The Rise of the Omega

The Start of Something

The ride felt both endless and yet far too short—a cruel contradiction that left my stomach twisted in knots. The bus had rattled along the uneven road, the weight of hushed voices pressing down heavier with every passing mile. I wasn’t sure what I expected at the end of this journey—maybe some final moment to wake up from this nightmare, some proof that this was all just a mistake.

But there it was, the All Girls Omega College looming ahead, a hulking structure of cracked brick, half-hidden behind two massively intimidating black metal gates. The bus groaned to a stop, refusing to go any further than it must and my heart sank.

This was it.

The bus doors hissed open, but for a long moment, no one moved. Then, one by one, the Omegas stood, their faces a mixture of emotions as they shuffled toward the exit. The weight of their silence was suffocating, a resignation I didn’t yet understand pressing down on me like a lead blanket.

I was still frozen in place when someone brushed past me.

"Welcome home, Princess." Rosalie, the blonde from before murmured, a smirk tugging at her lips.

The nickname dripped with mockery, a cruel reminder of the life I’d left behind.

I swallowed hard, forcing my feet to move, forward and out.

And it was the moment my foot hit the cracked pavement, that a cold, suffocating stillness wrapped around me. The air was damp, carrying the faint scent of rain and decay as if the very ground had absorbed years of neglect.

The towering wrought-iron gates creaked in the wind, their rusted bars twisting like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. Beyond them, the Omega College loomed—a bleak, crumbling relic of a past no one cared to remember.

A guard, less than enthused to be there, met us at the gate, fingerings through the assortment of keys, before letting us in.

The heavy metal gates groaned as they lurched apart, the rusted hinges shrieking in protest. The sound was jagged, grating, like the wail of something long forgotten being forced back to life. The wind whistled through the widening gap, stirring up dust and brittle leaves that had settled in the cracks beneath the iron bars.

Chains rattled against the frame as the gates shuddered, their uneven movement making it clear they hadn’t been opened smoothly in years. Rust flaked from their edges, drifting to the ground like the remnants of something slowly decaying.

We entered cautiously, our noses assaulted by a mixture of moss, metal, and something stale, like time itself had settled here and refused to move on.

The path was cracked and uneven, weeds pushing through the pavement as if nature was trying to reclaim that which had been abandoned by care.

The entire place looked like it had been long forgotten—like those sent here weren’t worth the effort of maintaining something better.

Dark ivy coiled around the stone walls, choking the structure in an unrelenting grip. The tall, narrow windows—those that weren’t shattered or boarded up—were streaked with grime, distorting any view inside. The doors, massive and weathered, stood slightly ajar, swaying with a haunting groan every time the wind whispered through the courtyard. A single lantern flickered above the entrance, casting long, jagged shadows that danced across the cracked pavement, barely casting enough light to cut through the gloom.

The entire place pulsed with an eerie silence, broken only by the distant, distorted sound of a hollow bell tolling from somewhere deep within the building— not a welcome but a warning.

It wasn’t just a school.

It was a sentence. A place the world had abandoned. A place meant to keep the forgotten, tucked away—out of sight, out of mind. A place where light had been snuffed out long ago, where those who entered never truly left—not as the same people, anyway.

The assembly hall was as bleak as the rest of the Omega College—cold, dimly lit, and stripped of anything that might have resembled warmth. The room was massive, yet the low-hanging chandeliers cast only sparse, flickering light, leaving the corners swallowed in shadow. Rows of wooden benches, worn down by years of use, stretched toward a raised platform at the front where a single figure stood, waiting.

The new Omegas filed in, their steps hesitant, some casting wary glances around while others kept their gazes down. The air was thick with quiet tension, a shared understanding settling over us like a heavy fog.

A sharp knock of a cane against the floor snapped our attention forward. The woman on the platform was tall and severe, dressed in a deep gray uniform that blended into the cold stone walls behind her. Her graying hair was pulled into a tight bun, her face lined with the kind of sternness that had long since abandoned kindness.

"Welcome," she said, her voice crisp, emotionless. "You are here because you have been deemed unfit for the ranks of Alphas, Betas, Deltas, or even the ordinary wolves who serve in higher capacities. Here, you will learn your place. Here, you will learn to serve."

A ripple of unease passed through the crowd.

"Your past life no longer matters," she continued, her gaze sweeping over us, as if daring someone to object. "Who you were before stepping through those gates has no bearing here. There is no rank, no privilege, no exceptions. You are Omegas. You will obey, or you will face the consequences."

A hush fell over the room, suffocating in its finality.

"Your schedules will be posted. Your dormitories have been assigned. Rules are strict, and punishments are immediate. You will either adapt or you will suffer."

She stepped back, nodding once to a group of uniformed figures along the walls—guards, I realized, stationed like sentinels in every corner.

"Welcome to your new home," she said again, this time with an edge of finality. "Dismissed."

No applause. No encouragement. Just a cold, unforgiving silence as we were herded toward our new reality.

The dormitory was small and stripped of anything remotely comforting or homely. The only decor on the dull, cold concrete walls were cracks that depicted a history of suffering. Overhead, a dim light flickered slightly, as if unsure whether it wanted to stay on or go out, and still, it barely cast enough light to reach the corners of the room.

On opposite walls sat two narrow beds, with thin, scratchy blankets neatly folded at the foot of each.

A single rickety wardrobe stood between them, its doors slightly ajar, revealing a few standard-issue uniforms inside—plain gray, devoid of any personality.

I barely had time to take it all in before I heard a quiet voice behind me.

"You’re my roommate."

I turned to see her—the same girl who had offered me a seat beside her at the College Center—Nudean. Standing up close, she looked even smaller, her frame delicate, but her posture guarded. Her dark hair hung in soft waves around her shoulders with eyes that held a quiet sort of understanding, as if she had already accepted this place for what it was.

"You can take that side," she said, nodding toward the bed closest to the window.

I hesitated, looking around the room one last time while exhaling slowly. "Thanks… for earlier, I mean. At the Center."

She shrugged, sitting on the edge of her bed, her fingers idly twisting a loose thread on her blanket.

"I'm glad we’re roommates," I smiled, remembering her kindness as I walked across the room over to the small, grimy window. The sky outside was now a deep, endless black, the moon barely visible through the twisted vines curling over the glass.

She nodded, a small, quick motion with a faint smile. "Yeah." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as usual.

I set my bag down on the opposite bed, feeling the stiffness of the thin mattress beneath my fingertips. "Could be worse, I guess," I muttered, mostly to myself.

Nudean let out a quiet hum—almost like agreement, but not quite. I glanced at her, noting the way she pressed her lips together as if holding something back.

"You don’t really talk much, do you?" I asked, taking time to study her.

She shifted slightly as though the question made her somewhat uncomfortable. And in the brief silence that ensued, she absent-mindedly popped the loose thread she had been twisting as she shook her head. "No point," she murmured. "Not here."

Something about the way she said it made my heart ache. There was a quiet acceptance in her tone, but also… something else. Something restless, like a caged animal that had long since stopped fighting but never stopped watching for the chance.

I sat down, the bed creaking beneath me. "Well, I talk enough for both of us, so I guess that balances things out."

For a second, I thought she might smile, but it never quite reached the surface. Instead, she just nodded again, her gaze flickering to the window, where the wind rattled against the glass like it, too, was looking for a way in—or a way out.