Omega Freed

Chapter 1

SELENE

Itrace a finger over the mortar between the bricks in the wall, a path I’ve traced so many times before that it’s worn down smooth.

Once upon a time I thought that if I did it often enough, I could dig my way out of here.

Wear the brick and mortar down a little at a time until it gave way to sunlight.

Sunlight. I don’t remember what it looks like anymore.

It’s been quiet all day, which is unusual. Father didn’t even bring me breakfast, and now my stomach is growling. He’s never missed bringing me a meal since he locked me in here.

How long ago now? My gaze flicks back to the wall, where I used to leave tiny scratches to mark the time passing, but then I realized how pointless that was and I stopped.

Surely it’s been years. I hope it’s been years, because that’s what it’s felt like in here.

Years of my life spent looking at these walls, knitting blankets, imagining the world going by outside.

I begged him for a while to let me out, but it fell on ears that would never hear me. He truly believes he’s doing right by me. And maybe the world out there is so harsh, so full of sin and vice and evil, that it’s better for me in here.

But I don’t really think so. Nothing could be worse than here.

My stomach grumbles again a bit later, and I stand up to knock on the door, which is locked from the outside.

“Father!” I call out. “I’m hungry. Can you bring me something?”

Usually, if I ask very nicely, he’ll get what I ask for as long as it’s not something I could escape with. I did try carving at the inside of the door with a knife once, so he hasn’t given me one since. I have to eat chewy meat with my hands and a fork.

There’s no response. I try a few more times, knocking louder on the door and calling out. After an hour or two, though, I stop to save my energy.

What if something happened to him? A vagrant, like he often talks about, or perhaps one of those wandering, vicious alphas.

I expected more of a lurch in my gut at the idea that he might be dead. That someone has killed him, or worse, beaten him and taken his things and then killed him.

But I don’t. I feel nothing—except for the part where I am now trapped inside this room with no way out.

Time passes. I wait on the off-chance that Father was simply out for the whole day, something he’s never done before. I wait until the gnawing hunger is inescapable, and then I beat on the door some more, calling his name.

No one comes.

After sleeping in the corner for a few more hours, I find the door hasn’t budged. Now my hunger is a yawning pit inside me, an ache that won’t go away. And who knows how long it’s been since I had water?

I can’t keep waiting. He may never come for me. I’m going to have to get myself out of here, somehow.

I have the last plate Father brought me, so I wedge that in the door and try to push it through the lock. But the plate just breaks, and all I’m left with is the fork.

After trying with the fork for another hour, all the tines are bent and that, too, has become useless to me. Frustrated, I get up and bang on the door, again and again, screaming for someone to come. Anyone. A bandit. An alpha.

I’ll take any of them.

I yank on the handle, but there’s no give. I hit it hard, and the wooden door remains firm. So I bring up one leg and kick it as powerfully as I can, in a way I’ve never done before. If I made noise, Father would always check it out, so I didn’t dare do something like this.

Surely he’ll come if I’m this loud.

When my foot strikes the door, I’m shocked by how much it hurts. The door rattles, but doesn’t budge. I take a few deep breaths because moving this much has been taxing on my body, and then kick again. Again, it hurts, but I can’t care. I have to escape this place before I die here.

I kick once more, with all the force I can muster, and the hinge bends. Gasping, I fall to the floor, spent. But now I know—I can hurt it. I might have a chance.

After regaining my breath, once more I climb to my feet and kick with my other foot. It’s less graceful but, to my surprise, more powerful. The upper hinge bends this time.

I kick and kick, then rest, then kick some more until my whole body is sore. The hinges break slowly but surely, and no one comes to stop me.

I’m weak by the time the first hinge snaps off. That renews my energy, and I kick again—as hard as I possibly can—and the second hinge gives way.

I shriek with joy when it goes down, revealing a hallway I haven’t seen for who knows how long. My house. The house I used to live in with Father before he locked me in here. There’s light, so much light, and it’s so bright that it nearly blinds me compared to the dim candlelight I’ve lived with.

Right. The candle. I go blow it out before returning to the hall, where I suddenly have a choice to make.

What do I do next? Where do I go? Do I stay here and risk Father coming back and locking me in the room again?

No. Absolutely not. I have to go, and I have to go right now.

HAROLD

“Harry,” calls out the guard captain, Greld. “You’re out by the east tower tonight. There’s been talk of wolves lately, so make sure to get one for me.”

“Right.” I grab my musket and nod appropriately. “I’ll keep an eye out, Cap.”

Then I stuff my bag into a trunk and take off.

Not that I’d ever shoot at a wolf. They’re easy to scare off, being smaller predators, and are rarely out to pick a fight.

A bear is a different story. I’ve encountered plenty of those on patrol, but I’ve only had to take one down in all my time in the township’s service.

Even as big as I am, I’m no match for a bear, and it was him or me. So I took out my musket and picked me.

I set off through town toward the east, where denser blocks of apartments give way to larger homes, then smaller ones. The moon is high in the sky by the time I reach the first farm on the edge of town.

Every night as a township guard is a mental game.

What great philosophical question will I ponder tonight as I walk endlessly through the woods, looking for anything that might be a threat?

Maybe this will be the day I ponder that book I read where the boy gave up his dog to save his brother.

What a conundrum. What would I have done?

Of course, it is the moral choice to save the human life.

But in the moment, who can say what any of us would do?

It’s a morbid thought to take with me, but it’ll do.

I pass through farmland toward the distant forest. There aren’t as many people living out here, but there are a few, like the weird old man who makes wooden bowls and spoons and other utility items to sell at market.

I’ve been patrolling for about two hours when I hear a twig snap, and it’s not under my foot.

I lift my musket and peer around the woods, where the trees block out the moonlight.

But I have above average night vision—one of the reasons I’m good at my job—and so I can usually spot a creature about the same time it spots me.

There. A flash of something through the trees. It was pale, like a sheet. Not animal.

I jog after it, wondering if maybe we have bigger problems than wolves. There are always stories about bandits in the woods south of us, but rarely east. Maybe they’ve expanded.

Another flash of pale color. I follow, dashing through the trees toward it.

There. It’s a person alright. A small person wearing clothes that used to be white or maybe yellow, but are now dulled and dirty. The person glances over their shoulder, spots me, and immediately takes off into the woods.

Was that… a girl? Out here in the middle of the night? That’s not safe, especially when those threadbare clothes are all she’s got in the cold.

I dash after her, tucking my musket back into my scabbard.

“Wait!” I call out after her. “I’m not a bandit or anything, I promise!”

The girl doesn’t stop, but I’m moving much faster than she is. It appears as I get closer that she’s barefoot. No wonder I’m gaining on her.

“Please, ma’am, stop!” I shout again. “I’m with the town guard. You don’t need to be afraid.”

She continues running, not stopping for anything. I finally catch up and grab her arm, which causes her to shriek. I don’t let go, but I’m tempted to as she screams shrilly in my ear.

She’s small, no doubt, which is why I thought she was just a young girl. But she’s a woman, simply very skinny, her body barely hidden by the loose, dirty clothes she wears. Her hair is a tangle of black, her eyes wild in the moonlight.

“Let me go!” she screams, but I don’t.

“Please stop,” I beg her. “I will release you if you calm down.”

But she fights me hard, clawing at me like a feral animal. To stop her from hurting herself or me, I lock my arms around her and hold her against my chest. She screams again, but no one will hear her out here—hopefully.

“Shh,” I whisper as she flails, desperate to escape. “You are panicking. But I won’t hurt you.”

“You’re not letting me go!” she sobs. “Don’t rape me!”

I sigh as I keep her restrained. “I’m not going to rape you. Just please—stop screaming.”

Eventually, the fight drains out of her, and her thrashing slows. Her chest is heaving from exertion, and when I look down, there’s blood all over her torn-up feet.

“Are you going to run if I release you?” I ask.

All I get in response are sniffles and a tremor through her body.

Slowly, I release the small woman, and she hurriedly moves away from me.

But she doesn’t run, which is a good start.

No, now her eyes look glazed, and as she backs into a tree trunk, she clutches one hand to her chest. I think panic and fear have addled her mind.

I bend down so I’m not as tall, making sure to keep distance between us.

“Are you all right?” I ask, able to see more of her now that she’s no longer hysterical.

Her hair is long, very long, and matted in places as if it hasn’t been brushed in years.

Her eyes are huge, though I can’t make out their color in the dim light.

All I can see are the bulging whites as she regards me in return.

After many long moments of silence, the woman shakes her head.

“I don’t think so.” She lifts one of her feet, then the other, as if she’s trying to take the pressure off them.

“Then, can I help you?” I hold out one hand, and reflexively, she draws back against the tree trunk. “We really should see to those wounds on your feet, in case they become infected.”

She peers down at the feet in question, then back up at me with confusion on her face.

“You want to help me?”

Now it’s my turn to be perplexed. Of course I want to help. Anyone would if they saw what I’m seeing: a malnourished, lost, and injured person, alone in the woods. But her expression is so skeptical that I wonder what she’s been through.

“Yes, I do want to help you.” I offer her my hand a second time. “Are you hungry?”

Her eyes get even bigger.

“Yes,” she breathes, releasing the tree trunk. “And so thirsty.”

I nod. “I can give you these things, if you come with me.”

My request sends her reeling.

“Go with you?” Her voice is high-pitched and panicked again.

“How else am I going to bandage your wounds and feed you?”

She seems to be thinking over this, and then to my surprise, she steps forward and takes my hand—while her own shakes like a leaf.

“All right.” Her lips purse and her brows furrow. “But if you try anything…”

“I won’t.” I wrap my thick fingers around her tiny, skinny ones. “I promise.”