Chapter Text
Peace.
Such a fragile yet intriguing word. Like any other, it could be interpreted in so many different ways depending on who was asked.
For some, peace meant control. Something that could be achieved by force, measured in guns, swords and military power.
For others, peace meant prosperity. Something that could be achieved by diplomacy, measured in trade, resources and wealth.
For Multi, peace meant freedom. Something that could be achieved by intelligence, measured in knowledge and science.
And so, the island had been divided by these three paths for years. Factions fought endlessly over their vision of peace, resulting in the very wars they tried to prevent.
The Regime.
The North.
And the Polish Cave.
The latter was where Multi worked days and nights, buried underground beneath layers of reinforced steel, pursuing discoveries that could one day change the island forever.
If he succeeded.
And science, unfortunately, refused to be rushed.
“Fucking hell…” he muttered, pulling off the protective mask. “It’s still not working.”
A sharp smell of burnt metal filled the laboratory, along with spilled chemicals and overheated machinery.
He had spent weeks trying to isolate a new uranium isotope, yet so far every test ended exactly the same – with ruined equipment and a migraine.
“Maybe it’s the materials?” Nexe suggested, unzipping his hazmat suit as they both sat down on nearby stools, exhausted. “I’m no specialist, but this metal isn’t handling those samples very well.”
Multi grimaced and glanced down at the mangled cylinder on the testing table.
“It’s the best we’ve got,” he sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.
Nexe opened his mouth, but hesitated.
“What?” Multi crossed his arms over his chest, “You’ve got that look again. Spit it out.”
“Well…” His friend scratched the back of his neck. “You often complain about the lack of resources, but you know which faction has plenty of them.”
The scientist groaned.
“No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You were about to suggest asking the North for help.” Multi rolled his eyes.
“Duh, that’s where the money is.” Nexe raised a brow. “Why are you so opposed to it?”
“I don’t want to depend on someone else’s generosity.”
“You won’t get anything done by locking yourself inside the reactor.” Nexe leaned back slightly. “Maybe you should actually try to, I don’t know… build some connections?”
“I’d rather drink uranium straight from the-”
A familiar scent drifted through the laboratory. His sharp senses instantly picked up the hint of fresh pine needles, damp earth and cedarwood.
“Did I hear ‘connections’?”
Graf stood in the doorway.
He was smiling – but that alone wouldn’t have bothered the scientist. It was the sealed envelope in his hand that immediately made his headache worse.
── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──
Diplomacy, alliances and social connections were usually handled by either Graf or Ewron. Both of them had managed to stay on good terms with the North and the Regime, making the Polish Cave an ideal neutral party in between them.
And neutrality had its advantages.
As the saying went – when two sides fight, the third one profits. And if they played their cards right, they could draw both military support and resources.
Of course, that demanded courtesy and subtlety. Two things Multi didn't really care about on a daily basis. After all, he had a kingdom of his own – his reactor.
That was why, here in the North, he felt completely out of place.
The mansion was enormous, bright, and lavishly decorated. Marble floors stretched beneath their feet while chandeliers illuminated the corridors in warm golden light.
Without his lab coat, rubber gloves and mask, Multi felt strangely exposed. The elegant, black suit fit him perfectly, but it was still far more suffocating than his everyday attire.
With a quiet huff, he undid the first two buttons of his shirt.
“Are you anxious?” Graf sent him a sideways glance and instantly scrunched his nose. “Relax… or your scent will scare all the guests away.”
“I am relaxed.”
The scientist readjusted his satin gloves, making sure to completely cover the glands on his wrists.
“What a weird custom,” he grumbled under his breath, not particularly enjoying the feel of something so soft against his hands instead of rubber.
“It’s a safety measure.” Graf sent him an empathetic smile. “Alphas and omegas’ scents can get overwhelming in big gatherings.”
Multi narrowed his eyes and lowered his gaze to the beta’s hands.
“Then why are you wearing gloves too?”
“Fashion choice.” His friend shrugged, admiring the leather accessory in the golden light. “Now everybody wears gloves, regardless of status.”
As they continued through the long hallways, Graf greeted almost every person they passed. Meanwhile, Multi walked beside him in uneasy silence.
“How do you know all these people?”
Graf glanced at him confused, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.
“I talk to them.”
“Right.”
Multi looked away.
“You know…” Graf hesitated, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe it’s actually a good thing I brought you with me this time. It’s an opportunity.”
“An opportunity for what?”
“Lots of things.” The beta shrugged innocently. “Most people on the island only know you by reputation. This is your chance to actually build some useful connections.”
The scientist snorted under his breath. As if any of these people were genuinely interested in his research… They only cared for money, looks and plots of land to fight over.
“And who knows?” Graf continued. “Maybe you’ll even meet someone.”
“Meet someone?” Multi scoffed and shot him a sour grimace. “I don’t have time for that.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re already mated to your work.” His friend rolled his eyes. “Just try enjoying yourself for once.”
“Thrilling…”
Graf laughed at that as they finally crossed the threshold of the main ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prismatic shapes over the walls and floor. A small orchestra standing on an elevated platform played some classical pieces that blended with a constant murmur of conversations.
Northern nobles and Regime officers, as well as representatives of other minor groups of the island mingled across the polished floor, tall glasses clinking in their hands.
The scent of dozens of alphas, betas, and omegas mixed together beneath layers of expensive perfume.
It felt less like a peace banquet and more like a social experiment Multi had absolutely no desire to participate in.
“Tell me when it becomes socially acceptable to leave,” he muttered, already regretting every life choice that had led him here.
“Don’t be like that, Multi. I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
Before the scientist could come up with a response, three different people approached Graf almost simultaneously.
Not wanting to accidentally be pulled into a conversation with the beta’s friends, Multi made his way across the room. Stopping beside a long buffet table lined with expensive bottles of alcohol he couldn’t even name, he grabbed a glass of something that resembled whiskey.
He let his eyes wander over the decorations, flower arrangements and furniture…
And paintings.
A massive portrait hung above the buffet.
The royal family of the North stared at Multi from the canvas.
He counted at least a dozen people depicted on it. Graf had mentioned their names in his stories at some point, though the scientist doubted he could match them all with their faces.
At the center sat Vegeta – of that he was certain – the head of the royal family. From everything Multi had heard, the man loved peace so much he could marry the concept alone.
Surrounding him were princes and princesses, spread across the canvas like an exotic flock of birds – each of them colorful and distinct.
And speaking of birds…
One of them actually had wings. Yellow feathers folded neatly behind the dark-haired prince's back.
The scientist narrowed his eyes. If he recalled correctly, his name was-
“Quackity! You look dashing!”
A cheerful voice pulled his attention away from the canvas.
Near the ballroom door, a tall woman – Katie, a representative of the Regime – had greeted the winged figure.
“Aren’t you stunning yourself, Katie!”
He looked just like the painting.
Dark curls brushed just above his shoulders, framing his tanned skin. A tailored navy suit complemented the yellow wings stretching gracefully behind his back. His hands were covered as well, keeping up with the latest fashion trend – or whatever Graf said.
For a few moments, Multi simply watched as Quackity laughed at something Katie said while another guest joined them. Then another. And another.
And somehow, despite constantly attracting attention, the prince never seemed to dominate it or compete for it.
Most alphas commanded a room.
Most omegas learned how to navigate one.
Quackity seemed to do neither.
So… probably a beta.
Just as the conclusion crossed Multi’s mind, their eyes met across the ballroom.
The scientist didn’t even realize he was staring.
The prince held his gaze without hesitation. A spark of confusion and curiosity flickered in his dark irises.
Most people usually looked away.
This one simply raised an eyebrow.
── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──
Two long speeches about maintaining peace later, Multi found himself sitting at a random table, slowly nursing his third glass of expensive whiskey.
He considered Graf’s advice to build connections, but he lacked patience to indulge in a small-talk. And asking for investment straight on seemed like a terrible strategy.
The ballroom remained boring. People talked, smiled, danced – pretending they weren’t threatening and trying to kill each other only a few months ago.
Every now and then, a glimpse of yellow wings moving through the crowd caught his attention.
For a prince, Quackity spent a surprising amount of time away from the busiest tables, where the most crucial discussions were taking place.
Multi found himself watching him more than once.
Then a shadow fell across his table.
“Are you alright?”
Graf hovered above him.
“No.”
“At least pretend,” the beta sighed.
“Why?”
“Because Vegeta has been watching you for a while now and asked whether you’re enjoying the party.”
“Well, I’m not.”
Multi leaned back in his chair and took another sip of whiskey.
“Yes, I gathered that.” Graf pressed his lips into a thin line, briefly glancing toward the king’s table. “It doesn’t look good. If we want to maintain our reputation and connections-”
“I don’t have any connections here.”
“See? That’s about the change.” The beta leaned over the table and measured him with a stern look. “You’re going to ask someone to dance.”
Multi choked on his drink.
“What makes you think I’ll do that?”
“Becauce if you do, we’ll finally leave.”
Multi lowered his glass. For the first time this evening, Graf had his full attention.
“Immediately?”
“Immediately.”
Before he even realized, he was on his feet. Dancing was the last thing he wanted to do, but if that was the price of escaping this party, he was willing to pay it.
He looked around the ballroom, analyzing his options.
He needed someone who wasn’t too drunk, too loud, and would not interpret his invitation as something more than just a simple dance.
Other alphas would likely decline, and omegas were a risky choice – he’d rather avoid causing a misunderstanding in the middle of a diplomatic party.
A beta would be ideal.
His eyes landed on a familiar pair of golden wings.
The prince stood by a tall window, a glass in hand, engaged in another conversation. Unlike most Northern royals, he hadn't been constantly moving from partner to partner across the ballroom floor.
Strange.
Someone of his status should have been receiving invitations all night, yet he seemed perfectly content with just observing.
Multi crossed the room.
Quackity was in the middle of telling a story when he arrived. The scientist stopped a few steps away, trying to find an opening to interfere and get this done with.
Before an opportunity presented itself, the prince’s eyes flickered toward him. The smile on his face faltered slightly as he tilted his head.
“Can I help you?”
The conversation immediately died down as other guests turned toward Multi.
“Possibly,” he answered and glanced briefly at the dance floor. “The next dance is starting.”
“It is,” the prince agreed slowly, arching an elegant eyebrow.
“Would you like to join me?”
One of the guests – Katie – nearly choked on her drink.
Quackity blinked, staring at him wordlessly for a few seconds.
Then a small smile spread across his lips, wings shifting gently behind him.
“Why, of course.” He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “How could I say no to that?”
He offered his gloved hand.
And Multi took it.
Without looking back, he led the prince onto the dance floor. The music had already begun by the time they found their place among other pairs.
Mutli caught Graf’s surprised look from the corner of his eye, but he chose to ignore it.
His instincts guided his hands to Quackity's waist without much thought. He didn't bother asking who was supposed to lead, but the prince didn’t seem to mind.
Instead, he stepped naturally into the position, one gloved hand sliding into Multi's while the other rested lightly against his shoulder.
The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver down the scientist’s spine.
The dance floor moved as one.
Quackity followed each movement with practised ease. He swayed with the music weightlessly as if he was flying, smooth and graceful.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
The thought was sharply cut as Multi looked up.
Quackity was watching him. Not briefly glancing – he was thoroughly studying his face as if he was a puzzle to solve.
“I’ve never seen you around,” he remarked at last, breaking the silence.
“Parties as such are a waste of time and resources,” the scientist answered briefly, averting his gaze somewhere over the prince’s shoulder.
“Ah, yes, resources,” Quackity mused, twisting his lips. “A recurring topic around here.”
“Well, it’s the North after all.”
They turned with the music, slipping between other couples as the steady rhythm flew across the ballroom.
“Everybody either wants to invade us, steal from us, or form an alliance,” the prince huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “So all of us are used to it.”
“Used to what?” The scientist glanced back to the dark irises.
“Potential threats.”
The avian’s eyes gleamed mischievously as he spun away from Multi before effortlessly returning into his arms.
“Or suitors.”
The scientist nearly missed a step.
“Suitors?” His eyes widened, heat rushing to his face. “No, no, that’s not-”
Quackity raised an eyebrow, the grin tugging at the corner of his lips stretching further.
“I’m not courting you,” Multi clarified quickly, the tips of his ears burning. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re-“
He paused.
That was a mistake.
He was suddenly aware of how little distance actually separated them. The dance had drawn them closer at some point. Close enough he could feel the warmth radiating from the other’s body. To notice individual strands of hair ruffled by the motions.
“I am…?” Quackity prompted.
Multi cleared his throat.
“You are an objectively attractive person, but-“
The prince burst out laughing.
Several nearby couples glanced briefly in their direction.
“Oh, my God.” The avian shook his head. “You’re funny.”
Multi frowned. It was a simple observation, not a joke.
Suddenly, he caught a faint scent.
At first, he dismissed it – the ballroom was so crowded that individual scents blended beyond recognition.
Yet something slipped through the mixture. Something clean and warm, like sun-dried laundry and… wildflowers.
Very subtle, but unexpected.
“No, but seriously,” Quackity snorted, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Where did Graf find you?”
He blinked, not quite understanding, and blurted without thinking:
“In my nuclear reactor…?”
“Oh!” The prince parted his lips, amusement instantly replaced by a genuine surprise. “So you’re that scientist I’ve heard about. Multi, right?”
“You’ve heard about me?” he asked carefully, unsure whether it was a good or a bad thing.
“Graf mentions you sometimes,” Quackity admitted, his voice lowering as they swayed by other couples. “What are you working on?”
The scientist opened his mouth, then hesitated.
People usually lost interest the moment he started talking about science.
That was new.
“Mainly uranium,” he said quietly. “At the moment I'm trying to isolate an isotope that could enhance DNA rather than destroy it.”
The prince listened carefully, eyes free of disdain or skepticism the scientist had grown accustomed to over the years.
“But?”
Multi faltered and looked away.
Admitting failure was not something he did willingly.
“I may lack proper equipment at this stage of the research.”
“Hmm…” Quackity pursed his lips, eyes drifting somewhere behind the scientist. “The North likes promising projects.”
“Promising?”
The dance had soon come to an end. Final notes of the song echoed through the marble walls. Around them, couples gradually slowed.
“But we don’t invest blindly.” The prince looked back at him with a knowing smile.
“Invest?”
The orchestra finished playing.
Applause rippled through the ballroom. Before Multi could ask another question, Quackity bowed courteously and slipped from his grasp.
“Wait-”
The prince disappeared into the crowd.
The possibility of securing funding for his research made the scientist shove his pride into his pocket and follow.
He caught up to him near the buffet just as the prince reached for a tall glass of champagne.
Quackity smiled.
“Drink?”
Multi glanced at the alcohol, still tasting those three whiskeys on his tongue.
“No.”
“A shame.”
The avian shrugged and took a sip before leading him toward the tall windows – the same he had occupied before the dance.
Only now, they were alone.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Leaning against the windowsill, they watched as the next dance began, music and laughter mingling in the background.
Something subtle hit Multi’s nose again. The same warm scent lingered in the air between them.
But before he could focus on it, Quackity broke the silence.
“Why exactly did you ask me to dance?”
Multi raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard.
For some reason, a raw, unfiltered answer felt like the best card to play here.
“So I could finally go home.”
For a second, Quackity simply stared at him before he laughed, nearly spilling his drink.
“That’s probably the most honest thing I’ve heard this evening,” he chuckled, covering his mouth with one hand. His wings ruffled with every shake of his shoulder. “You wanted to go home so badly, and yet here you are.”
“Well…” Multi ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to pretend my research couldn’t benefit from some additional funding…” he trailed off, suddenly self-aware he was basically asking a stranger for money.
“Ah, there it is.”
“What is?”
“The real reason you walked up to me.” The prince smiled cheekily into his glass as he took another sip of champagne.
Multi frowned.
He was starting to regret not grabbing a fourth glass of whiskey. These diplomatic talks with royals were exceeding his social skills, proving more demanding than anticipated.
“It wasn’t the original reason.”
“Mhm.” Quackity tilted his head, amused. “You’re terrible at politics.”
“I am a scientist,” he replied flatly.
“I can see that,” the prince snorted softly and leaned more comfortably against the windowsill. “So tell me more about this research of yours.”
And so Multi did.
The words flowed easier than expected.
He explained his recent discoveries and theories, moving from isotopes to failed tests and their limitations, while intentionally omitting any crucial details that might have been overheard by a passing guest, servant, or meticulously placed royal guard.
To his surprise, Quackity seemed genuinely interested. He didn't interrupt. Didn't pretend to understand when he didn't. And asked questions whenever he needed clarification.
By the time Multi finished, the prince’s champagne was almost gone.
“After all those military and war projects,” Quackity traced a finger along the rim of the glass, expression thoughtful, “it’s actually refreshing to hear about something not focused on killing people.”
“War kills development,” Multi stated calmly.
The prince hummed in agreement.
It was a simple reaction, yet the scientist felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“Your research sounds ambitious.” A faint smile tugged at Quackity’s lips. “And certainly expensive.”
“Yes.” Multi nodded slowly.
“As I said, the North likes promising projects.” The prince’s eyes drifted toward the king’s table. ”But convincing my family to support one is another story.”
The scientist followed his gaze.
Vegeta was engaged in a conversation with the Regime representatives. Multi hadn’t exchanged a single word with the king. In fact, he had forgotten to introduce himself altogether.
“Why don’t you visit my reactor yourself?” The words left his mouth before he properly thought it through.
Quackity blinked.
“Me?”
“You’ve spent the last ten minutes asking questions.” Multi shrugged, trying to play it cool. “You clearly want to know more.”
“You’re inviting me to your reactor?”
“To observe the research.”
The prince hesitated for a moment.
“Wouldn’t the owner of the funds be a more appropriate guest?”
“You’re the prince of the North.” The scientist eyed him up and down. “I’m sure you represent them well enough.”
Quackity said nothing at first. He bit the inside of his cheek, visibly considering the proposal.
“Alright,” he decided at last, an ambiguous smile slowly stretching across his lips. “I’ll visit.”
Something mischievous flickered in his eyes as he measured the scientist with a piercing look.
“Then we’ll see if your project is truly worth all this fuss.”
Before Multi could respond, Quackity finished his drink and bowed his head politely.
“Goodnight, scientist.”
And with that, the avian disappeared into the crowd.
Multi remained by the window for a longer moment, replaying the conversation in his head – not a bad outcome of a party he never wanted to participate in.
Guests were already beginning to drift toward the exits as the banquet came to an end.
With a quiet sigh, he finally pushed himself away from the windowsill and immediately spotted Graf waiting near the ballroom doors.
A strange expression settled on the beta's face as the scientist approached.
“What the hell was that?”
Multi glanced over his shoulder.
Among the colorful crowd, a pair of golden wings remained impossible to miss.
“That,” he replied, adjusting his gloves, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly, “was building a connection.”