Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 281: New battlefield

Chapter 281 – Thorne POV

I’ve been betrayed.

My beloved star. The light of my existence. The reason I wake up every day —has betrayed me.

You really can’t trust anyone these days.

"Father! Father! Father!" Thieran screams, his voice growing in intensity like a battle horn summoning doom.

"Father! Father! Father! Father! Father!" Niall echoes in a pitch only slightly lower, like a well-synchronized war drum.

And then—

"FATHER! FATHER! FATHER! FATHER! FATHER!!!!! FATHER!!!!" both of them together, as if summoning a demon—or worse, their sleep-deprived parent.

This is it. This is how I die.

I scoop them up—one in each arm—because letting them loose is no longer an option. Their energy is boundless, their voices louder than any battlefield I’ve stood upon.

Noelle. Sweet, cunning Noelle.

He asked me to "just grab something from the playroom," and like a fool in love, I went without hesitation. Only to walk into an ambush orchestrated by two four-year-olds with lungs of steel and the coordination of trained generals.

He didn’t follow me. I should’ve known.

My sons have locked their legs around me like grappling vines. One is trying to climb onto my shoulders. The other is pulling at my hair. I have regrets.

"Why must you both scream like this?" I groan, trying to adjust Niall’s grip as he clings to my arm like a baby sloth.

Thieran, the louder of the two, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts directly into my ear, "BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T LISTENING!"

I blink. Stars. Literal stars.

I drop to the carpeted floor of the playroom with a defeated sigh, both of them still latched to me like tiny octopi. Somewhere in the chaos, a block hits my foot. Hard. I look down. It’s the big wooden kind. Heavy. Painted red. A weapon disguised as a toy.

My beloved star will pay for this.

He will pay dearly. I will have my revenge. I will have him on his knees.

"Father! Father! Father!" Thieran shouts, climbing up my leg like a tree possessed.

"Father! Father! Father! Father!" Niall joins in, voice no less shrill, already grabbing at the edge of my cloak.

And then—

"FATHER! FATHER! FATHER! FATHER! FATHER!!!"

The attack has begun.

I swear this is why I’m aging. Not the war. Not the poison. Not the years of bloodshed. No, it’s this.

These two miniature tyrants have cracked my spine and my will to live, and they aren’t even old enough to spell their names yet.

I scoop them both into my arms with the practiced precision of a man used to battlefield maneuvering. I should’ve known something was off the moment Noelle sweetly asked me to check on something in the east wing and then never followed.

That should’ve been my first clue.

I’ve been set up.

As soon as I sit, they descend upon me like wolves. Thieran is bouncing on my knee, riding it like it’s some kind of war beast, shrieking battle cries as if he’s charging into glory. I’m fairly certain he thinks my leg is a horse. My spine protests. Loudly.

"What are we playing?" I ask, the last threads of resistance snapping.

"Dragon chase!" Thieran declares, grabbing my arm and flailing it behind him like a fiery tail.

"Castle defense!" Niall adds solemnly, wrapping my cloak around his shoulders.

"You’re the castle."

I blink. "But I’m also the dragon?"

"And the horse!" Thieran yells gleefully.

Fantastic.

I close my eyes, inhaling slowly through my nose like I did on the front lines, the way one does when surrounded and vastly outnumbered. At least there, the enemy didn’t laugh maniacally and wipe sticky fingers on my shirt.

A tiny hand pats my face. Then again. And again.

"Don’t sleep, Father," Niall warns gravely. "The castle’s under attack!"

"I am the castle," I mutter.

"Then defend yourself!"

I crack one eye open. "I should’ve stayed on the battlefield."

At the door, I hear it.

A snort.

I glance up.

There he is.

Noelle.

My beloved star. My husband. My traitorous, beautiful, too-clever-for-his-own-good omega. He stands at the threshold like a vision in silk and smugness, arms folded, one delicate brow arched in amusement.

He has the audacity to smirk at me.

I narrow my eyes and mouth, you’re dead tonight.

He just sticks out his tongue, unrepentant.

"I come bearing peace," he says, voice sing-song. "And snacks."

The word snacks is barely out of his mouth before the twins have launched off of me like cannonballs. I exhale as the weight lifts, and stretch my spine with an audible crack. I’m too old for this.

Noelle holds the bowl high, waging a miniature war to keep it out of reach until the twins are ushered to wash their hands in the basin at the corner. A servant dutifully retreats as soon as the chaos begins, a wise move.

Even the staff fears the demonic duo.

I sit up slowly, joints aching and pride bruised, and find myself staring.

Not at the chaos. Not at the crumbs. Not even at the trail of destruction left in their wake.

At him.

My beloved.

My star.

Noelle is crouched on the floor, hair styled in some ridiculous, lopsided knot thanks to the twins’ "salon session." His shirt—once white—is now stained with fruit juice and toddler fingerprints. A piece of watermelon clings to his collar like an accessory.

He looks like a walking disaster.

He’s never been more beautiful.

I watch as he gently feeds the twins slices of fruit from the bowl, murmuring soft things I can’t hear over their squabbling.

The boys are too busy arguing over who gets the biggest piece to notice how soft his hands are, how carefully he tucks stray hair behind their ears, how easily joy flows from him into everything he touches. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

And I... I can’t stop looking.

This life—this chaos, this peace, this noise—I never thought it would be mine. I never thought I’d live long enough to know what family meant.

Sometimes I still feel the blood on my hands.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake from dreams where I am cold and starved, lonely trapped in my own body.

But those dreams always end the same way.

With light.

A single star, green and soft, shining in the void—pulling me out of the dark.

He turns his head just then. As if summoned by my thoughts. His gaze finds mine, and those green eyes hit me like the first breath after drowning.

That’s what I saw in that house on the hill all those years ago—the first color, the first warmth, the first sign I wasn’t dead yet.

His eyes.

I would walk through every nightmare again if it meant seeing that gaze at the end of it.

I don’t deserve this.

But life is cruel and strange and unfair. And maybe, just maybe, even my bloodied hands are allowed to hold onto something this good.

I motion for him to come closer. He catches the signal, glances toward the twins—currently distracted by biting the rinds of their fruit slices—and crawls across the floor to me, curiosity dancing in his features.

When he’s close enough, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. Just one. Quick. Warm.

He blinks at me, startled.

A slow smile spreads across his face, gentle and brilliant and utterly unfair to my heart.

"What was that for?" he whispers, voice playful.

"Just because," I murmur.

And then I kiss his cheek.

And the other one.

And then again—softer, slower—until he lets out a squeal and collapses backward onto the floor, laughing as I lean over him and press even more kisses along his jaw.

"Thorne!" he gasps between giggles, squirming as my fingers find his sides and start their own teasing assault.

I don’t know how it happens, but one moment we’re a tangle of affection on the rug, and the next—

Tiny, sticky hands grab at my hair. My shirt. My face.

The twins.

My adorable, traitorous, chaos-born sons.

They’ve seen the kiss attack. And now they are defending their dad.

Niall climbs onto my back like a monkey in training. Thieran grabs a cushion and launches it at my head. Noelle is wheezing with laughter beside me, rolling away as I’m overwhelmed by four-year-old justice.

I groan dramatically.

"Betrayed. Surrounded. I should’ve stayed on the battlefield."

Noelle wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, face flushed and shining with happiness.

"This is your battlefield now, General Alden."

And maybe it is.

If so... I surrender gladly.

~

Fin.