All Chapters of The last omega: Chapter 81 - Chapter 88

Irene By the time we return, the sun is high enough to gild the path in gold. Dew still clings to the grass, sparkling like tiny blessings scattered under our feet. The forest no longer feels heavy — it hums. Every branch, every breath of wind carries a strange sweetness, as if the entire land knows something has changed. The closer we get to the house, the louder the sound grows — voices, laughter, footsteps. Rowan frowns lightly. “That’s… a lot of people.” Cassian snorts. “You mean an entire pack waiting for answers.” He’s right. When we reach the court , they’re all there — men of every rank, from warriors to kitchen helpers, lined along the steps and under the olive trees. The sight steals my breath. For weeks , half of them watched me from a respectful distance — cautious, uncertain how to act around the only woman alive. But now, when they see me coming, something in them breaks loose. “It’s true!” someone shouts. “The Mother Tree!” “Praise the Goddess!” another calls.

Irene A week passes like a sigh between dawns. The world hasn’t stopped celebrating. Every morning, distant drums echo from other packs, and the air smells sweeter somehow—like even the earth is humming a quiet lullaby of forgiveness. The pink fruit still hangs beneath the Mother Tree’s highest branch, glowing softly each night as if it holds a tiny piece of dawn. Tobias, true to his word, becomes the happiest gardener anyone has ever seen. The first morning, he marched into the garden wearing gloves two sizes too big and a ridiculous straw hat that looked stolen from a scarecrow. “It’s called fashion,” he declared proudly. “Garden couture.” Rowan almost choked on his water. Elias laughed until he fell off the bench. Even Kevin—stern, composed Kevin—hid a smile behind his mug. Cassian only shook his head. “If the Goddess doesn’t strike him down for that hat, we might truly be forgiven.” But Tobias proved surprisingly dedicated. He learned the names of every plant by hea

Irene I nod. Tears tease my lashes again. I’m so tired of crying. But there’s a kind of strength in it, too, the way the river is strong when it breaks itself on rocks and still runs with fury . The men return fast. Rowan with the ladder and strap. Tobias with linen, a clay bowl, and a bundle of herbs that smell like sunlight. Kevin with three extra cloaks and a tight mouth. Cassian with a small wooden figure I’ve never seen—a tiny wolf carved with care, smoothed by years of being held. “For luck,” he says, and tucks it into the crook of a branch. We work like a single body. Rowan secures the ladder and climbs first, steady as a mountain. He doesn’t touch the fruit; he measures the distance and ties the cradle strap to a higher limb, leaving a soft sling ready beneath. Elias mixes warm water with a lick of honey and murmurs to the mixture like healers have done for centuries. Tobias spreads the linen on the grass and arranges tiny bundles of herbs the way Elias taught him thi

Irene Morning creeps in quietly, pale and thin, as if afraid to touch the grove. No one speaks when the light arrives. The fire has burned down to ash, the lanterns flicker out one by one, and the only thing that still glows faintly is the fruit. It’s smaller than yesterday. I feel it before I see it — a hollow ache behind my ribs, as if my own heart shrank to match. Cassian stirs beside me, brushing soot from his sleeve. His eyes are red around the edges. “Did you sleep?” he asks. I shake my head. “You?” He doesn’t answer. That’s answer enough. The others begin to wake in fragments. Rowan pushes himself upright with a low groan. Tobias blinks like a child who forgot how mornings work. Kevin’s first movement is to reach for his notes. Elias only sighs and stares at his hands for a long time before flexing his fingers like a man who no longer trusts his own strength. The grove smells of tired bodies, smoke, and the faint sweetness of decay. Rowan mutters something about patrols