The walls of his cell felt smaller today.
It wasn't just the suffocating air, the stale stench of blood and sweat—it was something inside him, clawing from beneath the skin. Seo-Yun shivered, though the room was warm. His body pulsed with a strange, smoldering heat, not like fever—but deeper, coiled in muscle and marrow, in places that hadn't belonged to him since this nightmare began.
He curled forward, pressing his forehead to the cold stone. Breathing was harder now. His heart thudded in irregular bursts, and there was an ache in his lower abdomen that refused to fade.
It's starting.
Panic scratched at the edge of his mind. He knew the signs. He remembered the chapter—Chapter 34. That was when Ciel went into his first full heat. The novel had described it like a haze, a betrayal of reason, a descent. Ciel had been stripped of himself piece by piece until he didn't even fight the Alphas anymore. He begged them.
I am not Ciel. I am not a character. I am not yours.
But his body didn't care.
By the time the guards came, he was already slick with sweat. His tunic clung to him, sheer and damp. Every brush of fabric against his skin was unbearable. His thighs trembled with every movement. He didn't want to admit it, but the scent—the musk of his own heat—was rising.
They didn't speak as they entered. One grabbed him by the collar, yanking him to his feet. The other bound his wrists. No ceremony. No pretense.
They weren't bringing him to Kaelith this time.
They were bringing him to the chamber.
Seo-Yun's breath stuttered. Not the pit. The breeding chamber. A place described in the book as lavish and cruel. A place where Omegas were "tamed" through forced cycles—where the strongest Alphas proved their dominance by taking them during peak heat.
He struggled, but his body was sluggish with fever. Resistance only earned him a blow to the back of his head that sent his ears ringing.
They stripped him in front of the door.
No words. Just hands—cold, impersonal, efficient—removing the last bits of his clothing like peeling back a fruit before offering it to be consumed.
The heavy doors groaned open, and he was thrown into the center of the room.
Cushions. Silk. Low-burning lanterns that gave the place a red glow, like the inside of a throat.
And in the shadows waited Alpha Ryven.
Not Kaelith. But just as dangerous.
Ryven rose from the cushions like a coiled beast, his pale hair loose around his shoulders, dark tattoos snaking down his chest. He moved slowly, confidently, the scent of Alpha spiking hard and hot.
Seo-Yun's breath caught.
The heat surged.
He dug his nails into the floor. No. No. No.
Ryven knelt beside him, and to his horror, didn't touch him. He just inhaled, deeply.
"You're ripe," he murmured.
Seo-Yun spat in his face.
Ryven flinched. Then smiled.
"Good," he said, voice like crushed velvet. "I like them wild."
What followed wasn't love. It wasn't lust.
It was ownership.
Seo-Yun didn't cry. He bit his own tongue until the blood masked the sound in his throat. He focused on the ceiling, on the cracks in the stone, on the fact that this wasn't his body—it was just the shell they wanted. His mind was still his.
But when it was over, and he was left trembling, the tremors wouldn't stop. The heat hadn't faded. Ryven had only fed the fire.
As the door shut behind the Alpha, Seo-Yun crawled to the edge of the cushions, collapsed there, and whispered to the ceiling:
"I will remember every one of you."
And he did.
Every hand. Every scar. Every name.
His body may be claimed, but it would be the seed of something else—vengeance, maybe. Or something more terrifying.
Hope.