The scent of iron and incense clung to the stone walls of the Hall of Lords. Beyond its carved arches, twilight bruised the horizon, bleeding gold and crimson across the sky. It was a warrior’s sunset—a fitting end to the day the most dangerous man in the kingdom received a shadow of his own.

Upon the obsidian throne sat King Caelum Dravon, the kingdom’s fiercest Alpha in over two generations. At twenty-five, he had conquered three provinces, bent the Eastern tribes to his will, and broken the rebellion of the southern Omegas with his bare hands. He was known as the Storm Alpha—not for his temperament, but for his unshakable calm before devastation.

Broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, and terrifyingly composed, He was no ordinary ruler. An Alpha of pure blood, bred in war and raised on law, Caelum had united the fractured provinces of Vireos before he was twenty-five. His name was invoked in whispers. His command was never questioned. Caelum was not just a king. He was the law. Bloodline. Command.

But even kings have enemies. He had survived assassins, traitors, and full-scale rebellion.

But the man standing at the edge of his dais—Aric—unnerved him.

No one in the court had asked where the new royal guard came from. Not even the king. The High Commander had introduced him after the last attempt on Caelum’s life left three guards dead and a poisoned cup on his table. No questions had followed. None dared.

No one knew where he came from. Not even Caelum’s informants. The man was named simply Aric. No house name. No caste. No scent. He wore black leather armor, bore no family sigil, and had eyes the color of frozen ash—sharp, alert, and unreadable.

Ash-gray. Cold. Not Beta-calm, nor Omega-soft. And yet not Alpha-sharp either.

There was no scent. No instinctual pull of hierarchy. Nothing.

And that nothing was what caught in Caelum’s throat every time Aric walked past.

There was no scent. No trace of heat or dominance or submission. Just stillness. And silence.

Caelum had never met a man who made him want to step down from his throne and step closer.

And that—that—was the most dangerous thing of all.

Servants whispered about him. He didn’t eat with the others. No one had ever seen him sweat, bleed, or sleep. And unlike everyone else in the kingdom, Aric had no scent. Not Alpha, Beta, or Omega. He was… something else.

“You were assigned to protect me,” Caelum said one evening, standing too near the firelight, watching the flicker on Aric’s unreadable face. “But you watch me like I’m your prey.”

Aric met his gaze evenly. “I’m watching for the strike that will come closest.”

“From behind or from within?”

“Whichever reaches first, Your Majesty.”

A long silence.

“You have no scent,” Caelum said, not for the first time, but this time it came out like a challenge.

“I’ve no need to be scented to be loyal.”

That was not an answer. But it was typical of him.

No one else spoke of Aric’s lack of designation. It had become an unspoken truth, too dangerous to name aloud. And still, Caelum couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it—wondering.

Some nights, when the halls had emptied and the guards changed, Caelum found himself glancing toward the shadows Aric stood in.

Silent. Watchful. Too still.

As if waiting… not to protect, but to react.

There was no record of him in the Kingdom’s scrolls. No scent to place him. No heat. No past.

And yet, Caelum’s instincts stirred around him—betraying him.

A flush of warmth at the base of his spine. The thrum of something ancient just beneath his skin.

Alpha. Do not lower your guard.

But Aric made him feel… watched. Not with duty. With purpose.

That was the most dangerous kind of gaze.

“Your Majesty,” Aric’s voice came, soft and sudden. “The moon rises red tonight.”

Caelum turned slowly.

“A sign?”

“I don’t read signs,” Aric said. “Only threats.”

The king stepped closer. Too close. For a moment, breath passed between them. No words.

And yet Caelum’s heart thundered like a war drum.

He would keep this guard close.

Closer than he should.

But deep in his bones, the king knew—whatever Aric was, he would not be controlled.

And for the first time in his reign, Caelum feared the one thing he could not name.

There were nights when he felt his body stir, his instincts clash—pulling him toward something ancient. Something that smelled of danger and fate.

A king should not be weak. A king should not be curious. A king should not—

“Your Majesty?” Aric’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade through silk.

Caelum looked up, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

Aric stood in the shadows near the balcony, his expression unreadable. “The moon rises red tonight.”

A sign of heat. Of change. Of beginnings.

The king’s jaw clenched. For the first time in his reign, he did not know what tomorrow would bring.

But whatever it was… it had already begun the moment the Enigma arrived.

The royal court buzzed like flies in honey.

Beneath the golden arches of the Daylight Hall, nobles swarmed with their grievances: borders breached, taxes rising, Omega shortages, and whatever scandal they could disguise as state business.

King Caelum Dravon remained still upon his throne, carved from obsidian and edged in war-forged iron. He nodded at the appropriate places, dismissed irrelevant chatter, and sipped from a goblet of springwine without tasting a drop.

But his thoughts were elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone else.

Aric.

The man stood behind him and to the right—where only the most trusted guards were permitted. Silent. Unmoving. As if carved from shadow itself.

The court no longer dared to ask questions about him. After one noble suggested he was a “wild Beta bred for obedience,” Aric had smiled without smiling and calmly disarmed a sparring soldier in front of the entire military council. With a fork.

No one had spoken about him since.

And yet, Caelum’s mind never stopped.

He hadn’t scented Aric once. Not even in the sparring yard, not in battle training, not after hours in the southern heat. The man had no scent. No classification. No record.

Nothing.

Which made it worse.

The scent of fear was what snapped Caelum from his spiral.

Not his own.

Someone else.

A young messenger approached the throne—no older than seventeen, thin as parchment, holding a scroll marked by the seal of the Eastern Lords. But the scroll was damp.

Too damp.

And Aric moved.

Like wind—no sound, no warning—he was there. Hand clamping down on the messenger’s wrist. The scroll hit the marble floor. A whisper-click echoed.

A small needle extended from the scroll’s inner frame—tipped in green.

Poison.

Gasps spread like wildfire. Nobles stepped back. Some clutched their pearls; others grabbed for guards.

Aric didn’t blink. He snapped the scroll clean in two and threw the pieces to the floor.

“Subtle,” he said. “For cowards.”

Caelum rose slowly from his throne, his voice cold.

“The Lords are getting sloppy.”

Aric didn’t look at him.

“Or desperate. Sloppy men die. Desperate ones burn cities.”

The boy was dragged out by the palace guards, still sobbing.

The court was dismissed with a wave.

⸻

That night, the halls echoed with whispers. But the king’s war chamber was silent, lit only by fire and the occasional clink of armor from a passing guard. Caelum stood at the hearth, one hand pressed against the warm stone, the other curled into a fist.

Behind him, he knew—he felt—Aric’s presence before the door even opened.

“You didn’t scent the poison,” Aric said after a pause.

Not an accusation. A fact.

Caelum didn’t turn.

“You think I’m going soft?”

“I think your senses are off,” Aric replied smoothly. “And no offense, but that’s usually a you problem.”

Caelum turned sharply.

“Careful. You’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be.”

“Mm. No, but I am extremely hard to kill.” Aric leaned against the wall near the fireplace, arms crossed. “And you, Your Majesty, look like you’re about to either faint or rut. Possibly both.”

Caelum blinked.

“What?”

Aric smirked, head tilting slightly.

“You’ve been… off. Unfocused. Snapping at diplomats. Sweating in chambers that are kept cold. And now—missing poison right under your Alpha nose?”

He stepped forward, one quiet footfall at a time. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant.”

Caelum choked.

“Excuse me?”

Aric raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

“Just an observation. Don’t worry. Statistically, that’s impossible.”

He paused. “Unless it’s not.”

Caelum’s body tensed, the heat in his lower abdomen rising again—an odd pressure, not pain, but unfamiliar.

He turned away.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Most people find it charming,” Aric said. “After the trauma wears off.”

The king rubbed the back of his neck, agitated and restless.

“You talk too much.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who broods in silence for hours and then accuses me of stalking him with my eyes.”

Caelum rounded on him.

“You do.”

Aric smiled. Not a grin. A slow, dangerous lift of his lips.

“I watch you, yes. I’m your guard. You’ve seen my job description.”

“You watch me like you’re reading me,” Caelum said. “Like you already know how the story ends.”

Aric’s expression turned unreadable.

“Maybe I do.”

Silence.

Caelum’s breathing was uneven now. Something was wrong with him—inside him.

But whatever it was, Aric had already seen it.

“What are you?” the king asked, this time not cold—just tired. Desperate to name what refused to be named.

Aric stepped close. Their chests nearly brushed.

“I’m your shadow,” he said softly. “And shadows always see what the light tries to hide.”

Caelum swallowed.

He should walk away. He should command him to leave.

Instead, he stayed very, very still.

“You affect me,” Caelum admitted. “And I hate that.”

“You say that,” Aric murmured, “but your heartbeat says otherwise.”

⸻

Outside, the moon rose—red, full, and sharp-edged.

Inside the Alpha king, a seed of change pulsed quietly to life.

And Aric… smiled like he’d been waiting for it all along.

Prophecy whispers:

“When the blood of a crowned Alpha stirs without bond,

and the moon bleeds red without cause,

the Enigma shall awaken the womb of the unyielding.

And kingdoms shall kneel before the child born of no order.”

— Fragment from the Forbidden Prophecies.

The air was sharp with morning steel. Caelum stood in the center of the sparring ring, his shirt stripped away, skin glistening under the pale sun. The palace guards lined the edge in silence—none dared step into the circle. Not when their king was already bleeding.

Not from defeat, but restraint.

He swung again. The sword in his hand cracked against Aric’s blade, a shower of sparks exploding between them. Aric didn’t even flinch. The Enigma’s expression was maddeningly neutral, almost bored.

“I see you’re trying to kill me this morning,” Aric said, dodging the next blow with feline grace.

“I’m trying to spar,” Caelum snapped, though his breath was already shallow. “Maybe if you acted like a guard and less like a damned shadow—”

“I thought you preferred me in the shadows, my king.” A smirk tugged at Aric’s lips. “Less inconvenient.”

Caelum stopped mid-motion. His jaw clenched. That smirk did things to him—confusing things.

“You’re provoking me.”

“I don’t have to. You’re already off balance.” Aric stepped closer. “You’ve been twitching all morning. Overheated. You sure you’re not coming down with something?”

Caelum’s hand tightened on the hilt. His scent had been fluctuating all morning—stronger than usual. More primal. The guards noticed. Even the Beta ones had started shifting nervously near him.

He didn’t have time for a rut. And this didn’t feel like one anyway.

Ruts were savage. Angry. This? This was heat, tension, pressure—coiling low in his stomach, dragging his focus to—

No.

It was him. Aric. The scentless, bondless anomaly at his side. Ever since they’d met, something had been wrong in Caelum’s instincts.

He couldn’t read him. Couldn’t track him. Couldn’t ignore him.

And now, he couldn’t stop wanting.

“You’re unusually cocky today,” Caelum muttered, sheathing his sword with more force than necessary. “Maybe I should have you reassigned. You seem eager to test your luck.”

Aric raised an eyebrow. “You’d miss me within the hour.”

The king turned sharply. “You think I need your company that badly?”

“No,” Aric said, stepping into his space—far too close. “But your scent says otherwise.”

Caelum froze. For one sharp, raw second, his body responded with betrayal—a spike of heat under his skin, a dangerous flare in his scent glands.

He pushed past him. “I have council matters.”

Aric didn’t follow, but his voice carried behind him:

“If it gets worse, you should tell the priestess. Or me. Wouldn’t want the throne room to flood.”

Caelum stopped walking.

He didn’t turn around.

He just muttered, “Arrogant bastard,” and stalked off, unaware of the subtle tremor in his fingers—or the way the world tilted slightly around him with every step.

The council meeting was a blur.

Words passed around Caelum like water through a broken dam—territorial disputes, border skirmishes, economic shifts. None of it held.

He was burning.

Not from anger or exertion. But something deep, biological. His inner instincts, so long trained and sharpened, were unraveling. He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t think. His skin itched under his robes. His breath came shallow and rapid. And worse—every time he closed his eyes, he saw Aric.

His mouth. His voice. His infuriating smirk.

What the hell was happening to him?

“Your Majesty?”

Caelum blinked.

All eyes were on him.

“…We were awaiting your judgment on the tribute terms,” said Lord Taeron. “You seemed… distracted.”

“I’m done here,” Caelum said sharply, standing too fast. The world tilted again. “Council is dismissed.”

His personal guards hesitated, unsure whether to follow, but he didn’t wait. He stormed out of the throne hall and took the side passage—the one that led to the Temple Wing.

⸻

The inner sanctum of the High Temple was dark and cool, the air thick with incense and centuries of whispered secrets. Oracle Lys stood beneath a dome of violet glass, her eyes closed, her hands dipped into a basin of moon water.

“I need a truth,” Caelum said.

Lys didn’t flinch. “And what truth burns your mouth, my king?”

He stepped closer, pacing. “I’ve been… off. I feel strange. Wrong.”

“Strange how?”

“I’m not in rut,” he snapped. “And yet—my body thinks I am. My scent glands are out of control. My heat cycles are shifting. I—”

He stopped, breathing hard.

Lys tilted her head. “And what triggered this?”

He hesitated.

Lys opened her eyes slowly. They were almost silver.

“You can lie to your guards, Caelum. Not to me.”

Caelum exhaled. “Aric.”

“Ah,” Lys said, like she had expected that answer. “The one who walks without a name. No scent. No ties. The guard who should not be.”

“You knew.”

“I guessed,” she said. “Only an Enigma can stir a crowned Alpha into chaos.”

His heart thundered. “That’s not possible. Enigmas don’t exist.”

“They shouldn’t,” Lys whispered. “And yet… here you are. And your body knows what your mind denies.”

Caelum stared at her. “What’s happening to me?”

“You are not simply entering rut, Caelum,” Lys said. “You are being re-written. Something ancient is waking in your blood. Something that does not obey our laws.”

“Am I dying?”

“No,” she said with quiet certainty. “You are becoming.”

He turned away. “Then stop it. Give me a draught. Kill the heat.”

“I could suppress it for a day. But it would return. Stronger. Wilder. Wanting.”

“Then what do I do?”

Lys touched the water basin again, and a shimmer spread across its surface. “Stay close to the Enigma. Watch him. Or better yet…” She smiled faintly.

“Let him watch you.”

⸻

Caelum left the temple without a word. The halls felt smaller now. Hotter. His pulse wouldn’t calm. His instincts screamed.

By the time he reached his chamber, the scent on his own skin made him recoil.

And in the far corner of the room, lounging against the open window like he owned the kingdom, was Aric.

The guard looked up lazily. “You missed lunch, Your Majesty. I brought fruit.”

His smirk said everything else.