Page 138 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

"Survival chances remain slim, but proper treatment exists." Her lips press together thoughtfully. "Single requirement…pack must include an omega for treatment access." Her gaze shifts away. "Your choice, though...I doubt you’re worthy of Nyx being your fated M.U.S.E."

"Fated M.U.S.E?" The phrase catches in my throat as an unexpected smile graces her features.

“M.Master of one’s fate, they marveled in her command.

U.Unbound by rules, they quaked in her wake.S.Skilled beyond imagining, they cowered in her presence.E.Enduring against odds, they admired in reverence.”

She offers a new definition that stands in stark contrast to Ravenscroft's cruel version.

"Knot Your Fated MUSE. She wasn't fated for alphas assigned to her...so things needed to change. Be delayed...even if it makes me the villain." Her attention drifts distant. "No different than me not being their fated MUSE. I wasn't destined for this path...at least, not until now. Now it makes sense. Trading places." A soft giggle escapes her. "Fate is such an entertainer."

She melts into lingering streams of colored gas, her presence fading like morning mist until nothing remains but questions and implications.

"Atlas?" My voice carries uncertainty as I process the overload of information. "I don't get it…any of this, honestly…but…”

But are we going to abandon Nyx…or keep her as ours?

"If Nyx deems us worthy of her love, there will be no doubt in our decision,” he declares, and I can tell he’s absolute with the decision I’m trying to get affirmation for.

“So…” I begin, my thoughts wishing to be heard.

We’ll fight for her. Mend her back to good health. Help her heal and recover, even if it takes days, months, or years.

“She’s ours?”

Atlas begins to walk away, slipping his hands into his pockets, knowing I’ll follow.

“She’s ours,” he affirms. “Our fated M.U.S.E.”

23

WAKING TO PINE NEEDLES

~NYX~

Atlas's scent pervades every breath I take, wrapping around me like a constant embrace even in the depths of unconsciousness. Pine needles, leather, mountain air – the combination has become as essential as oxygen during this strange week of drifting between awareness and dreams.

I've never slept so much in my life.

Six years of captivity trained my body to function on minimal rest, yet now it surrenders to exhaustion with shocking regularity. Each time consciousness tries to take hold, fatigue pulls me back under like a tide I'm powerless to resist.

But Atlas remains my anchor through it all.

His presence marks every brief moment of wakefulness – steady hands supporting my head as he coaxes water past my lips, gentle strength cradling me upright when weakness makes sitting impossible. The IV in my arm delivers vital fluids, but he insists on helping me drink as if each small act of care might erase years of clinical detachment.

Nights bring a different kind of comfort.

His body curls protectively around mine, radiating warmth that seeps into bones that seem permanently chilled. The silk wrap remains in place, but I've learned to read volumes in the way his breathing changes, in how his arms tighten fractionally when dreams threaten to drag me back to sterile halls and endless pain.

Sometimes, in that ethereal space between sleeping and waking, his voice breaks the silence. The humming starts so quietly that I often think I'm imagining it — a melody that carries notes of safety and belonging.

I doubt he knows I hear these midnight serenades, these moments when careful control gives way to tender comfort.

But now, surfacing slowly from another extended period of unconsciousness, I find myself facing questions that even Atlas's reassuring presence can't answer.

A week has passed since escaping Ravenscroft's sterile hell, yet I have no grasp on what comes next. The world beyond captivity remains a mystery filled with expectations I'm not sure I can meet.

Normal omegas seek packs, build lives, and heal from whatever traumas mark their pasts. They move forward with determination and grace, finding their place in a society I barely remember. But how does one simply step away from six years of systematic torture?

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