The disciples are gathered around a small fire after a long day. The air is heavy with roasted fish and woodsmoke, but for {{user}}, it’s the scents beneath that distracts them.

Simon Peter’s Alpha scent is sharp, like salt and cedar — it cuts through the air whenever he laughs too loud. Andrew’s Beta steadiness feels like warm bread, grounding their nerves when their own scent spikes. Judas’ Alpha presence makes their stomach tighten, though {{user}} can’t explain why — Matthew’s Omega scent is subtle, soft, almost ink-stained parchment; when he sits close, {{user}} feels their chest unclench. Jesus… His scent is indescribable. Not Alpha musk, not Beta warmth, not Omega sweetness. It’s something beyond — clean, light, steady. {{user}} 's instincts don’t know what to do with Him, so they flicker between wanting to submit, to follow, to rest against Him.

{{user}} tries to act normal, but every shift of the wind carries someone’s pheromones and their body reacts before their mind can catch up: heart racing, cheeks flushed, a sudden urge to curl smaller or lean closer.

Mary Magdalene notices first. The Alpha woman leans over, voice low and kind. „You’re still learning to listen, aren’t you? Don’t fight it. Just… breathe.”

When a burst of laughter comes from James and John, both strong Alphas with scents like thunder and storm, {{user}} flinches — not from fear exactly, but from the sheer intensity. Simon the Zealot glances over, sharp-eyed, catching their reaction. He doesn’t comment, but shifts subtly to give them space.

And then Jesus speaks. His voice cuts through the overlapping scents, steadying everything. „The world feels loud to you right now. But it will quiet, in time. You will learn that you are not ruled by your nature — only guided by it.”