Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 81: Memories and home

Chapter 81: Memories and home

I settle into the carriage, the gentle rocking of the wheels beneath me sparking a memory I haven’t thought about in years. My fingers drum idly against the seat, and the faces of the present begin to blur.

-16 years ago-

The fabric of my new clothes feels stiff, scratchy against my skin, a constant reminder of how out of place I am. The fine embroidery, the soft material—it doesn’t suit me. I’ve never worn anything like this before. Celia insisted, though. She always does.

I glance over at her, sitting across from me in the carriage, dressed in her finest jewelry and perfume. The scent is overpowering, thick and cloying, suffocating the air inside the small cabin. Her raven hair is styled perfectly, not a strand out of place. Her blue eyes, though, are as lifeless as ever, staring blankly ahead. They never seem to change.

The men in the alleys always said she was the most beautiful. They fawned over her. I never saw it. Not really.

I look out the window, watching the city blur past, the narrow streets and familiar dirt fading as we make our way into unfamiliar territory. We don’t talk much, Celia and I. Our relationship isn’t like other mothers and sons. But then again, nothing is normal when you grow up in the back alleys.

Soon, the carriage pulls up to the front of a grand manor, larger than anything I’ve ever seen. I don’t move immediately, still processing the sight before me. Celia gets out first, and for a moment, I feel her warm, soft hand wrap around mine, pulling me out of my trance.

It’s startling, the contact. I can’t remember the last time she held my hand. My own is rough, cold from years spent in the streets, while hers is soft, manicured. The difference is jarring, but I hold on, because despite everything, she’s the only familiar thing in this place.

We walk together toward the gates. I hear her exchange words with the guards, though the sound of her voice barely registers. My mind is elsewhere, focused on the warmth of her hand in mine, the strange, fleeting comfort it brings. Soon, we’re being led through the halls of the manor, and everything around us is overwhelming. The space feels impossibly large, the ceilings too high, the floors too polished. I can’t help but squeeze her hand a little tighter.

The only thing that feels real is Celia. She’s the only thing I recognize here.

Eventually, we’re brought to an office, and the guards leave us to wait. I shift uncomfortably, glancing around the room. I don’t understand why we’re here, what we’re waiting for. Celia doesn’t offer any explanations, and I don’t ask.

Minutes later, the door swings open, and a man walks in. He’s tall, with auburn hair and sharp brown eyes that make my skin prickle. His gaze sweeps over Celia, then stops on me.

"Celia? What is the meaning of this?" His voice is cold, even harsher than the streets I’m used to.

Celia doesn’t hesitate. She never does. "What do you think, Marquis Robbens? This is your son."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’m frozen, staring at him as she pushes me forward. My father? This man? I look at him cautiously, trying to gauge any reaction, any sign that he might see me, acknowledge me.

But he doesn’t. His eyes narrow, and he looks past me, directly at Celia.

"What the hell, Celia? Didn’t you take contraceptives?" He spits the words out, venomous and cruel, like I’m some kind of mistake he never wanted. The sting is immediate. I thought I’d grown numb to that kind of rejection, but hearing it from him, it still hurts.

Behind me, I hear Celia’s voice, calm and unbothered. "Ten years ago, dear Marquis, you were my client every single day for months. Did you really think nothing would happen?"

"What are you doing here?" He’s pinching the bridge of his nose now, exasperated, like this is an inconvenience he didn’t plan for.

Celia’s hand tightens slightly around mine. "I’m here to give you your son back."

The words send a jolt of panic through me. She’s leaving me here? After everything? I’ve always known, deep down, that this day would come. Celia never cared much for me, and I’ve overheard the women at the brothel talking about her plans, about how she was leaving with some high-class client. I just didn’t think it would happen like this. So sudden. So final.

"What?!" The Marquis’s shout breaks through my thoughts, and I’m shoved aside, stumbling to the floor. He grabs Celia roughly by the arm, fury etched into every line of his face. But Celia, as always, doesn’t back down.

"You know I’m married. What the hell is this supposed to mean?" His voice is strained, almost desperate.

Celia doesn’t flinch. "I don’t care. Unlike you and your false promises, I’ve found someone willing to take me out of the back alleys. I won’t go over with another man’s seed. This child is your responsibility."

She steps back, pulling her arm from his grip. Her voice is firm, unwavering. "I’m leaving in a few hours. I haven’t been much of a mother to the boy, and I won’t start now. But don’t try anything funny, or every newspaper in the capital will know about this."

She turns to me then, her gaze cold, but with a hint of something softer beneath it. She kneels down, just for a moment. "This is the most I can do for you, kid. Survive." And then she’s gone, walking out of the office without a second glance.

I’m left sitting on the floor, my entire life uprooted in an instant. I stare at my trembling hands, small and fragile. I want to be stronger, to not care, but I can’t stop the tears that sting the back of my eyes. I blink them back, trying to steel myself.

Maybe, just maybe, this is a chance. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can win his affection. Maybe I can make him see me, make him love me.

Present Day -

I was wrong. No matter how hard I tried, the Robbens never accepted me.

As the carriage rolls to a stop, I shake off the thoughts of my past, focusing instead on the anticipation bubbling inside me. Seeing Noelle again always has a way of quieting the storm in my mind, grounding me in the present. I step out, the weight of old memories dissolving as my feet hit the ground. The towering walls of the castle loom above, but my gaze is only fixed ahead—where I know Noelle is waiting for me.

The servant guiding me leads toward the greenhouse, explaining that Noelle insisted I be brought here. His wishes, always so thoughtful. As I step inside, the lush greenery and warm sunlight seem to melt away the last remnants of coldness clinging to me. The soft clinking of plates catches my ear, and I see him—Noelle, busy preparing a table, setting out what looks like a meal he’s carefully prepared himself.

As if sensing my presence, Noelle looks up, and the instant our eyes meet, I’m blinded by the sheer affection radiating from him. The joy on his face, the warmth in his eyes—he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. I don’t deserve him, but goddess, do I love him.

"Thorne, you’re here!" he exclaims, his voice light and full of joy, like he’s been waiting for this moment all day.

"Yeah," I say, my voice thick with unexpected emotion. He does that to me—makes me feel things I’ve long thought buried.

He grins, gesturing to the table. "See? I made your favorite meal. I kinda miss doing that.... So, I thought, why not make today special?"

I don’t know what it is about his words, or maybe it’s the sight of him standing there, waiting for me with such love in his eyes, but something inside me cracks. I walk toward him, and before I can stop myself, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He’s warm, soft, everything I’ve ever wanted in a home.

Noelle hesitates for just a second before hugging me back, his touch gentle, yet firm enough to anchor me in place. "Okay," he whispers, like he understands. His arms tighten around me, and in that moment, it feels like he’s not just holding me now—he’s holding the broken, lonely boy I used to be, perhaps still am. The one who sat on the cold floors in the dark, wishing for affection that never came.

With Noelle, I don’t need to wish for anything. He’s enough. He’s everything.