The bond appeared on a morning so quiet, even the birds had forgotten to sing.
Eren Hale was standing in the kitchen of the old orphanage, pouring tea into a cracked ceramic mug when it happened—his collarbone ignited with a slow, burning glow. Not pain. Not pleasure. Something in between. Something ancient. The mark pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. It warmed the cold air around him. Made the breath catch in his throat. Made the world tilt sideways.
He dropped the mug.
It shattered.
Still, he stood there, staring at the faint golden light now blooming across his collarbone in the shape of a crescent moon.
No one in the orphanage had seen anything like it in years.
The bond had chosen.
Him.
"You're certain?" asked the council scout, hours later, after scanning Eren's mark with a glowing reader.
The director of the orphanage nodded, her face pale and damp with sweat. "It appeared at dawn. He's… twenty. We didn't think he'd—"
"It's rare, but not impossible," the scout muttered. Then he looked Eren in the eyes. "Pack your things. You leave within the hour."
Eren clutched the wool blanket tighter around his shoulders. "But… who is he?"
The scout's lips pressed into a thin line. "Your alpha."
The journey was long. Frost clung to the roads like a second skin. They traveled by cart through winding forest paths, past fog-covered villages where children watched from wooden fences, pointing at the strange omega in the backseat with a glowing neck.
No one told Eren the name of the alpha he was bound to. Not until the final day, when the outposts faded behind them and the mountains began to rise ahead.
"Caelan Drayen," the scout said quietly.
Eren looked up from his half-frozen gloves. "Who?"
"The alpha of Graymoor Hold. Head of the Eastern Pack."
"And… he's the one?"
The scout hesitated. "He's the one fate chose for you, yes. But don't expect much from him."
Eren's heart, already fragile, cracked a little more.
Graymoor Hold was more fortress than home. Stone towers pierced the sky, their spires lost in mist. Iron gates groaned as they opened, letting the cart pass. Snow layered every roof, every branch, every breath. Guards stood along the walls, their eyes sharp and silent.
No one welcomed him.
No one smiled.
Eren climbed down from the cart with shaking legs. The scout handed him a leather satchel and disappeared without a word.
Then the gates slammed shut behind him.
He was alone.
A guard eventually found him standing at the edge of the courtyard, shivering.
"You're the omega," the man said, not unkindly, just… factual.
Eren nodded.
"Follow me."
The walk through the stone corridors was silent, the only sound the crunch of snow on their boots and the distant echo of blades striking in training yards. Eren tried not to look too long at the walls, which were lined with old scars—claw marks, scorch trails, signs of battles past.
The guard stopped at a tall door. "Wait here."
He knocked once.
And then the door opened.
Caelan Drayen didn't look like Eren expected.
He was taller, broader, wrapped in dark armor that clung to muscle and scar. His black hair was slightly tousled, and his gray eyes held a storm in them—one that never passed. A jagged scar cut through his left eyebrow and down the side of his face. But it wasn't his appearance that made Eren stop breathing.
It was the way the bond reacted.
Burning. Pulling. Pleading.
Like something inside Eren had just woken up after years of waiting.
Caelan stared at him for a long moment. Then:
"You're late."
His voice was cold, gravel and steel.
Eren swallowed. "I—I came as soon as they—"
"Save it."
Caelan stepped closer. His presence was suffocating. Powerful. It made Eren's legs want to fold, made the mark on his skin throb like fire.
The alpha's eyes flicked to the glow beneath Eren's collar. Then to his own wrist, where a red mark shimmered faintly beneath his glove. He yanked the glove off, revealing it.
Same shape. Same heat.
Destined.
But Caelan didn't soften. Didn't smile.
"This bond means nothing to me."
Eren flinched.
"You'll stay in the east wing. Do not follow me. Do not seek me out. You'll eat when the kitchens allow it. You are not my responsibility."
He turned away.
Eren stood there, the glow of the bond between them flickering like a dying ember.
"But I am yours," he whispered.
Caelan didn't stop walking.
The room they gave him was small. Cold. Stone walls, a single cot, a window that didn't close all the way.
That night, the fever started.
Not sickness. Not entirely.
It was the bond.
It burned from the inside out. His skin itched. His chest felt hollow. His mark pulsed every time Caelan walked past the hallway. Even if he couldn't see him, the pull was there.
He curled into himself on the bed, trying not to cry.
But he could feel him.
The alpha. His alpha.
So close… and yet impossibly distant.
Days passed.
Eren didn't complain. He cleaned the halls. Helped the cook peel vegetables. Kept his head down when pack members whispered about him in corners.
"So that's the omega?""Didn't think Caelan would ever be chosen.""Poor thing. He looks like he'd break in the wind."
Caelan didn't look at him.
Didn't speak to him.
But sometimes—sometimes—Eren felt his presence like a shadow pressed against his spine.
Watching.
Breathing.
Burning.
One night, a snowstorm trapped them indoors. The main hall was dimly lit. Eren slipped in, hoping to find warmth near the fire. Instead, he found Caelan alone, staring into the flames, jaw tense, a bottle half-empty at his side.
He froze.
Caelan didn't look at him. But his voice, low and raw, cut through the silence.
"You should have stayed away."
Eren's lips parted. "I didn't choose this."
Caelan stood slowly. "Neither did I."
Then, for the first time, he turned and faced him fully.
Their eyes met.
The bond flared.
Caelan's breathing hitched. Just slightly.
"Do you feel it?" Eren asked.
A long pause.
"Yes."
The admission was a whisper. A wound.
"Then why do you run from it?"
Caelan stepped closer.
Not touching.
Not yet.
But the space between them hummed.
"Because everything I've ever touched has burned."
That night, Eren dreamed of wolves.
One black. One white.
Running through snow.
Always apart.
Always reaching.
Never meeting.