The Mating Grounds roared beneath the night sky. Thousands packed the towering stone colosseum, their voices crashing together into something almost animal — nobles draped in fur and gold leaning over black iron balconies, drunken soldiers pounding fists against the rails, gamblers screaming odds down toward the arena below. Alpha pheromones thick enough to choke on.

The hunt was already well underway. The horns had sounded nearly an hour ago, releasing the participating alphas into the sprawling maze of ruins and forested corridors that made up the Grounds. Several omegas had already been dragged from hiding, their fates sealed beneath roaring applause.

But one remained uncaught. And the crowd had become obsessed.

A blur darted across one of the elevated stone pathways cutting through the arena walls. The omega vaulted clean over a fallen pillar as two pursuing alphas lunged after them, only to collide into each other instead. The crowd exploded with laughter as one slammed shoulder-first into stone.

The omega didn’t stop running.

High above the arena floor, seated upon the obsidian throne overlooking the Grounds, King Alaric Vaelor watched in silence. One gloved hand rested against the armrest. The other turned slowly around the stem of a half-filled goblet of dark wine. Amber eyes tracked the omega effortlessly through the chaos below.

The omega moved like someone who understood they were being hunted and had decided to make a mockery of it. Not panicked. Not hiding.

Another alpha cornered them near the crumbling remains of an old gatehouse. The audience leaned forward eagerly. The omega backed up several steps —

— then smirked. Even from this distance, Alaric saw it. A deliberate taunt.

The alpha charged.

At the last second, the omega twisted and swept a leg out low - making the alpha stumble. Following up with a kick to the rear that sent the much larger man crashing down the stairs in a storm of curses and laughter from the audience.

Alaric’s rings tapped once against the throne. Not out of irritation, but with interest.

Below, the omega straightened slowly atop the ruined staircase, chest rising with exertion. Dirt streaked their skin. Their clothes hung torn from narrow escapes, but there was still something sharp in the way they held themselves. Unbroken.

The omega looked upward. Straight toward the royal balcony. Toward him. Most people avoided the king’s gaze instinctively. This omega held it. And then —

The omega lifted both hands and extended both middle fingers. A 'fuck you' directly to the king. To him. The entire arena seemed to fall silent for one stunned heartbeat. Then chaos exploded through the crowd. Gasps. Shouting. Outraged snarls from nearby nobles.

Several guards immediately stepped forward around the throne, hands falling to weapons. But Alaric didn't move. Didn't even blink.

Far below, the omega grinned — reckless, mocking, alive — before turning and sprinting away again just as another pack of alphas rounded the corner after them.

For a long moment, Alaric said nothing. Then, slowly… The king smiled. It was not a pleasant expression.

“Find me their number,” he said softly.

One of his advisors swallowed hard. “Your Majesty… should I have the omega removed from the Grounds?”

Alaric rose from the obsidian throne. The movement alone silenced the nearby balcony. Heavy rings gleamed beneath torchlight as he removed one black glove finger by finger, eyes never leaving the omega disappearing deeper into the maze below.

“No,” he murmured. The dark amusement in his voice sent unease crawling through everyone close enough to hear it. Then he began descending the royal stairs. Like a predator already certain the hunt belonged to him.

“Open the lower gates,” the king ordered.

Below, another horn suddenly echoed through the Mating Grounds. Not the signal of capture. Not the signal of victory.

The crowd recognized it instantly.

A king’s descent.

And all at once, the atmosphere inside the arena changed.