I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”It’s Solaric, without a doubt,” Zarius said smoothly, turning the cold metallic token over between his thumb and forefinger.

He sat behind his desk in the study, his tired expression betraying the long hours he’d spent there. Across from him, Flio and Elios stood near the center of the rug, their heavy travelling cloaks still damp from the night air of the lower district.

Flio shifted his weight, leaning one hand against the carved back of an armchair. ”We found it right after a heavy-set man barged into us in the alley. Elios grabbed his sleeve to demand an apology, and the man just tossed a copper coin into his hand and shoved past. When we walked a few paces further down the lane, Elios spotted this sitting in a frozen puddle.”

Zarius raised the token closer to the lamp, tracing the intricate crest of the sun crowned in thorned vines with his nail. The metal was unnaturally smooth, forged with techniques distinct to the borderlands.

”There are a few possibilities,” Zarius said, his voice measured. ”It could be that Solaric scouts or brokers are operating inside our lower districts, quietly gathering their own intelligence on the capital’s movement. Or...” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed the thought. ”...it could be someone who isn’t Solaric at all, deliberately carrying or dropping foreign tokens to camouflage their identity or throw off pursuers.”

He looked up at Elios, his gaze sharp and searching. ”Was there anything weird or suspicious before or after he dropped it? Did you catch any strange things?”

Elios shook his head firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. ”No. Everything felt completely normal. I didn’t feel any hidden eyes watching us from the roofs or alleys, just the usual passive glances from passersby in a crowded lower-district thoroughfare.”

Zarius remained quiet for a brief second, considering the answer, before flipping the heavy token back toward Elios. Elios caught it neatly in mid-air with a snap of his wrist and slipped it into his pocket.

”Keep it with you for now,” Zarius instructed calmly. He then turned his eyes to Flio, offering a slight, apologetic nod. ”I’m sorry to add another variable to your plate, Flio. I might need you to look into this when you have spare time, but treat it as a low priority. What Cherion asked you to handle regarding Philia remains our main focus. Let’s just hope whoever this man is, he doesn’t harbor any dangerous or erratic motives. We have more than enough on our hands as it is.”

”Understood,” Flio replied with a short nod, adjusting his grip on his gloves. ”We’ll stick strictly to Lord Cherion’s schedule.”

Zarius ran through a few brief logistical checks regarding their departure, verifying supply crates, guard rotations, and secure communication lines, before dismissing them both, telling them to get some rest before sunrise. Flio and Elios offered quick bows and stepped out into the corridor, their quiet footfalls fading down the hall.

Once the door clicked shut, Zarius let out a long, heavy sigh that rattled softly in his chest. He sank back into the high-backed leather chair and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, rubbing the dull ache blooming behind his temples. Exhaustion settled deep into his shoulders after hours of reviewing scout reports, financial ledgers, and troop movements.

He took a few minutes to organize the chaotic desk, gathering stray parchments scattered across the mahogany surface, stacking them neatly by topic, and locking the bottom drawer with a quiet click of a brass key. Extinguishing the desk lamp, he stepped out into the quiet, dimly lit hallway of the estate.

The corridors were cold at this hour, illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight filtering through the high arched windows. The draft carried the chill of late winter, creeping through the stone joints.

Usually, when late nights caught up with them like this, Cherion ended up sleeping either in Zarius’s quarters or Haviel’s room depending on where their late-night strategy discussions inevitably ran out of steam. Zarius couldn’t help but think with a faint, wry smile that they really ought to formally assign a permanent master room for Cherion so he didn’t have to keep drifting between theirs every night like a restless spirit.

Reaching the door of his own quarters, Zarius lifted the latch carefully and eased it open. He had expected to find the space dark and cold, assuming Cherion had already turned in hours ago or stayed in the garden. Instead, the small stone hearth near the washbasin was still glowing with soft orange embers, their gentle light flickering across the walls.

On the wide bed against the far wall, Cherion was already tucked beneath the heavy wool blankets, fast asleep.

Oh, he fell asleep quickly tonight, Zarius thought softly, his eyes lingering on the quiet figure. The tension that had held his jaw rigid all evening melted away, replaced by a deep, protective quiet. He unbuckled his heavy leather sword belt and set it silently on the wooden rack beside the door, taking care not to let the iron buckle clang against the frame.

He walked across the room on silent feet, stopping beside the bed. Sitting down gently on the edge of the mattress, the springs giving way with barely a sound, he leaned down slightly to check on him. He reached out, intending to pull the heavy blanket higher over Cherion’s exposed shoulder to block out the midnight chill creeping in from the window frame.

But as his eyes adjusted to the warm, dim firelight, Zarius froze.

Cherion’s face was deathly pale, his delicate features twisted in deep, agonizing distress. His brows were knit tightly together, a deep furrow cutting into his forehead. Quiet, shuddering gasps escaped his parted lips at uneven intervals, as if he were suffocating beneath an unseen weight.

Clear, glistening tear tracks trailed down his temple and into his hair, catching the faint orange glow of the dying hearth. He was trembling violently beneath the thick sheets, his pale knuckles white where his fingers clutched the fabric over his chest. He was softly mumbling incoherent, heartbroken words into the pillow, soft, broken whimpers of desperation, trapped deep inside a terrible, suffocating nightmare.

Zarius reached out, his hand hovering an inch over Cherion’s trembling shoulder in sudden, quiet shock, his breath catching tightly in his throat as he listened to the raw pain leaking from Cherion’s lips.

”Please... Yerel...”