Alena’s gaze dropped to the golden jar. It gleamed in the dappled cave light, small and unassuming—yet she’d witnessed firsthand the destructive power it held. She bent to pick it up, but pain knifed through her ribs, stealing the strength from her limbs. Her vision swam, a dark haze creeping in at the edges.
For a horrifying moment, she thought she might collapse at the god’s feet.
The South Wind rolled his eyes. “Oh, none of that now.”
In one fluid motion, he caught her hand. Warmth surged through her like sunlight after a storm, sinking into her bones. Then, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
Blue fire bloomed where his lips touched, flaring outwards in tendrils of shimmering light. His magic coursed over her body like a whispering breeze—mending, soothing, remaking. Bones knitted. Skin sealed. Her ruined hand straightened, fingers stretching without pain.
When the light faded, she stood whole again, blinking in disbelief.
“There.” The god stepped back, looking far too pleased with himself. “Can’t have you keeling over the moment I send you back.”
With a snap of his fingers, her boots laced themselves snugly around her feet. “Now, go wreak some havoc, Omega.”
Alena met his gaze—amber eyes glinting like embers, daring her onwards. Without breaking eye contact, she reached down, seized the golden jar, and pulled the cork.
The response was immediate.
Winds, hot and humid, swept over her in a tumultuous frenzy, howling in her ears. When they parted, Alena stood once more in the open courtyard, near the barracks.
Her Omega magic burned golden around her. The warm air of the South Wind swirled at her command, streaks of sky-blue threading through the blaze of colours. She tasted sun-ripened fruit from distant southern lands, felt desert sand scrape her skin, sensed the heavy humidity lifted from the Great Sea.
Praefect Gortynius—Philippos, she reminded herself—knelt a few paces away, clutching his bloodied ankle with a tight grimace. Sunlight spilled into the courtyard now, stark and unforgiving, but the ground remained frozen. Winter still refused to release its hold.
Across from her, the Rasennan soldiers stood in stunned silence, eyes wide, staring at her as if she were a creature torn from myth.
Gortynius snapped his head up and barked a command in Rhaetic, shattering the stillness. The soldiers blinked as if waking from a trance, then drew their swords in a hiss of steel and surged forward.
Alena raised her hand.
Warmth pulsed at her fingertips—the South Wind’s magic, fierce and waiting. The breeze thickened into a rising gust, then roared to life. A hot gale slammed into Gortynius, throwing himbackwards, then surged towards the charging soldiers. With a flick of her fingers, the winds intensified, lashing out like a storm-beast unleashed.
The soldiers were swept off their feet, tossed like dolls through the air. They slammed into the wooden barracks with a thunderouscrash, splintering beams and breaking half the wall before collapsing in a tangled heap of limbs and weapons.
One of the quarry supervisors turned ghost-pale. Another bolted—only to be stopped short as a slave roared, “Grab their weapons!”
Chaos erupted.
Slaves surged forward—some lunging at the stunned overseers, others racing towards the fallen soldiers. Whips were torn from belts, blades from scabbards.
“No—wait!” Alena shouted, her voice was lost beneath the howl of the storm.
Panic seized her as the gale grew wilder, slipping from her grasp. Fierce gusts ripped through the half-crumbled barrack, sending shards of timber spinning like deadly projectiles. They smashed into the other buildings, striking down even a couple of slaves.
A man dropped where he stood, unmoving, blood blooming through his tunic like ink in water.
Alena’s heart clenched. She hadn’t meant to harm anyone but the soldiers.
“What are you doing?” someone shouted, but the voice was lost in the roar.
The wind was everywhere—snatching at her hair and tunic, dragging her across the frozen ground as though trying to tear her loose. She stumbled, boots skidding, arms raised against the shrieking gale.
I hope you’re ready for them.
The South Wind’s words cut through the storm in her mind. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stop fighting andfeel. Magic spiralled around her hands, sky-blue wisps flickering in protest.
Her fingers closed as though gripping reins. “That’s enough.”
