All Chapters of The last omega: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Irene The storm hasn’t stopped, only softened into a tired drizzle that falls from a bruised sky. The pack house is half a skeleton now—steam rising from the broken stones, the scent of wet ash clinging to everything. We keep moving through the wreckage, checking every hollow, every shadow that still stands. Kevin lifts a cracked beam aside while Elias steadies the wall. “No movement here,” Kevin says, his breath coming in sharp bursts. “Who else are we missing?” “Tobias,” I answer before thinking. The name leaves my lips like a prayer. They both look at me. Elias tilts his head. “The one who helped you before?” I nod. “If he’s alive, he’ll be near the lower quarters. He used to help in the kitchen or the laundry room. He’d hide there to take his breath .” Kevin wipes rain from his eyes. “Then that’s where we’ll start.” We pick our way down a corridor half-collapsed, stepping over burned beams and shattered tiles. My boots sink into wet soot. I remember these halls—the echo o

Irene The barn is a hive of quiet motion—wolves lifting crates, healers sorting herbs, the wounded whispering soft thanks to one another. Outside, the valley glistens beneath thin sunlight that still carries the weight of yesterday’s storm. We’re getting ready to leave. Cassian and Rowan check the jeeps while Elias and Kevin go over lists, arguing softly about what to send back and what to leave behind. “We should leave two healers here,” Elias says. “Tom knows the people best. He can organize the rebuilding.” Kevin shakes his head. “And what happens if the fever spreads? They’ll need medicine, not just muscle.” Cassian looks over his shoulder. “We’ll divide it. Half the healers, half the guards. Enough to protect them until we return with reinforcements.” Jack stands nearby with Tom, both still bandaged but walking upright. “I don’t even know how to thank you,” he says quietly. “If not for you—” “Thank the Goddess, not me,” I reply. “We were only her hands.” He nods, still

Irene I wake up tangled between them, warmth pressing against me from every side. Cassian’s arm is heavy across my waist, Rowan’s breath steady against the back of my neck, Elias curled close enough for his heartbeat to echo through me. Kevin lies sprawled at the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off, snoring softly like the world couldn’t possibly end today. For a moment, I just stay still. The sunlight drips through the curtains in thin gold lines, touching their skin like a blessing. The house is quiet except for the low hum of morning—distant footsteps, the crackle of fire in the kitchen, and somewhere outside, the rhythmic sound of men drawing water from the well. Peace. Real, unshaken peace. It fills the room the way their scent fills my lungs—wild, familiar, and safe. Cassian stirs first, mumbling something about patrol schedules before realizing I’m still in his arms. His lips brush the top of my head. “Morning, love.” Rowan groans and throws a pillow at him. “Don’t s

Irene For a long time, none of us speak. The glow from the Mother Tree paints our faces in soft rose light, trembling like a living heartbeat. The pink fruit sways gently in the breeze, its color so delicate it almost doesn’t seem real—like dawn caught in glass. Cassian is the first to move. He steps closer, slow and reverent, the way a believer approaches an altar. “It’s warm,” he murmurs, holding his palm near the bark without touching it. “Do you feel that? The air’s pulsing.” Elias nods, his golden eyes wide with disbelief. “It shouldn’t be possible. The Mother Tree hasn’t changed in over a hundred years.” Kevin whistles softly. “Well, she just woke up from her nap.” Rowan elbows him, but even he’s grinning faintly. None of us can stop staring at it. The light shifts every few seconds—soft pink fading to gold, then back again, as if the fruit itself is breathing. Tobias’s voice trembles. “What does it mean?” I swallow hard, trying to find words that don’t sound like madnes

Irene Dawn rises slow, like a breath after a nightmare. The mist curls over the meadow, pale gold where the first light touches it. The path to the Elders’ Hall glows damp beneath our boots. No one speaks; only the crunch of gravel and the soft beat of wings somewhere above us. Cassian walks at my side, cloak brushing mine. Rowan and Elias flank behind like silent walls. Kevin leads, eyes forward, while Tobias carries the folded parchment of our words — unnecessary, because I already know what I’ll say. The Goddess whispered it all night inside my dreams: Speak of kindness before fear. Speak of hope before power. The hall rises from the earth like an old beast — stone and ivy, older than any of us. When the guards open the doors, heat and tension spill out. The council is already waiting. Twelve men, ancient and severe, robes heavy with the weight of centuries. Their gazes sharpen when they see us. “Beta Kevin,” one says coldly. “We were summoned before sunrise. Explain yourself