Page 187 of Run Little Omega

Cadeyrn raises his head, determination replacing momentary weakness. With visible effort, he pulls himself from the floor onto the throne beside me, his massive frame somehow fitting perfectly despite the seat being designed for one. The wound in his chest continues leaking silver-blue blood, green corruption fighting against the Wild Magic that refuses to let him die.

"Together," he says, one arm encircling me while the other cradles our firstborn son. "As it was meant to be."

His transformation has changed him in ways I'm only beginning to understand. The perfect Winter Prince who once ruled through cold control now leans into the messier, more vital connection between us. The bond strengthens with proximity, though still damaged by whatever weapon nearly killed him.

Through our connection flows not just emotion but memory—fractured images of his desperate battle through enemy forces, the arrow meant for his heart, the general with the binding crystal who nearly succeeded in severing our connection permanently. His determination to reach me, to fulfill the promise he made when we discovered the pregnancy, to protect what we created together even if it meant defying centuries of court tradition.

"I saw you fall," I tell him as another contraction builds, stronger than any before. "Through the bond. I felt you... disappear."

"I almost did," he admits, his arm tightening around me. "The weapon was designed to separate us—to sever what the courts cannot control. For a moment, I was truly lost." His lips brush my temple, cillae synchronizing where our skin touches. "But then I heard you calling. Felt you reaching. And something... shifted."

"Wild Magic," I suggest, bearing down as the second child begins his descent.

"More than that," he corrects, and the raw emotion in his voice makes me turn to meet his gaze despite the building contraction. "Love, Briar. The one thing the courts never accounted for in all their calculations."

The word hangs between us—simple, profound, revolutionary. Not the biological imperative of alpha to omega, not the political alliance of prince to claimed tribute, but something the courts have never been able to breed out or control away. The connection forged in shared transformation, in mutual choice rather than enforced hierarchy.

"Push," Wren directs, and I bear down again, feeling the second child—earth child, steady and grounding, with more geometric cillae—move into position.

With Cadeyrn beside me, with the throne's protection activated, with loyal omegas maintaining the protective dome around us, I surrender to the process that will bring three more lives into a world forever changed by their existence.

Wild Magic flows between Cadeyrn and me, our combined power creating a microcosm of what the world could be without court divisions. Fire and earth, air and water, all balanced rather than separated. All necessary. All part of the whole that's greater than its divided parts.

"I couldn't let you do this alone," Cadeyrn murmurs against my temple, his voice rough with pain and something deeper. "Not after everything we've become to each other."

"You nearly died trying to reach me," I respond, the words emerging through clenched teeth as the contraction peaks. "I felt the bond break."

"Not break," he corrects, hand finding mine as cillae synchronize between us. "Muffled. Suppressed. They tried to separate us with binding magic."

"But failed," I finish, bearing down as the second child crowns.

"But failed," he agrees, pride and wonder mingling in his transformed eyes. "As all attempts to divide what belongs together must eventually fail."

With a final push that sends Wild Magic cascading through the throne room in visible waves, the second child enters the world—another boy, built sturdy despite his newness, cillae geometric and stable where his brother's dance like flames.

Alder. His name flows through the bond, knowledge shared between mate and mate, parent and parent. Alder, like the trees that bend but don't break, that root deep and stand against storms.

"The second child lives," Wren announces, performing the same efficient wrapping before placing him in Cadeyrn's waiting arm. "Another son."

The protective dome pulses stronger with each birth, ancient magic recognizing and responding to the new lives that carry Wild Magic in perfect balance rather than division. Beyond the sealed doors, I hear the enemy forces' frustration mounting—magical assaults intensifying as they encounter barriers they cannot breach. Their weapons designed for division falter against unified power.

For now, we're safe. For now, we're together. For now, despite everything the courts have done to prevent it, Wild Magic flows freely through the Winter Palace once more—not as separate seasonal powers but as the unified force it was always meant to be.

Two born. Two still waiting. The transformation not yet complete, but irreversibly begun.

I lean against Cadeyrn, his solid presence defying the death that should have claimed him. Through our bond, I feel the Wild Magic fighting to heal the wound in his chest, to purge the green corruption that still seeks to separate winter from the other seasonal courts.

"Don't you dare die on me now," I tell him, managing a pained smile as another contraction builds. "Not when we're finally getting interesting."

His laugh emerges as crystallized frost, beautiful despite the pain evident in every line of his transformed body. "As my mate commands," he replies, the formal court phrase transformed into something intimate and true.

Together on the transformed throne, surrounded by sisters in suffering and triumph alike, we prepare to welcome the remaining children who will forever change the balance of power between the courts. Children born of violence and claiming, of transformation and choice, of a blacksmith's apprentice who dared defy court limitations and a Winter Prince who discovered that perfect control was the poorest substitute for actual living.

Fire and earth already born. Air and water still to come. Four elements united rather than divided. The pattern older than the courts themselves, remembered in blood and magic despite centuries of enforced separation.

"The third child approaches," Wren announces, returning to position with practical efficiency that belies the wonder of what we undertake. "Ready yourselves."

I straighten on the throne, Cadeyrn's arm supporting me as Wild Magic flows between us in strengthening currents. Whatever comes next—whether healing or war, transformation or destruction—we face it together.

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