The Alpha King's Omega
“Impossible-”
Wings of fire unfurled from Freya’s back, vast and radiant, their feathers forged from golden embers. Her hair streamed upward in currents of molten sunlight. Her eyes burned, not mortal, not borrowed, but as twin cores of dawn. Every line of her body blazed with raw sovereignty, not given, not inherited, claimed.
Freya lifted the Sword, her voice rising steady and final above the storm. It was not a scream. It was a vow.
“This flame was never yours. It was waiting for me.”
Bab Populer