Chapter Text
Gorou’s lungs still burned by the time he reached the colony’s outer ring of protective stones, his heart thudding beneath his ribs like a frantic drum. The moment he crossed the scented boundary markers, the tension in his chest loosened just slightly—but not completely. The familiar scents of home wrapped around him, warm and grounding: pine smoke, cooking herbs, the earthy musk of the communal dens, and lingering traces of the pack members moving about in early morning routines. The world smelled safe here. And yet his pulse refused to settle.
His father stood at the center of the camp as though waiting for him, arms crossed, posture sharp as a drawn blade. Chief Riku was a tall, broad-shouldered alpha with matching orange-brown hair threaded with early grays, a symbolic band of woven bark and bone across his chest marking his position. His ears twitched once—an unhappy, restrained movement—as Gorou slowed to a halt before him.
Behind the chief stood Gorou’s mother, Mira, softer in presence but equally alert. Her cerulean eyes warmed the moment she saw him, but there was something worried in her scent. She lifted a hand to her mouth as though to call out but held the gesture back, waiting for Riku to speak first.
He always spoke first.
"Where have you been?" Riku’s voice was not loud, but it carried weight. Authority. Disappointment. A father’s fear disguised as irritation.
Gorou swallowed, head dipping slightly in submission born more from habit than guilt. "Just...out," he said, though the vagueness sounded weak even to his own ears.
"Out," Riku repeated, unimpressed. "You know the rules. Omegas do not wander beyond the inner routes alone. Especially unmated ones."
"I know," Gorou muttered.
"You know," his father echoed again, ears flattening in frustration. "And yet here you are—barefoot, half soaked, wearing a tunic inside-out—coming back at dawn like a reckless pup who thinks he’s invincible."
"I’m not a pup," Gorou snapped before he could stop himself.
Riku’s gaze sharpened, but Mira stepped gently between them, her voice calm. "Riku, let him breathe. He came home safely."
"By luck," the chief retorted. "We’ve told him a hundred times: the forest is safe only up to a point. There are paths we do not walk. Areas we do not approach."
Gorou’s stomach twisted. He could almost feel the scent of earlier—the crushing, ancient alpha aura—lingering around his skin despite the time that had passed. No one else here would recognize it. No one else had ever been that close. But Gorou could still feel it wrapped faintly around his senses like smoke.
Riku continued, "And we certainly do not go anywhere near the mountain’s direction."
Gorou stiffened. He hadn’t gone anywhere near the mountain. Not truly. The lake was still within their known hunting grounds. "I-I didn’t go near the mountain," he insisted, meeting his father’s eyes. "I stayed in the inner forest."
"Then why," Riku said slowly, "do you smell...unsettled?"
Gorou’s breath hitched. He hadn’t realized it would be so obvious.
Mira stepped closer, hand brushing his cheek with motherly gentleness. "Sweetheart, did something frighten you?" Her voice was soft, coaxing, not demanding but concerned.
Gorou hesitated. He couldn’t tell them. If he admitted what he’d sensed—what he’d nearly seen—his father would lock him inside the dens for the next moon cycle and double the patrols. Mira would panic. The village would strengthen their borders. The stories painted oni's as unpredictable, monstrous, too strong and too wild for normal social structures. They were beings meant to remain at the mountain’s cold summit, away from the civilized colonies below.
Gorou wasn't even sure if what he sensed was an oni, but if he had sensed an oni...
He shook his head quickly. "No. Just...startled by a fox. That’s all." It was a lie, but a small one.
Riku snorted. "A fox. Convenient."
Mira frowned at her mate. "Leave him be. He’s fine. He came home. The forest didn’t eat him."
"Yet," the chief muttered under his breath.
But the tension finally broke when Mira wrapped Gorou in a warm, maternal embrace. Gorou melted into it, his tail curling instinctively around her side. She kissed his forehead, smoothing back his hair. "Next time, take someone with you," she whispered. "And please, don’t make me worry before breakfast."
Riku grunted something unintelligible and stormed off to begin the day’s orders.
Gorou watched him go, shoulders sagging with relief and lingering guilt. The lecture was nothing new—just louder this time. But it wasn’t the reprimand that stayed with him as he walked toward his den. It was the scent from the lake. That impossible alpha scent. That heavy, ancient aura.
And the way it had seemed to wrap around him—as though memorizing him. As though claiming him.
High above the forest, concealed by thick canopies and silent stone cliffs, Itto crouched in the branches of a tree that grew at the very edge of the colony’s territory. His massive hands curled around the trunk with surprising gentleness, claws barely grazing the bark. He had followed the omega’s scent easily—far too easily. Gorou’s scent trail had been distinct, sweet, warm, and intoxicating, a scent unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even when the trail vanished into the cluster of dens and huts, Itto’s instincts told him precisely where the pup had gone.
The colony below was active now. Warriors strode between structures. Betas carried supplies. Alphas sniffed the air periodically, checking for danger. Itto held perfectly still, knowing that even one shift of his weight could alert them.
He wasn’t stupid. They would panic if they saw him. No one wanted an oni near their homes—not after the legends, not after the horror stories, not after generations of fear passed from parent to child like heirlooms.
So he stayed hidden.
He sat down on a smooth boulder that jutted from the mountainside, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he stared into the distance toward the colony. He couldn’t see the omega from this angle—just scattered roofs and smoke rising from cookfires—but he could feel him in there. His scent lingered faintly on the wind.
Itto exhaled slowly, watching the breath curl in the cool air. "What do I do now...?" he murmured. He’d never been good at complicated plans. He was good at lifting boulders and punching trees and yelling about how great he was. Subtlety was not usually in an oni’s nature—let alone his.
But for this omega?
He would be patient.
He would sit here all day if he had to. And the next day. And the next. Until he figured out how to approach without frightening him again. He twirled a small pebble between his fingers—a nervous habit—and let his legs dangle over the edge of the boulder.
He wasn’t leaving. Not yet.
The day passed slowly for Gorou, who could not shake the eerie sensation of being observed—even within the colony. Every time he caught a whiff of the wind, his ears perked, searching for that strange, warm scent. But all he found was pine, earth, and the familiar scents of his people.
Still, sometimes—just faintly—he thought he saw something. A shadow too large to be a deer. A flicker of red between trees. A pair of glowing eyes that vanished when he blinked. Each time, his heart leapt into his throat, and each time he quickly looked away, unsure if he wanted to see more.
By afternoon, Mira attempted to set him up with a neighboring alpha—a polite but painfully boring man with no humor, no softness, and absolutely no interest in Gorou’s independence.
Gorou excused himself quickly.
By evening, he lay in his den wrapped in furs, staring at the ceiling while the colony quieted around him.
By nightfall, he still had not fallen asleep.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw the lake again. Heard the twig snap. Felt that heavy scent roll across his skin. His instincts, though still unsettled, gnawed at him with their own brand of curiosity. What was he? What sort of alpha gave off a scent like that? Why hadn’t he shown himself? And why—why, why, why—did Gorou’s heartbeat quicken in a way he didn’t want to admit?
Frustrated and restless, he finally pushed off the covers and sat up. His ears twitched sharply. Outside, the guards paced. Their scents drifted lazily through the night wind. The moon was full, bright, casting silver light across the forest.
He shouldn’t do this again. He really shouldn’t.
But the thought of waiting until morning—of pretending he wasn’t thinking about that scent—felt impossible.
So he got up. And he left. Again.
Sneaking out was easier at night. The guards’ attention wavered, lulled by routine. Gorou moved silently, slipping between shadows, his bare feet barely stirring the underbrush. Within minutes he was beyond the colony’s boundary, inhaling the cool night air as relief washed over him. He took a familiar route through the trees, past the ferns, along the stream, and toward the waterfall clearing.
The forest looked different at night—darker, yes, but not frightening. The moonlight turned the leaves to shimmering silver. Fireflies drifted lazily between branches. And the sound of the waterfall echoed softly across the glade, like a pulse in the darkness. He stepped into the clearing and stopped near the water’s edge. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
He wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing warmth back into his skin as he glanced up at the sky. The moon hung heavy and bright. Stars dusted the sky like crushed crystal. His tail curled loosely around his leg as he let himself breathe.
The scent wasn’t there. Not yet.
But something told him he hadn’t imagined it. Something told him he hadn’t been wrong. Something told him he would not leave this place without that alpha showing himself.
He stood there, listening to the water, trying not to think about how reckless this was—when a branch cracked in the darkness. His breath caught and his ears snapped forward. His tail perked up, tense and alert. He spun around toward the sound. "You can come out, you know?!" he shouted, voice echoing across the water. "I know you’re there!"
The forest held its breath.
For a few seconds, nothing moved.
Then the shadows shifted.
And a massive figure stepped slowly into the moonlight.
Gorou’s heart stopped.
There, emerging from between the trees, was the owner of that scent—tall as a nightmare, broad as a fortress, with curved red horns that gleamed like polished stone and crimson markings glowing faintly on his skin like embers beneath ash. His silver hair fell messily over his shoulders and down his back, and his eyes—golden, bright, almost luminous—watched Gorou with a mixture of awe and worry.
He looked like no alpha Gorou had ever seen. He looked like the stories. He looked like an oni. Itto took another cautious step forward, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "Hey...I, uh...didn’t mean to scare ya earlier. Y'know, when you were...bathing..."
Gorou’s lips parted, breath stolen away entirely as he stared at him—at the height, at the horns, at the sheer presence of him.
He had never seen anything so terrifying.
He had never seen anything so mesmerizing.