Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the Beast
"What threads, Rowan? Stay with me. Don't go back into the story."
"The world," he said, his hand reaching up to touch the air. As he moved his fingers, I saw thin, glowing lines appearing in the empty space—lines that connected the stones, the trees outside, even the people huddled at the door. "It’s all... 'Written.' Even the wasteland. Even the wolves. Malphas was right. The Aethel-Corp didn't build the world. They just found the 'Editor's Desk.'"
He sat up, his movements fluid and terrifyingly graceful. He looked at the Omegas standing at the door. They weren't cowering anymore. They were staring at him with a religious awe.