Rise of the Omega

Chapter 1: Unseen

The smell of roasted venison hung heavy in the air, spiced with sage and wild garlic, and my stomach growled like an impatient wolf pup. I held the platter steady in both hands as I moved through the dining hall, weaving between long wooden tables packed with warriors and their mates. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, sharp and bright, and every sound seemed to remind me that I didn’t belong among them.

“Careful, omega,” someone muttered as I passed, their elbow deliberately knocking mine. The platter tilted, and hot grease slid over my wrist before I righted it again. The warriors at the table erupted in chuckles.

I forced a smile, though my wrist stung. “Wouldn’t want to waste the alpha’s meat,” I said lightly.

That earned me another round of laughter, this time tinged with mockery. Omegas weren’t supposed to have wit. We were supposed to keep our heads down and our mouths shut, invisible unless needed.

My place. Always my place.

I set the platter down on the head table where Alpha Leron Tregor lounged in his carved oak chair, dark eyes sharp as they flicked toward me. His presence filled the room more than the fire blazing in the hearth. He was broad-shouldered, scarred from battles he liked to brag about, his jaw set in permanent command. And when his gaze lingered on me, it wasn’t with disdain. That was worse.

“Late again,” he said, his voice low but carrying. “An omega who can’t even serve on time.”

Heat crept into my face. “It won’t happen again, Alpha,” I murmured, head bowed.

Behind me, someone whispered just loud enough for others to hear, “Maybe she was too busy staring at her reflection.”

A ripple of laughter ran down the benches. My lips twitched in the faintest smile, though my chest tightened. If they thought I cared about my reflection, they clearly hadn’t looked at me long enough to notice my tangled braid or the flour streak still smudged across my cheek from the kitchen.

“Quiet,” Leron said, not because he cared about my dignity but because he didn’t like noise that wasn’t his. His attention cut back to me. “Go sit where you belong.”

Where I belonged.

I nodded and turned, moving toward the last bench at the far end of the hall, tucked close to the doors where the smoke seeped out and the drafts snuck in. The omega corner. My corner. I slid onto the bench beside Seris, who raised a brow at me as though to ask what I’d done this time.

“What did you trip over, your own feet?” she whispered, her lips twitching.

“Not this time,” I muttered back, taking the crust of bread she pushed toward me. My stomach growled again, and I bit into it as though it were a feast.

On the other side, Tarin leaned in, his voice low. “At least you didn’t drop it. Remember when Joran spilled wine on the Beta’s lap? He was on dung duty for a week.”

I snorted, and a crumb of bread caught in my throat. Seris thumped my back as I coughed, laughter escaping despite myself. For a moment, humiliation melted into the warmth of shared mischief, the only comfort omegas were allowed.

Still, as I chewed and tried to swallow my pride along with the bread, I felt Leron’s gaze linger. That was the part that unsettled me most. Not his scolding, not the laughter of the others. It was the way his eyes sometimes sharpened on me, as if he saw more than an omega. As if he wanted something.

I didn’t want to know what.

By the time the hall emptied and the warriors stumbled off toward their beds or the training yard for late-night sparring, I was left behind to scrub the tables and gather bones into buckets. My hands stank of grease, and I muttered under my breath as I worked.

“Omega-born, omega-bound,” I sang quietly, the nursery rhyme whispered to pups to remind them of their place. My voice dripped with sarcasm, though I kept it soft enough that only Seris, still stacking cups, heard.

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble one day,” she warned, shaking her head though her eyes sparkled.

“I’m already in trouble,” I said. “I was born me.”

Born me. Born wrong, some said. Born under the blood moon that had turned the sky crimson on the night of my birth. Wolves whispered that it was an omen, that the pup born that night would bring change, chaos, or ruin. I’d grown up with their stares, their muttered prayers. My mother used to kiss my forehead and tell me I was just her girl, nothing cursed, nothing destined. She was gone now, and the whispers remained.

I tried not to care. Mostly succeeded. Except on nights like this when grease clung to my skin and laughter still rang in my ears.

Tarin shuffled past with a bucket and bumped my shoulder. “You’d think they’d at least let us eat the good cuts,” he said.

“Maybe next lifetime,” I replied. “If we’re reborn as alphas.”

“Or betas,” he countered.

“Or their dogs,” I added, and we both snickered.

Humour was all that kept the sting from burrowing too deep. That, and the small, treacherous part of me that wanted more. Not power. Not command. Just respect. A seat at the table where no one laughed when I spoke.

Was that too much to want? Apparently, yes.

Later, in the quiet of my small room at the edge of the packhouse, I stretched out on the narrow bed. The walls were thin enough that I could hear laughter and footsteps from the hall, but here, at least, no one watched me.

I let my thoughts wander, chasing dreams I’d never admit aloud. What it might feel like to walk into the hall and have silence fall because people waited to hear what I had to say. To stand beside the alpha, not behind him.

I shook my head at myself. Ridiculous. I was omega Ardena, born to serve, born to keep my head down. I rolled onto my side, tugged the blanket to my chin, and muttered, “Tomorrow I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

I almost laughed at my own promise. Almost.

Sleep took me with the faint sound of distant howls outside, a reminder that the world was bigger than omegas and alphas and humiliations. A world I might never touch.

But something in me, quiet as a heartbeat, whispered otherwise.