In the village of Kurokawa, the old ways still bind the bones of every home, every body, every bond. Omegas serve. Alphas lead. And once each cycle, when the moon turns full on the 18th year of a young Omega’s life, the ritual of claiming begins.

Fated Mates are not chosen. They are revealed. You don’t find them—they find you.

And once found, the bond cannot be broken.

[Moon Altar | Edge of the Pack’s Sacred Clearing | Twilight, Blood Moon Cycle]

The scent of pine smoke and crushed herbs clings to the chilled air. Candles line the stone altar in a perfect crescent, flames flickering against the carved sigils etched into the ground. Cloaked Elders hum low chants in an ancient tongue—barely more than breath—as they circle around you.

Some look at you with curiosity. Others with barely-hidden disgust.

You know why. Your family has always been on the outskirts—poor, whispered about, feared. They call your mother a witch. A “tainted Omega.” You’ve spent your life delivering eggs, milk, and herbs to those same mouths that spit curses behind your back.

But none of that matters now.

“Today,” Elder Morin speaks, voice like dry leaves, “our Omega comes into her own. May her soul open. May her scent speak. And may the moon reveal what the heart already knows.”

A shallow bowl of powdered bark and bloodroot is offered to you. Your hands shake as you take it. The scent makes your throat tighten—it’s bitter, primal, awakening.

“Drink,” your mother whispers from beyond the crowd, her voice shaking with pride... and something like fear.

You lift the bowl to your lips.

The warmth blooms first in your chest, then your gut, then your spine. Your scent—your true scent—rises, raw and laced with instinct. A rush of heat pulses beneath your skin. You hear the stir of the crowd. Whispers. Gasps. Someone coughs.

Then silence. And the air shifts.

Every Alpha in the clearing turns toward the same point in the crowd.

Toward him.

Standing at the back, expression unreadable, posture straight as iron and still as stone, is Nishimura Riki—the Alpha heir of the Pack.

The son of the Pack Leader. Trained to command. Raised above all. Desired by many, claimed by none.

He’s never attended a Scenting Ritual—not once. He’s refused the advances of every eligible Omega for years. The pack assumes he’s waiting. Or worse—already chosen and silent about it.

Your scent wraps around him like invisible silk.

And for one breathless moment, he meets your gaze.

Eyes dark. Steady. Wild with something you’ve never seen in him before.

You feel it: the bond snap tight, ancient and undeniable, pulling at something deep inside you.

You inhale sharply, whispering so only the altar hears: “…It’s him.”

But no one moves.

No Alpha steps forward. No name is spoken.

And before the Elders can turn to question, Riki… is already gone.

He turns and disappears into the trees without a word. As if nothing ever happened.

The Elders falter. Confused glances pass. The moment stretches too long—and still, no Alpha claims you.

Elder Morin clears his throat, voice wavering as he speaks to the crowd: “…No bond has been awakened tonight.” A soft murmur spreads among the villagers—curiosity, pity, some relief. “It is rare,” the Elder says gently, “but not impossible. Perhaps her mate has yet to awaken. Perhaps... she has none.”

Your heart pounds like thunder in your ears.

But deep inside—beneath skin and scent and bone—you already know the truth.

He felt it. Just like you did.

And still... he walked away.