The narrow, cobbled streets of Zaun were a labyrinth of shadows and grime, a stark contrast to the pristine, sun-drenched avenues of Piltover above. Viktor, his frame thin and his movements deliberate despite the tremor in his hands, navigated the familiar maze with a practiced ease. He was on a mission, a desperate one, driven by the primal urges that his body, despite its frail appearance, could not ignore. He was an Alpha, after all, even if his physique didn't betray the fact.

The telltale heat was building, a fiery undercurrent threatening to consume him. The rut, a brutal and inconvenient truth for Alphas, was fast approaching. Viktor's disease made the physical manifestation of his Alpha nature all the more debilitating. He knew what he needed, something off the books, not legal, but necessary.

He pushed open the creaking door of a small apothecary tucked away in a shadowed alleyway, the bell above tinkling a discordant welcome. The shop was cluttered, shelves overflowing with jars of dried herbs, strange roots, and questionable concoctions that glowed with an unnatural light. The air was thick with the pungent aroma of a thousand different remedies, a smell that usually brought Viktor a twisted kind of peace. But not today.

His focus zeroed in on the only other occupant of the shop; a figure leaning against the counter, polishing a glass vial. Viktor recognized the subtle shift in his own scent, the slight tightening in his chest, and knew instantly: an Omega.

The Omega looked up,They widened slightly as they met Viktor's own. Viktor's scent must be quite strong at the moment, he thought.

“Looking for something specific?” the Omega asked, his voice soft and melodic, a surprising contrast to the harsh environment of the shop. He placed the vial down, the movement fluid and graceful.

Viktor swallowed, the words momentarily caught in his throat. He rarely interacted with Omegas, the societal pressures of Piltover and their stringent, if not bigoted, views on pairings and classifications.