I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 55: A Vanished Soul
Zarius let the quill slip from his fingers, where it hit the ink-stained desk with a sharp clack. Gods, his shoulders felt as though they’d been forged from lead and then left out in the rain to rust. It was well past midnight. This marathon session of logistics, supply chains, and the relentless paperwork required for the upcoming subjugation had drained him down to the marrow.
But his mind? His mind was nowhere near the maps or the troop. It was drifting, stubbornly and quite annoyingly, toward the West Wing.
Zarius stood, a chorus of pops echoing from his spine. That was enough for tonight. Everything could wait for sunrise. He headed for the door, walking faster than he meant to. It was just a procedure, he told himself.
Liar.
He was actually looking forward to the inevitable headache Cherion would provide. The boy was likely throwing a magnificent tantrum over the late hour, or perhaps he was already sprawled across the bed in that chaotic, limbs-everywhere sleep of his.
His healing magic eased the curse, of course. But that wasn’t the only thing that Zarius craved. It was the simple presence of him that soothed something deeper.
When Zarius finally reached Cherion’s chambers, he didn’t even realize he was holding his breath. He had told Cherion to stay in his room tonight, Zarius would come to him.
He knocked. Three firm, rhythmic raps. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚
Silence.
He frowned, shifting his weight. "Cherion?" he called out, his voice a low rumble in the empty hall.
Still nothing. Not even the sound of a rustling sheet or a muttered curse.
Zarius knocked again, much harder this time, the wood groaning under his knuckles.
The lack of a sarcastic retort, the absence of that sharp, witty tongue that usually greeted him like a slap to the face, made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was too quiet. His instinct, a primal thing honed by a decade of surviving poisoned daggers and midnight ambushes, began to scream. Something was fundamentally, terribly wrong.
He gripped the handle and twisted. Locked.
Zarius stepped back and slammed his fist against the wood. The door shuddered in its frame.
"My Lord?"
Zarius spun around to see Flio and Elios hurrying down the hall, their faces pale in the torchlight. They’d clearly been drawn by the thunderous pounding echoing through the wing.
"He’s not answering," Zarius said. "And the door is locked."
"Perhaps he is already asleep?" Flio suggested.
"Or he might have taken a walk?" Elio added.
Zarius didn’t look at them. His eyes were fixed on the door, his pupils narrowing until they were thin slivers of red.
"Cherion," Zarius said, his voice dropping to a register that made Elios instinctively reach for his sword. "I’m breaking this door down."
He didn’t wait for a key. He didn’t ask for a shoulder to help.
With one brutal kick, magic flaring sharp and hot through his veins, Zarius drove his feet into the center of the door. The latch snapped with a loud crack, and the door burst open, swinging wide on protesting hinges.
He stepped over the shattered lock and into chaos. The room was a goddamn disaster.
The desk had been shoved aside. The carpet was bunched up, and the fine silk sheets were dragged halfway across the floor.
Zarius paused in the middle of the mess, taking in the chaos of the room. He finally turned to Elios and Flio, his eyes sharp.
"Elios," Zarius called. He didn’t yell. The calm of his voice was infinitely more terrifying. "Seal the estate. No one enters. No one leaves."
"At once, My Lord!" Elios turned and sprinted from the room, his boots echoing like hammer strikes.
"Flio," Zarius continued, his gaze tracking a dark smudge on the floor near the bed. "Check the perimeter. Every gate, every window, every hidden crawlspace. Now."
Flio nodded frantically and scrambled away, leaving Zarius alone there.
Despite the blinding rage, Zarius’s brain was still trying to find a logical, peaceful explanation. It was a desperate survival mechanism of the mind. He stormed out of Cherion’s chamber and toward the East Wing.
Or perhaps Cherion had ignored instructions, wandering to his chambers as he usually did.
He reached his own chambers and threw the doors open so hard they bounced off the stone. "Cherion!"
Empty.
The massive bed was perfectly made. The hearth was cold. The room felt cavernous and hollow, devoid of that heat that had somehow become its center over the last few days.
Zarius stood there for a heartbeat, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. Then he turned and strode back into the hallway, where he nearly collided with Elios.
He was breathless, his face a mask of grim news. "My Lord! The guards at the back servant’s entrance... they’re unconscious. Struck from behind. There are fresh wheel tracks in the slush, headed toward the Western pass."
Before Zarius could respond, Flio appeared at the end of the hall, clutching his robes. "A maid, My Lord! One of the girls. She stepped outside briefly an hour ago. She said... she said she saw Soren."
Zarius let out a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. Dark, sharp, and entirely without humor. Of course. Soren. The dismissed dog. Surely, this was all connected.
Zarius’s jaw tightened as he replayed Flio’s advice in his mind. He had listened, thought it was enough to spare the man, dismissed him quietly without references, ruined his opportunities without bloodshed. Foolish. It hadn’t been enough.
He should have trusted his instincts, finished the matter when he had the chance.
"Soren," Zarius whispered, the name sounding like a curse.
He looked at Elios, his eyes glowing with a lethal, unblinking light.
"Prepare the soldiers," Zarius commanded, his voice vibrating with the weight of an approaching storm. "Select the fastest riders. We leave now."
"Yes, My Lord!" Elios replied, then turned at once and sprinted down the hallway.
The Duke stepped closer to the window. He looked out toward the darkness of the Western pass, his mind already miles ahead, hunting. "No one takes what belongs to me and walks away."
