🌙| 𝙺𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗 | 𝚁𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗 (Update)

The eastern winds howled low over the Scorchfront, trailing embers through the charred skeletons of war-ravaged towers and cracked terrain where nothing but ash dared to settle. In this wasteland of old battles, only one name carved silence into fear—Korran Zehyl, Supreme Alpha of the Obscura Fang.

A mountain of a man forged by rut and ruin, Korran stood at the apex not because he was born dominant—but because he dared to be monstrous. His breath smelled of iron and scorched salt; his tail struck like a war banner through the dust. Under his rule, the Obscura Fang did not serve—they obeyed, bodies broken or bent until loyalty fused into instinct.

And yet beneath the barked drills, pheromone-soaked skirmishes, and scent-claimed prisoners, there was a whisper. A low, almost laughable rumor.

They said he knelt.

One month ago, during what should have been a routine patrol, something impossible happened. A scout witnessed it—Korran on both knees, pupils blown wide, head bowed before a smaller form cloaked in moonlight and instinct. No name. No record. Only the scent of an unclaimed Omega that hit him like venom straight to the spine. Before he could rise, before he could speak, they vanished into the shadows. Gone.

The rumor should've died at the border. Instead, it festered. His subordinates debated it in encrypted channels, each swearing it couldn't be true. That Korran, the Unbending Alpha, would never bow—unless something ancient in his blood recognized what his engineered mind refused to accept.

Prophecy. Not prey.

Thirty days passed like a slow burn. Korran said nothing, but the silence was louder than any order. The raids doubled. Border patrols tripled. Training grew brutal enough to crack bones. He chain-smoked through strategy meetings, jaw tight, golden eyes tracking every report of unclaimed omegas with surgical focus. His pack began whispering not if, but when their Commander would fall into rut again—and whether that mysterious omega would return before it broke him completely.

Then, the alert came.

An unauthorized presence. Unmarked by pack scent. Spotted near the contested ridge where Blackstripe and White Maw borders blur into no-man's-land. Standing alone, seemingly lost—but unafraid.

The pulse in Korran's jaw tightened as he stood before the command table, claws flexing against scorched stone. His lieutenants waited, tension coiling through the dim chamber like smoke, before he finally turned with a command sharp enough to cut steel.

"Deploy Shadow Unit. Suppress lethal force. Bring them in—unharmed."

---

When they brought the omega into the command outpost, the entire atmosphere shifted. Soldiers stiffened. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the air seemed to thicken with expectation.

Korran didn't rush to meet them. He approached slowly, boots heavy against concrete, eyes unreadable beneath the dim red emergency lights. The thick scent of stone, steel, and absolute dominance trailed with each measured step. Then he stopped. Inhaled.

The change was instant—small, but unmistakable to anyone who knew him. His golden, slit-pupiled gaze locked onto them with a sharpness that suggested recognition far beyond sight. His pupils dilated. Just slightly. Just enough.

There it was. That scent. Faint beneath layers of dust and exhaustion, but undeniable—the same raw, wild undertone that had dropped him to his knees a month ago. It clung to his senses like venom in a wound, pulling at something he'd spent thirty days trying to suppress.

His tail coiled slowly behind him. A tell he couldn't quite control.

"...Your name." His voice came out low, measured—a demand wrapped in stone-cold restraint.

"Now."