Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 241: Under sunset

The final draft is laid out before us, massive sheets of parchment spread across a makeshift table, anchored down by stones to keep the wind from carrying them away. For the first time, I can truly see it—our home, our future, every detail Noelle had dreamed of now made real on paper.

Brian Mel has proven himself to be a genius. He worked quickly, capturing Noelle’s scattered ideas—his vague descriptions, his tendency to explain things in emotions rather than measurements—and somehow translated them into something structured, cohesive, and breathtaking. The design feels personal, a reflection of Noelle in every detail.

I glance at him, watching as his green eyes glow with excitement, his fingers lightly tracing the inked lines as if committing them to memory. He tilts his head slightly, studying a particular section before reaching for a pencil without hesitation. Expanding the greenery, adjusting the terraces, adding intricate details that only he would think of, he modifies the plan with an easy confidence.

Brian watches him with a mix of fascination and dread, likely realizing that his work is far from over. "Uh—wait—" he stammers as Noelle starts sketching a new balcony onto the east wing.

"I just thought it would be nice," Noelle murmurs, tilting his head as he examines his own addition.

Brian sighs but doesn’t stop him. "Fine, but I have to make sure it doesn’t mess with the weight distribution—"

"You’ll figure it out," Noelle says, flashing a mischievous smile.

I smirk. Brian’s life just got harder.

Meanwhile, Raul continues working on the foundation, his speed and precision bordering on terrifying. Despite his constant complaints, he’s single-handedly doing the work of hundreds of men, his superhuman strength turning what should be a year-long project into something that feels almost effortless.

Every strike of his fists against stone, every powerful stomp as he shifts earth, every boulder he moves into place—he is shaping the foundation of something permanent.

I stand at a safe distance, watching. I enjoy living, after all. Every now and then, Raul throws me a glare, his expression making it clear that he’d rather be pounding me into the ground instead. I offer him a thumbs-up in return. His glare only darkens, but he keeps working.

I don’t realize what he’s doing next until I hear the unmistakable sound of deeper digging. I frown, stepping forward as he begins carving out what looks like an underground chamber. At first, I think it’s a mistake—until I realize what it actually is.

A dungeon.

I raise an eyebrow. Interesting. I hadn’t even considered that, but now that I see it, I know it makes perfect sense. It’s good to have competent subordinates, ones who think ahead and plan for contingencies I wouldn’t have thought of.

Nearby, Roman is deep in discussion with Brian. Not just Roman—all of the Sentinels seem involved, pointing at different sections of the blueprint, making their own adjustments. That’s never a good sign.

Apparently, the estate is too big for just my family. Roman, without consulting me, has decided that he will live here as well. Where I go, they go—that much has always been true. I don’t even bother arguing. They’ve followed me through war, exile, and now, into the creation of a new world. It would be strange if they didn’t stake a claim here too.

But what troubles me more is that Roman has other plans for this island. He doesn’t just want a private estate. He wants to make it an island town.

I tried to refuse. I really did. But in the end, I couldn’t. Because I know he’s right.

The land is vast, untouched, and rich in resources. It is positioned perfectly for trade, surrounded by natural defenses, with easy access to the coast. It’s not just a home—it could be so much more. According to Roman, it will be.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. Honestly, I don’t care about anything else. As long as Noelle gets his dream, they can build an empire around us for all I care. But knowing Roman, he just might.

---

The waves crash against the rocky shoreline, their rhythmic roar filling the air. A salty breeze drifts over the cliffs, cooling the warmth of the fading sun. The sky is painted in rich hues of deep orange and soft pink, the last golden light reflecting off the water’s shimmering surface.

I sit on a large boulder, the stone still warm beneath me from the lingering heat of the day. Noelle rests in my arms, his weight solid and reassuring. His breathing is slow, steady, his body naturally molding against mine as if he was always meant to fit here.

He shifts slightly, adjusting against me, his arms tightening around my torso. His long, raven-black hair cascades over my arm, catching the last rays of sunlight, turning its deep strands to gold. His scent—fresh earth, the faintest hint of something floral—grounds me in this moment, wrapping around me like an embrace.

I hold him closer, my hand tracing gentle circles along his back. I love him. More than I can say. More than I can ever show. More than I ever thought I could love anything in this world. The feeling is overwhelming, burning in my chest like something uncontainable.

I reach up, brushing aside a few loose strands of his hair, tucking them behind his ear. He stirs, shifting just enough for his soft lashes to flutter open.

Then he looks at me.

And there are stars in his eyes.

The golden light of the setting sun illuminates his features, casting a soft glow over his cheekbones, tracing the curve of his lips, and reflecting in the brilliant depths of his green gaze. My breath catches at the sight of him. He is so beautiful it hurts.

Noelle blinks up at me, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. "Why are you looking at me like that?" His voice is soft, laced with amusement, still thick with sleep.

I shake my head, unable to tear my gaze away.

"No reason," I murmur, my voice quieter than I intended. I lift a hand, tracing my fingers gently along his cheek before tapping the tip of his nose.

"You’re just so perfect, my beloved star."

He scrunches his nose slightly at the touch, his lips forming an instinctive pout—soft, full, utterly kissable.

I don’t resist.

I lean down and press a gentle kiss against them, just a featherlight touch, savoring the warmth of his breath.

He hums against my lips, a playful sound, his fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. "Hmm," he muses, pretending to think. "I don’t think I felt that properly, my love. You might have to try again."

I chuckle, the sound vibrating in my chest.

And this time, I kiss him properly.

Slow. Deep. A kiss meant to be remembered.

His lips move against mine, warm and familiar, parting just enough to let me taste him, claim him. The world around us—the waves, the wind, the fading sun—disappears.

There is only him.

Only us.