Chapter 3 What They Do to Omegas Here

lyanna

The fortress swallowed us whole.

The moment the gates sealed behind our chained line of prisoners, the sound reverberated through the stone corridors. Other sounds quickly covered it—shouts, clanging iron, the crack of whips, and the strained cries of omegas dragged in every direction.

They herded us into a wide courtyard lit by torches burning thick, greasy smoke. Soldiers moved like predators, pulling prisoners apart.

“Females this way! Males over there!!”

“Unbonded? Put them there.”

“Check that one—looks frail.”

“Toss the useless to the holding pits.”

My chains were unlocked only to be replaced by prodding spears that directed us into smaller groups. Hesitation earned shoves; resistance, the flat of a blade across the face.

I kept my mouth closed, eyes lowered. A soldier snapped his fingers by my ear, but I didn’t flinch. He frowned and waved me aside with an annoyed grunt.

“Useless thing,” he muttered. “Throw her in with the others.”

The omega room—if it could even be called that—reeked of stale sweat, blood, and too many bodies pressed into a stone enclosure meant for livestock. Rough, damp walls wept condensation from high, rusted-barred windows. Screams echoed from somewhere deeper in the fortress.

The door to the pen opened, and I was thrown in. I crashed to my knees. Someone swore at me for taking up space. Someone else tried to lift me before a guard barked at them to stay still.

A shadow loomed over me.

“Up,” a rough voice ordered.

I stiffened and raised my gaze slowly.

A one-armed Drakovian guard stood above me—scarred, broad-shouldered, his expression carved from stone. The missing limb was healed, sleeve pinned to his shoulder. His remaining hand gripped a baton.

But his eyes… there was no cruelty there. Just exhaustion. Weariness.

He jerked his chin.

“Up. Woman.”

I nearly stood, then remembered my ruse. I stared quietly until he gestured with his hand. Only then did I obey, face blank. He studied me a beat longer, unimpressed, then moved on to strike the bars with his baton.

“Settle down! I don’t want noise tonight!”

The omegas scattered back. I pressed against the wall, taking in everything with the vigilance of a hunted creature. Exits. Guards’ rotations. Who watched. Who didn’t? I needed to get back to my mate!

Women huddled on straw pallets—if clumps of moldy grass counted. Omega men sat separately, heads lowered, resignation heavy on their hunched shoulders.

My skin crawled. A soldier yanked another prisoner through the bars, dragging her screaming. I flinched inwardly—but my face remained empty.

I needed information. Weaknesses. Patterns. Anything to survive.

I scanned the pen again—and froze.

A familiar face stood outside the bars, bucket in hand, speaking briefly to a soldier before slipping into the corridor behind him.

Sera.

The Drakovian-born omega from the ruined village. Her hair bound tightly, dark and braided against her spine. Plain, servant-like clothing, eyes cold and sharp.

Why was she here? Had she followed deliberately? Assigned? Or unlucky?

I stiffened before I could stop myself. Sera noticed.

Younger than I had thought—perhaps twenty, thin but wiry, forged by labor and harder living. Her eyes, dark and perpetually narrowed, scanned danger in every shadow. She carried a bucket of water on her hip. A soldier grunted.

“Move faster, girl.”

No reply. Head lowered, not genuine. Then her gaze slid sideways—right to me.

Our eyes met. Sera’s expression tightened. She walked over, dropped the bucket with a thud beside me, crouched close enough to whisper:

“You again.” Tone neutral, assessing. “You survived the march.”

I blinked slowly, feigning confusion.

Sera’s mouth twitched. “Deaf, hm? Can you speak?”

I stared at the opposite wall.

She leaned in, voice low, sharp:

“Mute or not, pretty faces don’t last here.”

The words sliced across my nerves.

Before I could react, a drunken soldier stumbled toward the pen gate. Armor crooked, breath reeking of fermented grain, eyes snapping immediately to the pen.

“Look what we got here,” he slurred. “New stock. Let’s test ’em.”

The omegas shrank back. His eyes landed immediately on me.

“You,” he said, pointing with a wobbling finger. “Come here.”

My stomach dropped.

Sera inhaled sharply.

The soldier reached through the bars, grasping my arm with a lecherous grin.

“Come here, little bitch—”

Sera moved faster. She jabbed a finger toward his thigh, stepping between us with startling audacity.

“Don’t waste your time, Harl. That one won’t scream for you. Too scared to walk straight. And your limp? You’ll faceplant if you try anything.”

The pen went silent. The soldier froze.

Sera leaned against a pen, arms crossed, eyebrow arched.

“Go hassle someone who won’t break your other leg.”

The room went still.

The soldier whirled, red-faced. “Watch your mouth, omega—”

He lurched toward her.

Marek was there in an instant. He grabbed the soldier by the collar, yanked him back, and slammed him into the wall.

“Enough,” Marek growled. “Commander said this batch is off-limits until classification. Try again and I’ll report you.”

The drunk hissed in fury, but Marek shoved him down the corridor.

“Go sleep it off. Or choke on your own puke. Don’t care.”

When the soldier disappeared, Sera let out a long, steady breath. She didn’t look at me. Not yet.

Marek gave Sera a flat stare.

“You, girl… stay out of trouble.”

Sera snorted. “I’m an omega in Drakovia, is that an option for me?”

Marek rolled his eyes. “Just don’t provoke idiots on my watch.”

He trudged back to his post, muttering under his breath. Only then did Sera finally look at me.

“You’re welcome,” she said dryly.

I kept my expression blank. The corner of Sera’s mouth lifted in a humourless smirk.

“Right. Still deaf. Fine.” She glanced toward Marek. “He’s half-decent. And half-dead inside. Good combination for us.”

I dipped my head once in acknowledgement.

Sera tilted her head. “Good that you understand some cues at least, you’ll need to know when to run and hide.”

She stood and returned to distributing water.

I backed into the corner of the cell, curling on the cold stone floor. I closed my eyes, forcing sleep—but every time I drifted, flashes of the night returned. Rubin shouting my name. The fire. The screams. The child falling. The blade. The chain pulling me forward. I jolted awake repeatedly, heart racing.

By the end of the night, my eyes burned with exhaustion.

Days blurred.

Time in the omega pens didn’t flow—it dragged like a rusted chain. Meals were thrown in, water brought irregularly by overworked servants.

That was when I first met Old Bina.

A hunched, weathered woman, gnarled hands clutching buckets of water. Silver hair, leathered skin, but eyes… kind. She shuffled along the bars, muttering prayers:

“Mother Sun watch you. Mother Flame hide you.”

Never looking directly at the captives, she worked with a soft, steady rhythm. When she reached my section, she paused. Her gaze flicked to my stomach for the briefest heartbeat. Then she nodded once, almost unnoticeably, and kept moving.

My blood chilled. What was that about?

But Bina didn’t speak. Didn’t linger.

I spent the following days watching the hierarchy of the pens unfold. Alliances were currency. Favours were traded like food. Information was power. And silence—silence was both shield and prison.

I kept my mute act tightly sealed, refusing to respond even when whispers came from those in my situation—no risk of exposure. Yet a truth pressed down with growing dread. I needed people here. Allies. I could not escape alone. And that terrified me more than the fortress walls.

On the fifth evening, the air shifted. Boots thundered down the hall. A deep male voice barked orders.

“We’re pulling stock for inspection,” he announced loudly. “Most fertile-looking omegas. Line them up.”

A terrified murmur swept the room. The gate clanged open. Soldiers pointed at several men and women—young, healthy-looking, terrified. Then one soldier’s gaze swept the crowd… and landed on me.

“You,” he said. “Stand.”

My heart thudded hard, but my outward expression stayed blank. He grabbed my arm anyway, hauling me forward.

“Commander wants fresh options.”

I stumbled as the chain yanked. Behind me, Sera’s face was unreadable. Marek’s eyes narrowed dangerously. My mind screamed my mate’s name—

Rubin. Rubin. Rubin.

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