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“You ask me about weakness?” Naya said, her voice dropping to something more dangerous.

“The weakness isn’t in wanting connection.

The weakness is in being so broken by past horrors that you can’t envision a truly happy future.

It’s in assuming that because bad things happened, good things are impossible.

The weakness is in teaching your daughters that they should be afraid of the whole world instead of showing them how to navigate it with wisdom and strength. ”

The words pierced in the air, sharp and unforgiving. Around the circle, faces transformed to various degrees of shock, anger, and even recognition. But as the silence stretched, an uncomfortable realization twisted through Naya’s chest.

Here she was, lecturing these women about not letting fear dictate their choices, about the weakness of choosing isolation over connection.

Yet what had she done just hours earlier?

Her body had known what it wanted, had responded to his touch with relish, yet her mind had still chosen safety over possibility.

She was lecturing them about courage while doing exactly what she criticized—letting past wounds dictate future choices.

The contradiction cut deep. She was advocating for courage while choosing self-protection, arguing for the importance of Alpha-Omega bonds while rejecting her own.

She quickly pushed the thoughts aside. That was different. These women feared potential harm from unknown Alphas. She was protecting herself from proven cruelty from a specific one. The distinction mattered.

The thought sat bitter on her tongue as she watched the women process her words. Some nodded thoughtfully, others bristled. All of them seemed to sense the weight of what she’d said, the challenge to beliefs that had kept them safe for generations.

The woman Naya’s age with penetrating dark eyes who’d spoken this morning leaned forward, her voice cutting through the tension. “Your bloodline theory—how do you know it’s accurate? How can you be certain that what you’re describing actually happens?”

Grateful for a question she could answer with facts rather than emotion, Naya settled onto the stone bench.

“The Lox Empire maintains comprehensive records through our Record Keep; a place where scholars document population trends, birth patterns, family lineages. They’ve tracked these changes over generations. ”

“And you’ve seen this data yourself?”

“Yes. I’ve studied the records extensively as part of my education as heir to the Lox throne. The patterns are clear when you have enough data to analyze.”

The silver-haired elder, Ttela, spoke with quiet intensity. “Are you aware how insulting this theory is to the children in our community? You’re essentially telling them they’re inferior because their fathers aren’t Alphas.”

“Not just them,” another Omega Naya didn’t recognize added. “All of us. This community is generations old. Most of us probably don’t have Alphas in our bloodline.”

Naya shook her head firmly. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. You’ve raised intelligent, capable children who are thriving despite every obstacle this world has thrown at your community. You aren’t inferior. None of you are.”

She leaned forward. “What I’m talking about isn’t individual worth, it’s about preserving the traits that made all of this possible.

The magical abilities that let you maintain those crystals, create protective tools.

” Her voice grew quieter as her thoughts drifted on a tangent.

“Although maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be entirely terrible if those traits faded.

If there were no more Omegas, future generations wouldn’t have to worry about wild magic hunting them.

They wouldn’t experience the kind of heartbreak that comes from needing someone so completely, only to have that person. ..”

Naya caught herself, heat searing her face, realizing how personal her words had become.

She cleared her throat, forcing her voice back to steadiness. “I’m not saying anyone here is lacking anything. I’m simply pointing out what happens over time when certain bloodlines don’t continue.” She shrugged. “Whether that’s a loss or a mercy depends on your perspective.”

The woman with the soothing voice spoke up. “But even if we made the decision to seek out only Alphas to have our children with, you’re still saying we’re lacking something essential. That we’re incomplete if we’re without Alphas.”

Frustration flared hot in Naya’s chest again, her patience finally snapping completely. “Of course you’re lacking something! Just like Alphas are lacking something without Omegas!”

Her voice echoed off the stone walls with startling force.

“Alphas and Omegas have been given a connection that’s beautiful and profound—something Betas cannot know, something that not even every Alpha and Omega gets to experience.

We’re supposed to be together in a harmony that is unmatched.

Whether it’s Alphas or some other group doing the abusing or Omegas separating themselves completely, the dynamics cannot thrive properly when either extreme is happening. ”

The chamber fell silent except for the soft hiss of oil lamps and the familiar distant echo of water. Twelve pairs of eyes watched her with varying expressions of shock, consideration, and lingering anger.

“You’re asking me to pretend that isolation is as fulfilling as connection,” Naya continued finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense.

“To agree that fearful choices are the same as wisdom, that survival is the same as living. I won’t do that.

Not when I’ve seen what’s possible when Omegas are valued and protected and free to choose their own paths, including the path that leads toward partnership. ”

In the silence that followed her words, some of the rigid anger drained from her shoulders. She looked around the circle of faces—some still resistant, others thoughtful, all of them women who had survived unimaginable loss and built something meaningful from the ashes.

“I understand having to hide away for safety,” she said, her voice soft now.

“When survival is at stake, isolation is sometimes the only option. But it shouldn’t be permanent.

If circumstances change, if the world evolves, then Omegas should be finding ways to carefully reintroduce themselves rather than remaining hidden indefinitely. ”

An Omega near the back of the circle, one who had remained silent through most of the evening’s discussions, leaned forward. “What happened to the First Mother? To Kaharine?”

Naya blinked, surprised by the sudden change of topic. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I didn’t even know she existed until I came here. Her story isn’t part of our recorded history in the Known Lands.”

Around the circle, faces fell. The dejection was visible—shoulders slumping, eyes dropping to study the stone floor, the idea of lost connection deflating.

Another woman, younger than most, spoke up, confusion on her face. “Why didn’t you mention any of this when we met earlier? About your land, about the changes in Omega society?”

“I wasn’t asked for my opinion other than about the storm,” Naya said simply. “I didn’t know if I could speak freely in this setting, or if sharing my perspectives would be welcome.”

Ttela, the silver-haired elder, straightened in her carved seat. “Then what is your opinion? About our situation specifically?”

Naya considered her words carefully, aware that everything she said now could influence the fate of this hidden community.

“The ssukkǔrian people have been very successful in the past with their Alpha and Omega couples. I cannot see how they benefit from that ongoing loss.” She paused, meeting eyes around the circle.

“You should be working toward an alliance with King Sy to reintegrate, especially since you have a shared problem—the nnin-eellithi storm—and especially since you have an advantage because you essentially maintain all the magical tools in the region.”

“Why would the king want that?” the elder asked, skepticism sharp in her tone.

Naya paused, her mind turning to Akoro, the burden he carried constantly, the guilt that had driven him to destroy his own family.

She remembered the reverence in his people’s eyes during the Day of Voices ceremony, how they looked at him as their divinely chosen leader.

And beneath that adoration was a fragile foundation it all rested on—his constant need to prove himself worthy of their trust, to distance himself from the sins that stained his bloodline.

“It would help him redeem his family’s treatment of Omegas in the eyes of his people,” she said finally. “That matters to him more than you might think.”

Her own words struck her with unexpected force.

Akoro had spent his entire adult life trying to erase the shame of what his ancestors had done, building his rule on the promise that he was different, better.

But that promise would always ring hollow as long as the Omega community remained hidden, their suffering unacknowledged, their contributions unrecognized.

If he could broker peace with the Omegas, if he could publicly honor what they’d endured and celebrate their return to society—the political and personal vindication would be transformative.

His people would see him not just as the king who destroyed his own corrupt dynasty, but as the one who healed the deepest wound in their history.

For the first time since the emergency session began, Oshrun spoke. “Does it? Does he even want that after the law he made?”

Naya nodded without hesitation, remembering the raw pain in his voice when he’d spoken of Jhonaal’s daughter, the way his jaw had clenched when he’d described the whispers that followed him through his childhood.

“He definitely does. The law he made was a bigger political decision. And he kept looking for Omegas to help set you up somewhere safe until he received a message, I assume from Ilǐa, to stop.”

Oshrun lifted her head in sudden understanding and leaned back in her seat.

Silence stretched through the chamber, thick with consideration. Oil lamps flickered against the walls, casting shifting shadows across thoughtful faces as each woman processed the implications of what Naya had shared.

Finally, a quiet voice from one of the youngest Omegas broke through the contemplation. “Earlier, at the table with Zhera, you said you found your mate. Are you with him?”

Naya swallowed, nerves suddenly jangling. “No.”

“Why?”

The question pierced through Naya’s carefully maintained composure like a blade finding the gap in armor. Her throat tightened, and for a moment she couldn’t find words.

“My mate treated me terribly,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He kidnapped me from my home, held me prisoner, tortured me when I tried to resist.” The words came faster now, spilling out like water through a broken dam.

“He threatened to conquer my empire, to enslave my people. And when I tried to escape, he gave me the nnol ttaehh mael to ensure I could never leave him without risking my own life.”

Gasps echoed around the chamber. Several women pressed hands to their throats. The Omega with the soothing voice leaned forward, horror in her eyes, utter disbelief in her voice. “King Sy is your true mate?”

Naya couldn’t speak past the emotion clogging her throat. She nodded, tears threatening.

“And you’re rejecting him for the things he did?” another voice asked softly.

“I am.” She forced the words from her throat with effort.

“I understand that he’s been hurt, that he’s gone through trauma, but I don’t think I can forgive him.

” She paused, swallowing hard against the ache in her chest. The Omegas around the table stared at her, their faces frozen with wonder and soft understanding, but she pressed on.

“It’s difficult because I have looked for my mate for a long time.

And being with Akoro is... incredible. It’s beyond anything I could have ever dreamed it to be.

But we are all just people, and we all make our own choices. I cannot forgive his.”

She lifted her head, meeting their gazes directly. “Just because I cannot be with my mate doesn’t mean there aren’t suitable Alphas for everyone here. The problem isn’t the dynamic itself—it’s finding the right circumstances, the right protections, with an Alpha who adores you.”

Around the circle, several faces softened into understanding smiles. The woman with the soothing voice nodded slowly. “Thank you. For your honesty. For sharing something so painful to help us understand.”

Others murmured their agreement, and Naya felt the last of the hostility in the chamber dissolve into something warmer.

The acceptance in their faces should have brought comfort, but instead it solidified something that had been building in Naya’s mind throughout the discussions.

She looked around the circle of women, each carrying their own wounds, their own carefully constructed defenses against a world that had proven itself capable of terrible cruelty.

She understood their fears because she lived them.

The way they spoke of Alphas with suspicion and wariness, the careful distance they maintained from anything that might threaten their hard-won safety…

it mirrored her own retreat from Akoro, her own decision to choose protection over possibility.

But they had to at least try to overcome their fear.

The chamber settled into contemplative quiet, each woman lost in her own thoughts.

The flickering lamplight painted moving shadows on the walls, and Naya realized that sometimes the most difficult conversations were like those shadows—constantly shifting, revealing new truths with each change in perspective, but always cast by the same unchanging light.