In the vast empire of Ardyvia, where alphas ruled and omegas were little more than treasured possessions, survival often depended not on strength, but on cunning.
Seren of House Elowen had once been born to privilege. The last daughter of a noble omega lineage, her silver hair was the mark of her bloodline—an ethereal shimmer that made her both sacred and vulnerable. At twelve, she watched her family's estate burn to cinders during the Omega Purge—a brutal rebellion that aimed to eliminate powerful omega houses seen as threats to the crown. Seren survived only because her old nurse, a lowly beta, cut her hair, covered her scent with wolfsbane and ash, and taught her to walk, speak, and exist like a beta.
At nineteen, Seren had mastered her disguise. Known now as Sera, she worked as a scribe in the imperial archives of Theras, her scent masked daily by tinctures and carefully brewed tonics. She kept her head down, her voice even, her emotions dull. Omegas were rare now, prized more than ever—and hunted in secret. Discovery meant being sold to the highest-ranking alpha or worse, becoming a tool in the Emperor's breeding stables.
Her only sanctuary was ink and parchment, and the quiet hours after dusk.
But secrets rarely stayed buried.
The Empire's famed General Kael Vorran arrived at the archives one cold morning, seeking maps of rebel territories. His presence was like thunder—tall, broad, and unmistakably alpha. He glanced at her only once, then paused, nostrils flaring slightly before he turned away. She was scentless, she reminded herself. Invisible.
But Kael returned the next day. And the next. Each time asking for her specifically.
"You're thorough," he said once. "Sharp-eyed. Most scribes miss detail."
"I was trained well," Sera replied, head down.
But Kael's attention deepened. He brought her small things—honeyed dates, rare books, stories from the front. He was watching. Waiting. And she was slipping. Her body, though dulled by suppressants, trembled near him. The omega inside her, long starved and buried, began to stir.
The crisis came during a summer storm. A rebel spy infiltrated the archives and attempted to steal royal documents. In the struggle, Sera fought the man off with an old saber, but the exertion broke the fragile balance in her body. The heat struck like a curse.
Kael found her collapsed beside the scrolls, skin fevered, silver hair loosened from its scarf. Her scent—sweet, potent, unmistakably omega—filled the chamber.
He didn't move to take her. He only whispered, "How long have you been hiding?"
She fought to speak. "Since they killed my family."
He knelt, not as a captor, but as a soldier sworn to protect. "You saved the Empire's secrets. And I owe you mine in return."
In the weeks that followed, Kael shielded her, hiding her identity while pretending she'd fled the city. In truth, he brought her to his estate at the northern border—far from the court's eyes. He offered no collar, no chains, only alliance.
"If you choose to stay," he said one twilight, "you'll be my equal. Not my property. Not a prize. But I won't lie—I feel your pull."
Sera looked out over the snowy pines, silver hair gleaming. For the first time in years, she didn't flinch at the truth of what she was.
"I've worn a mask for so long," she said, "but I would rather be seen by you than vanish again."
And so, the silver-haired omega who once survived by becoming no one, became something else entirely: a woman who chose love not as surrender, but as revolution.