6. The Face Behind the Rebellion

The sound of boots echoed through the ruined throne room like drums of doom. Ragnar’s fury was palpable, like a wild storm ready to devour everything in its path.

“You were a hundred alphas,” Ragnar seethed, circling Nate and the rest of the wounded soldiers like a lion among broken prey. “My finest. Chosen. Trained. Raised under my roof. You were supposed to be unstoppable.”

Not a soul dared to respond. Bloodied warriors knelt with shame in their eyes, heads bowed. Ragnar stopped in front of a soldier missing an arm, his face bandaged and stained with dried blood.

“And yet you come back like dogs chased off by rabbits,” Ragnar spat. “Three of you are dead. Eight more won’t hold a sword again. And not a single omega in chains?”

His voice roared across the hall like thunder.

“An omega organization did this to you?” He laughed coldly, a mirthless sound. “What’s next? You’ll tell me a pup made you piss your armor?”

One man twitched at the insult. Ragnar noticed, and that was enough.

He grabbed the soldier by the neck and slammed him against the pillar with a bone-rattling crash. The man choked, his feet dangling off the ground.

“You shame me. You shame this kingdom.”

“Your Highness—” Nate attempted, stepping forward, but Ragnar raised a hand. That was enough to silence him.

He threw the soldier down like discarded trash, then straightened his shoulders.

“I’ll go myself.”

The air went still.

“My Lord…” Nate spoke hesitantly, “That camp is protected. Whoever trained those omegas... It’s not normal. There’s something ancient in them. Dark.”

“Do I look like a man who cares?” Ragnar growled. “They scarred me. Betrayed my rule. Mocked my strength.” His hand unconsciously brushed the silver-burned wound on his bicep, and his scared eye twitched. The pain still sang under his skin, a slow poison to his pride.

“They want war?” he whispered. “I’ll give them extinction.”

The Eastern woods were quiet, the moon a pale witness to what was to come. Mist curled between the trees like serpents slithering over forgotten graves.

Ragnar walked through them like a god of wrath, cloaked in black armor, his golden eyes burning through the darkness. He didn’t bring an army. He didn’t need one.

When he reached the heart of the forest, the scent of wolves hit him, strong, wild, and untainted. This was no mere camp. It was a sanctuary. A rebellion’s cradle.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, low-ranking guards, their postures immediately defensive.

“We don’t welcome outsiders—”

“Bring me your leader,” Ragnar said, voice low, deadly. “Now. Before I burn this whole forest down with you in it.”

One of them flinched. The other shifted uneasily but didn’t move.

"And who do you think you are?" One of them commanded, the one who was a beta, as he was unable to notice his dominant alpha aura.

The omega boy shivered in fear. "He's a dominant Alpha," He said, trembling.

"I'm the king! Bring your leader to me before I loose my patience and snapyour necks," Ragnar growled as both the guards paled in horror.

“I said… now.”

The trees groaned in the wind. Tension thickened.

The omega boy scrambled inside frantically as the beta held the sword up, ready to attack any second if the King tried to pounce on him.

More guards rushed out holding their swords in the air as they took their defensive positions. Most of them were omega boys and few were betas male and female both.

Then…

There was a shuffle behind the guards. A figure stepped out from the thick curtain of shadows and smoke.

She walked slowly.

A woman.

She was wrapped in bandages, one over her cheek, another over her arm, and her left foot limped. Her face was partially hidden, but those eyes… those calm, striking green eyes.

Ragnar’s heart skipped a beat, not from fear—Ragnar never feared—but from something far more dangerous.

Recognition. 

Her hair was silver-ash, they were long reaching just below her hips. He could never forget those hair. Her posture was proud, unafraid. She stood tall as if she didn’t feel pain or shame. She was the Omega from the past. The little fierce girl who left a scar on his eyebrow and cheek.

“You wanted the leader?” she said, her voice low and cool.

Ragnar stared, eyes narrowing. He has heard this voice before.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “You…”

The bandages over her cheek shifted slightly as her lips curved into a faint smile.

“Surprised to see me again?” she said, cocking her head.

His fists clenched.

F*ck! F*ck! F*ck!

This girl. Those same fierce green eyes. 

“You’re dead.”

“Seems I have a habit of disappointing you,” she replied. “But I’m not just alive, Ragnar. I’m thriving. And you? You’re bleeding.”

He took a slow step forward, fury like fire in his veins.

“You were a f*cking omega. A child. And now—now you lead this?” There was pure shock in his lethal gaze. His deep voice thundered.

Her eyes glinted. “Yes, my Lord,” she purred.

A sudden wind blew through the trees, tossing her hair back. The scent hit him like a punch to the gut.

She was the same girl. The omega who scarred him twelve years ago. He was sure of it by her eyes and hair.

But also…

He stepped closer. “The beta…” he whispered. “The one from the ball…”

His breath caught.

“You were both?”

The woman’s smile widened, cruel and beautiful. “Congratulations. You finally figured it out.”

Ragnar was silent for a long moment, gaze burning into her like twin suns. The beta she-wolf who tried to kill him at the ball. She was the Omega girl. She must've masked her scent with the herbs just like right now, and she must've hidden her real hair color so he wouldn't recognize her from the past.

Then he laughed.

But it wasn’t humor. It was madness. A sound that made the wind halt.

“You played me,” he said darkly. “Twice.”

“I survived you,” she corrected. “Twice.”

F*ckin' sharp little vixen.

His jaw twitched. “You scarred me.”

“You deserved it.”

He stepped closer, his intimidating frame dwarfing her, but she kept her shoulders squared, glaring up at him in the cold night air. “You think I won’t kill you for what you did?”

She didn’t flinch. “Try.”

“Don't be so overconfident.” He warned.

“Leave, King,” she whispered. 

A dangerous silence fell.

Then Ragnar leaned in, his voice a low, thunderous growl.

“You think you can make me leave.”

She smiled again and nodded.

“No, you don’t.” He smirked.

Behind her, dozens of shadows appeared, warriors, omegas, ready, watching.

Ragnar’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

And that wasn't it as fully armoured soldiers appeared from behind him and they weren't a hundred this time. It felt like he brought a whole army to attack them.

Freya glared up at him. Her eyes darkened. And Ragnar smirked in absolute delight.

The girl from the past.

The Omega, he wasn't letting go anytime soon.

"Who will save you from me now, little Omega?" He grinned sinisterly.