I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Cherion followed the High Priest down a quiet corridor tucked away behind the main sanctuary.

He couldn’t help but run through a dozen possibilities in his head as they walked. Was this going to be about the OG Cherion’s family? Or was it about his healing ability?

Those were basically the only two things Cherion could think of. Surely the High Priest wasn’t about to continue talking about him getting married at the temple, right?

...Although, now that he thought about wedding, that actually sounded kind of exciting.

The High Priest pushed open a door, gesturing for Cherion to step inside.

The office was exactly what Cherion had expected from the High Priest: clean, organized, and almost painfully neat.

”Please, sit,” the High Priest said softly, motioning toward the seating area arranged across from his desk.

Cherion took a seat, his hands resting on his knees as the elderly man walked around the desk.

”To be entirely honest with you, Lord Cherion,” the High Priest began, pulling open one of the deep wooden drawers on his side of the desk, ”I wasn’t certain if you would actually accept my invitation, or how soon you might come. But I am truly glad you did. There is something I have held onto for a very long time, waiting for the right moment to return it to you.”

He rummaged through the drawer for a few seconds, the sound of wooden dividers and loose paper rustling in the quiet room. Finally, his hand emerged holding a small, weathered leather notebook bound with a simple cord.

Cherion glanced at it as the High Priest set it down on the desk between them. Wait, it’s not a prayer book or a holy text, is it? Cherion thought dryly, fighting back a small, awkward grin. Do I really seem that religious to him?

”This is not a sacred text,” the High Priest said, almost as if catching the faint flicker of amusement in Cherion’s eyes. He pushed the book gently across the table. ”It is an observation journal. It was kept by your parents.”

Cherion’s humor evaporated instantly. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, reaching out to pick up the book. The leather was soft, worn smooth at the edges from years of handling. He unknotted the cord and flipped open the front cover.

The handwriting on the yellowed pages was sharp, elegant, and meticulous. Cherion’s eyes skimmed down the first entry, and a cold prickle traced its way down his spine.

It wasn’t a family diary or a record of household expenses. It was a detailed clinical log tracking the manifestation and growth of OG Cherion’s healing power during his childhood.

Entry 12: A bird with a fractured wing found near the garden wall. Cherion held it for three minutes. Bone re-aligned, feathers restored. Minor fatigue observed afterward.

Entry 24: Cherion bruised knee after a fall. Contact applied for five seconds. Swelling receded completely. No visible strain on Cherion.

Entry 41: The old merchant suffered a deep laceration on the left index finger while handling a hunting knife. Bleeding stopped immediately upon Cherion’s touch. Skin sealed within moments, leaving a faint pale mark.

Entry 58: Veron sustained a minor fracture to the forearm during riding practice. Cherion insisted on touching the arm. Bone knitted within half an hour. Severe exhaustion followed, Cherion slept for fourteen hours straight.

Dates, times, specific injuries, and exact physical reactions were recorded under every single entry. It was an exhaustive, loving, yet deeply cautious attempt by two parents trying to understand a power that defied ordinary logic.

Cherion stared at the ink strokes, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper. A wave of awe washed over him, mixed with a quiet, heavy ache. OG Cherion’s parents had clearly trusted the High Priest immensely to share something so sensitive, something that could have put their son in severe danger if the wrong person had learned of it.

”Why is this in your hands?” Cherion asked quietly, looking up from the pages.

The High Priest leaned back slightly, folding his hands over his lap. ”Your father came to me in private one evening. He was deeply anxious. He told me he was afraid to keep such a detailed record in your family estate, where guests or servants might accidentally stumble upon it. He asked me to hold onto it temporarily for safekeeping.”

The old priest let out a soft, tired sigh, his pale eyes clouding with old memories.

”Who could have known that ’temporarily’ would turn into forever?” the High Priest continued softly. ”After the tragedy befell your house, you were brought to the capital and taken into the palace. I was afraid that if I tried to deliver this to you then, others would discover what you possessed before you were strong enough to protect yourself. And honestly, I wasn’t even sure you wanted this.”

He gestured toward the notebook now resting in Cherion’s lap.

”Now, however, things have changed. You are out of palace. You have shown a willingness to use your gift to help those around you. It is only right that this returns to its rightful owner.”

Cherion swallowed the lump in his throat, carefully tying the leather cord back around the cover. ”Thank you,” he said. ”I... I really appreciate you keeping this safe for all these years.”

”I only hope it brings you some clarity,” the High Priest said gently. ”Though, if you are looking for deeper answers about the true origin of your gift, I do not know how much this single journal can offer on its own.”

Cherion tilted his head slightly. ”What do you mean?”

”I suspect your parents may have kept other notes or clues hidden away,” the High Priest offered thoughtfully. ”If you wish to truly understand what they knew, you might need to return to the South. Perhaps there are things left behind in your old estate that were never brought to the capital.”

Cherion’s shoulders stiffened. Return to the South?

The idea sent a sudden jolt of hesitation through his mind. He was an outsider in this body, stepping into OG Cherion’s ancestral home felt like walking through a minefield of memories he didn’t actually possess. He opened his mouth to offer a vague, polite brush-off. ”I’m not sure if now is the best time for a...”

”Well, your family’s death anniversary is coming up soon, is it not?” the High Priest interrupted smoothly, his tone warm and entirely matter-of-fact. ”Just as in previous years, I assumed you would be traveling back to the South to pay your respects. It would be a good chance for you to look around.”

Cherion froze.

He stared at the High Priest, mouth slightly open and eyes wide.

Death anniversary? Previous years?!

The realization sank in, and Cherion immediately regretted having ears.

OG Cherion had a whole routine for this?! And now he was supposed to go back to the South?!