Page 90 of Run Little Omega

"Yes. What once flowed naturally through the land became compartmentalized, regulated according to court hierarchy." Her finger traces division lines etched into stone. "Winter claimed ice and preservation. Summer seized fire and transformation. Autumn took decay and wisdom. Spring grasped growth and renewal."

"And the omegas?" I ask, though their fate is clearly depicted—figures once standing proud now cowering, fleeing, their transformations warped and often brutal.

"Reduced from participants to vessels," she confirms. "The courts learned that controlling reproduction controlled the future. By determining which omegas bred with which alphas, they enhanced certain magical traits while suppressing others."

"The Wild Magic," I murmur, connecting the wall imagery to the patterns branching across my skin. The missing puzzle piece sliding into place.

"Yes. The primal power that existed before division." The Survivor's voice softens with something like reverence. "The courts fear it because they cannot control it, cannot predict its manifestations or chosen vessels."

She guides me further along the wall, where newer carvings show court structures solidifying—palaces of ice, fire, leaves, and flowers rising above increasingly regimented hunts.

"Yet it didn't die completely," I observe, noting subtle images of wild power erupting despite court suppression. "The Magic persisted."

"It couldn't perish—it's fundamental to the balance between realms." Her mercury eyes assess me. "It simply waited for suitable vessels."

I turn back to the wall, following the carvings to their conclusion—recent additions showing courts in conflict, magical strength diminishing despite increasingly desperate breeding programs.

"The courts are failing," I realize, understanding fragments of what Cadeyrn had previously implied. "Their power weakens with each generation."

"Has been for centuries." The Survivor nods. "Each breeding cycle yields diminishing returns. Court magic grows more rigid, more brittle, less adaptive."

She leads me to an alcove set apart from the main chamber. Freshly carved into stone no more than days old is an image that stops my breath—a female figure with spiral patterns radiating from a silver bracelet, connected by tendrils of magic to a male figure whose form appears caught between courtly refinement and primal power.

Us. Cadeyrn and me.

"Now," she says simply, "Wild Magic awakens again."

My fingers trace our carved forms, the stone warm beneath my touch. "Who created this?"

"The haven itself." At my skeptical expression, she elaborates. "The stones record what magic reveals. Always have."

I withdraw my hand, suddenly uneasy. "Does Cadeyrn know about this chamber?"

"The Winter Prince?" Darkness flickers across her features. "He knows it exists. Whether he accepts what it reveals about his court's history is another question entirely."

The patterns across my skin brighten in response to my disquiet. "You distrust him."

"I have my reasons." She offers nothing more, turning instead toward the chamber's center—a raised dais housing a shallow pool that reflects her crystal's light.

"Come," she says. "Time to see what the haven's magic has awakened in you."

I follow her to the pool, watching as she passes her hand over its surface. The water responds immediately, not with ripples but with luminescence that intensifies as she whispers inaudible words.

"Position your hands above the water," she instructs. "Don't touch it—just feel what rises from it."

I comply, holding my palms inches above the glowing surface. Immediately, cold power surges upward, interacting with the patterns marking my arms. Not unpleasant—more like recognition, like encountering a friend I'd forgotten I had.

"What is this?" I whisper, watching the markings on my skin illuminate in response.

"Wild Magic in its purest form," she answers. "Untainted by court interference."

Energy concentrates between my hands and the water, taking visible shape—ice crystals forming midair, hovering in defiance of natural law.

"Don't resist," the Survivor murmurs when I instinctively pull back. "Let it flow through you."

I force myself to yield rather than fight. The patterns across my skin flare brilliantly as the magic intensifies. Ice crystals form with growing complexity, no longer chaotic but structured—a miniature representation of the central haven, complete with stone circle and surrounding blackthorns.

"I'm doing this?" I breathe, astonished by the intricate creation materializing between my palms.

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