The sanctum wasn't made of stone.
It was made of silence.
Thick, reverent, suffocating silence.
Seo-Yun lay on a bed that was far too soft—draped in silks, surrounded by candlelight, like an offering left on an altar. His wrists weren't chained anymore. That almost made it worse.
Everything around him reeked of twisted comfort. The walls were warm ivory instead of cold grey. Soft music drifted from nowhere. His robe had been replaced with something sheer and ceremonial, thin enough to expose every curve of his bruised body—especially the slight swell beneath his ribs.
The pregnancy was no longer invisible.
His fingers trembled as they hovered above his belly. It hadn't been real, not until now. Not until his body began to shape around it, to change. Something stirred within him—not just the child, but the terrifying knowledge that he had something they wanted.
Something they would never let him keep.
They called it a "celebration."
He was made to bathe in scented oils. Omegas with broken eyes dressed him in ceremonial white. No words were spoken, but their hands were gentle, like they knew. Like they'd done this before. Too many times.
Then Kaelith arrived.
Dressed in deep crimson and gold. A crown braided into his long hair. A predator masking as royalty.
He stood before Seo-Yun and extended a hand.
Seo-Yun didn't take it.
Kaelith's smile didn't waver. "We can do this with grace," he said softly, "or with pain. You know I allow both."
Seo-Yun stood on his own.
He followed him through marble halls lit by torches, toward the center of the sanctum—a great circular room lined with balconies.
And on every balcony… stood Alphas.
Dozens.
Watching.
Waiting.
Seo-Yun's breath caught. His feet slowed.
Kaelith placed a firm hand on his lower back, guiding him forward.
"This," Kaelith announced, "is the bearer. Our future. Our legacy. Bound not by force—but by order."
Seo-Yun almost laughed at the lie.
Instead, he raised his chin.
They would not see him break.
They would not take his strength—even if they took everything else.
Kaelith pulled him to a raised platform at the center. A circle of soft cushions and carved gold. A performance space. An altar.
"You will kneel," Kaelith whispered.
Seo-Yun stood.
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Kaelith nodded to a figure in the shadows.
Pain exploded in Seo-Yun's leg as a dart hit his thigh. Not a sedative. A tranquilizer designed to drop him instantly.
He crumpled—body refusing to obey, nerves screaming.
Kaelith caught him before he hit the floor and lowered him gently—so gently—onto the platform.
To the crowd, it looked like surrender.
To Seo-Yun, it was the beginning of another war.
His body was displayed, praised, blessed with ritualistic words he didn't hear.
He stared past the light, into the corners of the sanctum, and imagined it on fire.
He imagined Leya free.
He imagined the child safe.
He imagined killing Kaelith with his bare hands.
He imagined escape.
And as the ceremony ended, and Kaelith leaned close to whisper, "Now the world knows who you belong to,"…
Seo-Yun whispered back:
"No one."