Chapter Text
Ezreal’s life had been many things, but stable was never one of them. From the moment he became aware of the world around him, his parents’ presence had always been erratic. He never knew when they would leave or return—and at his young age, he wasn’t even sure if they ever would. He grew up under the care of his uncle, who didn’t so much take care of him as he did hire and oversee staff to ensure his basic needs were met: someone to feed him, take him to school, and bring him back. Rarely did his uncle sit down to talk with him or help with homework, so Ezreal had to learn to fend for himself early on. Thankfully, this wasn’t a huge problem—Ezreal had always been more intelligent than average (something that seemed to bother his uncle deeply).
Ezreal thought that would be his life forever—growing up in a huge, lonely manor in Piltover, barely seeing his parents, ignored by his uncle, and always hoping that one day his parents would walk through the door and embrace him. By age ten, he had already accepted it: middle-of-the-night calls days after his birthday or other holidays, gifts sent by mail, or tacky shirts reading “My parents went to Shurima and all I got was this shirt,” decorated with a poorly drawn Emperor Azir. That, Ezreal believed, was his future. Which is why it never crossed his mind that the last time he saw his parents walk out that big door for another adventure… would also be the last time he’d see them alive.
As if on cue, it began to rain over the city of Piltover when Ezreal returned from school and his uncle broke the news—his parents had died.
An expedition to Vekaura, an ancient Shuriman city, had gone wrong (locals said his parents had angered some deity who claimed their lives), but Ezreal didn’t want to hear more. He locked himself in his room. The days that followed were the worst of his short ten years of life. His mind wasn’t in the church, nor at the funeral or the cemetery. All he could think about were the few happy memories he had with them, wondering if he would one day forget their faces and voices unless he looked at photos or videos. Even now, those faces were already starting to blur in his memory.
From that moment, his uncle, Professor Cristóbal Lymere, became his legal guardian—something neither of them wanted. And yet, nothing much changed at the manor. His uncle “managed” the inheritance left by his parents—meaning he spent it recklessly on failed inventions and fruitless expeditions. Every coin invested was a wasted one.
By the age of 14, right after finishing middle school and during a move he didn’t want (because it meant leaving behind what remained of his parents), Ezreal presented as an omega—amid fever and shivers. And that seemed to be the last straw for his uncle. A conservative alpha, he had at least hoped Ezreal would be an alpha like him, like Ezreal’s father, like his brother. So at 14, Ezreal not only had to learn how to live as an omega—but as a Zaunite, too. His uncle had taken him there after losing the house (and the rest of the inheritance) to bad investments.
Zaun was nothing like the City of Progress. The air was thick, hard to breathe. The neon colors clashed with the white and gold he’d grown up with. There was no vegetation—Ezreal noticed this right away and began to miss the park where his parents used to take him biking during their longer stays in Piltover.
Four years of trying to adjust to Zaun went by. Ezreal learned to work, since for some reason his uncle always needed more money for another failed invention. And then, on his 18th birthday, after returning home from work, he opened the door of the musty old apartment they lived in—only to find his uncle’s body hanging in the middle of the room, right beside the worn-out couch that had served as Ezreal’s bed for years.
Professor Cristóbal Lymere had taken his own life.
And even after everything—the wasted inheritance, the move to Zaun, the loss of all comforts—Ezreal cried. He cried like he had when his parents died, because once again, he was alone. This time, it was even worse. Now, he was an omega with no family, no money, and far from what had once been his home. But Ezreal also cried out of guilt—because he felt relief. Relief that he no longer had to give his uncle money only to see it wasted on nonsense or alcohol, as had become the norm in his final months. Now Ezreal was free. He could finally live his life, on his terms.
Or so he thought.
For a whole month, he believed it. He left the filthy apartment and moved to a small studio in better condition (though with his budget, it was basically one room and a shared bathroom). Then he started planning a trip to finally leave Zaun. There was no one waiting for him in Piltover anymore, so he thought: why not follow in his parents’ footsteps? He planned his first adventure—he would go to Shurima, the land his parents loved so much that it cost them their lives.
But the plan didn’t go further.
A month after his uncle’s death, Ezreal found out why the man had chosen to end his life.
It was a normal night in Zaun. Ezreal had just finished his shift at the convenience store and was walking back home when two alphas appeared from the shadows. At first, Ezreal didn’t pay them any mind—he’d learned to stay out of trouble in Zaun. But they grabbed him and dragged him into an alley, throwing him to the ground.
That night, through punches and kicks, Ezreal learned that he wouldn’t be rid of his uncle’s memory so easily. Those alphas made it clear: not only had his uncle spent all the inheritance—he had also borrowed money, loan after loan, from the Shadow Order (Or Yanlei), a criminal organization in Zaun. The debt hadn’t gone down—in fact, it kept growing due to absurd interest rates.
His future shattered, his hope gone, Ezreal went back to his room and—for the first time—he cursed his uncle. Now he was being forced to repay the debt, or die. And leaving Zaun was no longer an option.
---
Nearly two years had passed since his uncle’s death—and since Ezreal had realized he could never leave Zaun unless he paid the debt he inherited. Month after month, he made the payments. And still, the interest always rose. Even after 22 months of paying, the debt hadn’t shrunk much. At this rate, it would take him decades to clear it.
Still, the omega didn’t give up. He kept working at the convenience store near home in the evenings, and in the mornings, he worked at a café on the Piltover-Zaun border. Both jobs gave him just enough to rent the room he only used to sleep, pay the debt, and eat. He worked overtime and rarely took breaks. He was exhausted, too exhausted to think of any other path. The only time he felt remotely happy was at the café—especially when…
“Talon!” Ezreal called out with a smile, finishing a coffee as the familiar man walked through the door. Talon—a Noxian alpha—was a regular customer, and currently courting him.
“Ezreal,” Talon greeted politely, stepping up to the counter.
The blond omega felt safe around him, even if he wasn’t sure whether his feelings were romantic or just friendship. But after being alone for so long, Ezreal cherished the laughter, even if it was only inside the café. Talon had asked him out formally before—Ezreal always declined because he simply didn’t have the time. Talon understood… but kept trying.
“We could watch a movie after your shift,” the alpha tried again.
“Talon, you know I—”
“I’ll go to your place in Zaun,” Talon interrupted, a new suggestion that caught Ezreal’s attention.
“You’d come all the way there for me?” Ezreal asked. “I get off at 10 and I don’t even have a TV.”
“I’ll bring my laptop.”
That was all it took. Ezreal gave in, unable to refuse the alpha’s determination.
So the plan was made—their first date, if only a small one Ezreal could afford. Still, the thought brightened his long day. After everything he’d been through, he’d never let himself meet new people or make friends—let alone think about dating or an alpha being interested in him. And that felt… nice.
In that good mood, he ended his shift and headed to Zaun—where an old apron and register awaited him. But he didn’t care. He had a date this weekend.
---
The convenience store tried to ruin his mood when, just before closing, a drunk man spilled milk cartons all over the floor and left without paying. Ezreal had to mop everything up again.
Back behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron, Ezreal noticed someone else enter. Something inside him—perhaps his omega instincts—shivered. This was definitely an alpha, he thought, immediately hit by the scent of leather and ashes. But it wasn’t just the scent. It was the presence. He was taller than Ezreal by a head, clearly strong. His short fuchsia hair was more common in Zaun than Piltover, but still striking. Sharp features, a straight nose, one emerald eye—his other was hidden by a patch. His clothes were all black, shirt unbuttoned, revealing his chest. And when his eyes met Ezreal’s golden ones, he smiled. A crooked, dangerous smile.
“A pack, pretty boy,” he said with a deep voice, eyes fixed on him before glancing at the cigarettes.
Ezreal froze. His brain and body took a second to sync. He grabbed the pack, the man paid, and left. A normal transaction… but Ezreal felt strange. That alpha had shaken him. It wasn’t just the scent. It was the whole package: the aura, the body, the nickname, the smile…
---
Ezreal entered his small apartment and dropped onto his mattress. The day was finally over. He’d eaten a sandwich from work, so no need for dinner—though it was usually just instant noodles. Staring at the ceiling, he began to change into pajamas when a sudden knock at the door snapped him back to reality.
He froze.
No one visited him. Not at this hour. The only ones who came like this were the Order—late at night and without warning, to collect. But Ezreal was sure he still had time left to pay.
Another knock.
Ezreal crossed the apartment in two strides. He didn’t have the full amount. If this was a final warning, he was screwed. Still, he opened the door—only to see the same alpha from the store.
“We meet again, pretty boy,” the man said, smirking as he walked in without invitation. Ezreal stepped aside, already sensing danger.
“Do I… do I know you?” he asked, keeping his distance.
“My name is Kayn,” the alpha answered, turning to meet Ezreal’s gaze. “You don’t know me, but I know you, Ezreal.” That smirk widened. “I’m the new heir of the Order.”
Ezreal’s fists clenched. Blood rushed to his feet. If this was true… Why was the heir here? The Order’s leader had never come himself. It was always disciples who collected payments.
“You’re wondering what I’m doing here,” Kayn continued, amused by Ezreal’s silence. “I felt like delivering the news personally. Your interest rate’s going up. And payments are now due mid-month.”
“W-What?!” Ezreal shouted, unable to hold back. “You can’t raise it—I barely make it to the end of the month!”
“That sounds like your problem,” Kayn replied, annoyed by the interruption but still grinning. He walked toward Ezreal slowly, forcing him back against the wall. “You can keep killing yourself trying to pay until you can't anymore, and we'll handle the rest,” he threatened, gripping Ezreal’s cheeks with one hand. “Or… we can make a deal.”
Ezreal swallowed, frozen by fear.
“W-What kind of deal?” he asked—though part of him already knew the answer. Just from the way Kayn was looking at him… like prey.
Kayn’s smile grew.
“Give me a child.”