The House of Vaelora stood as the pinnacle of power and fear—a dynasty forged in dominance, upheld by an unbroken bloodline of alphas. For centuries, the Vaelora name had been synonymous with strength, authority, and the natural order of alpha supremacy.
A Vaelora child was always born an alpha. Always.
No beta. No omega. Never.
It was not just tradition—it was truth, etched into the marrow of their existence. The birth of a Vaelora heir was never a matter of chance. It was certainty, as unshakable as the mountains that bordered their vast empire. To be born a Vaelora was to be born to lead, to command, to dominate. Anything less was unthinkable.
Alaric Vaelora, the reigning head of the family, was the embodiment of everything the Vaelora name stood for—ruthless, unwavering, and absolute. He was a man of precision, his every action calculated, his every word law. He did not tolerate weakness. He did not abide failure.
At his side was Evelyn Vaelora Evren, his wife—a rare and highly regarded omega. Their marriage had been arranged, but Evelyn had adapted to life within the House of Vaelora with grace and quiet strength. She was everything an omega was expected to be—soft-spoken, poised, and submissive in the eyes of tradition. But beneath that delicate exterior lay something else. A fire. A resilience that Alaric had come to admire, even if he rarely spoke of it.
When Evelyn became pregnant, the estate erupted in celebration. An heir was inevitable, and with it, the continuation of their dynasty. Plans were set in motion before the child even took its first breath—tutors selected, alliances reinforced, legacies secured. The entire world would know of the next Vaelora alpha.
As her due date approached, the anticipation in the great halls of the Vaelora estate was electric. Servants rushed to prepare the grandest of celebrations. Nobles and distant relatives arrived from across the country, eager to witness the birth of the next leader who would carry the House of Vaelora into the future.
Failure did not exist.
Deviation was impossible.
The night Evelyn went into labor, the estate held its breath.
Alaric stood at the edge of the birthing chamber, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable. He listened to his wife's cries, her body wracked with agony as the midwives and doctors worked swiftly around her. The air was thick with expectation.
"One more push, my lady," the doctor urged.
A final, piercing scream tore through the room. And then—silence.
A single, thin wail broke through the heavy stillness.
Alaric stepped forward, his chest tightening with quiet certainty. The next Vaelora heir. His son. His legacy.
But then—
The doctor froze. His hands trembled as he held the newborn, his face pale and stricken.
Alaric's eyes sharpened. "Well?" His voice was low, commanding.
The doctor hesitated. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed hard.
"Sir... the child..." His voice wavered. "He is an omega."
A cold, suffocating stillness fell over the room.
Alaric's body went rigid. His breath hitched—so slight, so imperceptible that only Evelyn, exhausted and trembling, noticed it.
"What did you say?" His voice was quiet, but deadly.
The doctor lowered his gaze. "A male omega, sir."
The words crashed over him like a breaking tide.
For the briefest moment, something flickered in Alaric's expression—a hesitation, a crack in the iron control that governed him. His son. His own blood. But then, like a blade slicing through weakness, the thought was severed.
No.
The baby's scent—unmistakably omega—rose into the air, shattering the illusion of certainty.
Alaric's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "That is not possible."
Evelyn's breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as she reached for the child. The doctor placed the infant into her arms, and she cradled him instinctively, her body curling around him in a desperate, protective embrace.
"He's our son," she whispered, her voice raw.
Margus Vaelora stepped forward, his presence like a shadow stretching across the room. The former head of the family, the architect of their dominance, the man who had shaped Alaric into the leader he was today. His gaze swept over the child with nothing but cold calculation.
"This cannot be," Margus said. "A Vaelora heir cannot be an omega."
"Our bloodline does not produce omegas," Alaric said stiffly, his voice empty, detached. His mind raced. His body burned. His breath came sharp and controlled.
Margus sneered. "And yet, here we stand."
Evelyn clutched the baby tighter. "He is your son, Alaric," she said, her voice trembling but unwavering.
Alaric exhaled slowly, his face impassive. Then—he turned away.
"No."
Evelyn's stomach dropped. Her heart pounded against her ribs. "What... what are you saying?"
Alaric didn't look at her. Didn't look at the child. "That is not my heir."
Margus stepped closer, his expression unreadable, but his voice filled with venom. "A Vaelora omega? We might as well hand our enemies a dagger and bare our throats."
Evelyn's lips parted, but no sound came out. She felt the weight of her son in her arms, so small, so fragile, so utterly at their mercy.
"He is a child," she finally choked out.
Alaric's gaze was unreadable, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. He turned to the door. "I don't have an omega heir," he said coldly. "Figure it out."
And then he was gone.
Evelyn gasped as if the air had been stolen from her lungs. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she rocked the baby against her chest, her fingers trembling against his tiny form. His cries had quieted, his face pressed against her skin, as if he already knew—already understood the world he had been born into.
Margus lingered, watching her with the slow, deliberate patience of a man who knew time was on his side.
"If you value your place in this family," he murmured, "you will do what needs to be done."
Evelyn's grip on the baby tightened. Her eyes, brimming with tears, sharpened with something else. Something fierce.
"He is my son," she said, her voice like steel. "And I will not let you take him from me."
Margus's mouth curled into a thin, knowing smile.
"For now."
And then he left, leaving Evelyn alone in the quiet, holding the fragile weight of her son as the shadows of the House of Vaelora closed in around them.