Page 101 of Run Little Omega

Alone again, I crawl into the hollow, settling against the inner curve of the massive root. Only then does everything crash over me—Cadeyrn's betrayal, my mother's poisoned death, infants buried alive for generations, and my own precarious position as an unclaimed omega in a forest ruled by ruthless alphas.

Tears come hot and fast, no longer held back by the necessity of flight. I curl into myself, frost spreading from my body across the hollow's interior, crystallizing grief into physical form.

"I'm sorry, Mother," I whisper into gathering darkness. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

The oak responds with a subtle creaking—a sound like a long, sorrowful sigh. Perhaps merely wind through ancient branches, but in this moment of raw vulnerability, I choose to believe the tree offers what comfort it can.

As twilight deepens into true night, movement surrounds my shelter—not threatening but protective. Small woodland creatures gather nearby, announcing themselves through gentle rustlings and occasional soft calls. A pair of owls settles in the branches above, wide eyes scanning the surrounding forest. A family of rabbits nestles in the undergrowth, unafraid of predators who would normally hunt them.

The forest stands guard.

I should be terrified—alone in the Bloodmoon Forest at night, rejected by the alpha whose claim should protect me. Instead, a strange calm settles over me, as if the woods themselves wrap around me like a protective cloak.

Through our stretched bond, I sense Cadeyrn's distant awareness, his concern pulsing across the space between us. He could find me if he wished; our connection would lead him directly to this hollow. Yet he maintains distance, respecting my need for separation despite what must be physical pain for him as well.

That consideration only complicates my feelings. The Cadeyrn who authorized cullings and poisoned waters seems irreconcilable with the man who respects my autonomy even at cost to himself. How can both exist in the same person? How can the bond between us feel so genuine when built upon such a foundation of horror?

The cillae across my skin pulse faintly in darkness, responding to my troubled thoughts. They've changed since I fled the central haven—no longer following the elegant spirals of our claiming bond but forming new patterns resembling the wall carvings depicting original Wild Magic. My body rewrites our connection, transforming it into something neither fully his nor mine, but a third thing altogether.

I trace these new formations with my fingertips, feeling the slight ridges across my skin. "What are you?" I whisper to the magic flowing through me. "What am I becoming?"

No answer comes but a subtle intensification of the frost's glow, illuminating the hollow with soft blue light. In that gentle radiance, I notice something I missed earlier—carvings in the inner surface of the massive root, ancient symbols nearly identical to those covering my skin.

This tree has sheltered others like me before—vessels of Wild Magic seeking refuge from court control.

The realization brings profound understanding. I'm not alone in this awakening. Others have traveled this path, have struggled with the transformation consuming me from within. The forest remembers them, has preserved their presence in living wood.

And now it offers me the same shelter, the same recognition.

I press my palm against the carved symbols, feeling resonance between the patterns on my skin and those etched into ancient oak. A whisper of connection forms, not words exactly but impressions—memories of others who rested here, their emotions preserved in living wood.

Fear. Determination. Hope. Defiance.

The same emotions warring within me now.

Through this strange communion, I sense my situation is both unique and part of a pattern centuries old—the perpetual struggle between Wild Magic and court control, between genuine connection and forced submission. My bond with Cadeyrn represents both traditions simultaneously—the claiming imposed by court protocol and the true connection awakening primal magic.

The contradiction exhausts me. I curl tighter, frost spiraling outward to coat the hollow with delicate patterns reflecting my turbulent emotions. Outside, animals maintain their vigil, a circle of unlikely guardians keeping watch through the dangerous night.

Sleep comes reluctantly, dragging me under despite my determination to remain alert. In that space between waking and dreaming, I feel the forest's consciousness brushing against mine—ancient, patient, aware in ways I barely comprehend. It recognizes the Wild Magic awakening in my blood, sees beyond the cillae marking me as claimed.

To the forest, I am more than omega or human or vessel. I am possibility. Renewal. Revival of what was lost when courts divided magic for their own purposes.

This understanding follows me into dreams where my mother walks whole and healthy beside a woodland path, her smile sad but proud as frost spirals from my fingertips. Where Willow stands tall and strong, her illness banished by water running clear from forest springs. Where Cadeyrn appears not as Winter Prince but as something new—court regalia replaced by living vines, crown of ice melted away to reveal pointed ears identical to those now forming at the tips of my own.

"The Wild Magic chooses its own vessels," my dream-mother tells me, her voice exactly as I remember. "The courts can only delay, never prevent."

I reach for her hand, but she dissolves into mist that reforms as the ancient trees surrounding my shelter. Even in dreams, the dead remain beyond reach.

I wake to early light filtering through massive roots, momentarily disoriented. The hollow's interior glitters with frost formations created during troubled sleep—complex patterns unlike anything Cadeyrn ever taught me. Wild Magic flows differently than court magic, responding to emotion rather than calculated control.

The animal guardians have departed with night, returning to their lives now that daylight makes me less vulnerable. All except one—the red fox sits at the hollow's entrance, amber eyes regarding me with that same unsettling intelligence.

"Still here?" I ask, voice rough from sleep and dried tears.

It yips once, then turns to look pointedly into the forest beyond. Warning or invitation, I can't tell which.

The claiming bond pulses suddenly with increased awareness—Cadeyrn moves, no longer maintaining his position at the central haven. Whether toward me or away remains unclear, but the change jolts me fully awake.

---