I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

"Father!"

The shout was like a sudden burst of sunlight. Reiner, as the certified "walking sun" of the household, didn’t bother with walking like a normal person. He shot across the courtyard and launched himself at the man who had just stepped out of the carriage.

A man in his early sixties with iron-gray hair and a face carved by decades of brutal Northern weather, burst out laughing, loud enough it felt like the whole courtyard shook. He caught Reiner like it was second nature, like he’d done this a hundred times before... which, honestly, he probably had, even if his "kid" was now a full-grown man working under a Duke.

"Still as loud as a mountain goat, I see," he teased, his deep voice warm and amused as he ruffled Reiner’s hair like he hadn’t aged a day.

Standing a few paces back, Flio watched the whole scene, a small, rare smile tugging at his lips.

Instead of tackling their father like a maniac, Flio stepped forward and gave a proper, respectful nod. "Welcome, Father. I trust your journey went well?"

The man’s eyes softened as he looked at his elder son. He reached out, placing a heavy hand on Flio’s shoulder. "Too formal as always, Flio. You’ve been working too hard. I can see the lack of sleep in your eyes from here."

"The North doesn’t manage itself, Father," Flio replied, though he leaned into the touch for a brief, fleeting second before straightening his posture.

Cherion watched the reunion with a slight tilt of his head. Watching this whole family moment? Yeah... it hit a little weird.

Flio caught Cherion’s eye and gestured for him to come closer. "Lord Cherion, I would like to introduce my father, Winston Holden. He used to serve as the personal aide for the former Duke."

Winston turned his gaze toward Cherion. Sharp. Measuring. The kind of look from someone who’d spent a lifetime standing next to power and surviving it. Then, just as quickly, it softened into something polite as he gave a respectful nod. "It’s an honor to finally meet the person everyone won’t stop talking about. My sons’ letters were... let’s just say, very detailed about your abilities."

Before Cherion could respond, the atmosphere shifted. The heavy doors of the main hall swung open, and Zarius stepped out.

Winston’s breath hitched. He instinctively straightened his back, his hand flying to his chest in an old, familiar salute. "Young Master Zarius!"

The courtyard went silent. Winston froze, his face flushing with a mix of nostalgia and embarrassment. He quickly cleared his throat and dropped into a deep bow. "Forgive me... Your Grace. My apologies. I still see the boy who would stay out on the training grounds long after the sun went down, swinging a wooden sword until his hands were too stiff to move."

Zarius’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something, perhaps recognition, or a rare spark of warmth, in his eyes. "Winston. You haven’t changed. It’s good to see you."

The moment of gravity was broken by a whirlwind of long black hair and silk. Marielle came rushing out of the manor. Usually a hauntingly graceful and suspicious sentinel of the North, she now looked like a joyous child as she threw herself toward Winston.

"Winston!" she called. Winston laughed again, catching her just as easily as he had Reiner earlier.

Throughout the afternoon, the estate felt different. Winston was the heart of it, a bridge to a past that Zarius and Marielle rarely spoke of. He was swamped by the knights, even Elios found time to trade stories with the old man. Even Ezek watched Winston with deep respect, recognizing the legendary aide who had served the North during its most turbulent years.

Cherion watched it all from the sidelines. He somehow wanted to talk to Winston. He was curious about Lario and Nerissa. Not in a sentimental way, more like, how did you two mess things up this badly?

They’d left scars on their eldest son that time clearly refused to fix. Winston had been Lario’s aide for years. If anyone knew something, it had to be him. Sure, it was all ancient history. The dead stay dead and all that. But still... a few answers wouldn’t kill anyone. Probably.

But Winston was never alone. He was a magnet for the household’s nostalgia. It wasn’t until the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the snow-capped peaks in shades of violet and gold, that Cherion found his chance.

Winston was sitting on a stone bench overlooking the training grounds, watching the knights finish their drills. He looked tired but content.

Cherion approached the bench, his steps muffled by the thin layer of frost beginning to coat the stone path. Winston didn’t look up, but the corners of his eyes crinkled as if he could sense the Omega’s presence.

"Lord Cherion," Winston greeted, his voice a steady rumble. "Looking for a bit of quiet? Or just escaping the chaos of the dining hall?"

"A bit of both," Cherion admitted, offering a small, sheepish smile. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Winston patted the space beside him on the weathered stone. "Of course. An old man’s company is rarely in high demand, especially when there are younger, more exciting knights to bother."

Cherion sat as he looked out over the training grounds where the shadows were stretching long and blue. "How does it feel? Being back here after so long?"

Winston took a deep breath of the freezing air, looking up at the high walls of the fortress. "It feels good. It always feels good to be back. I spent more of my life within these walls than I did in my own home. Every stone here has a story, most of them written in blood or sweat."

"The former Duke must have been quite the employer for you to keep returning every year," Cherion remarked, his tone light but his eyes searching.

A nostalgic, bittersweet smile tugged at Winston’s mouth. He leaned back, his eyes misting over as he looked toward the Duke’s study. "The former Duke was... a complicated man. But he was my brother-in-arms. When he and the Duchess passed, His Grace was so young, barely more than a child with a man’s burden dropped onto his shoulders. I stayed to help him manage the transition, to guide him through everything, those who linger at the edge of mourning, waiting for their moment to step in

He turned to look at Cherion, his gaze sharpening with a sudden, startling intensity. "Look at him now. He has become a great Duke. A better one than his father, perhaps, because he understands the value of those who stand beside him."

Cherion felt a sudden, heavy warmth over his own hand. Winston had reached out, his calloused palm covering Cherion’s with a grip that was surprisingly firm for a man of his age.

"And I have to thank you, Lord Cherion," Winston said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its nostalgic lilt for something much more somber. "My sons write to me often. They told me how the Duke was struggling before you arrived. Thank you for staying by his side when things were at their darkest."

Cherion felt a lump form in his throat. He wasn’t used to being thanked like this. "I’m just doing my job, Winston. Besides, HIs Grace... he’s not as scary as he pretends to be."

Winston let out a soft, huffed sigh and looked out toward the southern horizon, where the road to the Capital lay hidden in the deep shadows of the mountains.

"I hope that’s true, Lord Cherion," Winston murmured. "And I hope, Lord Cherion, that you keep staying by his side, even when the times ahead grow much, much darker."