I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”But why?” the High Priest asked, his brow furrowing as he looked down at the six-year-old child, then back to the desperate parents. ”A power like this... it is a miracle. He could help countless people, alleviate so much suffering in the empire. Why would you wish to extinguish such a divine gift?”

Cherion’s mother stepped forward, her silk skirts rustling as she instinctively placed a protective hand on her youngest son’s shoulder. Gone was the gentle warmth that usually softened her elegant features within the safety of their estate. ”Because with how things are, Your Holiness... the moment the King or the royal family finds out about this, they will not see a miracle. They will see a tool. They will stop at nothing to possess Cherion and bind his power to the crown until he is entirely drained.”

”My wife’s right,” Cherion’s father added grimly. ”It is already more than enough that myself and my eldest son must pledge our absolute swords and loyalty to the crown. The battlefield of the imperial court is treacherous, and it is certainly not a flowery path. Cherion does not need to be dragged into it. He deserves a life free from their golden chains.”

Hearing the heavy, serious tone of his parents, little Cherion tilted his head, his lower lip quivering as he pouted slightly. He looked down at his own small palms, then back up at his father’s tightly set jaw. ”Did I do something bad, Father?” he asked, his small voice echoing in the quiet room. ”Is it bad that I made your finger stop bleeding?”

His father’s stern expression melted instantly. He knelt back down on the cold floor, completely unbothered by how it might ruin his pristine noble attire, and looked into his youngest son’s eyes with deep affection. ”Not at all, my son. You did so great. You did nothing wrong.”

Beside him, his mother smiled tenderly through her anxiety, reaching down to gently rub his head. Her fingers traced the soft strands of his hair, her emerald rings catching the light from the glass windows. ”You are our good, sweet boy, Cherion,” she whispered, her voice laced with a heartbreaking desperation.

The High Priest sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at the family. He extended a hand toward the child, his gold-embroidered sleeves shifting softly. ”Come closer, little one,” he requested gently.

Cherion looked at his father, who gave a reassuring nod, before stepping toward the desk. The High Priest placed a warm, calloused palm softly upon Cherion’s head, closing his eyes as he channeled a faint thread of standard holy mana to read the child’s hidden core. He expected to find a typical, albeit strong, affinity for light magic.

Instead, a deep, pulsing warmth coursed through the priest’s body and soul. The High Priest opened his eyes, a look of profound awe washing over his face as his breath hitched. ”The purity of this energy... it’s bound directly to his life force. This isn’t ordinary divine power.”

Cherion’s father stepped up, his voice cracking with emotion. ”I ask you this not as the High Priest of Auzelian, but as my old friend who has bled beside me. Please. Find a way to remove it, seal it. Put a shackle on his core before anyone else notices it.”

”How could you ask me to do that?” the High Priest replied, a helpless, pained expression on his face as he pulled his hand back. ”How can I remove a power that was explicitly bestowed by God himself? To forcefully sever or seal a power of this magnitude would shatter him. It would kill the boy. I cannot touch it.”

Hearing the definitive refusal, Cherion’s mother let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the last shred of her hope vanished. She offered a weak, melancholic smile to her husband, who clenched his jaw so tightly his muscles trembled. ”At least... we tried,” he whispered tightly, reaching down to pull Cherion back into the protective fold of their family.

Suddenly, Cherion’s older brother, who had remained silent the whole time, spoke up. His voice, usually steady and disciplined from his knight training, was laced with worry. ”But Your Holiness... what if this power brings harm to Cherion? If it grows too strong and he cannot control it, will his body even be able to contain it?”

The High Priest looked at the young boy’s tiny hands and nodded slowly, his expression exceptionally grave. ”We cannot rush into a conclusion. For now, we must watch first. We must observe how the power develops and ensure it does not overflow.”

Realizing that the power could neither be magically removed nor safely sealed, Cherion’s mother immediately knelt down in front of her youngest son. She grabbed his small shoulders, her eyes burning with an intense, desperate seriousness that burned itself into the child’s mind.

”Cherion, look at me,” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. ”You must promise me right now. You must never, ever use that power in front of other people. No matter who is hurting, no matter what happens, no one else can see it except for the people in this room right now. Do you understand?”

Cherion was deeply confused. He didn’t understand why making people feel better was a dangerous secret, nor did he understand why his mother looked like she was about to cry. But seeing the raw terror in her eyes, he nodded frantically, his small hands clutching her sleeves. ”I promise, Mother. I won’t use it. I’ll be good.”

The meeting ended in a heavy, suffocating silence. Soon after, the family quietly exited the Holy Temple through the private back doors, bypassing the crowded courtyards and boarding their carriage to return to their residence.

As the carriage wheels rattled loudly against the streets, the silence inside the cabin remained. Cherion’s father looked across the seats at his wife, his expression incredibly tired, looking as though he had aged ten years in a single afternoon.

”Tomorrow, I am sending you and Cherion back to the South,” he announced quietly, staring out at the passing scenery of the capital. ”It is safer, far away from the palace.”

Cherion’s mother nodded slowly, accepting the painful, sudden separation for the sake of her youngest son’s survival. She looked out the window, watching the grand, imposing silhouette of the imperial palace fade, before turning back to her husband. ”Can we... truly trust the High Priest?” she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper above the clattering of the horses. ”If he speaks a single word to King Alderon or the others...”

Cherion’s father reached across the carriage, firmly holding her trembling hand. ”He is my friend. We trust each other with our very lives. Everything is going to be fine, darling.”

He looked down at his youngest son, who had drifted off to sleep against his brother’s side.

”This power,” the father whispered, ”is a curse we will just have to bear.”