The attack came swiftly, a storm of steel and fire crashing against the stronghold's walls.
The horns had barely finished sounding before Caidren was already moving.
His instincts had been screaming for days, a constant, unshakable weight pressing against his chest. Now, with the enemy at his gates and his soldiers scrambling into position, that feeling sharpened into something cold.
Something dangerous.
The war room was in chaos, generals shouting over each other, demanding orders, demanding strategy. The walls shook with the force of the siege, the ground trembling beneath the weight of battle.
But Caidren wasn't listening.
His mind was already elsewhere.
Already moving down dark, forgotten halls.
Already making a choice he refused to name.
His soldiers expected him to take command. To lead them into war. To stand at the front lines and carve through the enemy with the same ruthless precision he always had.
Instead, the first thing Caidren did—
Was leave.
The First Priority
His boots struck the stone hard as he moved through the stronghold's abandoned corridors.
No one came this way anymore.
No one had needed to.
The Omega had been forgotten.
Left to rot in the cold silence of the stronghold while the world moved on without him.
It had been weeks.
Weeks since Caidren had last spared Elias a thought. Since he had told himself it didn't matter. That he didn't matter.
So why—
Why, when the stronghold itself was under attack—
Was this his first instinct?
He pushed open the door with more force than necessary.
The chamber was dark. Cold. The fire had long since burned to embers, leaving only a dim glow to cast weak light across the room.
And there—
Elias.
Still. Too still.
For a single, sharp moment, something twisted in Caidren's chest. Something he didn't want to name.
But then—
Elias moved.
Slow. Subtle. The faintest shift of breath, the barest flicker of awareness behind his half-lidded eyes.
Alive.
Caidren exhaled, slow and measured, forcing the tightness in his chest to disappear.
"You shouldn't be here."
The words pressed against his mind, logical and cold.
He had a war to fight. A stronghold to protect. Soldiers who needed him.
And yet—
The only thing he did was step forward.
The only thing he wanted to do—
Was make sure Elias was still breathing.
A Rescue Without A Name
Elias's eyes barely opened as Caidren crouched beside him.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then, slowly, recognition flickered.
"...You," Elias rasped, voice hoarse from disuse.
Caidren's jaw tightened. "You can move." It wasn't a question.
Elias blinked slowly, gaze unfocused but sharp.
Then—
A smirk.
It was faint. Weak. But it was there.
"Didn't think you'd be the first one through that door," Elias murmured.
Caidren ignored the words. Ignored the irritation curling at the edges of his mind.
This wasn't about Elias.
This wasn't about anything.
It was responsibility. That was all.
"Get up," Caidren ordered.
Elias didn't move. Not immediately. His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing behind his gaze before it disappeared.
"Thought you left me to rot," he said, tone unreadable.
Caidren exhaled sharply, grabbing Elias's arm and hauling him to his feet.
Elias barely held his own weight.
Caidren's grip tightened.
Too weak.
Too breakable.
Something dark coiled in his chest, something unfamiliar, something that made his patience snap.
"If I left you to rot," Caidren muttered, voice low, "I wouldn't be here."
Elias blinked.
For the first time, there was no smirk. No teasing remark.
Only silence.
And Caidren—
Caidren did not like the way it felt.
"This means nothing."
"He means nothing."
He ignored the weight in his chest as he adjusted his grip, half-supporting Elias's weight as he turned for the door.
The battle raged outside.
The stronghold needed him.
But right now—
For reasons he refused to name—
Caidren needed to get Elias out of here first.