Chapter Text
Wise couldn't understand what annoys him more. The Pomeranian weeds in his garden, the constant need to take care of his omega urges, or the strange feeling that someone was about to approach his home at this very moment. Eh, who knows.
The garden’s humidity clung to Wise’s skin, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and the stubborn bitterness of the weeds. He knelt, hands filled with magic hovered over the root of a Kornelian Ayudanodus, feeling the pulse of its life, a fussy, needy thing, like most living things in his care. He knew that these particular species needed special care, a parent giving the middle child more attention.
Then again it was his fault for building a garden with four 192 yard sections. Sue him, he gets bored easily and somebody had to preserve the species before idiots got to them and destroyed what nature offered.
If people saw a pale omega working the fields on a random Thursday afternoon, bare feet taking him from edge to edge with nothing but a floating watering bucket following him like a lost puppy, then they would have a field day.
At least that's what Wise thinks.
He couldn't even remember the last time he saw a human. There should be no reason to, since he was in the middle of the forbidden forest. Plus, the veil he casted surrounding his house should make “visitors” turn right around, making them lose their way.
He squinted at the sun, cursing it for being too bright, for making his skin itch, for making his omega urges simmer beneath his skin. It wasn’t ‘that’ time, right? He sighs, cursing whatever god in the sky that gave him the omega status.
Funny since he’s not a “typical omega”
His body may look skinny under layered clothing, only in the winter, but he has hints of muscle here and there. After all the farming he has done, can people blame him? Then again, with the amount of magic he used to take care of the flora, then he should be a bit more built. Call him lazy, but he has magic for a reason.
Omegas are supposed to be sweet and delicate, allowing all the alphas in the world to fight over them like they’re the last piece of meat in the world, only to treat them like an object afterwards. He’s seen them, he’s seen them all.
Majority of kingdoms in Eridu have those problems. Everytime he passes by nations and cities, he always sees those types. Wise couldn’t imagine seeing himself with an Alpha. Maybe it has something to do with not seeing people and living like a hermit for who knows how long. Why must omegas be bound to Alphas? If he was a beta then he wouldn’t be asking these questions.
Instead, every few months he gets cravings to be filled.
Disgusting.
Luckily he found that spell that blocks omega instincts. Did it take him 7 months to master the spell? Maybe he did, or maybe he didn’t. A discussion that was not going to be addressed later.
Not like it matters to him.
His bare foot took him to the other row across from the other that held the Yasandra Iliucmonia, aka, The Ruby Crystal Rose. Its leaves shine with the most gorgeous ruby color, a rare find. He was lucky to find the last kind and keep it in his grove, forever taken care of. Leaves used for medical illnesses, Wise even wonders how reckless people can be to put such things in danger.
He summons a portal, small, but large enough for his hand to go through to pull out his special fertilizer, ready to give them the most love in the world.
He paused, hand hovering mid-pour, and sniffed. The scent of ozone and fear, unfamiliar, drifted from the woods. Wise’s expression didn’t change, but his mind ticked. The veil was supposed to twist the senses, send wanderers in circles until they gave up. Unless the veil was thinning. Or unless someone had a reason to push through. Wise’s thoughts flickered to the east section of the garden, the patch he still needed to water, and the inevitable delay this would cause for tomorrow’s harvest.
“Always something,” he grumbled, and kept watering, letting the moment pass. Whatever it was, he could deal with it later, but he knew damn well this was going to affect him later. Could be another species of monsters.
But didn’t he already kill the last generation?
—-------------------------------------
Mark’s arms trembled beneath the weight of a king. King Lighter. Lighter’s skin, once the color of sweet cream, now looked like candle wax left too long in the cold. Purple stripes marred his cheeks, and his breaths rattled like dice in a cup. Emerald hair disheveled with a mix of dark crystals forming on his face and hair. Mark’s voice cracked, “Your Majesty, stay with me. Please. There’s got to be something—someone—here.” The knight didn’t want to give up and be part of the reason the King was about to go six feet under. He questions why the king was so fucking heavy. They ditched the armor 2 miles ago.
Maybe, just maybe, his majesty was built like a triangle, gaining muscles without even trying and possibly the verge of him dying was adding to the weight. Just a thought.
Kenji’s boots squelched in the mud as he scanned the woods. The other knight on the other hand was busy finding some help, but to no avail. “We’re lost, Mark. The communication carrot’s fried. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and the king’s—” He stopped, jaw clenched, eyes darting to the limp figure in Mark’s arms. “Just… let’s find shelter.”
“Shelter? In the middle of the woods? What can we even do at this point? His majesty has been showing late signs of Ether corruption. He’s been fighting in the hollow for more than a week and-”
“Stop talking and keep moving.”
They stumbled up the path, the king’s breath rattling, each exhale a little quieter than the last. A cottage loomed, its roof sagging, old wood mixed with green plants sticking out. It looks like the place an old witch would live in. The kind that will lure children into their homes and eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner, with a little leg for a snack.
The two men trudged to the door, hoping that at least somebody lived here. They carefully laid their king down next to the door, hopefully the position will help ease the discomfort
Kenji pounded on the door, each knock sharper, more frantic. “Hey! Anyone in there? We need help! Our king he’s….just open up, damn it!”.
No answer.
Mark pressed his forehead to the wood, whispering prayers to gods he didn’t believe in. Kenji’s fists left smudges on the door. “He’s not gonna make it, Mark. Look at him. He’s already halfway gone.”
Mark jerked upright, eyes wild. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare. There’s always something we can do. There has to be.”
Kenji shrugged, voice low. “Sometimes there isn’t. Sometimes you just sit and watch the world take what’s left.”
Mark’s hands shook. “I can’t. I won’t. Not for him.”
The two sat silently, a heavy weight loomed upon them. Their king was on the verge of death and there was nothing they could do. The first aid training they received couldn’t do jack for the corruption place upon Lighter.
The mere thought of them watching their king being placed into a coffin, joining past family members, was too much to witness. Lighter was everything to them. The King that pulled them out of the slums all those years ago. The nonchalant king that was surprisingly good at diplomacy. The King that was ready to go to war for his people.
Sniffles and excess sighing was starting to form between the two, depression knocking on the door. Kenji left a weak hand on left, turning to see a sick Lighter struggling to stand up. Kenji dropped down to him with worry.
“My King, please sit and rest. Don’t give corruption a reason to spread even more!”
“Kenji’s right. Your symptoms are getting worse.”
Lighter coughed like an old man who had his 3rd pack today. Even in his state, he stood up using his men for support. Breath caught between lungs that felt like they were on fire. Vision hazy from the corruption, four Kenjis that were supposed to be on.
He refused to be like this. To look weak in front of the men who risked their lives to save him. He spent a week and a half in the hollow, fighting off Ethereals that came for his royal blood. Tiny at first, grew stronger and faster. He prided himself on having high resistance to ether corruption. But now that pride of his was to be his downfall.
Some people say it was that strong will that contributed to the gift. Others say it’s his natural Alpha genetics that helped him to where he is today.
“...You two… find a way out of here… I’m… I’m grateful you two came to…. My rescue, but… If I’m going to die, I’ll die… standing tall.”
Kenji can only look down in shame while Mark had tears flooded in his face. If only they were faster to reach their king in time. If only the Carrot stone didn’t take too long to make. If only they were able to protect their king from following into the hollow.
“Excuse me…”
A voice interrupted their thoughts and half ass funeral. Heads quickly turned to the grey hair man that looks…. Completely uninterested… He looks like the type of person that wouldn’t say anything as they push an elderly woman down the steps and claim it was an accident.
Lighter’s hazy eyes met the shorter’s vibrant green. Even in his severely weakened state, he can still make out the form of the figure. From the way the man stands, he looks like a beta, but pale skin and some petite features could indicate him being an omega. He looks… beautiful to say the least. His nose might be fucked up at the moment, but the slight scent of peaches and vanilla filled his nose. He already
“You people are awfully quiet for barging into someone’s front yard. Do you normally do this?” Wise asks, voice neutral, already planning what would be for dinner later.
“You… live here?” Mark questions
“You idiot, who cares about that… Young man, we apologize for stepping into your home unannounced. But this here, is our king… He’s in dire need of help.
Wise takes a second to look at the king, Lighter’s skin is now more pale than his. He was going to die soon, there’s no doubt about that. The king was breathing like he ran a 120 mile marathon and has a stance of a vandalized scarecrow. Must be an alpha. Only an Alpha would try to look strong in this state.
He stepped closer, squinting at the bruises, the way the king’s veins glowed faintly violet beneath his skin. The closeness gave Lighter the excuse to inhale more of the scent. It was as if the aura of this man was already healing him on the inside. Or maybe the corruption is making him see things.
“Corruption,” Wise muttered. “Void rot. How’d you guys manage that?”
Kenji’s jaw clenched. “We were in the Hollow. Our carrot—”
“Carrot?” Wise interrupted, eyebrow raised.
Mark nodded, desperate. “It’s a device. For navigation. It malfunctioned. We got out, but he’s been getting worse.”
Wise knows he’s going to regret this. The peace of the evening soon faded away and hated himself for not moving sooner. He stood up, already walking towards the door. “Bring him inside.”
He enters, leaving the door wide open. The two knights looked at one another and back at the door. They quickly grabbed their King, shuffling inside, the cottage swallowing them whole. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs, old books, and something metallic. Jars lined the shelves, each labeled in a spidery script: “Dreamleech,” “Hollowbone,” “Nightmare Salt.” A kettle hissed on the stove, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.
Wise gestured to a battered cot. “Put him there. Don’t bleed on the rug.”
Mark eased the king down, hands trembling. “Can you help him?”
Wise waved his through a pile of vials, each one lining in front of him one by one as he switched over to the next set. He muttered to himself. “Maybe. If he’s not too far gone. If the rot hasn’t reached his heart then he’ll live”
Kenji hovered by the door, eyes darting. “What’s in those jars?”
“Ingredients,” Wise said, voice flat. “For people who don’t ask stupid questions.”
Mark pressed a hand to the king’s forehead. “He’s cold. Colder than before.”
Wise knelt by the cot, peering at the king’s face. “He’s got hours. Maybe less. You didn’t touch anything in the Hollow, did you?”
Kenji shook his head. “Just the carrot. And each other.”
Wise grunted. “That’s something, at least.” He poured a viscous, violet liquid into a cup. “Drink this. Both of you. If you’re carrying Ether spores, I’m not letting you infect my garden.”
Kenji sniffed the cup, nose wrinkling. “Smells like feet.”
“Better than death,” Wise replied.
They drank. Mark gagged, but kept it down. Kenji made a face, then shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
“Shut up…”
Wise turned back to the king, hands moving with a precision that belied his earlier irritation. He pressed fingers to the king’s pulse, muttered words that twisted in the air, and the room seemed to grow colder. “56 bpm… primary sign of Bradycardia…”
Mark, ready to help. Even if he can do the smallest task, it would be enough to help his king. “What can we do to help?”
“Wait outside…”
“Huh?”
Wise ignored the questioning at the back, his mind was focused on the man in front of him, who was now sweating bullets. He snaps his fingers, a wave of magic surrounds Mark and Kenji as they are soon lifted up into the hair, getting tossed out through the front door as if they were nothing but trash, like a partner that got caught cheating and getting kicked out of the house.
The door slammed in front of them as they tried to process what the hell happened.
Inside the cramped, cluttered cottage, the air is thick with the scent of crushed herbs, burnt resin, and the metallic undercurrent of old magic. Wise moves with a restless precision, sweeping aside a stack of cracked vials to clear space on the battered table.
The King’s body lies motionless, practically dead at this point, skin a map of bruised corruption, veins pulsing with unnatural violet. Wise’s hands move automatically, gathering ingredients: dried sunleaf, a pinch of ground selenite, a vial of murky blue liquid labeled in a script only he can read.
“You’re… risky a lot for someone you… don’t know…”
Wise continues what he was doing, not looking back. “You still have the energy to talk even in that state. I suggest you stop wasting energy speaking.”
The alpha actually chuckles, “You have bad bedside manners. Did… anybody tell you that…?”
Wise doesn’t respond.
After making the potion that will hopefully work, Wise pours the vial and forces it between the King’s lips, holding his jaw shut until the liquid is swallowed. The King’s breathing slows, eyelids fluttering and closes, body going limp as the corruption’s frantic advance pauses, held at bay by the concoction.
Wise wipes his hands on his shirt, smearing a streak of blue across the faded fabric. He studies the King’s face, the way the corruption clings, stubborn, refusing to recede. “Of course you’re difficult. Can’t just let me have a quiet evening, can you?”
He glances at the door, half-expecting the knights to burst in again, but the only sound is the distant, anxious shuffle of boots outside. Can’t believe they’re actually being patient. Do they really trust a stranger to take care of their king? He could easily kill him and who’s fault will that be now.
He leans over the King, brow furrowed. “This will take days to clear on its own. Sure, he might be fine for a while, but he’s not staying here.”
He draws a circle in the air, muttering a string of words that twist and echo, the syllables old and bitter. Magic crackles, the air thickening around him. He presses his palm to his own chest, feeling the familiar ache of his condition flare, then leans down and presses his lips to the King’s.
The corruption of the king’s body lessens, translocating itself to the omega himself
He guesses this is what people call kissing. He doesn’t see the big deal. Still, it was a strange feeling locking lips with someone. Lips, surprisingly soft. At this moment, he could somehow understand how people could romanticize kissing. Talk about a wishy thinker…
Still, he must admit with his cause of contact he could smell the scent of the king. He felt warm and his scent smelled like a forest. The kind where he can walk through and smell what nature has given him. Untouched by society, the true essence of the world.
Just by the scent alone, Wise can tell how strong and powerful this man is. Just by the scent alone, Wise can tell how strong and powerful this man is.
Most people don’t realize that you can tell a lot about a person just by their scent alone. There are certain smells that could be quite overpowering, which indicates that the person doesn’t even know how to control their own emotions.
There are times where you can barely smell the scent of the person, which indicates their lack of confidence at that point of their lives.
A scent that is balanced and well nurtured indicates the person is well balanced, and has full control over their mental state. The pinnacle of being physically and mentally fit.
However, his world tilts.
For a heartbeat, Wise is somewhere else—memories not his own flooding in, sharp and vivid. The shouts of the Calydon townsfolk, their faces twisted with fear and hate. A girl all too familiar, dragged through the streets, her eyes wild and desperate. The taste of bitterness, the scent of fire. The people for whatever reason are demanding justice. Justice for what? Justice for who?
The hollow, yawning open, swallowing her whole.
Tell him, tell them, what did she do to you? What did this woman do to deserve this? Why does she have to suffer?
I HATE YOU ALL!
Wise jerks back, gasping, the taste of old grief sharp on his tongue. The King’s corruption has faded, the bruising receding, but Wise’s own veins burn with borrowed poison. He staggers, gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this mental setback. Almost the last time he even remembered her? When was the last time her thoughts flooded in his mind…? He felt like his heart stopped. No, he needed to calm down. No, he needed to calm down.
He took slow breaths, finding a way to even out his breathing, allowing air to flow through his brain to think clearly. He stares at the King, realization dawning. The emblem on his chest, a wild red boar with two long white tusks.
Calydon….
This is the King of Calydon…
He breathes, forcing the panic down, the ache in his head throbbing with each heartbeat. He glances at the King, alive, breathing, the corruption nearly gone. “That’s enough. More than you deserve.”
—----------------
Outside, Mark and Kenji pace in tight, anxious circles, boots scuffing the mossy ground. Mark’s eyes are red, voice hoarse. “Do you think he’s… do you think the King is—”
Kenji cuts him off, tone flat. “Does it matter? That guy’s a freak. Magic like that—never seen anything like it. Maybe we should just—”
The door bursts open. Wise stands in the doorway, eyes glowing with a cold, unnatural light, irises spinning with a helix of blue. His voice is layered, echoing with power. “Take your king. Walk two miles north. Do not stop. When you leave the forest, you will forget everything that happened here. You will never return.”
Mark and Kenji stare, blank-eyed, as if caught in a dream. They nod, moving with the jerky obedience of puppets, gathering the King’s limp body between them. As they walk, their faces slacken, memories dissolving like mist in the morning sun.
Wise watches them go, the glow fading from his eyes. He leans against the doorframe, breathing hard, sweat slick on his brow. He then lets forward and vomits. Dark energy, like a pool of tar, pearls out of a man’s body.
“It’s only for a second…”
His eyes glowed once more as his body was about to be taken over by the corruption, but suddenly resides. The sweat continued to linger, dropping from his forehead and into the ground, mixing and becoming one.
He stands, wonders, not for the first time, if the Hollow really ever lets anything go. If her ghost lingers, watching, waiting. If the King’s memories hold more answers, or more pain.
The plan of going back to his garden left him. His bare feet took him back to the shack of the cottage he calls home. His next thoughts led to what he was going to eat for dinner. Oh, who was he kidding.
His appetite was long gone.