guilt twisted in his chest, feeling partly at fault. During their teenage years, Celia had devoted herself to caring for him, pampering and doting on a version of Callan who had been moody, ungrateful, and difficult. All the while, her own son had been sent to the battlefield, facing the horror of war, risking his life day after day.

The shame burned deep. It felt wrong, so profoundly unjust, that he had taken the place in Celia’s heart that should have belonged to her own flesh and blood. And now, seeing Thorne, Callan couldn’t help but notice the cold distance between mother and son, a chasm of hurt that neither seemed to know how to bridge. He didn’t like the way Thorne treated Celia, though. Didn’t Thorne see how hard she was trying? She had made mistakes, yes, but wasn’t she also seeking redemption? Wasn’t she trying to make amends?

Callan let out a weary sigh.

"Callan, do you think he hates us?" a small voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned to find his younger brother, Rian, looking up at him with wide, worried blue eyes. Rian’s curly white hair. Callan couldn’t help but smile, though it was tinged with sorrow. He reached out and ruffled Rian’s hair, trying to bring some levity into the moment.

"There’s no way," Callan reassured, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. "He’s just... hurting."

Rian stepped away from Callan’s reach, but his gaze remained fixed on Thorne, who had become a silhouette in the distance. The jealousy Callan felt was irrational, he knew that. But it hurt nonetheless. Thorne, with all his achievements and that solemn, brooding presence, had come into their lives and turned everything upside down. Up until a few months ago, Callan had been the model older brother. He had been the one Rian looked up to. But how could he compete with someone like Thorne? Someone who had built himself up from nothing, someone who exuded strength and tenacity.

Rian shifted uncomfortably. "Besides," Callan added, trying to mask the ache with a smile, "even if Thorne does hate us, you still have Rhea and me, don’t you?"

Rhea, who stood beside them with her arms crossed, nodded in agreement. She was a vision of their father, both in her physical appearance and in her supernatural gift of water control, unlike Callan and their father, who wielded ice. Her grey eyes were calm but observant.

Rian bit his lip, hesitant. "I know," he said softly. "It’s just... I don’t know. He’s so much like me. I mean... never mind."

Before Callan could question him further, Rian turned and walked away, leaving a perplexed silence in his wake. Callan exchanged a puzzled look with Rhea, who seemed equally confused. What had Rian meant by that? What kind of connection did he see between himself and Thorne?

***

The sound of giggles and baby babble drifts over, warming me from the inside out. I look up from the book in my lap, a small smile tugging at my lips as I watch Mona playing with Mimi on the picnic blanket a few feet away. Mona has a knack for making Mimi laugh, and seeing them together like this fills me with a comfort I can’t quite describe. It’s a kind of fragile peace, a stillness I don’t often feel anymore, but one I cling to desperately.

Mimi, my sweet little miracle. I honestly don’t know what I would do without her. Even on the darkest nights, when the memories are suffocating and sleep is just a distant hope, she’s the light that keeps me going. I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and turn back to the book in my hands. It’s old, one of my mother’s. The cover is worn, the title embossed in faded gold: Tales of the Alpha and Omega Pairing. I had scoffed when I first picked it up. When I’d asked one of the maids about it, she told me that this was a traditional book given to young Omegas in Vitra when they come of age.

Out of curiosity—and maybe boredom—I decided to read it. After all, in this place, there isn’t much to do beyond trying to keep the shadows at bay and hoping for news from Thorne. The irony is not lost on me: I went into marriage blind, with only a vague understanding of the traditions and expectations. I even had a child, all without really knowing the intricacies of our bond. A small chuckle escapes me at the thought.

I flip through the pages, skimming the anatomy and biology sections. It’s nothing I don’t already know. Then, something catches my eye—an entire section dedicated to the types of marriage licenses and ceremonies in Vitra. I pause, leaning in closer as I read. The most popular ceremony, it turns out, is under the Church of the Sun. Rings are exchanged, simple and elegant, symbolizing an eternal promise. But then, my eyes trail down to a less popular option: the binding ceremony of the Church of Elaris. It’s the one Thorne and I chose.

My fingers trace the words. The ceremony involves the use of a collar, a tradition often frowned upon in Vitra. Many see it as unfair to the Alpha, claiming that it binds them too tightly in a mating agreement that limits their freedom. But I can’t see it that way. To me, if your husband truly loves you, what does it matter?

I turn the page and find something even more ancient. A binding ritual that hasn’t been practiced in over a hundred years. It belonged to the native Vitra culture, a practice of tattooing a shared symbol on each other’s skin. It bound spouses in life and in death, so that when one partner passed away, the other would soon follow. My heart flutters at the thought, and I can’t help the rush of romantic longing that fills me. How incredible—and yet how tragic—to be so deeply entwined with someone you love. To be unable to live without them.

I look up from the book and watch Mimi, her small hands waving with joy as Mona tickles her. The warmth in my chest is quickly replaced by a pang of guilt. As much as I dream of a love so binding, I can’t afford to be selfish. One of us has to be here for her. If something were to happen to me—or to Thorne—we can’t both leave our daughter behind. She needs us, one of us, to guide her, to love her, to stay.

Maybe one day, when Mirelle is grown and strong, when she can stand on her own two feet, I’ll reconsider.