CHAPTER 31: 31 — FRESH ORANGE BLOSSOM

[In Revhara, Omegas can work. They can seek justice if an alpha, beta, or even another omega violates them.]

The candle dimly illuminated the room while Ren wrote another note in the diary he received from Eiran.

At first, the boy wanted to give it to him as a gift, but he refused. However, realizing he couldn’t keep taking notes in library books and how dangerous it could get if someone came across them, he decided to request one from Eiran. Of course, the child was overjoyed.

The notebook was already half full of history, new words he didn’t know before, and some laws he learned as he stood by the general’s side when he worked. There was so much Ren didn’t know.

Is it because they never taught me how to read the common language?

He wondered.

In Hianshu, two languages were spoken: one was used by the people, while another was exclusive to the high priests. The kingdom didn’t have a king or officials—it was ruled by the High Priests.

Ren was taught to read, write, and speak Dragwari while every other child in the temple was taught Hanari, also used in Revhara as the main language. As a quick learner, he learned to speak Hanari simply by listening to others. It was the only reason why he succeeded in hiding his true identity until now.

"But I need to leave soon," he mumbled, scribbling another paragraph of information—the general’s secret James told him. But the accuracy was still unknown. He quickly crossed out what he wrote, shaking his head.

"It doesn’t matter. I need to find that thing and keep my promise to Ilyan," he slumped his face on the table, closing his eyes while tightening his grip around the pen.

"...niel..."

"...Ren..."

"Reniel!"

"Wake up!"

The vision before him was blurry. He blinked a few times before the face in front of him sharpened.

"Ilyan?.." He muttered.

"Get up before the high priests come! We need to go back to the Room."

"W—What?"

Before he could say anything else, Ilyan dragged him into the hallways.

The Room?

He looked around—it was the place he had escaped. White walls, no paintings, sculptures of deities, and white curtains on the windows occasionally flown by the wind.

"I-Ilyan?" Ren hesitantly called.

The man turned, smiling at him brightly. His green eyes, similar to the depth of the woods, glimmered under the sunlight.

"Yes?"

But instantly, the light in Ilyan’s eyes disappeared.

Ren looked around—the background shifted to pitch black. Something he was used to seeing, but this darkness was terrifying.

Rain poured on them, just like that night. When he looked at Ilyan once again, he lay on the ground, chest bleeding, a pond of blood surrounding him.

"I-Ilyan?!" Ren dropped to his knees. He hesitantly reached for the man’s face. It was cold—nothing like the warmth he felt earlier. "N-No, not again," his voice shaky, tears flowed down his cheeks.

"..pa"

"....Papa?

"Wake up, Papa!"

Hearing the voice, Ren jolted awake. He looked around, disoriented, finding himself in his room. He stretched his back, sore from sitting on a chair all night. In front of him, Eiran stood, cheeks swollen into a pout.

"You didn’t come when I ate breakfast today. I was worried!"

Looking into the boy’s light green eyes, the same as Ilyan’s, Ren bit his lips.

"Could... you, please, leave?"

Eiran dropped his arms, surprised. Ren never spoke this harshly to him. He forced a smile on his face although his chest stung.

"W-Why? Are you sick?" He hesitantly asked, his eyes damp.

"Please," Ren turned his head, his hair covering his face. He couldn’t look at him—he might break into tears in front of him otherwise.

"Alright..." His shoulders dropping, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

***

For the next few days, Ren stayed in his room.

When Hannah visited him, he told her he was sick—and he was indeed. His body was burning up almost as if set on fire. His pale complexion had turned a shade of red, sweat running down his skin.

However, he asked no one to enter the room. James, from the beginning, refused to stay in his room and was given a room just beside Ren’s. Hence, it wasn’t difficult for his request to be accepted.

He was sure no one would come—until the door creaked open—catching him off guard.

In front of him stood the general’s tall figure, wearing a black coat.

Zayden had returned from the training grounds. But the moment he stepped into the mansion, a sweet smell lingered in the air. When he asked James, he said he didn’t smell anything.

Unable to settle with James’ response, the general wandered around the mansion, searching for the source of the smell. Once he reached the servants’ quarters, the smell grew stronger, sharper.

After following it through the hallways, he reached the door from where it smelled to most. When he opened the door, he found his ghost-like servant, the one who called him a demon for an unknown reason, lying on the bed, his face as red as a tomato.

"M-My lord?" Ren tried to rise from the bed but his body didn’t allow him.

"This smell..." Zayden mumbled.

Ren’s jaw tightened, ready to use his power if needed. Even if it killed him, he couldn’t risk—

"It smells like fresh orange blossom," Zayden stepped closer.

At first, he had doubts.

When the alphas at the orphanage said they could smell an omega, Zayden felt it too—a refreshing odor lingering in the air mixed with the disgusting pheromones of alphas. The smell was the only reason he kept his calm without killing those alphas. But when he looked around, he found his attendant standing next to him.

He refused to believe the possibility of him being the omega they talked about. No omega could have stood in there, a place filled with strong alpha pheromones, for that long without dropping to their knees. Even his strongest omega knights couldn’t bear it.

Yet, the question remained unanswered: was his attendant truly a mere beta? Sometimes, he behaved like one. But occasionally, he behaved like an alpha with extreme strength.

He looked at the young man lying on the mattress. He was neither of those two.

Now that he studied his attendant closely, he was certain of it: he was an omega—one in heat.

"You’re... an omega."