Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 275: Archon

Chapter 275 – Thorne POV

I sigh. For the tenth time today.

Noelle doesn’t flinch. He’s too focused—meticulously fussing over the drape of my outer cape, brushing invisible lint off my shoulder with the kind of reverent seriousness reserved for holy relics or silk embroidery.

His fingers skim the gold embroidery that lines the edge of my cloak, checking each polished clasp, each gilded tassel, like this is his own private ceremony.

"Don’t pull the long face, Thorne," he murmurs, lips quirking.

"You look like someone just handed you a crown made of nails."

I glance at him through the mirror and deadpan, "They basically did."

Noelle laughs, that warm, breezy sound that always makes something in my chest loosen.

"Please. You’ve worn a suit soaked in blood with more pride than you’re showing now. At least pretend you like being in power."

"I don’t," I mutter.

But gods, I do look the part.

The navy coat I wear today is heavy and commanding, woven with dark sigils only visible in the right light—symbols of my battalion, of the army I once led. It’s trimmed in deep gold and clasped with ornate cords and tassels that loop elegantly over my chest.

Beneath it, a high-collared shirt hugs my neck, and a deep blue brooch gleams at my throat—Noelle’s addition, of course.

Noelle steps back to admire his handiwork, looking far too proud.

I sigh again.

Today, I’m to formally address the people of Alden Island—my supposed "subjects." The same people who, just a year ago, were scattered across kingdoms, now building lives on this land we carved out of the sea and stone. What was once a manor tucked into a forest is now the heart of an expanding city.

Towns, actually.

Three of them.

Roman swears the number of residents has nearly doubled since last month. And somehow, while I was busy raising three children, overseeing the punishment of a dethroned king, and exploring my bedroom activities.

An independent state.

King Tarian himself sent the official recognition. With that little wax seal and everything. It’s all real now. Legal. Inescapable.

And I am the leader.

Me.

The man who once swore he wanted nothing more than a quiet home, a quiet life, and a garden of peace.

Noelle must sense my dread, because he places a warm hand on my chest, right over my heart.

"You’ve done harder things," he says softly.

"This time, no one’s bleeding."

"Yet," I say darkly.

I walk toward the bedroom doors, my boots clicking against the polished stone, the sheer weight of my attire pressing on my shoulders like invisible armor.

Roman is waiting outside. He doesn’t even bother to hide his grin.

"You clean up well," he says.

I glare. "Don’t start."

He holds up both hands, innocent. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

We walk toward the grand hall.

Let’s get this over with. I don’t like people in my house. Well—technically, it’s the largest building on the island, so of course it has to host the first formal gathering. Still.

Roman needs to build a city square or council hall or something, because this is the first and last time this kind of thing will happen in my home.

"Don’t be so frown-faced," he says as he falls into step beside me.

"Think of it as a legacy sacrifice. Your children will inherit something more than trauma and your temper. One of them might actually enjoy power."

I grunt. Fair point. Mimi is already a tyrant.

He walks a step ahead of me down the corridor toward the massive double doors of the hall.

The doors loom ahead, carved with the Alden family crest now permanently etched into the wood. New. I didn’t approve that.

Roman probably did it. Sneaky bastard.

Not that I hate the family crest. It’s a sword entwined with a thorny vine, with a star shining above the hilt.

Each time I look at it, that sword is me. It’s being held up by the vine and the star. Isn’t it obvious?

Roman steps forward, clearly enjoying himself.

"Let me," he says with too much enthusiasm.

Then he pushes open the doors and strides in.

"Introducing the Archon of Alden—Thorne Alden."

My eye twitches.

Archon?

That sneaky, backstabbing, overdressed bastard. Snake-faced bastard.

I told him I didn’t want to be a king. I guess he found a loophole.

I exhale through my nose, slow and measured, and walk in.

The hall hushes as I descend the grand staircase. Light streams in from the glass dome above, catching on crystal chandeliers and turning the polished marble to gold..

I walk composed. My steps are slow, deliberate, the weight of my formal cloak trailing behind me like a second shadow. The deep green velvet of it contrasts sharply with the crisp silver embroidery of the Alden crest pinned at my shoulder. A sword entwined with a thorned vine. A star shining above the hilt.

It’s meant to symbolize unity. Endurance. Hope. According, to Roman anyway that’s what it means.

I recognize some of the faces gathered below—men and women from Aspen, soldiers who once marched under my command, merchants who followed the rumors of peace and prosperity, and opportunists who probably heard there was land and power being handed out.

So these are the bastards that caused this.

I raise my chin slightly, scanning the crowd as I reach the final step. There’s a strange sort of silence, reverent and unsure, hanging in the air. Some bow. Some nod. Some just watch, mouths set in firm lines as if daring me to earn their respect.

They all came here thinking it would be better. Assholes.

Roman stands a few paces to my left, arms crossed, practically glowing with smug satisfaction. I’ll deal with him later.

I take my place at the base of the staircase where the grand floor opens wide and elegant, wide enough to host a ball, and begin walking toward the raised platform where the council table has been set.

A simple podium has been placed before it, crafted from pale wood, smooth and gleaming. It looks too polished, too new.

I don’t need it.

I stop before reaching the podium and instead turn to face them all directly.

Noelle’s watching from the balcony above, I can feel it. My star. My anchor.

I don’t raise my voice.

"You came here for safety. Some of you for shelter. Some for freedom. Some for a fresh start. And some of you—"

My eyes narrow.

"—followed because you heard the general had survived and built himself a kingdom. You thought if you came here, you could reclaim a piece of the past. Or claim power beneath my name."

I pause, letting that settle in.

The silence deepens.

"I’m not your general anymore. I am not your commander. I am not a king."

A pause. I can hear Roman muttering something under his breath behind me.

"But I will protect what we have built here. And I will not tolerate anyone who thinks they can take it for themselves."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd—nothing loud, nothing disrespectful. Just tension.

I step down from the platform and walk forward until I am nearly face to face with the first row. Soldiers. Laborers. Merchants. Healers.

"This is not Aspen. This is Alden. And if you stay here, you follow our rules. Or you leave."

Roman claps once. Then again. And then more follow.

I don’t smile.

But I nod. Once. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"Welcome to Alden. You may stay it."

From the balcony, I hear the faintest breath of laughter—Noelle, amused.

And just like that, the gathering begins.

But I feel the weight of it pressing on me.

Archon. Leader. Founder.

It’s more than I ever wanted. Actually never wanted.