Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 51: New side

Chapter 51: New side

The Crimson General stood motionless at the center of the paved road that led to the castle, his imposing figure casting a long shadow beneath the blazing sun. His presence alone was enough to command absolute silence, and because their master was waiting, the entire castle waited alongside him. Not a single servant, guard, or sentinel dared utter a word. The heat was oppressive, the sun merciless, yet none dared complain. They stood in rigid attention, knowing full well that any sign of discomfort would be met with icy disapproval.

The tension was thick, as if the entire estate held its breath, waiting for something inevitable. The air shimmered with heat, and sweat trickled down the backs of the maids and guards alike, but no one moved to wipe it away. All eyes were on Thorne, the Crimson General, their master—a man of iron will and ruthless efficiency. He hadn’t spoken a word since taking his place in the center of the road, and in the silence, his unreadable gaze remained fixed on the distant castle gates.

Suddenly, the heavy creak of the gates opening reverberated through the air. Every head snapped toward the sound, and a single carriage, modest yet elegant, rolled through the entrance. The horses’ hooves clacked against the stone road, the only sound breaking the stillness of the moment.

The sentinels shifted slightly but remained on high alert, their gazes locked on the approaching carriage. It moved slowly, deliberately, as though the driver understood the significance of this moment. Inside that carriage was the person who had stirred the castle into a frenzy—Thorne’s husband, the one who had been absent for far too long.

The carriage came to a halt before the general, and for a brief second, there was nothing but silence. The entire castle seemed to pause as if frozen in time. Thorne’s expression remained as cold and impassive as ever, but those closest to him could sense the tension radiating from his form, a tension unlike anything they had seen before. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a deep, simmering anticipation.

The carriage door opened with a soft click, and everyone held their breath.

.The carriage door swung open, revealing him. The figure that stepped out was arresting, almost ethereal in his beauty. Dressed in flowing white silk that seemed to catch the light with every movement, the fabric draped perfectly over his form. His blouse was elegant yet simple, tucked neatly into high-waisted black trousers that accentuated his grace. The wide sleeves billowed softly in the breeze, giving him an almost regal aura. Around his slender neck was a choker—a subtle yet commanding touch that drew attention to the long column of his throat.

His hair—an endless cascade of rich, shimmering locks—flowed down his back, far longer than most of the castle’s inhabitants had ever seen. The way it gleamed in the sun gave him an otherworldly appearance, as if he had stepped out of a dream. His beauty was undeniable, striking in a way that made the sentinels shift uncomfortably. None of them, not even the hardened warriors, had expected Thorne’s husband to possess such a presence.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that caught everyone off guard. It was the aura around him—calm yet commanding, gentle yet unshakably strong. He was serene, but there was a gravity to his movements that suggested he was not someone to be taken lightly. The entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath, as if nature itself had paused to acknowledge him.

As if to punctuate the moment, a fat bird swooped down from the castle’s high walls, landing unexpectedly at Thorne’s feet. The sight of the usually aloof general bending slightly, his cold facade cracking for just a moment as he extended a hand toward the bird, left everyone in stunned silence. This was a side of their terrifying master none of them had ever witnessed. The bird fluffed its feathers, hopping closer to Thorne before taking flight again, as if satisfied with its brief encounter.

Sevian, hidden among the shadows of the trees, watched with wide eyes, barely daring to breathe. Even the sentinels, who were trained to remain stoic, exchanged bewildered glances. No one could comprehend the shift in Thorne’s normally impenetrable demeanor.

The mysterious figure approached Thorne, his steps soft but deliberate. His green eyes, sharp and vivid, locked with Thorne’s, and for a brief moment, the world around them seemed to blur. The tension in Thorne’s posture melted away as his usually rigid expression softened. Without a word, he reached out, his large hand gently resting on the smaller man’s cheek, brushing aside a few strands of that impossibly long hair.

The silence was broken only by the sound of their breaths. Then, without hesitation, Thorne leaned down, closing the gap between them in one fluid motion. His lips met his husband’s in a soft, almost reverent kiss—a welcome far more intimate and tender than anyone had expected from the hardened general. The kiss was gentle but deep, a shared moment of reunion that spoke of longing, relief, and love that went unspoken.

The sentinels, the servants, even Sevian, who watched from afar, were taken aback by the display. Thorne, the man they knew as cold, unyielding, and terrifying on the battlefield, was here—soft, warm, and vulnerable—before the one person who could reach him.

As the kiss ended, Thorne pulled back just slightly, his hand still cupping his husband’s face. A rare, fleeting smile touched his lips, and for a moment, the Crimson General was no longer the feared warrior or the relentless commander.

The fat bird that had landed earlier on Thorne’s head seemed to have made up its mind to stay. It ruffled its feathers contentedly, perching right atop the Crimson General’s fiery locks as if it belonged there. A few of the sentinels stole glances, bated breaths waiting for the inevitable—surely, the bird’s demise was imminent. Yet, nothing came. Thorne, the feared warrior whose temper could be as volatile as his sword skills, simply paid the bird no mind, as if it were an accessory to his stoic presence. His husband, standing beside him, was equally unfazed.

Noelle and Thorne stood there in their own world, whispering sweet nothings to each other, utterly unaware of the gawking crowd. Their hands gently brushed against one another as though the castle, the servants, and the blazing sun all ceased to exist in this intimate moment of reunion. Their voices were soft, the kind of whispers only meant for the one standing closest to you.

But soon enough, they turned toward the waiting crowd, and the sentinels found themselves the subject of Noelle’s attention.

"Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all," Noelle began, his voice like a soft melody cutting through the stunned silence. His eyes landed on the lone female among the group. "You must be Leona."

Leona, the quiet, shadowy assassin who rarely spoke more than a few words, felt a heat rush to her face. It was almost comical, the way this fearsome woman—who had once ended lives without blinking—suddenly looked like a nervous child caught doing something wrong.

"Uhm. Yes... I mean... likewise... I greet the mistress... I mean master..." she stammered, her composure entirely unraveled. She gave a clumsy, awkward bow, something no one had ever seen her do before. Noelle giggled softly at the sight, a light sound that melted the tension in the air.

Noelle’s attention then turned to the hulking bald man. "You must be Raul."

The large man, covered in scars and built like a wall, gave a stiff salute in response, his usually deep voice catching in his throat.

"And Felix," Noelle smiled at the small, wiry omega, whose face immediately flushed crimson. The man gave a shy, quick bow, his head nearly touching his knees in his nervousness.

Finally, Noelle turned to the last of the sentinels. "And you must be Victor. I’m glad to see you in full spirits."

Victor, the stoic and usually unflappable man, found himself bowing at a full ninety degrees, something that caught even him off guard.

Before the moment could stretch on any longer, Thorne’s voice cut through the silence. "Yeah, that’s enough." He said with a gruffness that betrayed a hint of impatience. He wrapped a strong arm around Noelle’s waist, pulling his husband closer to him.

"But I’m still—" Noelle began to protest.

"They’ll do so later. We need to catch up," Thorne replied firmly, cutting him off and, with one smooth motion, removed the fat bird from his head, handing it off to Roman as if it were nothing more than a casual exchange.

Without another word, Thorne led Noelle inside, completely ignoring the rest of the servants and sentinels standing by. As they disappeared into the cool shadows of the castle, the courtyard fell into an awkward, stunned silence. The sentinels were left exchanging bewildered looks, not sure what to make of the scene they had just witnessed—most notably, the soft side of their ruthless master.