The High Priestess of Dela leaned forward, smoke curling from her fingers. In its depths, shapes stirred—shadows of history taking form.
"About a millennium ago, long before your family's reign, the world was broken." A sphere appeared above her hand, splintered, then fell to ash. "Four rulers rose from each hemisphere. You would know this as the Great Awakening."
"Yes," Thane said, brow furrowed. "I recall fragments of it."
Figures of four rulers marched forward, spectral armies of a hundred thousand at their backs. They clashed in a storm of smoke until one figure remained standing atop the bones of the others.
"Emperor Roerich Debias," she said darkly. "The man who fathered Vlallas. He crushed his rivals, took their lands, slaughtered innocents, and defiled the sanctities of foreign temples. His cruelty knew no end."
Thane's jaw tightened as he watched Debias's shadow figure crown himself.
"The High Priest of Temple Freya warned Debias not to disrupt the natural order. But Debias had him strung up in the village square, mutilated until he gave up every secret of the Omegarian women hidden beneath the holy floors."
At her words, pale figures of women appeared—frail, robed in white. Celestial. Sacred.
"They were Omegarian. The ancestors of what you call Omegas. Fertile beyond measure, responsive to an Alpha's call, capable of bearing children who could set the world ablaze with power."
The shadow of Debias sneered, hands pawing at the women. Their white smoke turned black.
"Debias forced them into his harem," the Priestess continued. "He bred them, passed them among his officers, desperate to create a weapon heir. But no matter the coercion, no divine child came."
Thane's hands curled into fists. Rage burned through him—rage at a tyrant long dead, yet whose shadow still darkened his throne. "Gods above…"
She didn't soften. "In time, one Omegarian did find her true life mate—Fredrick, a conquered man who pledged himself to Debias to escape death. He could not bear to see her ravaged. Under cover of night, he stole her away, rescuing her sisters as well. Together they vanished into the wilds."
"Fredrick Lazareth." Thane's voice sharpened. "The second Emperor of Vlallas."
The Priestess inclined her head. "Indeed. He rallied the enslaved, crept back through the hidden tunnels of this very palace, and slit Debias's throat while he slept. With his Omegarian mate, Latonia, Fredrick became Emperor. Together they rebuilt what Debias had poisoned."
Thane sat in silence, struggling to reconcile the history with the fragments he had been taught. "Why have I never read this? Why did the scholars erase it?"
"Not erased," she corrected softly. "Burned. Centuries later, your great-grandfather ordered all records destroyed when Omegas dwindled. They became novelty, not necessity. Their truth was buried."
Thane thought of the journal in his study—the one remnant saved from the fire. "Then it was real. All of it."
"Yes." Her grey eyes pierced him. "You made a vow to me, Emperor. Now hear my demand. Do not bind this girl unless it is with love. Too many Omegas have been ruined by men who saw only their power. If she is not meant for you, give her to me. I will keep her safe in the Temple, far from hands that would use her."
Her words struck deeper than he expected. Celeste's face rose unbidden in his mind—her defiance, her spirit, her trembling fear on the auction block. Could he ever let her go?
He forced himself to nod. "I swear, Priestess. I will not force her. If it comes to that, I will send her away. I am not my ancestor's shadow."
The Priestess studied him in silence, then inclined her head. "I believe you, Thane Rysling. The spirits do not lie. There is promise in your reign—great things waiting. But remember, every promise is a blade. Held wrongly, it cuts the hand that wields it."
She rose, robe whispering against the stone.
"Thank you," Thane said quietly. "For the truth. For reminding me of the weight I carry."
Her gaze lingered. "Use it wisely, Emperor."
And with a swirl of smoke, she was gone, leaving him alone with the ghosts of his bloodline—and the living firefly he could not seem to release.