Page 122 of Run Little Omega

"The remains were disposed of there." He points to the depression near the twisted tree. "No ceremony. No funeral. Just unmarked mass graves.”

The babies tumble inside me, one of them delivering a solid kick under my ribs that makes me wince.

"So we do the ritual right there," I say, rubbing the spot where the kick landed. "At the burial site."

The Hound nods. "Yeah. That's where the poison is strongest."

Cadeyrn's face darkens. "Look, I said I'd show you everything. But this ritual—we have no idea what might happen."

"Oh please," I roll my eyes. "Like anything has been predictable since you knotted me in the forest. Or since I stole Willow's identity. We've been making it up as we go from day one."

"This is different," he argues. "Blood magic in a place full of death?—"

"A place full of death that has your signature all over it," I snap, the words harsh but honest. "A place that killed my mother just as surely as if you'd stuck a knife in her yourself."

He doesn't argue, doesn't defend himself. Instead, his shoulders drop slightly, the fight leaving him. "What do I need to do?"

The Hound pulls a small obsidian blade from inside his leather vest. "The blood has to be given freely," he explains, turning the knife in his hands. "With the intent to acknowledge and heal, not punish. That's the key difference."

Cadeyrn takes the blade, running his thumb along its edge. "Any special words I need to say?"

"Nah," The Hound shrugs. "Wild Magic doesn't care about fancy speeches. Just say what you actually mean."

We make our way to the disposal site together, me taking my time over the rough ground. My balance isn't what it used to be, even with my belly only showing three months' growth. The pit turns out to be wider than I expected, the soil in the center darker and more ominous.

Cadeyrn kneels at the edge, gripping the obsidian blade. He stares at the barren earth for what feels like forever, his chest rising and falling in controlled breaths.

"You know, I should hate your guts," I say, standing behind him. "For all this. For my mother, for Willow, for all those omegas."

He doesn't look up. "Yeah. You should."

"I do, mostly," I admit, surprising myself with how easily the words come. "But hate takes too much energy now. Especially with four little parasites stealing all my reserves." I place a hand on my growing bump. "Plus whatever weird thing we're becoming."

Now he turns, looking up at me with those ice-blue eyes that once regarded omegas with clinical detachment. They hold something different now—grief, yes, and guilt, but also determination.

"I can't undo what was done," he says. "Can't bring back those who were sacrificed. But I can ensure it never happens again."

"Start with this," I tell him, gesturing to the blade in his hand. "Not for forgiveness. For acknowledgment."

He nods once, then turns back to the barren earth. Without hesitation, he draws the obsidian blade across his palm, opening a clean line that wells immediately with blood. It looks almost black in the crimson twilight, thicker than human blood and faintly luminescent with magic.

As the first drops fall to the poisoned soil, Cadeyrn speaks.

"I acknowledge the harm done by my hand and authority. The lives taken without witness or respect. The suffering caused through action and inaction." His voice remains steady, though cillae pulse rapidly across his skin. "I offer my blood not as payment—for there can be no adequate payment—but as recognition. As promise that what was broken will be acknowledged."

More blood flows from his palm, dripping steadily onto the dark earth. For several heartbeats, nothing happens. Then, so subtly I might have missed it if not watching carefully, the soil where his blood falls shifts slightly.

"Look," The Hound whispers, pointing to the spot.

A tiny green shoot pushes through the barren ground, unfurling delicate leaves that glow faintly in the fading light. Another appears beside it, then another, spreading outward from where Cadeyrn's blood continues to drip.

The plants are unlike anything I've seen before—not quite flowers, not quite fungi, but something between. Their stems gleam with the same phosphorescence as Cadeyrn's blood, and their roots visibly dig into the poisoned soil, seemingly drawing the contamination into themselves.

"What are they?" I ask, unable to keep the wonder from my voice.

"Purification growth," The Hound replies. "I've heard of them but never seen them like this. They filter out dark magic and create new life.”

Cadeyrn watches the spreading plants with something like hope in his expression. "Will they heal the contamination?"

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