Page 189 of Run Little Omega

Around us, the loyal omegas maintain their protective circle, cillae synchronized with the magical signatures of our four children. Sisters who chose to stand together rather than submit separately. The true strength the courts feared all along—not Wild Magic itself, but the connection it creates between those they sought to use as mere vessels.

I lean against Cadeyrn, allowing myself to feel the fullness of what we've accomplished—not just the birth of four impossible children, but the awakening of magic that courts spent centuries suppressing. The return of balance to a system built on artificial division.

"What happens now?" I ask, voice rough with exhaustion as I cradle our daughters while he holds our sons.

His laugh holds genuine joy despite the wounds still marking his transformed body. "Now? Now we remake the world, little omega." He presses his lips to my temple, cillae synchronizing where our skin touches. "Or rather, we allow it to remake itself around what we've awakened."

Outside the throne room, the Winter Palace continues its transformation—walls flowing like water, ice incorporating colors previously forbidden in winter's domain. The Wild Magic spreads outward in ever-widening circles, touching court and village alike, awakening what generations of selective breeding sought to suppress.

Within our sanctuary, four impossible children sleep in their parents' arms—fire and earth, air and water, unified rather than divided. The new generation that will grow in a world where balance replaces hierarchy, where Wild Magic flows freely between seasons rather than being trapped in artificial separation.

Not the end of our journey, but the true beginning. Not a traditional fairy tale ending, but something far more interesting: a transformation still unfolding, a balance still being remembered, a world still being remade.

I close my eyes, sinking into the comfort of our bond restored and strengthened, of children safely delivered despite impossible odds. Whatever comes next—whether healing or conflict, reconstruction or revolution—we face it together, transformed beyond what either of us once was, into something neither court nor Hunt protocol could have predicted.

Wild Magic finds a way. Life finds a way. Love, against all odds and reasonable expectations, finds a way.

CHAPTER60

POV: Briar

I waketo my son trying to set my hair on fire.

Ember, all of six hours old and already living up to his name, has somehow wriggled from his swaddling and pressed his tiny palm against my copper-silver braid. Wisps of smoke curl upward as his fire magic responds to whatever newborn dreams fill his head. The scent of burning hair fills my nostrils—acrid and familiar from forge accidents, though considerably more alarming when it's attached to my own scalp.

"That's enough of that," I mutter, gently moving his hand back to his chest. His eyelids flutter but don't open, mouth forming a perfect O as he exhales a puff of heated air directly into my face. The warmth of it carries the scent of cinnamon and embers, nothing like the milk-sweet breath newborns should have. Definitely Cadeyrn's son in the dramatic flair department.

I prop myself up on one elbow, wincing as my body reminds me that it's been torn open and hastily stitched back together by Wild Magic rather than proper healing. Every muscle protests, from my neck down to my calves. My abdomen feels hollowed out, the space where four impossible children grew now empty and aching with phantom movements. The Wild Magic within me works to reknit what labor shredded, but even ancient power has its limits.

My gaze sweeps the throne room, taking stock of our sanctuary. Sunlight filters through ice walls transformed overnight into something both more wild and more beautiful than Winter Court precision has ever allowed. No longer the stark blue-white of controlled winter magic, but a living kaleidoscope where all four seasonal courts blend without hierarchy. Colors dance across the floor—spring green, summer gold, autumn amber, and winter blue flowing together in patterns that defy court separation.

The loyal omegas who protected us throughout the birth have arranged themselves in concentric circles around the throne, some sleeping while others maintain vigilant watch. Their cillae pulse in synchronized rhythm, no longer the rigid geometric designs of court training but something organic, flowing—Wild Magic remembering what it was before artificial division.

Beside me, Cadeyrn sleeps on in that annoying way of males who've managed eight centuries of perfect control only to collapse the moment the immediate crisis passes. His wound has closed during the night, new skin stretching over what should have been a fatal injury. The green corruption is gone, but silver-veined scars remain—a permanent reminder of how close we came to losing everything.

I study his transformed face, the features I once found coldly perfect now marked with evidence of vulnerability, of struggle, of pain survived rather than avoided. The Winter Prince who hunted me in the forest would never have allowed such imperfection to mar his appearance. The mate who fought through enemy forces to reach me wears his scars like badges of honor.

Through our restored bond, I feel his dreams—fractured images of battle, of desperate pursuit, of children he feared he wouldn't live to meet. Even in sleep, his protective instinct remains active, one hand resting near the babes while frost magic forms an instinctive shield around us all.

I shift carefully, assessing the state of my body after expelling four magical beings into the world. Sore doesn't begin to cover it. My insides feel rearranged, which they probably are, vital organs pushed aside to accommodate the four distinct magical signatures that grew within me at accelerated speed. The Wild Magic has accelerated healing—another perk of being transformed into whatever the hell I am now—but there are some things magic simply can't fix. Pushing four babies through a birth canal designed for one is definitely on that list.

"You're awake." Flora appears at my side, her violet eyes shadowed with exhaustion but alert. Her platinum hair has acquired more silver streaks overnight, cillae spiraling across her skin in ever-more-complex formations as her transformation continues. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been torn apart and stitched back together by a blacksmith instead of a seamstress," I reply honestly. "But alive, which is more than I expected when this whole mess started."

She smiles, that rare genuine expression that transforms her bred-for-beauty features into something warmer, more authentic. Court breeding programs created her to appeal to alpha aesthetics, but Wild Magic has awakened something beneath the artificial perfection—a true self emerging from enforced limitation.

"The babes slept through the night. All four. The healers say it's unprecedented."

"Well, they're unprecedented in general," I snort, glancing down at the four tiny bundles arranged between Cadeyrn and me. Even in sleep, their distinct magical signatures remain visible—Ember radiating heat, Alder pulsing with steady earth rhythms, Lyra surrounded by dancing air currents, little Willow wrapped in flowing water patterns. "Four magical children that shouldn't exist, carried by a blacksmith's apprentice who was never supposed to be anything but breeding stock. We're basically a walking middle finger to court doctrine."

I reach out to touch each child in turn, marveling at how distinct they already feel despite being mere hours old. Ember's skin burns hot against my fingertips, Alder's heartbeat pulses with the steady rhythm of tree roots seeking soil, Lyra's breath creates visible currents in the air around her, Willow's tears freeze into perfect crystals as she stirs briefly before settling.

"And thank the old magic for that," Flora replies, her voice lowering as she glances toward the doors where Lady Lysandra confers with several Winter Court guards. The traditional Winter Court healer has undergone her own transformation overnight—her once-rigid cillae now incorporating spirals and whorls of Wild Magic, her strictly formal posture softened by a new awareness. "There's news you should hear."

I carefully adjust Ember, who has already started reaching for my hair again, tiny fingers leaving heat trails against my skin. His determination to set things ablaze seems hardwired into his very being—fire magic manifesting from his first breath.

"Let me guess—the courts are gathering their armies to storm the palace and steal our children for dissection?"

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