Chapter Text
Lucerys stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, but all he could truly see was the collar.
Sleek, silver, government-issued — it clung to his throat like a claim, a quiet reminder of everything he no longer owned.
Not his body. Not his scent. Not even his future. Just beneath the surface, the collar's embedded tech pulsed faintly, a dull red light blinking in rhythm with his heartbeat. Always there. Always watching.
He reached up, brushing fingers against the ridged edge, as if touching it might make it feel less real. It didn’t.
He still remembered the day they fastened it. Sixteen years old.
His presentation had hit like a fever — nausea, dizziness, scent bleeding into the air before he even understood what was happening. He remembered Jace yelling for help. Rhaenyra clutching him.
The officials arriving within the hour. Clinical smiles.
"Congratulations," they had said. "Another Omega for the record."
The collar had snapped shut with a click that echoed like a verdict.
Almost two years had passed since.
Now, tonight, everything would change again.
His gaze flicked to the digital clock on the counter beside the sink: 11:40 PM.
Twenty minutes to midnight.
Twenty minutes left as just Lucerys.
"Happy birthday," he murmured to himself, voice too quiet to echo.
He tried to smile. He didn’t quite manage it.
**
When Lucerys stepped into the kitchen, they were already waiting for him.
His mother stood by the counter, half-leaning against it like her knees didn’t trust her weight. Jace sat at the table, hands folded together too tightly to be casual.
They looked up at him with smiles — practiced ones. Fragile. Wry.
The kind you wore at funerals, not birthdays.
“There you are,” Rhaenyra said softly, brushing her eyes with the back of her hand. “We were wondering if you’d come down.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Luke said, and forced something light into his voice, something almost like joy.
He joined them at the table. A small cake sat in the center, a single candle poked in slightly off-center, already lit — its flame casting gentle flickers across their tense faces.
Luke blinked at it.
“I didn’t know we were doing cake,” he said, settling into the chair between them.
“Lemon,” Jace offered, nudging the plate forward. “Your favorite.”
Luke gave him a small smile — real, but tired.
The scent of sugar and citrus floated up, warm and soft. The candle danced, waiting to be blown out. Like it was a game. Like this was normal.
Like the moment the clock struck midnight, he wouldn’t stop being a person and start being someone’s property.
They were pretending. All of them.
Pretending this was just another birthday.
Pretending there wasn’t an invisible deadline counting down in their heads — the moment the calendar flipped, the government registry would process his status change.
And by morning, Lucerys Velaryon, unbonded Omega, would be assigned.
There were no choices. No appeals.
Once an Omega reached eighteen, they were matched to a state-approved Alpha.
No one knew exactly how the system worked — some said it was genetic compatibility, others whispered it had to do with economic contribution, war records, breeding projections. The government never explained. It simply chose.
And then it was done.
Lucerys hadn’t met his Alpha yet. He didn’t know what kind of person they would be. All he knew was that by sunrise, a file would exist. A name would be printed.
His future would no longer be his.
“Well,” Rhaenyra said softly, nodding toward the cake. “Go on. Make a wish.”
Luke stared at the flickering flame, uncertain what to wish for.
He took a breath. Closed his eyes.
And blew it out.
Rhaenyra sat down beside him, her hand brushing his hair gently before resting on his shoulder. The silence stretched, soft and heavy, until she spoke.
“We’ll need to leave early,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I got the notice. They want us at the registry by seven.”
Luke didn’t flinch, didn’t sigh, just nodded.
“Alright,” he murmured, looking at the half-eaten cake, suddenly too sweet on his tongue.
It was Jace who finally broke. His voice came out sharp.
“This is bullshit.”
Rhaenyra’s fingers stiffened on Luke’s shoulder. She didn’t scold him. Couldn’t.
“We pretend it’s normal,” Jace continued, rising from his chair. “Like it’s not wrong. Like the government ripping your name off your file and replacing it with someone else’s is fine. Like they’re not selling you.”
“Jace—” Rhaenyra began softly, but he wasn’t done.
“If Luke had presented Alpha,” Jace said, pacing now, “he’d be safe. But no. I got lucky. I got the right glands. The right scent. He didn’t. So now he gets assigned. Like a shipment.”
Luke looked up at his brother, eyes calm but tired.
“I’d love to blame the universe,” he said lightly, “but I think my glands just hate me.”
Jace froze, scowled. “It’s not funny.”
Luke gave a half-smile anyway.
“Maybe I’ll get a nice Alpha,” he said, turning back to his cake. “Kind. Gentle. Lets me cook. Lets me pick out curtains.”
Jace gave him a dry look, and sat back down with a huff.
“And maybe unicorns will storm the registry and set you free.”
Luke nudged him with his elbow. “You’re next, you know. One more year.”
“I’m an Alpha,” Jace muttered. “They’ll hand me someone soft and terrified. Make me swear to protect them, then check my sperm count every six months.”
Luke smiled, hid the ache. “Then promise me you’ll be nice to them.”
That made Jace pause. He looked at Luke, really looked at him — at the collar, the soft line of his jaw, the weight in his shoulders. He swallowed hard.
“I will.”, he promised.
For a moment, it was just the three of them again. The way it used to be. Before collars. Before deadlines.
Rhaenyra’s breath hitched. And then she stood too quickly, blinking away tears she couldn’t stop this time.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t— I just…”
She wiped at her eyes, tried to compose herself. Failed.
“Get some sleep,” she said hoarsely. “Be ready by six-thirty.”
She turned without another word, disappearing down the hall, her quiet sobs trailing after her like footsteps on wet stone.
Luke sat in the kitchen for a long time after that, the candle long extinguished, the cake forgotten.
**
The car ride was nearly silent.
Jace kept his eyes on the road, jaw clenched, both hands tight on the steering wheel.
The only sound came from the hum of the tires and the occasional turn signal clicking like a heartbeat running out of time.
In the backseat, his mother sat close to Lucerys — too close, really — her hand wrapped around his like she was trying to memorize the feel of it. She hadn’t let go since they left the house.
"Let me sit with him," she'd said that morning. "Just for the drive."
Luke didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.
Every few minutes, she would lean in and press a kiss to his temple. Or his hair. Or his cheek. Soft little touches, soaked in unspoken goodbye.
“You’re so brave,” she whispered once, voice breaking. “So brave, my love.”
Luke blinked out the window, heart heavy. It was cruel, he thought, how gentle she still tried to be in a world that showed Omegas no kindness.
He watched the city blur by — familiar streets, half-empty buildings, cold light bouncing off glass. And then he saw it.
The Registry.
It rose ahead like a steel heart in the center of the world — tall, wide, windowless. Unsmiling. Military-grade fences wrapped around it like a cage, topped with spirals of barbed wire. B
lack-clad guards stood at the gates with rifles across their chests, heads swiveling at every passing car. Security towers blinked with red sensors. Cameras. Drones.
Luke felt his breath catch.
This is where they send us.
Jace slowed the car at the checkpoint booth — a squat little cubicle with bulletproof windows. The officer inside leaned forward, bored and alert all at once.
“Letter?” the guard asked, voice crackling through the speaker.
Jace passed it through the sliding tray beneath the glass without a word. The guard scanned it. Eyes flicked up to Luke in the backseat — lingered on the collar.
“Velaryon, Lucerys. Omega Classification. Reporting for Alpha Assignment.”
A pause. A buzz.
The barrier lifted.
“Proceed.”
The gates opened with a grinding mechanical groan, and the car slipped into the facility like a bug being swallowed whole.
**
The registry's interior was even colder than it looked from outside.
The walls were whitewashed and sterile, lined with banners printed in bold black and red — government slogans that loomed like commandments.
"Alphas: The Guardians of Civilization."
"Omegas: The Future We Must Protect."
"The Bond is Sacred. The System is Safe."
Lucerys tried not to look at them, but they were everywhere — above doors, behind the reception desk, even woven into the pattern of the floors.
Propaganda disguised as patriotism. Lies pressed into every surface like wallpaper.
“It’s disgusting,” Jace muttered beside him. “They dress it up like care. But it’s a cage.”
Luke didn’t answer.
They moved in silence toward the front desk. A woman in a stiff gray uniform sat behind it, her eyes already scanning the three of them with quiet boredom. She held out her hand without looking up.
“Letter of assignment?”
Jace passed it over. She opened it, glanced through the contents, then reached for a thick metal stamp. The sound of it pressing into paper echoed like a verdict.
CLUNK.
She scribbled something. Slipped the folder shut. Then handed it directly to Lucerys.
“Take this,” she said, voice flat. “Medical evaluation is through that door.”
She pointed without looking — a long hallway ending in a solid steel door marked OMEGA INTAKE — MEDICAL.
Rhaenyra stepped forward instinctively.
“I’m going with him.”
The woman didn’t even look up.
One of the soldiers behind them moved instantly — stepping between Rhaenyra and Luke with military precision.
“No non-assigned parties permitted beyond this point,” he said. “You may wait here.”
“He’s my son,” Rhaenyra said sharply, voice trembling. “You don’t understand—he’s not ready—”
“Ma’am,” the soldier cut in, firm. “Do not interfere.”
“Mom,” Luke said softly.
She turned to him — her face pale, lips pressed tight. He could see the way her hands shook at her sides. He gave her a faint smile.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”, she protested.
“I’ll be alright,” he lied, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… wait for me, okay?”
“I always will.”
Jace leaned in close, voice low in his brother’s ear.
“Say the word, and we run. I swear to the gods, Luke, I’ll get you out of here.”
Luke gave a soft, broken laugh.
“And get shot in the back? No thanks.”
He turned before they could see his eyes.
Then he walked toward the door alone.
**
The examination room was stripped of anything unnecessary — a metal table, a chair, a terminal mounted to the wall, and a woman in a regulation-gray uniform waiting with a clipboard in hand.
Her expression was unreadable, efficient, like she’d already done this a hundred times today.
Luke stepped inside. The door locked behind him with a hiss.
“Name,” the woman said without looking up.
“Lucerys Velaryon.”
“ID number?”
He recited the digits. She typed them in, confirming with a small beep. Then she finally looked up, eyes sweeping over him clinically — not cruel, just... detached.
“We’ll begin with preliminary questions. Any history of medical conditions?”
“No.”
“Known allergies?”
“No.”
“Scent suppression usage?”
“None.”
“Have you experienced heat irregularities in the last six months?”
“No.”
“Has any bond — emotional, physical, or hormonal — been formed with another Alpha in the past two years?”
“No.”
She nodded once. Typed it all into the terminal.
Then came the physical.
She gestured to the table, snapped on gloves with a sterile snap.
Luke climbed up wordlessly. Machines scanned over him, humming quietly. A scent profiler activated beside him, casting a faint green light. Vitals. Glandular response. Bond-readiness levels.
No one spoke.
She ran through every step with mechanical precision — blood sample, throat check, scent gland inspection. Nothing lingered. Nothing kind.
Luke stared at the ceiling and pretended his heart wasn’t shaking inside his ribs.
When it was done, she returned to the terminal.
A few keystrokes later, the system pinged — a cold, electronic chime.
“Scent profile stable. No heat irregularities. Body weight within target. No bond pre-existing.”
She didn’t even look at him when she said it.
Then the inner door unlocked with a click.
Another figure entered — a doctor this time, or maybe a higher-ranking official. Clipboard in hand. No expression.
“Fit for Alpha assignment,” he announced. “Proceeding to finalization.”
Luke’s throat felt dry.
He didn’t know what came next.
But he had a feeling it would change everything.
The technician went away for a bit and returned with a slim folder tucked beneath one arm.
Before handing it over, she gestured to the chair by the wall.
“Sit,” she said.
Luke obeyed, lowering himself onto the cold metal seat.
She knelt beside him — not gently, just efficiently — and reached for the collar still clamped around his throat. Her gloved fingers moved across its surface, tapping the embedded reader, checking the wiring.
“Tracker reads normal. Sync code stable. Battery life optimal.” She straightened, giving a single, satisfied nod.
“No irregularities. You’ll be transferred with no delay.”
Then — without ceremony — she handed him the folder.
A simple thing. Plain white. Thin.
“This contains your Alpha assignment. Read it, memorize the details. This will be updated regularly — location changes, medical reports, and eventually, reproductive logs.”
Luke blinked. “What?”
“If children are conceived, they’ll be registered here,” she said, like it was a grocery list. “Your file is a legal document. Keep it safe.”
The folder felt heavier in his hands than paper had any right to be.
“Children…” he echoed, his voice thin, uncertain.
“Standard government expectation is a minimum of two within the first five years of bonding,” she added absently, already typing something at the console again. “Assuming no complications.”
Luke went still.
His face drained of color.
He hadn't even met the Alpha yet — didn’t know their face, their name — and already the system had mapped out his future like he was livestock.
The woman didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.
“You’ll return to the lobby now,” she said briskly. “Your family will wait with you until your escort arrives.”
Luke stood slowly, still holding the folder like it might bite him.
The door hissed open behind him.
He stepped through it — heart pounding, stomach leaden — toward whatever came next.
**
The lobby was just as cold as when he’d left it — white walls, gray chairs, flickering overhead lights.
But when Lucerys stepped through the door, his mother was on her feet in an instant.
She rushed to him like he’d just returned from war.
“Sweetheart—” she gasped, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it knocked the breath from his lungs. “Was it alright? Did they—are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Luke said, smiling too quickly. “Just a lot of forms. Nothing exciting.”
He kept his voice light. Easy. Like it was just a routine check-up. But Rhaenyra didn’t let go. She cradled the back of his head, pressed her lips to his temple.
Like she knew.
Jace stood close, tense and quiet. Watching. Always watching.
“That the file?” he asked finally, nodding at the folder in Luke’s hands.
Luke glanced down at it. That thin white file. The whole future contained in a few sheets of paper.
“Yeah,” he said, forcing the smile again. “Figured we’d have time to look before the stormtroopers drag me away.”
They sat down in one of the waiting alcoves. Rhaenyra flanked him on one side, Jace on the other. Luke settled in between them, the folder balanced on his lap.
He flipped it open with steady hands.
And then he saw it.
ASSIGNED ALPHA: Aemond Targaryen
Tier I.
His eyes caught on the photo — blurred slightly, but still unmistakable.
Aemond in uniform, post-war, scar slashed across his cheek like a brand. One eye grim, the other hidden behind a black patch. Hair tied back. Medals gleaming. Expression blank.
Cold. Dead-eyed. Dangerous.
His uncle.
The man who hadn’t looked at him with anything but ice since they were children. The man who hated him.
The folder slipped from Luke’s hands.
The pages fluttered to the floor like ash.
He didn’t breathe.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.
His heart kicked against his ribs once. Twice. Then everything went numb.
“No,” Luke whispered. “No, no, no…”
Jace leaned forward, alarm rising in his voice.
“What—? Who did they assign—?”
Luke couldn’t speak. His mouth opened but the words came out in gasps, jagged and unbelieving.
“He hates me,” he managed. “He’s always hated me.”
His hand trembled as he pointed to the page still lying on the floor. Jace grabbed it.
Then his entire body went still.
“Aemond?” he said, like the name was poison. “They gave you to him?”
Luke’s breath hitched violently. He turned, clutching Rhaenyra like the air had vanished from the room.
“Why would they do that?” he sobbed, eyes wild. “Why him? I didn’t— I didn’t ask— I didn’t want—!”
Rhaenyra was already crying, her arms wrapping tight around him as if she could shield him with sheer force of love.
“No… no, my sweet boy,” she whispered, rocking him. “This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair—”
“I took his eye,” Luke choked. “He hates me. Mama, I won’t survive this. I won’t— I—”
His words dissolved into sobs. Raw. Violent. He buried his face in her shoulder like he was still a child, the collar pressing coldly into her skin between them.
Then—
The door opened.
Boots on tile.
Three officials entered — faceless in regulation black. No names. No expressions. Just duty.
One of them stepped forward, voice like steel.
“Time is up. Assignment protocol begins now.”
“No!” Rhaenyra held Luke tighter. “You can’t—he’s not ready! He’s just a boy—”
“Unauthorized contact is forbidden.”
Jace surged to his feet.
“You think you can just take him like he’s—?”
A second official stepped between them, hand raised.
“Do not interfere. You will be detained.”
Luke screamed as hands closed around his arms.
“Please! Don’t let them take me! Please, please, I’m not ready—!”
“He’s just a boy!” Rhaenyra sobbed. “He’s not ready!”
“He belongs to his Alpha now.”
The words landed like a death sentence.
Luke was peeled from his mother’s arms as she screamed, trying to hold him tighter, nails digging in, refusing to let go — but the guards were stronger. Merciless. Jace fought against the hands holding him back, shouting something Luke couldn’t hear.
The world became blur and noise and hands and grief.
He was dragged down the corridor, body shaking with sobs.
Through a door.
Into a black car.
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
Then the engine started.
Luke turned, face pressed to the window.
He saw his mother screaming in the hallway, restrained by soldiers. Jace with fire in his eyes and blood on his knuckles.
And Luke realized—
He was never going home again.
The man who hadn’t looked at him with anything but ice since they were children.
The man who hated him.
That was who he belonged to now.
Tears kept falling long after the car pulled away.
He didn’t wipe them.
He just let them fall.
Like mourning a future that would never be kind to him