Page 171 of Run Little Omega

"Alive rather than enslaved," I counter, channeling years of working stubborn metal into each word. "Balanced rather than dominated. The difference between a forge that shapes with purpose and a machine that stamps out identical pieces with no understanding of what it creates."

The Collector steps forward, apparently tired of philosophical debate. His amber eyes have sharpened with predatory focus, the casual appreciation giving way to more purposeful intent.

"This accomplishes nothing," he states, practical efficiency cutting through Elder Iris's academic tone. "We need to secure her before the Winter Prince returns. I've fulfilled my part by locating her. The binding falls to your specialists."

Binding. The word slithers down my spine like a cold, wet finger. Images of silver chains and magical containment crawl through my mind. They don't just want to capture me—they want to cut the little ones out, steal them before they can be born naturally with the full force of Wild Magic flowing through them.

"You'll have your prize, Lord Collector," Elder Iris assures him with the casual certainty of someone brokering a political alliance. "Once we've stabilized the vessels and determined which shows the strongest affinity for each court element."

The way she discusses my children—not as lives but as magical components to be evaluated and distributed—ignites fury deep within my core. The same rage that once drove me to enter the Hunt in Willow's place burns even hotter now, fueled by maternal instinct and awakened Wild Magic.

As they speak, I assess my options with growing desperation. The passage ahead completely blocked. Two powerful court representatives between me and any retreat. My untrained magic proven useless against The Collector's centuries of experience. The throne room—our one safe haven with the ancient protection—seemingly cut off from any approach.

Then I feel it—a subtle shift beneath my feet. The floor itself moving, responding to my desperate need. Frost patterns spread outward from where I stand, forming a spiraling design that neither of my captors appears to notice, too engaged in their discussion of which child The Collector will be permitted to claim as if dividing up meat at a butcher's block.

"Traditionalists in all four courts will need appeasement," Elder Iris is explaining, her voice cool and reasonable as she discusses the distribution of my unborn children. "The autumn-aligned vessel will likely go to the Raveling Brothers' lineage as compensation for their losses. The water-blessed one shows strong Winter Court markers—the council may demand its return as royal property."

"As long as the flame-bearer comes to me," The Collector states, his tone allowing no argument. "The summer alignment is unmistakable, and my collection requires symmetry."

"And the air vessel?" Elder Iris inquires, one elegant eyebrow raised.

The Collector shrugs. "Spring Court has always valued the ephemeral. Your nurseries can shape it into whatever you require."

I listen to them discuss my children's fates with growing horror and rage. Not people, not even animals to them—just resources to be allocated according to political necessity and personal preference. Property to be claimed, shaped, controlled.

But the palace hasn't abandoned me. The Wild Magic flowing through the ancient structure still recognizes me, still works to protect what I carry. The spiral beneath my feet glows brighter, responding to my emotional state with increasing urgency.

I just need to trust it.

"—will require special handling during transport," Elder Iris is saying, practical details following political allocation with administrative precision. "Particularly if labor has already begun." She directs this last question to me, her attention returning to my silent assessment. "Has it, little wolf? Are the vessels preparing to emerge?"

Instead of answering, I slam my foot down on the center of the frost spiral beneath me. The impact sends magical reverberations through the floor, activating whatever enchantment the palace has prepared.

For one suspended moment, nothing happens. Elder Iris's expression shifts from clinical observation to dawning alarm as she recognizes something in the pattern beneath me. The Collector lunges forward, golden magic gathering at his fingertips as he attempts to counter whatever I've triggered.

Too late.

The floor dissolves beneath me, ice transforming to water in an instant. I plunge downward into darkness, the startled shouts of Elder Iris and The Collector fading above me as the passage reseals itself almost instantly, cutting off pursuit.

I fall through midnight-dark, surrounded by the rush of freezing water that somehow doesn't wet my clothes or skin. The sensation is disorienting—liquid that behaves like air, supporting rather than drowning. A controlled descent rather than a chaotic plummet, as if the palace itself cradles me in magical currents designed for exactly this purpose.

The darkness gives way to blue-white light as I land on my feet in a corridor I've never seen before—one far deeper than any palace blueprint ever showed. Ancient ice that hasn't seen light in centuries surrounds me, its patterns different from anything in the upper chambers. Not the controlled geometry of Winter Court design but organic, flowing formations that resemble natural processes more than constructed spaces.

Frost patterns across the walls pulse in welcome as I take my first hesitant steps. This place knows me, recognizes the Wild Magic flowing through my transformed body and the four lives I carry. The air feels charged with ancient power, magic that predates court divisions altogether.

And ahead, a faint golden glow that pulls at my instincts like a beacon. Not the invasive burn of Summer Court magic but something purer, older—light from the throne room, accessible from beneath rather than above, through passages known only to the oldest magic woven into the palace foundations.

I press forward, one hand braced against the wall for both support and connection. The quadruplets stir again, their magical signatures pulsing beneath my skin as if encouraging my advance. Relief floods through me at their resumed movement, the brief stillness apparently a response to immediate danger rather than any harm.

Behind me, I hear the first impacts as Spring and Summer Court magic begins attempting to breach the passage I just escaped through. They know where I've gone, if not exactly how to follow. It's only a matter of time before they find another route.

I need to reach the throne room before they breach these ancient defenses. Before Cadeyrn realizes I'm separated from Lysandra and diverts precious forces to search for me. Before the allies we've gathered lose hope at the overwhelming assault crashing against the palace walls.

The golden light grows stronger as I approach what must be an entrance to the throne room from below—some ancient access point designed for emergencies exactly like this one. The Wild Magic flows more strongly here, untainted by centuries of court manipulation, responding to my approach with welcoming pulses that seem to strengthen with each step.

I reach the end of the passage where crude steps lead upward toward a trapdoor glowing with cillae identical to those covering my skin. As I place my hand against it, the patterns brighten in recognition, the ancient magic responding to the quadruplets' combined signatures pulsing beneath my palm.

The door swings upward silently, revealing the throne room from a vantage point I've never seen before—an opening directly behind the transformed Winter Throne itself. From this angle, I can see the entire chamber prepared for what's coming. The protective enchantments etched into the floor in concentric circles of power. The loyal omegas positioned strategically around the perimeter, frost glowing across their skin as they maintain vigilant watch. Flora directing defensive preparations with calm efficiency, her bred-for-perfection features set in lines of determination rather than submission. Mira creating ice flowers that somehow strengthen the magical barriers rather than merely decorating them, her young face showing concentration beyond her years.

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