The silence, which seemed like icy armour enveloping every corner of the room, shattered into pieces when Serak's voice, hoarse as if stretched across a knife blade, cut through the air, clinging to Omega's nerves and depriving him of the ability to breathe calmly.
"A pitiful existence, bearing emptiness, will never have value," he said slowly, as if savouring each word, making it a heavy burden that fell straight into Omega's chest. "Your existence..." He leaned closer, and Omega smelled wine, barely noticeable but familiar enough to bring back the most humiliating memories. Apparently, Serak was rarely sober. "...means nothing when you don't even have a name."
These words were not a knife to Omega. No. They were merely confirmation of a truth that had been ingrained in every cell of his flesh since childhood.
But Serak was not going to stop there.
"What did your slave owners call you?"
"Nothing," Omega said, barely audibly but firmly.
"Nothing?" A short, dry laugh flashed in Serak's voice, without a hint of joy. "Lies. Every slave gets a name, even if it's written on rotting paper. Those fucking idiots love to give names to their sex toys."
"Then you should know better than me... because you're the one who bought me."
Heavy curtains swayed in the wind, letting in a sharp cold air that sent a shiver down Omega's body. This breath saved him from the nausea of the pheromones emanating from Alpha, even though he was holding back their flow.
"Yes, you're right, I took you," Serak said slowly, his gaze falling on Omega's thin arm, lying limply on his knees. "But I didn't buy you."
"You didn't buy me?" The words came out in a trembling whisper, and Omega's heart contracted into a barely beating lump at that moment.
Serak smiled. It was a terrible smile, devoid of warmth, only a shadow of impending coldness.
"I borrowed you."
"Borrowed?" Omega wanted his voice not to tremble, but he couldn't control the panic flooding his lungs.
"Don't repeat after me like a trained dog," Serak said contemptuously, and thin wrinkles cut across his forehead for a few seconds before disappearing under the smoothness of his pale skin.
He threw the blanket on the floor and, without getting up, rested his elbow on his knee, lifting Omega's chin with his rough hand, digging his nails into the delicate skin. Omega's long hair flowed like water between the Alpha's fingers.
Serak knew that his hair could overshadow any thoughts. Sometimes he looked at it and almost believed that it held all the strange, alien power that ancient legends spoke of.
Their eyes met. Serak inhaled and slowly released a light trail of pheromones. They were not as heavy as on the day when he almost threw Omega off the balcony, but strong enough to shatter Omega's heart, which had barely recovered, into hundreds of tiny pieces.
He felt his eyelids grow heavy and his breathing falter as a tremor rose in his throat, threatening to burst out.
Alpha leaned close to his ear, whispering slowly, almost tenderly:
"I was once a foolish and trusting young man," the words flowed viscously, without pain, only cold observation.
"You... trusting?" Omega asked, but Serak only grunted.
"Yes, and that naivety cost me everything," his fingers tightened even more around Omega's chin, digging into his skin. "I was betrayed by a man. Just like you. With the same soft skin and soft hair. He destroyed everything from the inside."
The pheromones were suffocating. The Alpha's warmth, too close, pressed him down like a chain. Omega's body slowly began to stiffen.
"You're so much like him that I'm almost certain you're related by blood," Serak hissed, but his voice remained low and velvety.
He slowly laid the Omega's head on his knee, continuing to stroke his hair as if taming a wild animal.
"That's why I'll tear out everything you're hiding. I'll take your power. I'll take back what was taken from me. And I'll wipe out everything in this world that reflects your golden light," his hand clenched a strand of hair, pulling it painfully.
Omega sobbed, his eyes filling with tears, unable to breathe under the pressure.
"But first you must love me," Serak said quietly, his voice suddenly becoming a predatory whisper. "So that you understand my pain."
He let go of Omega abruptly, and he fell to the floor, hitting his elbow. Pain shot through his arm, but he didn't even groan, only pressed his palm to his mouth to stifle the cry that choked in his throat.
Serak, without looking at him again, got up from the sofa and walked over to the table with the documents.
"Get out," he said evenly, without turning around.
Omega, trembling, got up from the floor and, without taking his eyes off the door, left, feeling the lingering smell of pheromones still hovering behind him, leaving a nasty emptiness inside.
Only after closing the door behind him, he let the tears flow freely.
Serak did not immediately look up when two shamans entered the room without waiting for permission. Their long cloaks, sewn from black moss and the feathers of stillborn birds, rustled with every movement. They did not bow, did not wait to be called closer, but stood up straight, waiting for him to allow them to speak.
He exhaled wearily, raising a cup of wine to his lips, and without looking at them, said:
"Speak."
The first shaman, with lips black as ash, bowed his head. His voice sounded hoarse but steady:
"Master, the earth is dying. The rains do not come, the seeds rot without breaking through the clay. My brothers and I have come to a unanimous decision: the earth needs a sacrifice of human energy."
Serak put down his cup, leaned back in his chair, and gripped the armrest so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He did not interrupt immediately. Rage rose in his chest, because he had already heard similar suggestions from those who lived hiding behind amulets and other people's destinies, always referring to the will of spirits that he himself had never seen or heard.
"Are you suggesting that I kill one of my people?" His voice remained calm, but beneath that calm exterior, irritation pulsed.
"Not necessarily death, sir," interjected the second shaman, his face so densely covered with tattoos that it was impossible to discern his expression. "The ancient books say: it is enough to gather seeds, tears, cries... it is enough to connect life with life, energy with energy. And then the earth will accept the offering."
Serak laughed, briefly but so low that the shamans involuntarily lowered their heads even further.
"You want me to start a brawl here for the sake of your fanciful spirits? So that you old rats can feast while my fortress is filled with screams?"
"Sir..."
"Silence," he ordered sharply. Silence hung in the air like a black cloth.
He knew they had the courage to say such things because there was a grain of truth in them: old books and rituals, ancient blood, secrets. He hated it because he himself believed that sometimes magic demanded a price, too high, too painful. He was about to chase them away — until his gaze fell on a thin, almost transparent curtain at the other end of the room, behind which a small shadow trembled. Omega.
He remembered the smell of his skin, the slight beating of his pulse when he touched his hand with his lips, his trembling voice when he begged him not to mark people. Serak felt no pity. But he felt the power surging within this creature — strange, painfully bright, which, if channelled in the right direction, could feed the earth. Omega was marked by him. Omega was his property.
He turned his gaze back to the shamans:
"The rains will come by the end of the week. Be ready to gather everything you need." He paused briefly, smiling slightly. "I will give you as much... energy as you need, and even more. The main thing is that afterwards, no one dares to open their mouth about what you have done."
The shamans nodded silently and slowly left, leaving the smell of burnt herbs and blood in the room. Serak closed his eyes. In his head, he could already hear Omega's voice, breaking into tears and trembling as he took away, drop by drop, the power that had been boiling inside him since birth.