Page 111 of Run Little Omega

I raise my eyes, half-delirious with heat and pain. The crimson moon hangs impossibly large above the clearing, its light no longer simply illuminating but actively reaching toward me in visible tendrils of red-tinged magic.

When the first tendril touches my forehead, the world dissolves around me.

I run through an ancient forest, feet barely touching ground that feels familiar yet different. Trees tower overhead, their bark silver rather than black, leaves shimmering with inner light rather than reflecting moonlight.

I run not from terror but from joy, from the wild freedom of the chase. Behind me—not pursuing but participating—runs an alpha whose scent calls to my blood like home.

We are engaged in the oldest dance, the first dance, when omega and alpha discovered what balance truly meant.

The forest parts before us, leading to a clearing identical to the one my physical body occupies. White flowers glow with internal light, forming a perfect circle around a central stone dais worn smooth by countless transformations.

We enter together, alpha and omega, neither simply predator nor prey but equal participants in this sacred ritual. This is claiming reimagined—dominance and submission flowing between us like a tide, each taking and yielding in perfect rhythm. The alpha's growl of possession meets my challenging bite, my submission freely given and then rescinded as I pin powerful shoulders beneath me.

When we join on that ancient stone, it's with all the primal intensity of true mating—the knot swelling to bind us together, but as a shared pleasure rather than a means of control. Our bodies lock in the age-old way of alpha and omega, but our spirits remain unfettered, exchanging power as naturally as breathing.

The forest itself responds—roots surging with renewed life, flowers blooming out of season, animals emerging from hiding to witness the sacred union. The magic that flows between us belongs to neither and both, Wild Magic that recognizes no court division, no seasonal allegiance, only the perfect balance between distinct but equal powers.

And afterward, we are changed. Not omega and alpha as separate castes, but something more—vessels through which Wild Magic might flow into the world, maintaining balance between realms that were never meant to be separated.

I gasp back to awareness, the vision fading but its implications burning bright in my mind. The Hound watches me with knowing eyes, having retreated to the grove's edge once more.

"The original purpose," I whisper, understanding blooming like the white flowers around me. "The Wild Hunt wasn't about breeding or claiming or court bloodlines."

"No," he agrees, as he did during our first meeting when he spoke of court politics corrupting the Hunt's purpose. "It was about balance. About transformation. About maintaining the connection between realms through matched pairs who changed together."

Another wave of heat crashes through me, drawing a cry I can't suppress. The claiming bond pulses with renewed intensity, carrying Cadeyrn's growing alarm as he senses my suffering from miles away.

"The courts corrupted it," I manage through gritted teeth. "Turned transformation into domination. Turned partnership into breeding programs."

"Yes." The Hound backs further away as my scent intensifies beyond what even his remarkable control can withstand. "And now they fear what you and the Winter Prince represent—the revival of Wild Magic they can't control, can't divide, can't suppress."

I curl into myself as pain wracks my body, the heat now burning rather than warming. Without my alpha—without Cadeyrn—the crimson moon's magic works against me rather than with me, trying to force a transformation I can't complete alone.

"I'm dying," I realize, the certainty of it strangely calming amid the agony. "The transformation needs both of us."

"Not just dying," The Hound corrects, his voice tight with restraint as my omega scent clearly affects him despite his unusual heritage. "But suffering unnecessarily. The Sacred Grove offers protection, but it can't complete what your claiming began."

Through the pain, I feel the forest's awareness surrounding me—ancient, patient, neither urging nor dissuading but simply witnessing my choice. The crimson moon continues its relentless bombardment, each pulse of light driving the heat deeper, making the claiming bond stretch painfully between Cadeyrn and me.

"He authorized atrocities," I whisper, uncertain if I speak to The Hound, the forest, or myself. "His signature on countless death warrants. His court's poisons killed my mother."

"Yes," The Hound acknowledges, offering neither excuse nor mitigation. "Seven centuries of perfect Winter Prince, never questioning court protocols." He pauses, his unusual eyes reflecting crimson light. "Until you."

Another vision bleeds through our stretched claiming bond—not sent by the blood moon but by our connection itself. I see Cadeyrn's memory of our first meeting at the Gathering Circle, how he saw through my glamour to the copper hair beneath, how something in my defiance awakened questions dormant for centuries in his perfectly controlled mind.

I see his growing horror as he connects court disposal practices to the wasting sickness in border villages. His dawning comprehension that the protocols he authorized without question caused suffering he never witnessed personally.

Most powerfully, I see his realization that claiming me hasn't diminished him as court physicians warned, but reconnected him to magic the courts have systematically suppressed—Wild Magic that responds to balance rather than dominance.

"He's changing," I whisper, the bond between us carrying emotional truth that can't be falsified.

"As are you," The Hound replies. "The question is whether you'll complete that change together or separately. The blood moon cares nothing for court politics or personal grievances. It recognizes only potential and pattern."

I drag myself to the center of the grove, each movement agony as heat and pain compete for dominance in my transforming body. The blood-red flowers part before me, creating a path to the worn stone dais I recognized from my vision.

When I collapse upon it, the stone feels cool against my overheated skin. The crimson moonlight concentrates here, forming a spotlight that bathes me in blood-red illumination. Through our bond, I feel Cadeyrn's sudden awareness of my position, his understanding of what this sacred place represents.

"What happens now?" I ask, though I'm not sure if I address The Hound, the forest, or the ancient magic pulsing through my veins.

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