Chapter 5: Drowning In Her Misery

The night had grown darker, the stars were swallowed by thick clouds that rolled across the sky like a funeral shroud. The celebration at House Arthion had long since ended, the guests departed, the servants were dismissed, and the grand estate plunged into an uneasy silence that seemed to hold its breath.

But Eiravelle was no longer there. She had fled, her feet carried her far from the home that had never truly welcomed her, far from the family that had never truly loved her.

She found herself in the seedier district of the city, where the cobblestones were worn uneven and the buildings leaned against each other like drunkards seeking support. The tavern she stumbled into was dimly lit, its interior was heavy with the smell of stale ale, sweat, and desperation.

A few patrons glanced up as she entered, their eyes narrowed with recognition, but none of them spoke to her. None of them dared.

The barkeeper, a burly man with a scarred face and suspicious eyes, watched her approach the counter. "What’ll it be, girl?" He asked, his voice was gruff.

Eiravelle reached into the small pouch at her waist, pulling out a handful of golden coins—her meager savings, accumulated over years of careful hoarding. "Give me your strongest drink," she said, her voice sounded hollow. "And keep them coming until I tell you to stop."

The barkeeper raised an eyebrow but took the coins without comment. He poured her a glass of dark liquor, the liquid was burning with the promise of oblivion. Eiravelle grabbed it, bringing it to her lips, and drank deeply.

The fire of the alcohol seared her throat, but she welcomed the pain. It was something else to focus on besides the ache in her heart, the weight of the humiliation that pressed down on her chest like a stone. She signaled for another, and another, and another, the coins disappearing from the counter as quickly as she could place them.

The other patrons watched her from the corners of their eyes. Word had spread faster than she could have imagined—the scandal at House Arthion, the broken engagement, the assault on the prince. They whispered among themselves, their voices were low but not quite low enough for her to miss.

"That is her, is it not? The one who ruined Lady Arisia’s night."

"Eiravelle, the youngest daughter. Or so they call her. They say she is not even Lord Arthion’s blood."

"Brought shame to the whole family, she did. What kind of omega acts like that?"

"Better stay away from her. She is bad luck, that one. Misfortune follows wherever she goes."

Eiravelle heard every word, but she did not react. The alcohol had numbed her senses, dulled the sharp edges of her pain until they were little more than a distant throb. She drained another glass, the liquid was burning a path down her throat, and signaled for another.

The barkeeper hesitated, glancing at the rapidly diminishing pile of coins. "You have had enough, girl," he said gruffly. "Time for you to go."

"No," she slurred, shaking her head. "I still have money. I can pay—"

"You have paid enough." He swiped the remaining coins off the counter, pocketing them with practiced efficiency. "Now get out before you scare off the rest of my customers."

Eiravelle opened her mouth to protest, but the words would not come. The alcohol had loosened her grip on reality, and all she could manage was a weak nod. She pushed herself up from the stool, her legs trembled beneath her, and took a step toward the door.

She did not make it past the first step.

Her feet tangled beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud. The impact jarred through her body, but she barely felt it. The world swam before her eyes, and she could hear the barkeeper sighing, muttering something under his breath.

"Useless," he grumbled. "Completely useless."

He gestured to two guards who had been standing near the entrance, their eyes are fixed on the scene unfolding before them. They nodded, moving toward Eiravelle with the efficiency of men who had done this many times before.

They grabbed her by the arms, hauling her upright, and dragged her toward the door.

The rain hit her face like a slap, cold and sharp, cutting through the fog of alcohol that had clouded her mind. She tried to stand, but her legs would not cooperate, and the guards released her without ceremony, letting her fall into a muddy puddle at the edge of the street.

She lay there for a long moment, the cold water seeped through her gown, the rain was plastering her hair down to her face. The taste of mud filled her mouth, but she did not have the strength to spit it out. She simply lay there, staring up at the dark sky, watching the rain fall from the clouds above.

Eventually, she forced herself to move. Her body protested every motion, every muscle aching from the fall and the alcohol and the sheer weight of her despair. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, then slowly rose to her feet, swaying unsteadily.

She began to walk.

She did not know where she was going. She had no destination in mind, no purpose driving her forward. She simply walked, her feet carried her through the rain-slicked streets, past the closed shops and shuttered windows.

The city was quiet at this hour, the only sounds were the steady drumming of rain and the occasional rumble of a passing carriage.

The carriages did not stop for her. They splashed through the puddles, sending muddy water across her already ruined gown. She did not flinch, did not react. She simply continued walking while her steps are slow and heavy.

The rain continued to fall, soaking through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. The cold was a comfort, a reminder that she was still alive, still capable of feeling something other than the numbness that had settled over her heart.

She walked until the city gave way to the outskirts, until the buildings grew sparse and the trees began to crowd the road. She walked until she found herself at the edge of the forest, the dark trees loomed before her like silent sentinels.

She hesitated for only a moment. The forest was dangerous, especially at night, especially for an omega alone and vulnerable. But she was beyond caring, beyond fear. The alcohol had stripped away her caution, leaving only the desperate need to escape, to disappear, and to become nothing.

She stepped into the forest.

The trees closed around her, their branches reached out like grasping fingers, their leaves rustled in the wind like whispered secrets. The rain filtered through the canopy, still falling but softer now, muffled by the dense foliage. The path was barely visible, a thin ribbon of dirt winding through the underbrush.

Eiravelle stumbled forward, her feet caught on roots and rocks, her hands are reaching out to steady herself against the rough bark of the trees. The alcohol was still clouding her vision, making the world spin and tilt around her. She burped, the taste of liquor was sour on her tongue but she kept walking.

She did not know how long she wandered. Time had lost all meaning, the minutes bled together into a blur of rain and darkness and pain. She felt her strength fading, her body growing heavy with exhaustion. She needed to rest, just for a moment, just long enough to catch her breath.

She found a tree—a massive oak with roots that rose from the ground like gnarled fingers—and collapsed against it. The bark was rough against her back, but she did not care. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness wash over her, and allowed herself to drift.

She did not know that the predators were already closing in.

They had smelled her scent the moment she entered the forest—the sweet, intoxicating fragrance of an omega, mingled with the sharp bite of alcohol. It was a beacon in the darkness, a signal that drew them from their dens and lairs that made their hunger sharp, stronger, and undeniable.

The first to arrive was a wild wolf, its fur was matted and coarse, its eyes were gleaming with predatory hunger. It circled the tree where Eiravelle sat, its nose twitching as it caught her scent and growled low in its throat, the sound vibrated through the air, and it took a step closer.

The second was a grotesque demonic creature, a nightmare given form—twisted limbs, jagged teeth, and eyes that burned with an unholy light. It emerged from the shadows with a hiss, its long tongue flicked across its lips as it studied the vulnerable omega.

Then came another, and another, until the forest was filled with the hungry stares of creatures that had not tasted omega flesh in years. They circled her like sharks scenting blood, their movements were slow, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The wild wolf growled again, louder this time, and Eiravelle stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the world swam into focus. She saw the creatures, their forms taking shape in the darkness—the gleaming eyes, the sharp teeth, the twisted limbs. Her heart seized in her chest, the alcohol-induced haze evaporated in an instant as fear flooded through her veins.

She gasped, pressing herself harder against the tree behind her. Her hands gripped the rough bark, her knuckles grew white with tension as she tried to process what she was seeing.

"You really are stupid, Eiravelle," she muttered under her breath, the words are bitter and resigned. "Completely, utterly stupid."

The creatures laughed, a chorus of harsh, mocking sounds that echoed through the forest. The wild wolf stepped forward, its massive form loomed over her, its breath was hot and fetid against her face.

"Look what we have here," the giant white snake said, her voice was a sibilant hiss that slithered through the air. She smirked, her forked tongue flickered and her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "An omega, all alone in the dark. How delicious."

Eiravelle swallowed hard, her throat became dry, her voice trembled as she tried to speak. "S-Stay back," she commanded, though her voice lacked any authority. "I-I... I am the deer goddess’s daughter! I am Elaria’s child!"

She hoped the name would give them pause. Elaria was the Deer Goddess of Forests, the guardian of all creatures, revered and respected by every being that called the woods their home. Surely, even these monstrous creatures would hesitate before harming her daughter.

But they only laughed louder.

"We know," the tiger said, its voice was a deep, rumbling purr that held no warmth. "And we do not care. Your mother does not even want you, remember?"

Eiravelle flinched as though struck. Her gaze dropped, shame and pain flooding through her. The creature’s words cut deeper than any blade, reopening wounds that had never truly healed.

The snake slithered closer, her massive body coiled around the clearing. "What do you say, friends?" She asked, her voice dripped with mockery. "She is too small to be cut into pieces. How are we supposed to enjoy her as our feast if she is this small?"

The wild wolf growled in agreement. "Yeah, so small," its voice echoed, low and dangerous. "How are we meant to share her? There will barely be enough for one of us, let alone all."

The demonic creature hissed, its long tongue flickering. "Perhaps we can play with her first. Make her suffer. The fear makes the meat sweeter."

Eiravelle felt tears streaming down her cheeks, her earlier resolve crumbled in the face of the terror before her. "Please," she begged, her voice was breaking. "Please let me go. I will do anything. I will give you anything. Just please, do not hurt me."

The creatures laughed again, a chorus of cruel delight. Their eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as they began to advance, savoring her fear.

Eiravelle squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her arms up to shield her face. She could not bear to watch them come, could not bear to see the moment they descended upon her. She wished, desperately, that she had never left the city, that she had stayed in the tavern, that she had never been born at all.

But the pain did not come.

She waited, her body trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The creatures had grown silent, their laughter was cut off mid-chuckle. She could hear nothing but the rain and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

Slowly, hesitantly, she lowered her arms and opened her eyes.

The creatures were frozen in place, their bodies are suspended in mid-lunge, their eyes are still moving—blinking, shifting, and filled with terror. But their limbs could not obey their commands. It was as though time itself had stopped, as though an invisible hand had reached down and grabbed them all by the scruff of their necks.

"It is not time... You are not welcome to hurt an omega..." The voice that spoke was low and resonant, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was deep, smooth, and commanding, a voice that brooked no argument.

The speaker emerged from the darkness like smoke given form, stepping into the dim moonlight, tall and imposing, wrapped in shadow and mystery, and some primal part of Eiravelle whispered, "Alpha."

"Y-You..." The snake’s voice was a thin, reedy hiss, stripped of all its earlier confidence. Its body was still frozen, but its eyes darted frantically, wide with recognition and fear. "You are... The guardian of the borders? Please, we meant no harm—"

"Silence." The Alpha stepped closer, and the air itself seemed to grow heavier, the pressure of their presence was almost suffocating. "You know the Solkanaia law. This zone is under the jurisdiction of the Solkanaian Crown. How dare you even think about causing harm to an omega, a vulnerable one at that." There was no emotion in their voice, but the anger was unmistakable.

It was cold and righteous. "Since you all had plotted against this innocent, you will face the Sovereign’s judgment."

The creatures screamed as a void opened beneath them, a swirling vortex of darkness that seemed to drink the light itself. One by one, they were sucked into it—the wolf, the tiger, the snake, the twisted demon, and the others—their screams faded into silence as the void closed behind them.

The Alpha turned away, their work was complete.

Eiravelle remained pressed against the tree, her body was still shaking and her heart was still racing. She stared at the spot where the creatures had been, unable to fully process what had just happened.

She had been saved. She was alive.

"Wait!" She called out, her voice was raw and desperate. "Please, wait!"

The Alpha paused, their shoulders were rigid beneath the dark cloak they wore. They did not turn around, did not acknowledge her plea. But they stopped.

"Are you an Alpha?" Eiravelle asked, her voice was trembling. It was a foolish question because she knew. The presence that radiated from them was unmistakable—that primal authority, that sense of power and control, it was unmistakable that this person is an alpha.

"Isn’t that obvious, Omega?" they replied, their voice was flat. "And what are you doing in this place at this ungodly hour?"

Eiravelle opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had no answer, no explanation that would make sense. All her reasons seemed so hollow now, so small and insignificant in the face of what had just happened.

"I do not know," she admitted, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Perhaps you have heard the rumors?"

"What rumors?" The Alpha’s voice was dismissive, almost bored. "I have no time for such trivial matters. All I care about is guarding everything in place."

Eiravelle hesitated, then pushed herself up from the ground. Her legs were still weak, her body was still trembling, but she managed to take a few steps toward the mysterious figure. "Can you please... Help me?"

A dry, humorless laugh echoed through the clearing. "I think I have lended you enough help for one evening—"

"No." Eiravelle’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp and desperate. "A different kind of help."

The Alpha finally turned, and even in the darkness, Eiravelle could see the glint of their eyes—sharp, intelligent, and assessing. "Like what?"

Eiravelle swallowed the lump in her throat. The words felt impossible, disgraceful, but she forced them out anyway. "Can you... Can you take my virginity away?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The Alpha stared at her, their expression was unreadable behind the shadows of their hood.

"How shameless of you," they said at last, their voice carried a note of disgust that made Eiravelle flinch.

"I know," she said, tears spilling over once more. "I know it is shameless. But... Just... Please. Help me, make me forget anything..." She reached out, her fingers gripping the Alpha’s arm—her grip was shockingly strong for someone so small. "Please."

The Alpha looked down at her hand, then back at her face. "I do not do charity," they said coldly. "What could you possibly offer to make me say yes?"

Eiravelle looked up, her pink ruby eyes shimmered with tears, with desperation, and with a pain so raw it seemed to burn through the darkness. "Anything you want," she whispered, her voice broke on every word.

"Anything at all. I am not asking for forever. Just... One night. Please. I want to feel like someone wants me, like someone is choosing me. Just one night of being touched and... And worshipped, the way people say omegas can be. I want to forget everything. Even if it is only for one night. Even if it is not real."

The rose quartz of her eyes, softened by tears, caught what little light filtered through the edges. There was something in that gaze, something that made the Alpha pause. Not pity, exactly. Something older and something deeper.

The rain continued to fall, pattering against the leaves, running in rivulets down Eiravelle’s cheeks like tears from the sky itself. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine.

"Please," Eiravelle said again, her voice was barely audible above the storm. "Please..."

Slowly, the Alpha reached up and pushed back their hood.

The face that was revealed was striking—sharp features, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes the color of burnished gold that seemed to see straight through her. The Alpha’s gaze was unwavering, unreadable, holding secrets she could not fathom.

Eiravelle was taken aback to realize, this person is so beautiful... A female Alpha...

Eiravelle’s heart pounded in her chest, hope and fear warring within her. She did not know this person. She did not know if they were kind or cruel, if they would hurt her like Kariv had, or if they would be gentle.

She only knew that they had saved her, and that she had nothing left to lose.

And there was a moment of silence that grew between them.