Page 167 of Run Little Omega

I shoulder the pack, placing one hand against the nearest wall. The palace responds immediately, cillae spiraling outward from my touch, the structure's awareness recognizing and responding to my intent.

"Show me the safest path to the throne room," I instruct, feeling the Wild Magic flow between my transformed body and the palace's awakening consciousness.

The wall before us shifts, ice formations reconfiguring to reveal a passage that wasn't visible before—an ancient servant's corridor, bypassing the main hallways where enemy forces will likely concentrate once they breach the outer defenses.

"The palace is choosing sides," Cadeyrn observes, studying the newly revealed passage with something like wonder.

"Smart palace." I move forward, steps surprisingly steady despite my unwieldy form. "Let's hope it made the right choice."

We make our way through narrow corridors that expand subtly as we approach, the palace literally reshaping itself to accommodate my pregnant form. The transformation I've witnessed over the past weeks continues to accelerate, centuries of rigid Winter Court architecture melting into something more organic, more responsive.

As we move deeper into the palace core, I sense other movements around us—the awakened omegas taking up their chosen positions, loyal guards establishing defensive perimeters, evacuees making their way through ancient tunnels toward safety. Beneath it all, the steady thrum of approaching enemy forces—a pressure against my heightened senses like approaching storm clouds.

"Cadeyrn—" I begin, needing to say something, to acknowledge what might happen if our plan fails.

His hand finds mine, cillae synchronizing where our skin meets. "I know," he says simply. "Whatever comes, we face it together."

The walls pulse in agreement, the entire palace seeming to rally around this simple truth. As we approach the throne room—transformed beyond recognition after our claiming—I feel the Wild Magic gathering, preparing for what's coming.

Four lives within me, representing elements that have been divided for centuries. A transformed prince who abandoned court protocol for love. A blacksmith-turned-vessel who refuses to be merely used. A palace awakening to consciousness after centuries of rigid control.

The breaking point approaches. And we stand at its center, ready to fight for the future we've glimpsed in the patterns of Wild Magic's return.

Battle is coming. Birth is coming.

And with them, the chance for everything to change.

CHAPTER55

POV: Briar

The alarm bellstear through my dreams like claws through flesh, dragging me from the momentary peace of unconsciousness into brutal reality.

I wake gasping, disoriented. The four little ones respond immediately to my spike of fear with frantic movement beneath my skin—fire pulsing erratically, earth shifting with uncharacteristic agitation, air swirling in tight, anxious patterns, water retreating as if to protect itself. These distinct beings, already showing individual responses to danger they shouldn't even comprehend yet.

Something is deeply wrong.

The darkness pressing against our windows isn't just night-dark but wrong-dark, the kind that slithers through your bones and settles like molten metal in your veins. The absence of light feels deliberate, predatory, as if shadows themselves have gained mass and purpose.

Cadeyrn is already up, cillae blazing across his transformed body as he pulls on battle armor. The blue-white light of his magic casts monstrous shadows across our chamber—clothing scattered like battlefield dead, weapons materializing from hidden caches, the walls themselves pulsing with warning rhythms I can feel in my teeth.

"They're here," he says, voice tight with controlled rage as he fastens bracers to his forearms. "Earlier than we predicted. Someone disabled the outer warning spells."

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my swollen belly making the simple movement awkward as a butcher with dull knives. The floor beneath my feet vibrates with faint but steady tremors—not natural, but magical assault testing the palace's foundations.

"Nessa," I state, her betrayal still a raw wound despite our preparations.

"Almost certainly." Cadeyrn fastens armor plates across his chest, the material expanding to accommodate his transformed physique. No longer the rigid, formal ceremonial wear of a Winter Court prince, but something wilder, integrated with cillae that pulse with his heartbeat. "We have reports of coordinated breaches from three directions. Summer Court from the south, Autumn from the east, Spring leading from the west."

The specificity freezes my blood like metal suddenly quenched. Not just an attack, but a precisely timed, multi-pronged assault designed to split our defenses across the entire palace. The kind that requires intimate knowledge of rotations, weak points, magical barriers. The kind of betrayal that cuts deeper than any blade because it comes from someone you tried to help.

My stomach churns with a mixture of fury and betrayal as I picture Nessa at the haven, blood running down her thighs from a miscarriage triggered by The Collector's claiming. Her hollow eyes, her gratitude when I showed her the way to safety. All pretense. She was gathering intelligence even then, mapping routes, vulnerabilities, strengths. Marking me.

"The throne room," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady as I dress with hands that refuse to stop trembling. I pull on the practical garments Lysandra prepared for exactly this scenario—reinforced leggings that expand to accommodate my pregnant belly, a loose tunic embedded with protective runes, soft boots that won't restrict my swollen feet but still allow me to move quickly if I have to run.

"Yes." Cadeyrn crosses to help me, his touch efficient yet tender as he fastens protective armor across my shoulders. The panels are surprisingly light, made from some material that expands and contracts with my breathing while providing surprising rigidity against impacts. "The birth chambers have already been breached. Four Spring Court warriors entered through the eastern corridor."

My blood turns to slush. All that preparation, all those visible reinforcements and deliberately obvious guard rotations. "The decoy worked, then."

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