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Chapter Text

In the northern county, everyone agreed that the unluckiest place in the empire was a small mountainside village named the Ash Plains. Ten warm summers ago, a monster bigger than any other appeared in their skies and never left.

The monster was big, scary, terrifying. It spread waves of fear and panic through the empire. The emperor sent many brave soldiers to fight off the monster. When they failed, he sent wise scholars. When they failed, he sent devout priests. Yet the monster was vicious and stubborn. The soldiers were never heard from, the scholars were helpless, and the priests were useless.

Left alone, the townspeople realized that the monster was marking the mountains and the forest with alpha pheromones. So they turned to old teachings and began leaving virgin omegas near the monster’s lair as sacrificial offerings. Yet, regardless of how pretty, precious, or fertile they were, each omega returned either as frozen corpses, touched only by the cold but not by the beast, or as scattered limbs, heralded by the monster’s furious roars.

The seasons changed, and the monster remained.

The seasons changed, and the people accepted the futility of their offerings.

Indeed, the people of the Ash Plains were the unluckiest of all.

—

In this unlucky village, everyone agreed that the unluckiest person in the town was the little Gao Tu. He had no mother. His sister was sickly, and his father was useless. He worked day and night; yet, no amount of working was enough to pay the doctors or the debt collectors. His sister remained sick as his father kept gambling.

Still, Gao Tu would keep working, keep running himself haggard if only he were not so unlucky. 

First, the farms he worked in became the favourite spot of The Great Dragon to laze under the sun. Whenever Gao Tu was out in the fields, the dragon’s big scaly body would appear in the sky, giant wings covering the sun, as the scared villagers ran away to save their lives. Once it decided on a spot, it would land, causing tremors on the ground, equal to great earthquakes. It would paw the ground, like a mighty monstrous kitten softening a cushion. Then, it would rest beneath the blazing sun, heedless of the chaos and ruin it wrought.

Gao Tu, as young and naive as he was, watched the monster in awe every time it appeared. He was mesmerized by the radiance of its dark blue scales and enamored by the iris fragrance that bled through the fields wherever it lay. How could something so powerful and magnificent look so serene and beautiful? How could something so majestic be so destructive and terrifying? He was reluctant to believe that the dragon was a harbinger of misfortune. Surely, it must be a blessed child of the heavens, lost on his way to celestial realms. Surely, his anger was only a shadow of his desperation.

Naive little Gao Tu learned the hard way that awe was not the right feeling to show for a creature everyone feared. It took the villagers years to realize the pattern that the Great Dragon always appeared where Gao Tu worked, but once they did, they were quick to blame little Gao Tu for the destroyed crops and ruined houses. Some believed it to be a coincidence, a superstition, yet none dared let him upon their lands again. 

Unable to work in the fields, Gao Tu worked as a server in the tavern just outside the town. Arrogant alphas drunk out of their minds did not care who was an Omega and who was a Beta; who was the server and who was the whore. Gao Tu, under the protection of a beta identity, played deaf to their words, blind to their pheromones, unfeeling to their actions. Yet it was not enough. As he walked around the tables, serving drinks, a hand slightly caressed his rear. As he cleaned a table, a pair of arms circled his waist. As he tended to the horses, the pheromones of a general lewdly covered his body. 

Gao Tu, despite his quiet nature, had a will of iron. Neither his knees buckled nor his body swayed. He avoided the hands, pushed against the unwanted embraces, and ran away from revolting pheromones. Despite the dismay and the anger he felt, he had no right to argue or fight these powerful alphas, yet he silently stood his ground, refusing to yield.

The gods above must have taken pity on this poor child. While Gao Tu could not fight the lewd customers, higher powers seemed to fight on his behalf. The alpha with careless hands was eaten alive by the dragon that same night, on his way to the big city he came from. The alpha with sweaty arms had his house burned to the ground. The alpha with revolting pheromones was plugged from the ground with a monstrous claw and was never heard of again. 

Gao Tu, for the first time in his miserable life, felt joyful and vindicated. Never before had those who wronged him been punished. As he looked at the sky from the small window of the tavern kitchen where he washed the dishes, the sun glinted on the dark scales of the great beast. The sight filled his chest with warmth and gratitude. Inside the dirty walls of the tavern, he felt inexplicably safe. Protected.

He should have known that what seemed like a heavenly gift would turn out to be trouble in the making. One disaster after another followed the customers of the old tavern. The rumors about the cursed little tavern reached even the distant corners of the county. As people refused to be even in the vicinity of this miserable little establishment, Gao Tu, once more, found himself without a job.

There is no rest for the poor, miserable, and unlucky. So, Gao Tu took up a new job soon afterwards. He cleaned the stables and groomed the horses in the governor’s mansion. There were no more foul-mouthed, ill-smelling alphas around. The horses loved Gao Tu, and Gao Tu loved them in return. The wages were fair, and the mansion serene. For once, Gao Tu felt content. And for once, he was able to stop taking the herbal tea that hid his Omega pheromones. The foul scent of the stable filth was so potent that it was a natural protector. No one wanted to come close to Gao Tu, especially not close enough to smell him. 

It was most unfortunate that that’s when the monster living in the mountains developed an appetite for horse meat. Whenever the governor or the members of his household went out with any of the horses Gao Tu tended to, they would be chased by the vicious dragon until they had no choice but to abandon the horse behind.

The governor was upset over losing his prized possessions, while Gao Tu mourned the loss of his beloved friends. Worse yet, he was dismayed that the dragon would do such a terrible thing. Why would the heavenly beast go after harmless horses while the forest was full of vicious animals? He did not understand.

It was a scholar hired by the governor who unraveled the mystery. The dragon ruined the fields Gao Tu worked in, killed the customers he served, and stole the horses he tended to. Obviously, these must all be because of Gao Tu. The boy must have been cursed by birth, or maybe tainted by something darker. Most probably, he was the reincarnation of an evil spirit. Something foul and vengeful. “The governor had best get rid of such wretchedness,” he declared, and the people believed.

No one wants to hire a boy known to be cursed, a boy who was supposedly an evil reincarnation of an unknown abomination. So, Gao Tu, hands shaking from hunger, knitted day and night, until his fingers hurt with blisters and his eyes teared up from tiredness. Soft blankets and elegant robes. Embroidering intricate lotus blossoms and magnificent cranes. Once a month, he walked hours to reach the lively market in the nearest town, where no one knew him, and where stores were willing to buy his masterful designs. He earned so well so fast that it was worth his bleeding fingers and aching soles… until misfortune found him again as the wings of the Great Dragon appeared above the market.

Whatever he made, whether a baby blanket or a handkerchief, big or small, pretty or plain, was cursed to be stolen. Not by greedy hands but by sharp talons. The merchants would have their caravans snatched in the middle of the road, and the stores would get destroyed by eager, grabby appendages. It was tragic how Gao Tu thought this foul, destructive creature to be a blessing, a bearer of justice, only a few years ago, as he worked in the tavern. As he got older and wiser, he realized that there was no justice for him in life. No savior or blessings. Only misery, poverty, and a curse that inexplicably tied him to a monster.

—

As working became impossible and money grew scarce, Gao Tu first cut back on food and then on the herbal teas that hid his real nature. Whatever meager money they had would go to his sister’s medicine, but he knew that even buying medicine would be impossible very soon.

His father hadn’t been home in months. Away in whatever town would have him for gambling, but he would be back, eventually, with more debt than he left with. He would be back, and Gao Tu could earn enough coin for neither the debts nor the herbal tea to hide his scent.

That was when Gao Tu began to think of leaving.

He would take his sister to a new town, far away from this hateful village, far away from this poor county, far away from the empire if necessary. He wanted to—no, he needed to—believe that somewhere safe, somewhere people didn’t believe him to be cursed, somewhere he could work and live in peace existed. Somewhere far away from the Great Dragon and the grievances it caused.

Imagine Gao Tu’s shock, as this is when food began to appear. First, a few hares, fat with meat, left right outside the back door of their little cottage. Stomach aching from hunger, Gao Tu did not have the luxury to be suspicious. He made one into a plain stew for himself and his sister. No longer prideful enough to hold back the few tears as he ate the first warm meal he had had in days. He was endlessly, devotedly grateful to whoever took pity on him. He was even more grateful, as he sold the rest of the hares in exchange for more medicine for his sister.

The fruits came the next day. Heaps upon heaps of fruits, both common and strange, piled into a small hill. It was early in the morning, and Gao Tu was on his way out of the house to wash the laundry in the nearby stream, when he saw the astonishing sight. How could anyone bring all of this here without Gao Tu hearing anything? Why would they? Gao Tu thought the hares were out of pity, from one of the village hunters. But this… There was no reasonable explanation for this.

Some of the fruits were so rare, so unknown, that even Gao Tu’s most vicious haters were willing to buy from him, for a chance to try something so new. Thus, Gao Tu did not dwell on how and why. Such answers did not matter as long as Gao Tu could keep himself and his sister fed. Filled with new purpose and determination, he cooked some, sold some, and preserved the rest, working hard to make fruit pastes and rich syrups that could be sold in the winter.

The work kept Gao Tu busy for an entire week. The day after he was done, he woke up to piles of silk clothes. The fabrics were so fine that he was scared to touch them. The embroidery was so delicate that he was sure no one outside the capital was supposed to own any of these. If he tried to sell them, he would surely be accused of thievery, though no one he could steal from in the town could afford to own these intricacies. Filled with an awed sense of apprehension, he hid them in the house, scared to even look at them too closely.

Then came the gold and the jewels. The jewels were dazzling, intricate, and oh so beautiful. They scared Gao Tu as much as the silks did. He could not explain their origins, so he hid them alongside the clothes. Then, hands shaking with dread, he counted the gold coins. Surely, they could not be a gift meant for him. Fear and hope battled in his heart as he spared some to buy food and necessities, and wrapped the rest in a cloth before burying them under a tree for safekeeping.

—

The ‘gifts’, as Gao Qing called them, kept appearing for the rest of the summer. More meat, each time a different animal, always properly killed and cleaned; more fruits of every kind, more fabrics, and more gold. Sometimes various trinkets appeared: intricate paintings he spent hours staring at, jade hairpins, ivory knives, and porcelain bowls. Most surprising of all were books and scrolls. Who would gift a peasant books and scrolls?

Gao Qing believed that someone was courting Gao Tu. “That’s the most reasonable explanation,” she argued. “Everyone figured out that you are an omega after you stopped taking the herbal tea. Someone must have taken an interest in you.”

Gao Tu knew better. No one who knew him could afford these. That’s why he was reluctant to call them ‘gifts’. Gao Tu was not someone who would be bestowed with gifts. He knew his place in life. The heavens would give him only misfortune and curses, not blessings. These ‘gifts’ would, eventually, bring trouble upon the omega. Gao Tu was sure of it. Especially because all old stories talked about only one type of creature that hoards such riches. 

As Gao Tu looked up toward the dark mountain and the dragon’s lair within, he hated himself for feeling grateful despite everything.

–

Soon, Gao Tu had to move out of his small room as there was barely any space left after storing everything. The food he received was enough to feed the entire village for the rest of the year, so it became nearly impossible to find anyone willing to buy more. Thus, Gao Tu started to give the food away for free to those who couldn’t afford it. 

Naturally, the villagers started treating Gao Tu very differently. Before all the ‘gifts’, they would either ignore him as if he were a ghost or scold him as if he were the cause of all their misfortunes. Now, some showered him with praise, almost worshipping the ground he walked on, while others fled in fear the moment they saw him. Gao Tu was not sure which he despised the most.

Oh, and then there were the whispers and the gossip. Only when they thought he couldn’t see or hear them. They would talk about him the same way they talked about the dragon. With fear and disdain.

The omega would listen to them in secret.

“I heard he deals with fae, that’s where he gets all these unknown fruits.”

“Have you noticed how calm the Great Dragon has been lately?”

“It has been hunting in the southern forest. That’s why the village hunters avoid it now.”

“I heard that the Great Dragon stopped harming the village because it does not want to provoke the witch.”

“Do you really think he is a witch? What if he curses us all?”

“I heard that he stole the dragon’s treasury and cursed the beast.”

“He must have gained these in exchange for something else. Lone omegas are never known to be virtuous.”

“My son saw the Great Dragon carrying bundles of fabrics. Do you think it is preparing a nest? What if we end up with more dragons?”

With a dragon and a cursed omega living among them, indeed, the people of the Ash Plains were the unluckiest of all.

—

Gao Ming, Gao Tu and Gao Qing’s useless father, came back to the village the same way he had left: with noise, chaos, and debt collectors on his tail. 

Gao Tu was ready for his arrival. He did not use the herbal tea to hide his omega scent, as his father would have heard about the news from the villagers long before he reached the house. Nor did he hide the abundance of food and money at home. He did, however, conceal as much of the jewels and gold as he could. He was not willing to feed everything they owned to his father’s gambling addiction, yet he hoped whatever he was willing to part with would be enough for his father to overlook his omega status.

It was not Gao Tu’s choice to hide his real nature for most of his life. It was his late mother’s wish, as she knew Gao Ming would sell anything and everything he could get his hands on in order to continue gambling, including his own son. For a long while, it was Gao Tu’s greatest fear to wake up one day and find himself sold to an old, brutal alpha, or worse, to a brothel full of miserable omegas.

Now, however, he hoped to buy security against his father by offering him more gold than Gao Ming could make by selling an unmated omega son. And Gao Ming, though the villagers thought otherwise, was not a foolish man. He would accept the deal and be gone before the next sunrise to a new city where his reputation was not known.

So, when the door was knocked, Gao Tu was not afraid or even nervous. He calmly opened the door and graciously handled his father’s unseemly affections. He fed the old man, listened to his troubles with the debt collectors, and then gave him the money he had set aside beforehand.

Gao Ming was out the door before the sun had properly set.

Then he came back, right before the sunrise the next day, drunk and yelling. “You selfish boy,” His voice was full of poison as he pushed his way in. “I know you have more coins hidden somewhere. How dare you hide them from your own father?” He complained as he turned the house upside down, hunting for the hidden wealth. When he finally found bags of coins inside Gao Qing’s medicine boxes, he yelled even more curses, “Unfilial! Useless!”

He was back out the door as fast as he barged in.

It was fortunate that Gao Tu foresaw this possibility and buried everything valuable in the backyard, under the pumpkin patches, long before his father arrived in town. He was no dragon, nor a hoarder, yet the dragon’s kindness was too precious for him to leave his gifts out in the open, unprotected.

—

It only took a few hours for the news to reach the omega’s humble abode: Gao Ming was killed just outside the town, trampled to a bloody pulp under the enormous feet of the Great Dragon.

—

The next morning, Gao Tu woke his sister up before sunrise, as he hurried to pack their belongings. The night before, he bought a cart and an old horse from a neighbor for five times their actual worth.

Gao Tu was a smart boy. He knew that they needed to leave.

The Great Dragon had been quiet for the last few months. Now that it was back with bloodshed, back to harming people around Gao Tu, it wouldn’t take long for the villagers to start causing trouble. They were already scared of Gao Tu. They already believed him to be a demon, a witch. They would be on his door, armed with stones and vile words, demanding that he leave.

He prepared a comfortable corner on the cart for Gao Qing to lie down, placed everything light in weight but heavy in value on the remaining space, loaded the saddlebag with as much dried meat and fruits as possible, and set out on the road with the first lights of the day.

Indeed, in the unlucky Ash Plains, the unluckiest person was Gao Tu. 

—

The villagers were awaiting him just outside the village gates, with village elders standing at the front. They were not yelling or screaming. The morning fog was swaddled by an eerie silence, disrupted by the hooves of the omega’s horse. They held wild flowers instead of sticks and stones. They looked at Gao Tu with a fervent hope that struck the young omega with dread.

“My child,” One of the elder omegas started with a kind smile. “The village is proud of you for the sacrifice you will make.”

“Your sister will be well taken care of here,” said another. “You do not need to worry about her.”

They were surrounding Gao Tu’s horse now, talking over each other, words blurring together as Gao Tu’s breathing came hard and distressed pheromones spread out, as if his instincts already knew what was to come.

“We will take you to the mountain ourselves.”

“Oh, the moment we realized you were an omega, we knew it would be a blessing.”

“Don’t be afraid, child.”

“It is for the good of everyone.”

Gao Tu tried to struggle as he was forcefully taken from his horse, held down within the circle of a group of omegas. He struggled, yelling and crying, and asking questions that went unanswered, as they painted his cheeks and lips.

“It wants you.” One of the younger omegas whispered, in awed fear, as he combed Gao Tu’s hair, unperturbed by his struggles.

“Oh, how lucky we are that it is you.”

“We should have known that’s what it wanted.”

“If we knew before that he was an omega-”

“-all the treasures-”

“It must have started when he pres-”

“-could be prevented if he did not hide-”

Gao Tu smelled of distress and fear and panic, sour and bitter, rotting sage. Yet his pheromones were buried under so many people exuding hope and joy and only mild guilt.

He stopped struggling and only cried desperately as his old outer robe was torn from his body, replaced with some cheap white fabric. His hands were tied with silky red, and a syrupy substance was forced down his throat. 

“We shall give the Great Dragon what it wants, so that it can leave these lands once and for all.”

He heard as his vision went black.

“If a sacrifice is necessary, then this omega witch shall be our offering.”

—

—

—

—

When Gao Tu woke up, it was to the cold and humid air of the mountain and the domineering iris fragrance, overwhelming his senses. The harsh wind and the cold earth underneath him made the omega shiver as his wrists hurt where they were tightly bound to a great oak tree.

He kept his eyes shut, refusing to open them as dismayed tears washed the paint forced on his pale face.

The wind picked up, accompanied by the sound of gigantic wings, as a monstrous shadow fell over his miserable shape.

—

Gao Tu opened his terrified eyes to the black orbs of the Great Dragon fixed on him.

Chapter Text

Long, magnificent wings were stretched to their fullest as the dragon landed inside a dark cave vast enough to house a small palace, the frightened omega held protectively inside one of his claws. At first, Gao Tu failed to register the absence of the wind or the sudden chill from the stone beneath him as the beast set him down with unexpected gentleness. The omega’s slender body was trembling, limbs frozen in a fatal position as he tried futilely to suppress his horrified sobs with palms pressed to his mouth. Then, with a mighty roar that caused another wave of terror to wash over the already shaken omega, the dragon released fire and heat from his mouth to light the countless torches set around.

Gao Tu did not dare to glance at his surroundings. Too afraid to take his eyes from the divine beast as the dragon settled upon his haunches and laid his head on the ground before the omega. Gao Tu, tear-filled eyes open like a cornered hare, could not help but think how easily the dragon could devour him whole, ending his existence in a heartbeat.

Yet, the dragon did not devour him. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nostrils, drawing a startled cry from the omega whose eyes closed shut in fear. No flame touched the omega’s fair skin; only a warm breath swept over his trembling frame, warming him faster than any hearth could. When Gao Tu dared to open his eyes again, the dragon was standing in the same position, watching him with dark eyes that shone under the torchlight. The omega did not want to look away from those eyes, for if he did, he would see the enormous mouth, the sharp, spear-long teeth, and the scaly body that had slain so many before him.

He kept weeping in silence as he awaited his death by the very beast that had been a dark shadow in his life since appearing in the skies. The dragon exhaled again, warm, dry air that seemed to cradle the omega.

Gao Tu could not stop trembling.

The dragon growled, lifting his head to gaze down upon Gao Tu from above. Unblinking and unmoving, the dragon tilted his great head slightly to the left. He looks puzzled. The thought pierced through the haze of fear, distracting the omega for but an instant.

The dragon was gone the next second, moving with a speed and agility unbefitting his vast size. He was back before Gao Tu could comprehend his absence, carrying bundles of colorful fabrics in one claw, which he dropped in a pile beside the omega.

Neither moved for a long moment. Then, as though his patience had worn thin, the dragon pushed the pile of fabric toward the omega, unintentionally burying the boy beneath a heap of soft, iris-scented cottons and silks. 

Startled, Gao Tu struggled at once to set himself free. He was eternally grateful that the dragon had torn apart the silk ropes binding his wrists when he took Gao Tu from the oak tree. Else, he would never have escaped that silken prison. When, at last, he emerged from beneath the garments and sat up straight, he found the dragon watching him with keen interest.

The sage-scented omega was a pitiful sight, indeed. Haphazardly applied face paint marred by tear tracks, eyes glassy, nose red, heart-shaped lips swollen from self-inflicted bites to suppress his cries… He could not have appeared the least bit appetizing, yet the dragon’s gaze did not waver.

They sat in silence: the omega surrounded by heaps of fabric hiding almost his entire frame, the dragon looming tall and majestic, sniffing the air now and again. Gao Tu was unsure how long they remained so, in the torch-lit cave surrounded by the domineering scent of iris blossoms. By the time the dragon left again, the omega’s trembling and tears had long since ceased. His panic ebbing away at the face of inaction from sharp talons and teeth, and beneath the calming pheromones enveloping his being.

The divine beast flew back into the cave as abruptly as he had departed, settling in front of Gao Tu, closer than before, and thrust a claw toward the omega. Gao Tu startled and drew himself back, yet the dragon merely opened his claw and let fall a selection of fruits into the omega’s lap.

—

Gao Tu was not sure when he fell asleep or how long he slept. The lack of sunlight inside the dragon’s lair made it impossible to track the passage of time, leaving the omega disoriented.

He looked around tentatively to determine the whereabouts of the dragon, yet he could see neither hide nor hair of the beast. It was the first time he was able to look around the cave freely and take in its sights. It was everything he expected, yet unlike anything he could imagine. It was a huge chamber at the heart of the mountain with crude, ugly stone walls, an impossibly high ceiling with a few dark openings leading to places unseen, and hills of treasures covering the entire surface of the floor: golds, pearls, emeralds, and jewels of every kind, heaps of silks and leathers, ancient relics, and jade trinkets. The scene, although mesmerizing, was everything ancient folktales told about dragons, the greatest hoarders of everything beautiful and precious. 

What was unexpected was the human-sized furniture neatly placed between the treasure hills. A group of extravagant chairs was placed in a circle around a long mahogany table. There were cupboards filled with crystal cups, fine porcelain bowls, and ivory utensils. Heavy velvet curtains separated different parts of the cave, turning the entire place into a maze of curtained-off chambers. A study desk covered with parchments and scrolls was placed in front of tall bookshelves laden with tomes and trinkets. Intricate vases were intentionally placed throughout the cavern, while life-sized sculptures of strong warriors and fair maidens stood guard at every turn. Elegant paintings, intricate tapestries, sumptuous sofas with the softest cushions… It was an intentional chaos, both mesmerizing and overwhelming.

I will never find my way out of here, the young omega realized as he took in the vastness of the place he found himself in. Yet, giving up had never been an option for Gao Tu. He was worried sick about his sister. Try as he might, he could not trust the villagers so easily after years of scorn they were treated with. Nor was he sure about the dragon. He knew that, since he was still alive, the dragon did not intend to kill him. Then what does he want? Gao Tu failed to come up with an answer.

He picked up a red, shiny apple from the pile of fruits (The dragon’s offerings to him, his mind supplied) and ate it hungrily as he took tentative steps around the room. He felt like an ugly rat let loose in a palace of celestial beauties. Unbelonging and unwanted. He avoided touching anything as if his touch alone could taint the treasures and his presence alone could disturb the tranquility of the dragon’s iris-scented lair.

As he walked among the hills of treasures within the curtained chambers, his bewilderment grew with each discovery he made. 

In one chamber hidden behind forest green curtains, there was a familiar baby blanket, light blue fabric with white and pink rabbits embroidered on it. One of the rabbits had a crooked ear because Gao Tu was distracted as he wove it. And right underneath it, there was a plain brown robe he made from the cheapest material he could find at the time. The olive green handkerchief with a small snake motif. Twenty-three coin pouches he cut up from a dark gray fabric that was too ugly for anything intricate…

Anything and everything Gao Tu made and sold lay in a pile on a thick, expensive carpet. Gao Tu took the blue blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders to ward against the chill as he continued to walk. These were his. Unlike all the invaluable treasures around, these were his to touch, his to use, and his to do with as he pleased. A dragon had no right to lay claim to what Gao Tu had worked tirelessly to make.

He wanted to be angry, yet all his emotions were buried under a blanket of awe and confusion.

Why would a divine being, who owned treasures that would rival a king’s, wish to keep Gao Tu’s plain handiwork?

Then, he found a small pile of farm tools inside one of the cabinets, near where Gao Tu’s knitwork lay. They were old and dirty, rusty in places, and painfully out of place amid the dragon’s treasures. Here lay every item Gao Tu lost in the fields throughout the years he was allowed to work alongside other villagers. Each time the dragon appeared and he had to run, leaving his tools behind, this was where they ended up.

“Maybe I really am cursed,” Gao Tu muttered under his breath.

“Who would dare curse you?” A deep voice startled the omega. Gao Tu turned toward the voice instantly, heart pounding in fear, only to face a tall, beautiful man.

No, not a man, he corrected himself. This must be a god, for surely, no mortal could look so mesmerizing.

–

Gao Tu, twitchy with nerves, was the first one to break the silence as he averted his eyes from the intense stare, “Who are you?”

“You don’t know me?” The answer was tinged with surprise, as though he expected Gao Tu to be intimately familiar with him.

“My apologies.” The omega, careful not to offend the only other being inside the dragon’s lair, chose his words with care. “Have we met before?” he asked without lifting his eyes from the floor.

“Yes. Many times.” The answer carried absolute certainty. It forced Gao Tu to raise his head, confusion flickering across his face as he looked at the handsome features of the man. 

The man, the alpha, had his head angled slightly to the left, frowning in mild irritation, as dark, familiar eyes stared at the omega with undivided attention. Domineering, iris-scented pheromones were coming from him in gentle waves to surround the omega’s entire being.

Gao Tu inhaled sharply. “The dragon?”

–

“Why am I here?” was the first thing Gao Tu asked after the dragon—no, not the dragon, but Shen Wenlang, as he introduced himself to be—led him to sit, side by side, in one of the comfortable couches.

“Why would you not be here?” Shen Wenlang’s voice was calm and unperturbed. As if he could not see how confused and disturbed the omega was. “This is home,” he stated as if his words alone were enough to make this dark palace the omega’s home.

Gao Tu bit his tongue. This was not his first time dealing with nobles too proud to be questioned. It would be unfortunate to offend a being so powerful. “My sister is sick. I need to take care of her,” he said, his voice betraying his desperation to leave.

“I can take you to her for a visit,” the dragon replied with the same ease and indifference as he pulled out food from a bag slung over his shoulder. “Later,” he added. “When it is safe.”

“Safe from what?” Even as he asked, the omega could still feel the phantom touch of the villagers over his body.

Instead of answering, the dragon offered him an elegant wooden box full of freshly made mooncakes. The sight and scent were enough to ignite the omega’s hunger, but he refused to be distracted. “Safe from what?” he repeated his question.

With a swift motion that startled the omega, Shen Wenlang gently grabbed Gao Tu’s thin wrist and rubbed the angry, red lines left behind by the ropes with a tenderness that belied his strength. He lowered his face until his nose touched the delicate skin and inhaled.

Heat rushed to Gao Tu’s face at the intimacy of the gesture. His pulse quickened as his mind went blank for a few precious moments.

“Those who touched you long enough to leave behind their foul scents. And then the rest,” the dragon calmly confirmed what the omega suspected, breath fanning the delicate skin and eyes never leaving the omega’s. A scandalous blush spread from Gao Tu’s face to his neck and chest.

When the words finally registered in his muddled brain, Gao Tu asked in a breathy voice, “What are you going to do to them?”

Shen Wenlang, as he must have taken pity on the omega’s dazed state, released Gao Tu’s wrist after placing one of the delicate pastries on the omega’s palm with a soft command. “Eat.”

He did not answer the question until Gao Tu took a bite from the fragrant pastry. “I will do as you desire.”

Gao Tu barely managed to swallow the bite as he nervously averted his eyes from the dragon’s intense gaze, fixing them instead on a distant mound of treasure. “Why?” he whispered, trying to calm his body’s reactions to the alpha’s attentions.

“Do you truly not know?” The confusion in the dragon’s deep voice was what it took to make the omega look back at him again. He looked at the omega as if he was a puzzle. Before Gao Tu could ask, he clarified in a tone that left no room for doubt or discussion.

“Because you are mine.”

Chapter Text

Gao Tu was believed to be the unluckiest of all by many who had the misfortune of knowing him. He couldn’t blame them for thinking so, for he also believed himself to have terrible luck. This past week, however, made him feel otherwise. For the first time in his young life, he thought of himself as fortunate, as he found himself at the hands of a merciful, benevolent celestial being, rather than a monster as so many believed.

When Gao Tu finally had the courage to ask on his third day at the cave, Wenlang explained that dragons were not children of heaven. Gao Tu was not inclined to believe him. After all, Shen Wenlang did and said many strange things. This was, perhaps, merely one of them. For how could he not belong to celestial realms, when his actions proved otherwise?

Such was the case with his generosity. The dragon was richer than three emperors combined, yet he was most generous, offering the omega everything that Gao Tu’s eyes lingered upon, within the walls of his unearthly palace. New clothes made from the finest fabrics to replace the old white robes he was wearing, sumptuously soft blankets and beddings to sleep in, food of many varieties to relish, and many other things that the omega did not need nor have any use for.

(“I don’t know how to read,” Gao Tu said hesitantly on the fourth morning, when the dragon left a newly bound book on the table along with the meal. As reluctant as Gao Tu was to accept the dragon’s inexplicable generosity, refusing seemed a far graver sin than accepting. Hence, he grew uneasy as he watched the dragon’s habitually impassive expression change.

Shen Wenlang looked troubled at the admission. Before Gao Tu could feel embarrassed by his illiteracy, the alpha disappeared into another chamber and returned with an ornate robe the color of mountain irises. The very same one Gao Tu could not help but look at each time he passed by the chest it lay upon.

Shen Wenlang put it on the table, not replacing the book but adding to it. Then he looked at the omega with a frown, as if daring him to refuse his offering.)

And such was the case with his forbearance. Despite possessing immense power that could do great harm, the dragon never once chose to hurt Gao Tu. In fact, he was offended and upset when he realized that the omega was scared of such an atrocious possibility.

(“What about all the omegas?” The omega’s tentative question was so sudden in the midst of a silent morning that the dragon looked up in puzzlement, urging Gao Tu to clarify his meaning. “Villagers used to sacrifice them. They would be left on the mountain,” the same way I was left, he did not add. “They…” He stopped, as he did not want to voice how the dragon killed them in cold blood.

“I do not care what mortals do or where they dwell,” the dragon replied with a frown. “Unless they attempt to impose themselves onto my nest.”

His dispassionate voice carried such hardness beneath it that Gao Tu had to suppress a frightened shiver. That explained why only a handful of those omegas died at the hands of the dragon, but did not explain why Gao Tu was not left to freeze like so many others.

After gathering his courage, he asked timidly in a quiet voice bordering on a whisper. “What about me?”

The dragon was visibly irritated by the omega’s question. “Do not compare yourself to them.”

And Gao Tu was neither brave nor inclined enough to refuse such a command.)

Most of all, it was the case with his unearthly indulgence. The divine alpha was capable of fire and great destruction. Yet, when Gao Tu looked up at the alpha with soft, sad eyes after hearing his plans to visit the village, the alpha’s hard eyes visibly softened. When Gao Tu, hands trembling with trepidation, begged him to spare the lives of the villagers—to spare even the ones who left their scents on Gao Tu—the alpha magnanimously granted the omega’s wish, despite being visibly displeased.

(“First those omegas and now the villagers,” the Great Dragon growled, “Why do you care for them?”

The sage-scented omega could not offer an apt answer that would placate the displeased alpha. 

Shen Wenlang left the cave in his divine dragon form, grumbling in withheld displeasure. As he watched the dragon’s magnificent form disappear from sight, Gao Tu felt no trace of worry. He knew, with an unreasonable yet unshakable certainty, that the dragon would do as the omega wished.

Trusting, naive Gao Tu, sitting safely inside the dragon’s nest, remained unaware of how the dragon’s wrathful roars frightened the villagers the remainder of that fateful day.)

No, believing Shen Wenlang to be anything other than heavenly felt sacrilegious. Gao Tu refused to commit such a sin.

–

During that first week, the omega and the dragon settled into a quiet, daily pattern.

Gao Tu would wake up among soft cushions and blankets he gathered in a corner hidden behind a heavy curtain adorned with swirling golden patterns. The dragon would be long gone, as was his habit, but as if sensing the omega’s rising, he would appear before long, in his human form, carrying enough food to serve a feast.

Gao Tu could not help but wonder where the dragon found so many delicacies. Some of the dishes were so novel and strange that the omega was convinced they were touched by magic. He tried to explain, one morning, that he did not need so much food, certainly not fare so rare and delicate.

Shen Wenlang hummed dismissively and pushed more food toward the omega, over the mahogany table. “You should eat more.”

Gao Tu, to his dismay, realized early on that he was too weak to refuse the alpha anything when he looked at the omega with sharp eyes softened with care. “Only two more bites,” he relented.

As Gao Tu ate, Shen Wenlang would watch him with unceasing attention that never failed to make the omega feel flustered. The dragon had a celestial beauty with sharp eyebrows and even sharper, dark-as-coal eyes. Unblemished skin with strong features. And his scent was so strong, inescapably domineering and utterly all-encompassing… Gao Tu was convinced that no other alpha could match the strength and allure that Shen Wenlang’s pheromones possessed. More troubling still, Gao Tu’s instincts had never before reacted so strongly, in utter submission, to any alpha. He did not know if all dragons had such strong a presence or if it was unique to Shen Wenlang, but he was inclined to believe the latter.

Despite being utterly flustered and shy at having to eat under the intense gaze of the divine alpha, breakfast was still the best part of Gao Tu’s day. Throughout the meal, they would talk, although tentatively and briefly, small compliments on the food, sparse remarks about the day, and very rarely, about themselves. It was meagre, perhaps, but it allowed the omega scant answers to the myriad questions he held about the dragon. 

Shen Wenlang would transform into his beastly form after feeding the omega. And so, the rest of the day would be spent in idle silence, as the dragon lazed around the treasure hills like a languid cat, watching the omega in unwavering interest.

After his initial fear of the dragon faded, Gao Tu decided to make himself useful. He was not used to sitting idle. He was not used to being well-fed and content without his bones aching from hard work to earn it. He was, certainly, not used to receiving kindness without repaying it. He felt utterly, shamefully indebted and guilty in the face of the dragon’s generosity. 

Since the dragon’s nest looked like a storm of furniture and treasures that seemed to have never been cleaned or cared for, the omega’s hands could not help but reach and tend to the disarray. He started to arrange the cabinets, dust the ornaments, and try to tame the chaos of the hoard as much as he could.

He was wary at first, unsure of how the alpha would respond to Gao Tu touching his treasures. Yet, curiously, the mighty dragon seemed to be content with watching the young omega move about his nest, doing whatever he deemed necessary. Still, the omega kept a close watch on the dragon’s iris-scented pheromones, looking for any subtle sign of displeasure, which never appeared. The alpha’s intoxicating scent remained in a perpetual state of contentment, verging on serene bliss. It was always overwhelmingly calm and soothing, which, at times, made Gao Tu feel heady in its intoxicating hold.

Thus, under the intense gaze and intoxicating pheromones of the dragon, the omega spent his waking hours tending to the cave’s many neglected corners, until weariness coaxed him back to his warm bed.

–

On the morning of the eighth day, Gao Tu realized he could no longer endure the silence.

Under the flickering lights of the torches and the intense, silent watch of the dragon, the omega felt his mind fraying at the edges. Without any sunlight, he had lost all sense of time, as the only measure he possessed became the number of times he had fallen asleep. The unending silence of the cave settled over him like an unwanted, heavy blanket, and the dragon, for all his imposing presence, brought no solace.

“Would it be all right for you to remain human?” he asked, after setting aside the remnants of the morning meal. His voice carried an unmistakable plea, as he looked at the alpha with sad, beseeching eyes. “Only for a while…”

The alpha, head tilted slightly to the left and his elegant brows furrowed, asked in evident confusion, “Why would I stay in my mortal form?”

Gao Tu was at once flustered. What was he thinking? Asking a divine creature to leave his celestial form in exchange for a lowly mortal body, merely to keep Gao Tu company. “I- I apologize.” The omega stuttered. “I should not have asked.”

Shen Wenlang’s ever attentive gaze took in the omega’s disheartened state, and his sharp senses caught the faint withering of the sage fragrance. After a short stillness, he replied, “I will do as you wish.” And to the omega’s astonishment, the alpha did as he wished. Instead of changing forms, he remained in his alluring and otherworldly human body. 

Gao Tu, unmistakable pleasure brightening his sage scent, settled on the floor and set about sorting a pile of robes. The damaged ones had to be separated, the dirty ones were to be formed into another pile, and the rest should be folded and placed in some of the empty, ornate chests he found lying about the cave. Soon enough, he was regretting his earlier boldness. Shen Wenlang’s eyes were even more piercing in his human form. Having the divine alpha’s undivided attention on his every move made Gao Tu uncharacteristically prone to fumbling and clumsiness, causing him to struggle at folding even the simplest pieces, dropping articles of clothing from his flustered fingers repeatedly.

“Why do you trouble yourself with this?” The alpha asked. He was unable to decipher the omega’s reasons for tiring himself with such menial tasks.

“I–” Gao Tu stumbled, instantly anxious, as this was the first time Shen Wenlang commented on the omega’s work around his lair. “I wanted to be helpful,” he said quietly, fingers frozen on the pure white robes he was folding. “It’s only… it must be difficult to find anything here, with so much scattered about. Some seem to have suffered from humidity and neglect. I thought… if I tended to them, the ones in good condition might last longer.”

The omega waited with bated breath as the dragon thought over his words. Then, astonishing the omega once again, he gracefully settled himself on the floor, beside a flustered Gao Tu, and took a green garment from the pile. “Tell me what to do.”

As Gao Tu taught the infamous Great Dragon of the dark mountains how to properly fold clothes, there was a small, incredulous smile gracing his heart-shaped lips that he could not suppress despite trying.

–

“You are gone every morning.” Gao Tu ventured quietly, days after he first asked Shen Wenlang to stay in his mortal body to accompany him. 

It was still unfathomable to have the dragon spend the day with him as a human, accompanying Gao Tu in various mundane tasks. It took two days to sort through the pile of garments. Shen Wenlang insisted on disposing of everything with the slightest blemish, heedless of the omega’s complaints about wasting good fabrics. Whatever remained, the omega sorted them into wooden chests. There were so many other piles of fabrics that needed tending to, but after a brief deliberation, they turned their attention to a collection of jade accessories and ornaments. Seeing rare treasures in such dereliction, lying around in careless hills, was unsettling to the omega. Shen Wenlang, as he had been doing the past few days, followed the omega’s lead without hesitation. Gao Tu knew he would never grow accustomed to how easily a being of such magnificence could listen to him, without disdain or complaint, not even a breath of irritation.

“I hunt best in the morning mist, and I favor the forests in southern lands.” The alpha answered Gao Tu’s unvoiced inquiry in his deep voice without lifting his eyes from the hairpin he was polishing with a soft cloth.

“Would it not be easier to live in the southern lands if that is where you prefer?” As Shen Wenlang spent increasingly more time in his mortal form, Gao Tu came to learn more about the alpha each passing day. Still, there remained questions he could not unravel. Why would a dragon with the power and wealth to travel and live wherever he pleased settle in a barren mountain in a desolate and impoverished corner of the empire?

The alpha looked up briefly into the omega’s eyes, a small, sly smile gracing his lips as he breathed in, slow and deliberate. “A scent here holds my favor.”

Gao Tu’s breath caught. His heart fluttered.

As was his habit now, the omega averted his gaze shyly, attempting and failing to focus on the necklace in his hands. “You must enjoy travelling,” he started in a small voice, needing the conversation to distract himself from the familiar blush heating his cheeks. “All these,” he indicated all around the dragon’s nest with his hand, “You must have collected them from every corner of the world.”

The dragon gave a noncommittal hum and wiped the carved flowers on the hairpin one last time. “I choose a different direction each morning,” he said before putting the cloth down and reaching for the omega’s hair. “To find delicacies worthy of you.”

Gao Tu held his breath, hands frozen over the necklace and eyes locked on his hands, as the alpha delicately replaced his plain hairpin with the gleaming jade. It took him long moments after the dragon returned to his task, working on a set of green and blue bracelets this time, for the giddy fluttering in Gao Tu’s heart to calm down.

It was getting increasingly difficult to live with the alpha. The initial fear and apprehension have long since been replaced by awe and amazement, and now, with each passing day, with each deliberate action and uttered word, a blooming affection was warming the omega’s chest. Gao Tu could not help it. Never before had he experienced what it meant to be taken care of. Never before had he been treated so delicately and reverently, with an unconditional gentleness he could not fathom being directed at him.

No, Gao Tu was utterly, hopelessly, perhaps even shamefully enamored.

They worked in the silence that followed, the omega’s racing heart gradually steadying. Only then did Gao Tu, a rare playfulness brightening his soft smile, speak of the dragon’s claim. “I find it difficult to imagine you in a marketplace, conversing with mortals.”

His formidable iris pheromones and ethereal beauty marked him easily as something otherworldly, and Gao Tu could imagine how unsuspecting mortals would react to Shen Wenlang’s presence in fear and unease. The alpha’s very presence carried an implicit expectation to be understood without explanation and obeyed without hesitation, and Gao Tu could not imagine him troubling himself with meaningless human conversations.

“Why would I converse?” The alpha countered, mirth dancing in the depths of his gaze. “Throw them a pouch full of gold and they will hasten to present the finest they have.”

The answer was so absurd yet so unmistakably Wenlang that it drew a burst of joyful giggles to slip from the omega’s lips, surprising both Gao Tu and Shen Wenlang. The omega could not recall the last time he laughed so readily.

He would certainly have remembered if anyone dared look at him so adoringly.

–

“You look paler each day. Why?” The alpha was, as ever, disarmingly direct.

He was also painfully ignorant of mortal needs and ways.

After looking into the worried eyes of the alpha for a moment longer than was proper, the omega tentatively explained. “There is no sunlight here.”

The alpha frowned in confusion as he so often did whenever the omega said or did something he could not decipher. “Do you need sunlight?”

“Yes.” The omega offered a small, gentle smile upon noticing the hint of distress in the alpha’s usually calm iris scent. The dragon used a dark tunnel high above in the cave wall to fly in and out of the nest. For no lack of trying, Gao Tu was unable to locate another way out that a person could reach without wings. His only way of getting out of the torch-lit cave and reaching the fresh air and bright sunlight was through the will of a reluctant alpha. “All humans do.”

“Why did you not say it before?” There was a sharp edge hidden behind the plain question. Gao Tu was aware that he had upset the dragon, albeit unintentionally.

“You said you would take me outside when the time comes,” he reminded gently. “I have been waiting as you told me to.”

“I was under the impression that you did not require sunlight to live.” This was the first time Gao Tu heard the dragon raise his voice, with molten anger and restless worry blazing in the depths of his dark eyes.

Gao Tu, for an inexplicable reason, was not frightened by the displeasure he had caused. He knew, deep in his heart, that the dragon would never hurt him.

That devoted trust he held for the dragon was what prevented the omega from flinching back when Shen Wenlang assumed his divine dragon form. His size was immense, with his long body and tail curling around the chamber they stood in, and his outstretched wings covering Gao Tu’s view of the entire ceiling. He was a creature of beauty, with dark blue scales shimmering a rich purple under the torchlight, and patterns of lighter blues and darker purples marking his chest and serpentine face. His dark horns, extending from his head to his back in an elegant curve, were not coal black but midnight blue.

I have never noticed, the omega thought as his eyes followed each curve of a particularly elegant azure line over Wenlang’s heart. After that fateful first day, he saw Wenlang’s dragon form merely a handful of times, always from afar, when the alpha flew in and out of the cave. Nothing could have prepared Gao Tu for this very first, precious instance of taking in the intricate details of Shen Wenlang’s celestial dragon body. He was mesmerized by the magnificence and awestruck in the face of the tremendous power he radiated.

When the dragon offered his claw for Gao Tu to step into, he hesitated. At once, trusting Shen Wenlang never to harm him and reluctant to be held by claws sharp as blades and long as spears. 

Something in his eyes, or perhaps in his sharpening scent, must have alerted the alpha as the dragon disappeared the next second in a cloud of tangibly warm, indigo mist. The sudden void he left behind was utterly disorienting to the omega as the alpha’s human body replaced the vast presence of the heavenly form.

Gao Tu looked into the alpha’s dark orbs with a subdued apology and met sharp determination gazing back at him. Soothing iris pheromones surrounded the omega, coaxing him into a state of gentle calmness, before Shen Wenlang closed his eyes and transformed once more. Shockingly, astonishingly, not into his dragon form, but into something else otherworldly.

Gao Tu at once realized how naive he had been to think that the alpha’s human form was something celestial. For if that had been heavenly, then what name could he give to the sight before him now?

In front of the stunned omega stood Shen Wenlang, still bearing the shape of a man and wrapped in the familiar dark robes he favored. Yet, this Wenlang was taller and broader, towering over the omega’s slight frame even more than before. The dark, serpentine eyes of his dragon form looked at the omega from an inhumanly perfect face, lightly adorned with shimmering blue patterns and scales. Midnight blue horns extended from his head, and two leathery wings stretched from his back, forming a dark canopy around the pair.

Gao Tu did not stumble back nor let out a scream. Perhaps he would have, if he were not under the all-encompassing spell of the amplified iris scent. Or perhaps, his apprehension would never be strong enough to suppress his fascination.

“The magic,” the celestial being intoned in a much deeper, echoing voice than Gao Tu was used to hearing from Shen Wenlang. It wrenched the omega’s attention back to that mesmerizing face. “It is ancient, and I cannot maintain it for long.” He took one tentative step closer to the omega, as if trying not to startle a timid fawn, and raised his arms in invitation. “We had best get going.”

Perhaps Gao Tu would never be able to decipher how he felt in that moment as he looked at the divine alpha in all his celestial glory. Was he entranced? Bewitched, perhaps?

When Shen Wenlang slowly pulled him toward his embrace and wrapped his narrow waist with strong arms, his fragile body with majestic wings, and his entire being with his inescapable iris scent, something inside the omega gave in. Something soft and long-trapped… Something that filled the omega’s very core with fluttering giddiness as he, oh so willingly, surrendered.

Taking the omega’s submission as his cue, the alpha took flight, carrying them up and up, through the maze of caves, and toward the sunlight.

–

In the days that followed, it became their habit to leave the cave early in the day for long, healing walks under the bright rays of the sun. Shen Wenlang, true to his word, used his half-dragon form only when they took flight and not a second longer than that. Secretly, shamelessly, Gao Tu was grateful for that small mercy as neither his heart nor his unruly pheromones were able to handle it for long at a time. That was all the more reason why he enjoyed their quiet, serene walks that cleared his mind and calmed his heart.

It was on one of those walks that Gao Tu made a delightful discovery.

On the opposite side of the mountain from Gao Tu’s little village, there was a small cottage housing an elderly couple who took care of a herd of familiar horses.

“You did not eat them.” Gao Tu uttered in breathless wonder.

“Why would I eat them?” The confusion gracing the dragon’s handsome features was so familiar, so common an occurrence. As if he found Gao Tu as perplexing as Gao Tu found him to be.

Gao Tu adored him. Helplessly.

The elderly pair had no idea who Shen Wenlang was. “He would leave each horse with a full bag of gold and then disappear without a word,” the elderly lady recounted, looking nervously at the stoic alpha who was waiting some distance away as his presence unsettled the horses. “We thought he was a mute noble, and we were scared to offend him by refusing him service.”

Gao Tu hummed in amusement as he fed an apple to a beautiful brown mare. Of course, Wenlang would command absolute obedience without even uttering an order. Of course, he would hide and care for the horses Gao Tu tended to as he did with everything that bore Gao Tu’s touch.

The omega’s heart was so full of warmth and a giddy rush of affection that it was hard for him to suppress the pleased smile gracing his beautiful face.

It was impossible to suppress the delighted bloom of pheromones, sweetening the scent of sage.

It was unthinkable to look at the alpha once they landed back in the cave, look inside his eyes and see the immeasurable amount of care he had for the human omega, and not to rise on his tiptoes to plant a small, shy peck on his cheek, before running and hiding inside his nest with embarrassed, blazing cheeks.