Page 188 of Run Little Omega

Another contraction grips me, this one different from those before. Where fire demanded swift passage and earth pressed steadily forward, air seems to dance between states—sometimes urgent, sometimes yielding, a rhythm entirely its own.

"This one moves differently," Wren observes, wonder entering her professional voice. "Like she's riding the currents rather than fighting through them."

She. The word echoes through the bond between Cadeyrn and me, recognition flowing in both directions. Our daughter. The air child.

As if responding to our shared thought, a shiver passes through the protective dome around us, the colors shifting toward spring green and summer gold before rebalancing. The palace itself seems to hold its breath as the contraction peaks.

With a push that feels more like release than effort, our daughter emerges—smaller than her brothers, with delicate features and wisps of copper hair already streaked with silver. Her cillae spiral in constant motion across perfect skin, never settling into fixed shapes.

Lyra. The name comes to both of us simultaneously, a shared certainty that needs no discussion. Lyra, like the instrument whose music moves through air, connecting rather than dividing.

"The third child lives," Wren announces with quiet reverence. "A daughter."

Before I can even reach for her, the air around Lyra shimmers with visible currents, cillae separating from her skin to dance in the space around her. Her tiny hands move as if conducting an unseen orchestra, magic responding to instinctive commands.

"Wild Magic," Flora breathes from her position in the omega circle. "Responding to her from birth."

Cadeyrn reaches for our daughter with trembling hands, and the moment his fingers touch her, the wound in his chest responds—green corruption retreating before currents of purifying air. Lyra's magic recognizes her father, works to heal what foreign enchantments sought to destroy.

"And so the balance shifts further," he murmurs, wonder and pain mingling in his voice as he cradles her against his wounded chest. "Three elements manifested."

The protective dome strengthens with each birth, colors shifting to incorporate more green and gold alongside winter's blue and autumn's amber. The courts tried to separate what was always meant to be unified—to claim the seasonal powers as distinct when they were merely aspects of the same primal force.

Beyond the sealed doors, I hear the allied courts' assault faltering. Their weapons designed to counter specific court magics fail against the balanced Wild Magic swirling through our sanctuary. Their strategy built on division cannot comprehend what unity makes possible.

I have only moments to marvel at our daughter before the final contraction begins—a rolling sensation entirely unlike the previous three. The water child approaches, flowing rather than fighting, finding the path of least resistance.

"The last one comes swiftly," Wren warns, hands ready to receive our fourth miracle. "The way has been prepared."

Indeed, where the other births required effort and determination, this one feels almost peaceful—a gentle glide rather than desperate push. The water child enters the world with quiet dignity, barely a whimper marking her arrival.

Another daughter. Smaller even than Lyra, with silver-white hair and eyes that open immediately—one ice-blue, one amber-gold, seeing both realms simultaneously from her first breath.

Willow. The name flows through our bond, chosen to honor the friend whose place I took, whose sacrifice began this journey unknowingly. Willow, like the tree that bends to water's flow, flexible enough to survive what rigid oaks cannot.

"The fourth child lives," Wren announces, completing the sacred count. "All four elements now embodied."

As little Willow joins her siblings, the protective dome reaches its full strength—a perfect balance of all four seasonal elements unified in Wild Magic that hasn't flowed freely for centuries. The very air within our sanctuary pulsates with potential, ancient power awakened after long dormancy.

Cadeyrn's arm tightens around me, his body curved protectively around our children. The wound in his chest has stopped bleeding, Lyra's air magic continuing its healing work. Through our bond, I feel his wonder, his pride, his fierce determination to protect what we've created together.

"Look what we've made," he whispers, voice rough with emotion as he gazes down at our four children. "Not just babes, but revolution."

I lean into him, exhaustion finally claiming its due. "We started with hate," I remind him, thinking of that first claiming in the forest, of my desperate fight to maintain independence even as the bond formed between us.

"And ended with this," he finishes, cillae synchronizing with mine where our skin touches. "Love, little omega. The one force even Wild Magic cannot predict or control."

From beyond the throne room doors comes not the sound of battle but something unexpected: silence. Then, gradually, retreat. Footsteps fading into distance. The allied courts withdrawing not in defeat but in awe—in recognition of something beyond their comprehension.

"They're leaving," Flora reports from her position near the entrance, disbelief evident in her voice. "All of them. The assault ceases."

"Not leaving," Cadeyrn corrects, his voice stronger now as Lyra's air magic continues healing his wound. "Transforming. The Wild Magic spreads beyond these walls. The awakening begins."

Through our strengthening bond, I feel his certainty—knowledge flowing from centuries of court history combined with the new awareness our transformation has brought. The Wild Magic awakened in our children doesn't simply protect them; it transforms everything it touches. Spreads like frost across glass, like ripples across still water.

"The courts will fight back," I warn, practical despite the wonder of holding our four children, despite the miracle of Cadeyrn's survival. The tactician in me cannot yield completely to the mother, to the mate. "They won't surrender power easily."

"No," he agrees, shifting to better support me as exhaustion finally claims its due. "But they fight a losing battle now. The magic remembers what it once was, before division. The rebalancing has begun."

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