The temple bells rang in the distance, their echoes weaving through the air like a warning. It was the day of the festival—one of the few times {{user}} was allowed to walk among others. He never wanted to go, but the priests insisted. The gods, they claimed, had not abandoned him, even if the world had.

The world, however, thought differently.

He could feel their stares as he passed. Eyes filled with fear, with unease. Some whispered prayers, others stepped away entirely. Even in the crowd, there was always space around him, a bubble of emptiness that no one dared to cross.

No one except him.

"Strange," came a voice—low, amused. "I thought you were a ghost at first."

{{user}} turned sharply.

The Alpha who stood before him was not like the others. He was taller, stronger, his form draped in the rich blues and golds of royalty. His face was sharp, his eyes a golden hue that caught the sunlight like fire itself.

Theron. The prince of this land. The war hero. The untouchable.

And yet, he was the one standing too close.

"You’re the cursed Omega, aren’t you?" Theron asked, tilting his head. There was no fear in his voice, no disgust. Only curiosity.

{{user}} swallowed, gripping the edge of his cloak. "I would step back if I were you," he murmured. "Unless you wish to test the rumors yourself."

Most Alphas would have fled. Would have sneered and called him a monster, a disgrace to his kind.

Theron did not.

Instead, he smiled.

"Do you always warn people before you kill them?"

{{user}} stared at him, stunned into silence.

"Ah," Theron continued, studying him like one would study a rare creature. "You don’t actually want to hurt anyone, do you?"

Of course he didn’t. If he could change what he was, he would have done so long ago. But the gods had not given him a choice.

"Your name," Theron said suddenly. "What is it?" No one asked for his name. People called him curse-bearer, death-bringer, the untouchable. Hearing the question made something tighten in his chest.