The dawn had just begun to crest over the hills of Maren’s Hollow, its light soft and golden as it bathed the village in a fleeting serenity. It was a small place, unremarkable and quiet, where the rhythms of life were dictated by the seasons. Soren crouched by the riverbank, his hands submerged in icy water as he scrubbed a worn shirt against a smooth stone. The cold bit at his fingers, but he barely noticed. His mind wandered as it often did during these moments of solitude, drifting to thoughts of distant cities he would never see, of lives he would never lead.

A sudden sound pulled him back to the present: the sharp clatter of hooves against hard-packed earth. He froze, his hands gripping the sodden fabric, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound grew louder, closer, accompanied by a low murmur of voices and the unmistakable jangle of armor. Soren glanced toward the village square, where a group of imperial guards on horseback was riding in, their crimson cloaks fluttering behind them like banners in the wind.

Soren stood slowly, water dripping from the shirt in his hands, his breath hitching as he watched the villagers scatter. Women gathered their children, pulling them into the safety of their homes. Shopkeepers hurried to shutter their stalls. A chill swept through the air, though it had nothing to do with the season. Imperial guards never came to places like Maren’s Hollow unless they brought trouble with them.

Dropping the shirt back into the basket, Soren wiped his hands on his threadbare trousers and made his way toward the commotion. His steps quickened as he saw his mother emerge from their small cottage, her expression tight with worry. She motioned for his younger siblings to stay inside as she stepped into the growing crowd that had gathered near the square.

By the time Soren arrived, the guards had dismounted, their polished boots crunching against the dirt road. One of them—a man with sharp features and a cold, commanding presence—unfurled a scroll. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice carried over the murmurs with practiced authority.

“By decree of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Kairos, an Omega consort is to be chosen from this province.”

The crowd stilled, the tension so thick it seemed to seep into the very air. Soren’s chest tightened. An Omega consort? He’d heard whispers of such things in the past, tales of lowly peasants plucked from obscurity to serve as companions to nobility. But it was always a distant rumor, something that happened far away, in places unlike this one.

The guard’s gaze swept over the gathered villagers, his mouth set in a grim line. “The name selected is Soren of Maren’s Hollow.”

Time seemed to stop. Soren stared, uncomprehending, as every pair of eyes in the square turned toward him. His legs felt rooted to the ground, his thoughts scrambling for some way to make sense of what he’d just heard.

“No.” His mother’s voice broke the silence. She pushed through the crowd, placing herself in front of him like a shield. Her hands trembled as she glared up at the guard. “You can’t take him. There must be some mistake.”

“There is no mistake,” the guard replied flatly, his expression unyielding. He gestured to his men, who stepped forward. “The decree is absolute. The chosen Omega will accompany us to the capital immediately.”

Soren shook his head, his mouth dry. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, though his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. His heart hammered against his ribs as one of the guards reached for him. He stumbled back, only to be caught by another. His mother grabbed at his arm, her voice rising in desperation.

“Please! He’s just a boy! You can’t take him—he’s all we have!”

The lead guard gave her a withering look, his tone cutting. “Interfering with imperial orders is treason. Stand aside.”

Soren’s siblings had come to the doorway of the cottage, their wide eyes brimming with tears. His younger brother called out his name, his voice cracking. Soren twisted in the guards’ grasp, trying to break free, but their hold was unyielding.

“Take care of them, Mama,” he managed to choke out before the guards began to drag him away.

His mother’s sobs echoed in his ears as they hauled him toward the waiting carriage. The villagers looked on in stunned silence, their faces etched with a mixture of pity and fear. No one dared intervene. The guards opened the carriage door and shoved Soren inside, slamming it shut before he could protest further.

The interior was cold and sparse, its polished wood walls offering no comfort. Soren sat on the narrow bench, his hands still trembling as the carriage lurched forward. He stared at the small window, watching his village grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely. The enormity of what had just happened began to sink in, and with it came a wave of fear so intense it left him lightheaded.

The journey to the capital was long and oppressive. The guards rode alongside the carriage, their faces set in stony silence. Soren’s questions—when he dared to ask them—went unanswered. The landscape outside the window shifted, the familiar rolling hills and dense forests giving way to wide, paved roads and sprawling farmland. The further they traveled, the more foreign the world felt. Soren clung to the faint hope that this was all some kind of mistake, that he would be returned to his family once the truth was realized.

That hope began to erode as they neared the capital. The city’s walls loomed in the distance, an imposing expanse of stone that seemed to stretch endlessly in either direction. Soren pressed his hand to the glass, his breath fogging the window as he stared. He’d never seen anything so massive, so unyielding.

When they passed through the gates, the world opened into a cacophony of sound and movement. The streets were alive with vendors hawking their wares, carts creaking under the weight of goods, and townsfolk shouting to one another. Soren had never seen so many people in one place. The sheer size of the city was overwhelming, its towering spires and labyrinthine streets a far cry from the simplicity of Maren’s Hollow.

But it was the palace that truly stole his breath. As the carriage ascended the winding road leading to its gates, Soren caught his first glimpse of the emperor’s residence. It rose from the heart of the city like a monument to power, its marble walls gleaming in the midday sun. Gold accents traced its intricate carvings, and its towering spires seemed to pierce the sky itself. It was beautiful, yes, but also cold and forbidding—a place meant to intimidate.

The carriage rolled to a stop in the palace courtyard. Soren was pulled roughly to his feet, his legs stiff from the journey. He stumbled as the guards escorted him inside, their grip on his arms firm and unyielding.

The interior of the palace was no less grand than its exterior. The floors were polished to a mirror-like sheen, and the walls were adorned with tapestries and paintings so intricate they seemed almost alive. Chandeliers hung overhead, their crystals refracting light into shimmering patterns that danced across the ceiling. Servants moved quickly and quietly, their eyes fixed on the ground, while courtiers in elaborate attire whispered behind jeweled fans.

Soren felt a hundred pairs of eyes on him, each gaze heavy with judgment. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to shrink under their scrutiny. He didn’t belong here, and everyone knew it.

A sudden silence fell over the hall, and Soren turned to see the courtiers parting like the sea. A figure strode toward them, his presence commanding the space as if it were his by divine right. Emperor Kairos.

Soren’s breath caught in his throat. Kairos was taller than he’d imagined, his broad shoulders and sharp features accentuated by the austere lines of his black and crimson attire. His dark hair was neatly cropped, and his ice-blue eyes swept over the hall with an intensity that left no room for defiance. Those eyes landed on Soren, piercing him to his core.

For a moment, the hall was utterly still. Kairos regarded him with a detached curiosity, as though Soren were some peculiar object rather than a person. Soren held his gaze, though his knees felt weak under the weight of it.

After what felt like an eternity, Kairos spoke. “Prepare him for his introduction to the court. Dismissed.”

His voice was cold, clipped, and final. He turned and walked away, his crimson cloak billowing behind him. The courtiers bowed their heads as he passed, their whispers resuming once he was out of earshot.

Soren was left standing in the center of the hall, his heart pounding. The enormity of what had just happened threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced himself to remain upright. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not here.

The guards nudged him forward, leading him deeper into the palace. As they walked, Soren couldn’t shake the image of Kairos’s eyes—cold, assessing, and utterly unyielding. They promised nothing but hardship, and Soren knew his life would never be the same.