Arion days were just as exhausting as the last but now he had his son near by and was now healthy got him on good mood and gave him strength to work harden in the farm , and take care of the chickens eggs and vegetables, he get up every morning, take a shower wash up and feed Aiden, before he goes work in the farm and goes sell , at Aiden one years old birthday he bought him a coat and boots to travel with , one after as he finished his work,
The sun filtered through the dense canopy of the forest, dappling the floor of the small, hand tilled farm where Arion worked. Aiden, now just over a year old, sat gurgling in a patch of soft clover, his bright amber eyes fixed on a buzzing bee ,eyes that were a constant, painful mirror of his father. Arion watched him, the heavy weariness of his seven month exile weighing on his shoulders. Aiden was thriving, a testament to Arion's fierce, desperate care, but the time for hiding was drawing to a close.
The need to secure his future and the child's, and the mounting pressure to execute his long-planned revenge, forced Arion to face the one past he had sworn to abandon: his family.
He thought back to a time that seemed like another lifetime ago, a time before the sickness, before the mark, before the terrifying truth of his new biology. He remembered his youth in the sprawling estates of the East, not as a soldier, but as the fiercely loved, headstrong son of the Duke of the East.
Arion was born and raised a pure alpha, a truth that made his current state a perverse irony. His transition into an omega had not been genetic or natural; it was the direct, deliberate result of Kyon's manipulation. He recalled the sickening night in the palace gardens the confusion, the overpowering scent of Kyon's pheromones, and the realization that the medication Kyon that had fail was not a simple suppressant, but a complex, illegal biological agent designed to shift a rival alpha into a submissive omega. It was the ultimate weapon of control, and it had been tested and deployed on him, the strongest alpha in the King's Guard.
His mind replayed the final, brutal confrontation with his father. The Duke, an old school traditionalist who valued heritage and bloodline above all, had vehemently forbidden Arion from becoming a soldier. The Duke had planned for Arion to marry into another powerful Eastern house, securing their political base.
"If you leave this estate for that fool's uniform," the Duke's booming voice echoed in his memory, his eyes hard with finality, "you are no son of mine. You should never come back. You will forfeit your name and your inheritance. Choose your path, Arion."
Arion had chosen the sword, driven by an inherent need for challenge and service, a choice that had cost him everything long before Kyon ever laid eyes on him.
The memory shifted, hardening from family drama to the stark violence of his legendary career. He remembered the fight with the giant black tiger of the northern passes ,a beast that had terrorized the borderlands. It was a brutal, bloody fight, ending only when Arion drove his own blade through the monster's heart, earning him the moniker: the black tiger of the north.
Then came the dragon. He recalled the smoke, the heat, the paralyzing fear that had gripped the ranks, and the desperate, almost suicidal charge he had led. He had fought the beast for an agonizing hour before finally sinking his sword deep beneath its scale, earning him the celebrated title: the dragon slayer.
Those memories,the strength, the ferocity, the absolute alpha will that defined his past were the only things holding back the tides of shame and despair. He was not a weak omega; he was a warrior who had been chemically neutered and forced into submission.
He looked at Aiden, who was now crawling determinedly toward a shiny pebble. The child was a year old, healthy, and on the cusp of walking. He was safe, for now.
The isolation was ending. He had rebuilt his body, and his mind was clear. He needed resources, information, and a political shield far stronger than a secluded farmhouse. He needed to reestablish his life before he could tear down Kyon's.
"It is time, Aiden," Arion murmured, scooping up his son. "It is time to see your grandfather."
The Duke's command never come back , still hung heavy in the air. But Arion was no longer the reckless youth who left; he was a desperate father and a vengeful warrior. The Duke might refuse him, might turn him away, but Arion had nothing left to lose. He would risk the rejection, risk the humiliation of revealing his condition and his child, because the Eastern Duke's house was the only shield strong enough to protect Aiden and the only base from which he could launch his final, decisive attack against the King of Serpents.
He pack a small bag only with Aiden cloth and toys in it and get the little one ready.