Page 7 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
“King Aldric—our current king’s great grandfather—betrayed them during peace negotiations.” Lyra’s finger moved to an illustration showing a royal figure standing over the body of a fallen woman with silver scales shimmering across her skin. “He murdered their omega queen and began hunting both dragons and all omegas—no matter their species—within reach.”
A chill rippled down Sora’s spine. “Omega. You used that word before. What does it mean here?”
Lyra studied her face, concern evident in her eyes. “The lake took more of your memories than I feared.” She turned several pages, revealing diagrams of human bodies marked with strange symbols. “Our society operates on a hierarchy—alphas are rulers and leaders of our warriors with commanding voices that can control others. Betas form the general population. Deltas are neutrals, often scholars or healers.”
“And omegas?”
“Rare and coveted. They can stabilize alpha rage and a populace unease, bear powerful children, and once were revered as spiritual conduits.” Lyra’s voice dropped lower. “Until prophecies foretold that the Moon Goddess would cry, her tears forming into unique omegas that would help overthrow human dominion, returning balance to Artania.”
Sora’s fingers absently traced her collarbone where earlier she’d felt the strange heat. “And you think I’m...”
“I know you are. Your scent has changed, Sora.” Lyra leaned closer, inhaling. “You smell of ash and embers and moonflower.” Her eyes widened slightly. “That’simpossiblefor a baker’s daughter.”
Something clicked in Sora’s mind, dread seeping into the core of her stomach. “The nobles who noticed me in the kitchen. That’s why, isn’t it?”
Lyra nodded. “Alphas are drawn to omega scents instinctively. It will only grow stronger as you approach your first heat.”
“My first—” Sora choked on the word. “Heat?”
“A time when your body will call for a mate. Your first time is when your powers will manifest fully.” Lyra turned more pages, revealing illustrations of people with light emanating from their hands, their eyes, their hearts. “Omegas once channeled magic from the Moon Goddess herself, to help guide and unite all the species of her world.”
Outside, clouds parted, allowing moonbeams to stream unfiltered through the window. The light bathed Sora’s skin, and this time, there was no mistaking what happened. Silver scales shimmered across her forearms, delicate as fish scales but hard as metal when she touched them.
“Goddess protect us,” Lyra breathed, reaching out to touch the transformation with trembling fingers. “It’s not just omega traits. There’s dragon blood in you.”
Sora stared at her arms, transfixed by the metallic shimmer that faded as soon as she moved out of the direct moonlight. “How is this possible?”
Lyra’s face paled. “There’s only one explanation. Somewhere in your lineage, a dragon and human must have mated. The offspring would appear human but carry dormant dragon traits—traits that might manifest under certain conditions.”
“Like nearly drowning in an ice-cold lake?”
“Or like the approach of the White Moon.” Lyra pointed to the sky where, beside Earth, Artania’s largest moon hung full and bright, with its smaller, white-tinged companion rising behind it—what was called the moon back on Earth. “The white moon this season rises tomorrow night. The Midwinter Selection Ball is deliberately timed to coincide with it—when nascent alphas and omegas manifest under the moonstone chandeliers.”
Sora’s mind reeled with implications. “If I’m discovered—”
“Death would be the kindest outcome.” Lyra closed the book with a heavy thud. “The royal family has spent generations ensuring no omegas survive within their kingdom. Any would be a threat to their reign. A dragon-blooded omega? They’d make an example of you.”
The stone walls suddenly felt like a prison closing in around her. “What do I do?”
“We hide it.” Lyra pulled a small clay vial from her pocket. “This tincture contains herbs that will temporarily mask your scent. Use it sparingly—three drops each morning and night.”
Sora accepted the vial with shaking hands.
“And during the Selection Ball, stay in the shadows. Avoid windows and the direct light of the moonstone chandeliers.” Lyra squeezed her arm where the scales had been. “Most importantly, if any alpha approaches you drawn by your scent, walk away immediately. State that you’re wearing your mother’s perfume, used for special occasions. Their presence will intensify your reactions, making concealment impossible.”
“And if I can’t?”
“‘Accidentally spill a drink—even a tray—if you have to.” Lyra frowned. “You may get disciplined later, but it would at least get you away from the event.”
Later, as Sora crept back to her shared room with Morgana, she felt even more lost than when she’d first woken up.
Her historian’s mind methodically cataloged everything she’d learned, searching for patterns, for explanations, for some way to understand what was happening to her.
Deep down, she sensed a connection—the dragon dagger she studied, its unknown words shifting like they were alive, tied somehow to this world called Artania and the silver scales appearing on her skin under the moonlight.
I wonder where I will wake up the next time I open my eyes…
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