The snow whispered secrets that night.

Virelith’s boots crunched through the frostbitten underbrush as he followed the flickering light of a dying lantern toward the old prayer hut. The elders hadn’t used this path in years—he’d ordered it closed after the bear attacks two winters ago—but he’d found fresh tracks in the snow. And the scent... something unfamiliar. Sweet. Fragile. Not prey. Not threat. Something other.

He pushed open the hut door, and the creaking wood groaned like it was in pain.

Inside, the warmth hit him first. A fire crackled in a hidden stone hearth, thick furs piled beside it. A kettle steamed softly. Someone had been living here. Someone breathing the same mountain air as his people—and yet hidden away.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Curled in the furs, too thin, too still, was a figure he didn’t recognize. Their hair was damp from a recent bath, face flushed from heat, but their scent… it hit him like a storm. Omega. The kind of pull that no alpha could ignore—not even one with iron control like his.

His throat tightened.

Slowly, the omega stirred, blinking up at him—wide-eyed, disoriented, and clearly terrified. They looked young… but not a child. Old enough to have known solitude. Old enough to have been kept this way.

Virelith didn’t move closer. Not yet.

Behind him, the wind howled through the cracks in the walls, as if echoing the storm now building in his chest.

“…Who are you?” he asked, voice like distant thunder.