Omegas, delicate and highly sensitive to pheromones, experienced periods of estrus that left them vulnerable and in need of protection. In this world, Omegas were often treated like porcelain, their value seen primarily in their ability to form strategic marriages and alliances. They were cherished and safeguarded, but their roles were largely confined to the domestic sphere.
Xiang Yu was the son of the imperial lord, the future heir to the Republic.
He remembered the genetic testing, the moment when the imperial lord learned that his children had a heightened chance of becoming Omegas. The imperial lord’s ambition was fierce. He would not let power slip away, not after all he had done and the blood he had spilt. In a cold determination, he took his children and, using an unapproved method, forcibly transformed them both into Alphas. The risks were high, and the pain was excruciating.
His half-sister, Peng Xiu, turned into a Beta. But Xiang Yu? He emerged as a high-grade Alpha, an SS rank, but not without dire consequences. The memories of his occasional mental breakdowns and pheromone disorders surged back, a reminder of the torment he endured. He remembered the times he was locked away, unable to control the chaos within him, and the pain that felt like it would tear him apart.
To manage Xiang Yu’s spiralling condition, the imperial lord had taken Han Xin, Xiang Yu’s attendant, and injected him with pheromone disruptors, forcing Han Xin’s body to mimic that of an Omega. The memory of Han Xin restrained on the bed, suffering for Xiang Yu’s sake, burned in his mind. Each time Xiang Yu bit his gland, Han Xin’s body bore the brunt of the damage, the agony turning him into a shadow of himself.
Xiang Yu felt guilt wash over him. The drugs had made Han Xin dependent on him, a poison that kept him functioning but at a grave cost. Han Xin was not just an ordinary attendant; he was the late imperial lord’s son, a truth buried deep beneath layers of deception. Xiang Yu remembered the story Han Xin grew up with, that he was found in a trash heap and raised in an orphanage until the imperial palace took notice of him.
Han Xin had been meant for greatness, meant to sit on the throne ruling the Republic. Instead, he was reduced to an attendant, forced to appease Xiang Yu’s aggressive ruts. The memory of that fateful clash with the Federation came rushing back. Han Xin had been presumed dead, sacrificing himself for Xiang Yu. But he had survived, rescued by Peng Xiu, who revealed the truth.
In his mind, Xiang Yu saw Han Xin rise as a force against tyranny, establishing a resistance that shook both the Republic and the Federation to their core. The memory of Xiang Yu’s wedding to Princess Sienna flashed before him, the bloodbath that ensued when Han Xin captured him. The terror of being tortured for the rest of his life was palpable.
The imperial lord had met his end, his body preserved and displayed as a warning. The war escalated, and Han Xin turned the tides against the Federation. The memories clashed in a chaotic whirlwind, each one a dagger in Xiang Yu’s heart. And then, the final blow, the betrayal of the Federation, the unexpected death of the princess, and Han Xin’s ultimate rise to power, crowned by Peng Xiu as his empress.
Xiang Yu gasped as the memories clawed at his soul, leaving him gasping for air. The reality of his past, the truth of their intertwined fates, crashed over him like a wave.
His heart twisted painfully as he looked down at Han Xin. The sight of him lying there, vulnerable and hurt, sent waves of guilt crashing over him. The memories of what Han Xin had endured under the imperial lord gnawed at his conscience. He felt a surge of determination as he bent down, despite the injury throbbing in his leg. Han Xin was bigger than him, yet he scooped him up, ignoring the strain.
His eyes were bloodshot, the weight of his emotions heavy. He bit down on his lip, holding back the flood of tears that threatened to spill. He entered the luxurious bathroom, the soft glow of the lights illuminating the space. He carefully placed Han Xin in the bathtub, the water glistening like liquid silk.
An automated voice broke the silence. "Your Highness, should I run the bath for you and set a romantic atmosphere?" The cheerful tone grated against his mood.
Xiang Yu snapped, "Just run the bath and get lost." His voice was sharp, filled with frustration.
"Yes, Your Highness," the voice responded obediently, and the warm water began to flow, perfect for Han Xin.
Xiang Yu took a washcloth and began to clean Han Xin’s body with a great sense of shame and sadness. Each stroke of the cloth felt heavy with remorse. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as memories of earlier flooded back. He had lost control and hurt the person he loved.
The pain in his chest deepened when he saw the scars that marred Han Xin’s skin. Each mark was a testament to the suffering he had endured. Xiang Yu washed them carefully as if he could erase the pain with gentle strokes. He was afraid to press too hard, fearing that even the slightest touch could bring more agony.
After he finished, he wiped Han Xin’s body dry, his movements tender and deliberate. He carried him back to the room, the air thick with unspoken words. Once there, he searched for clothes, but nothing in Han Xin’s size was available. Frustrated, he settled on a black and gold robe that echoed the style he wore in his real world.
Draping the robe over Han Xin’s still form, he felt a flicker of hope. When he was done, he lay next to Han Xin without touching him.
Xiang Yu’s thoughts spiralled, self-condemnation wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud. "Stupid," he muttered under his breath. "Horrible person." Each word cut deeper than the last, a relentless echo of his inner turmoil. He felt trapped in a cycle of regret, unable to escape the reality of what had happened.