Chapter Text
The sound of metal clanking and whirling was all that filled the tiny, square world.
The cage shuddered as it rose, rattling bolts and groaning in protest. Thomas sucked in a huge breath, lungs burning as consciousness slammed back into him. Cold water sputtered from his mouth and nose, spraying over his chin as he coughed and gagged, the taste of iron and oil thick on his tongue.
He rolled onto his side, chest heaving, fingers clawing at slick metal flooring. Every inhale felt too loud in the cramped space, echoing off the walls. Harsh, mechanical grinding roared above and below him, like something ancient and hungry had woken up and started to move.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Where am I?
He tried to remember anything—his name, a face, a place—but his mind was like static. A blank wall. The more he pushed, the more it shoved him back.
A low, rumbling growl cut through the noise.
Thomas froze.
It wasn’t the metal this time. It wasn’t the machinery. It was something alive. The sound rolled through the cramped cage like distant thunder, rising from the shadowed corner behind him.
Another snarl. Closer.
His breath hitched. Thomas slowly lifted his head, eyes straining in the dim orange glow of the single flickering light in the ceiling. Shapes blurred, his vision still swimming from whatever had knocked him out. Wires ran along the corners of the cage. A grimy tarp hung in a heap near his feet, covering… something.
The growl came again, deeper now, vibrating in his bones.
Thomas flinched back on instinct, spine pressing to cold metal. The tarp shifted. A heavy shape moved beneath it, the fabric rustling against coarse fur or rough hide. Something big exhaled, a wet snort that sent a puff of hot, animal breath into the air.
It smelled… wrong.
Not just animal—musk and fur and damp breath—but something sharp beneath it, something that prickled at the back of Thomas’ throat. Like static, or ozone, or the moment before a storm breaks. His stomach tightened, his body reacting to the scent even though his brain didn’t understand why.
He didn’t know what he was. Or what the thing under that tarp was. But his instincts screamed that the two of them together in this tiny cage was a very bad idea.
“Hey,” he croaked, voice raw. “Easy…”
The only response was another snort. The tarp lifted just enough for him to see the hint of a muzzle—dark, wet nose, a flash of teeth as lips curled back in a warning he didn’t need translated.
The animal snapped the air inches from his hand.
Thomas jerked back so fast his shoulder slammed into the wall. Pain shot down his arm, and he hissed, cradling it at his side. His heart raced, each beat thudding in his ears as he stared at the shifting shape under the cloth.
Okay. Don’t touch the animal. Got it.
Before he could decide whether to scream or stay perfectly still, the cage lurched.
The floor jumped beneath him, throwing him sideways. He hit the opposite wall with a grunt as the entire box jerked upward, the grinding sound intensifying. The walls vibrated. The bolts overhead squealed. Somewhere above, something massive clanked into place, and then the cage surged higher, faster.
“Hey!” he shouted, scrambling to his knees. His hands slapped against the ceiling—solid metal, no seams his fingers could find. Panic clawed up his throat, hot and choking. “Stop! Let me out!”
He banged his fists on the roof, yelling until his throat burned. His voice bounced back at him, swallowed by the roar of machinery. The cage rattled like it was going to shake apart. His stomach swooped; his sense of up and down blurred, replaced by dizzy weightlessness for a heartbeat before gravity crashed back in.
The animal snarled at the sudden movement, claws scrabbling against the floor. The cage rocked harder as it slid along whatever shaft it was trapped in, the sound rising to a deafening metallic howl.
Thomas stumbled, tried to stand, and fell again as the floor tilted just enough to throw him off balance. He caught himself on one hand, palm scraping open on rust and grit. Pain burned, bright and distant at the edge of shock.
“Come on, come on…” he muttered, voice cracking. His chest tightened. Every breath felt too shallow. “What is this…?”
His pulse hammered against his ribs, against his temples, like his own body was trying to pound its way out.
The animal’s scent grew stronger in the cramped air—hot fur, sharp musk, and something that made the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. Some buried part of him reacted to it, muscles tightening, his own scent spiking with fear and confusion. The thing under the tarp paced in a tight circle, the fabric dragging across its back and catching on its ears.
Thomas scooted as far as he could into the opposite corner until metal pressed into his spine and shoulders. There was nowhere else to go. No escape. Just him, the growling beast, and the screaming metal.
The rise slowed.
The grinding faded into a dull rattling. The cage shuddered, then jerked once more. For a second, everything went eerily quiet—no movement, no climbing, only the soft panting of the animal and the harsh rasp of Thomas’ own breathing.
Then, with a violent jolt, the cage slammed to a stop.
Thomas was thrown sideways, hitting the floor elbow-first. Pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him wheezing on the cold metal as the whole cage vibrated from the force of the halt.
The animal barked—a sharp, startled sound—then fell into a low, unsettled growl.
Thomas lay there for a heartbeat, dazed, cheek pressed to the floor. His ears rang. The taste of metal filled his mouth. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his arms trembling.
What now?
Above, something clanged.
A shadow passed over the flickering light, and a deep, distant voice shouted—muffled, but unmistakably human. Then another. And another. Layers of sound filtered down: overlapping voices, laughter, something heavy being dragged.
Thomas’ breath hitched. People.
He barely had time to process the thought before the ceiling of the cage—no, the doors—groaned. The locks scraped, grinding metal against metal, then came the sound of bolts being shoved aside. Light spilled in through thin seams, cutting bright lines across the grime-streaked walls.
Thomas squinted up, eyes watering. The animal gave a rough snort and shrank back under the tarp, the cloth twitching as it tried to burrow away from the brightening light.
The last bolt clanged loose.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence—a drawn-in breath, the world holding itself still.
Then the doors were thrown open.
A blinding flash of daylight exploded into the cage. It was like staring into the sun after living inside a coffin. Thomas instinctively threw an arm over his face, squeezing his eyes shut as white-hot light burned through his eyelids, painting everything in searing shapes.
Cool, fresh air rushed in, sweeping away the thick scent of metal and fur and machine oil. It carried new smells with it—earth and grass, sweat and something sharper underneath: layered human scents, different and distinct. Some spicy, some clean, some heavy and grounding. It washed over him in a dizzying wave, his whole body tensing in response without knowing why.
Voices poured in with the light.
“Shuck me…”
“Fresh one, by the look of it.”
“Move back, greenie! Give him room!”
Thomas blinked against the glare, lower jaw slack, mind blank. Silhouettes hovered above the edge of the open doors—shapes of boys leaning in, their faces hidden by the brightness behind them. Dozens of eyes stared down at him, curious, wary, amused.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
He didn’t know where he was.
He didn’t know who he was.
All he knew was the roar of his own blood in his ears, the weight of a hundred strange scents pressing in on him, and the fact that his entire life—whatever he’d been before this moment—was gone.
And he was starting over in a metal cage, with an animal at his back and a sky too bright to look at.
“Go get him,” was the only thing Thomas clearly heard.
Voices blurred together above the cage, half-laughing, half-shouting, but that command cut through them all—deep, confident, edged with amusement. A shadow dropped down beside him.
The scent hit him first.
It slammed into his senses like a wall: strong, sharp, unmistakably dominant. It coiled in the air around him, heavy with something that made Thomas’s lungs seize up and his knees want to bend at the same time. His heart stumbled, stuttering in his chest as instinct screamed Alpha even though his conscious mind had no idea what that meant.
Then the boy was there, right in his space. Big hands grabbed Thomas by the front of his shirt, hauling him up so fast his feet barely scraped the floor. A face filled his vision—tan skin, dark eyes glinting with rough humour, jaw tight with authority.
The boy shoved his nose in close, close enough that Thomas could feel the hot puff of breath against his cheek as the Alpha inhaled sharply, scenting him.
“Day one, greenie,” he said, voice low and rough.
Before Thomas could react, he was flying.
The Alpha—whoever he was—threw him up and out through the open doors like he weighed nothing. Thomas yelped, wind tearing from his throat as his body sailed forward and then slammed down onto—
Grass.
He hit hard, shoulder-first, rolling onto his back in a blast of cold air and the sharp smell of dirt, trampled grass, and sweat. For a second, he just lay there, staring up at a painfully blue sky framed by stone and faces.
Dozens of faces.
Rings of boys stood around the opening of the shaft, packed in on makeshift ledges and the ground all around, leaning over one another for a better look. There had to be fifteen… twenty of them, maybe more. Different heights, different builds, different skin tones—but every single one of them had their eyes locked on him.
Some laughed.
Some smirked.
One boy let out a low whistle. “Shuckin’ hell, look at him. Tiny little shank.”
Heat crawled up Thomas’s neck. His breath quickened without his permission. Every inhale dragged in a swirl of scents—so many that it made his head spin. Some were light and sharp, others warm and grounding, a few thick and cloying with dominance that pressed against his skin like a weight.
His whole body reacted before his brain could catch up. His heart hammered, his palms went clammy, and some buried instinct deep in his bones whispered: too many, too close, back up, move.
Thomas scrambled backwards, boots slipping on the grass.
His shoulder throbbed, his elbow burned, every nerve screaming that he was exposed. He braced one hand behind him, the other clawing at the ground as he tried to get his feet under him, tried to get away from all those eyes and all those scents closing in like a wall.
He got to his knees. Then his feet.
Run.
He bolted.
“Hey! We got a runner!” someone yelled, laughter chasing the words.
Thomas didn’t look back. He just ran.
His legs pumped, lungs burning as he sprinted across the open space. The ground changed under his feet from packed dirt to rough grass to something stonier. Wooden structures blurred past: pens with bleating goats, a crude fence, boys leaning on tools, turning to stare.
He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know anything. But he knew he had to move.
Voices shouted behind him. Footsteps pounded after him, heavier and more assured than his own stumbling stride. The scents of the group thinned as he left the knot of boys behind, but one stayed close, strong and clear—like being chased by a storm.
He tried to push harder.
For a few strides, it worked. The wind bit his face, tears streaming from his eyes, his body flinging itself forward on pure adrenaline.
Then his left leg simply… gave out.
White-hot pain lanced up from his knee and hip, and his foot missed the next step completely. Thomas crashed forward with a strangled cry, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. Grass scratched his palms and cheek, the world spinning wildly around him.
He lay there gasping, chest heaving. Distantly, he heard clapping.
Slow, sarcastic clapping.
“Nice trip, greenie!” someone called, amusement thick in their voice.
Thomas grit his teeth and pushed himself up again, shaking. His arms trembled as he forced them to hold his weight. His muscles were jelly, his left leg throbbing in time with his pulse. He staggered to his feet anyway, because he couldn’t just lie there. He wouldn’t.
He lifted his head.
Four massive concrete walls towered around the wide expanse of grass and dirt, rising so high they seemed to scrape the sky. Vines draped down the grey stone like curtains, some thick as his arm, some thin and tangled, all of it swallowing the walls in green. There were no gaps, no windows, no way out he could see—just sheer height and smooth rock stretching up and up and up.
A chill ran through him, colder than the dirt under his palms. It felt like standing at the bottom of a well with the sky a hundred miles away.
Hands grabbed him from behind.
Thomas jerked, a choked sound escaping his throat as he was yanked back against a solid chest. The scent hit him a second later, wrapping around him like a heavy blanket: that same powerful presence from the cage, only stronger now, unfiltered by metal and machine oil.
It rolled over him—dominant, confident, a little rough. It should have made him panic more. Instead, some traitorous part of him wanted to melt into it. His muscles, so tight with fear, fluttered on the verge of relaxing.
What is wrong with me?
He twisted in the grip, finally craning his neck enough to see the one who’d caught him.
The boy was tall, taller than most of the others Thomas had glimpsed, with broad shoulders and solid arms that didn’t budge even as Thomas pushed against them. His shirt clung to muscle built from real work, not just show. He had short, dirty-blonde hair, cut messily enough to curl at the ends, and dark eyes that flicked over Thomas with a critical, almost annoyed look.
There was a faint scar along his jaw, pale against tanned skin.
For a heartbeat, Thomas forgot that this boy was manhandling him. His thoughts just… stalled. Fuzzy. Heat prickled at the back of his neck, his heartbeat stumbling in a way that felt different from pure fear.
Then the boy moved, and reality came crashing back.
Without warning, the Alpha—because that’s what he had to be, everything in Thomas screamed it—hauled him off his feet like he weighed nothing and dragged him across the grass.
“Hey—wait!” Thomas protested, hands grabbing at the arm locked across his chest. “Stop! Let me go!”
The boy didn’t answer.
He dragged Thomas toward a shallow, carved-out pit in the ground—little more than a square hole lined with packed dirt and wooden beams. A gate of rough-hewn wooden bars sat across the opening on one side.
Thomas realised what was happening a split second too late.
“Wait, wait, don’t—”
The Alpha tossed him forward.
Thomas stumbled as he hit the edge and dropped, landing awkwardly in the dirt at the bottom of the pit. He rolled to his side and coughed, dust puffing up around him. By the time he got his hands under him and looked up, the gate was slamming shut with a clatter of wood on wood.
A heavy bolt scraped into place.
He lunged toward it, fingers curling around the bars. “Hey! Let me out! I didn’t— I was just—”
The Alpha stood on the other side, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. Up close, the scent pouring off him was almost overwhelming—crisp and sharp with dominance, threaded with something earthy. It wrapped around Thomas even through the bars, making his stomach swoop.
“You’re done runnin’,” the boy said, voice flat. “Stay put.”
Then he turned and walked away.
Thomas pressed his forehead to the bars for a moment, breathing hard. The pit wasn’t deep—maybe two meters—but the walls were sheer, and his arms shook just thinking about trying to climb them. Dirt clung to his palms and clothes, grit scratching his knees.
He forced himself to stand.
Fine. If he couldn’t run, he’d at least look.
He brushed off his shaking hands, turned, and walked up to the gate again, this time more cautiously. Through the gaps in the wooden bars, he saw more of… whatever this place was.
Goats milled about nearby, some of them jumping up onto a wooden cart like they owned it. One bleated loudly as another butted it off the edge. Beyond them, boys moved through rows of crops, their hands buried in dark soil as they tended to plants Thomas didn’t recognise but somehow knew were important—food, medicine, something vital.
Others carried tools. Some chopped wood. A few stood guard near a massive opening in one of the stone walls—two huge doors of thick grey stone with darker seams, closed tight for now. Everything was worn and rough, but busy, purposeful.
A community.
His chest tightened.
He didn’t belong to it.
A new scent drifted closer—different from the strong, dominant ones around, softer somehow. Warm, with a hint of something sweet and grounding that eased the tightness in his chest without him realising. It slipped under his guard, coaxing his shoulders to loosen, his breath to slow.
Bootsteps approached the gate.
A pair of long legs stopped right in front of him, shadow falling over Thomas where he stood behind the bars. Startled, Thomas stepped back and misjudged the distance, his heel catching in the loose dirt. He landed on his butt—again—with a small grunt.
“Hey there, green bean.”
Thomas looked up.
The boy standing outside the gate had dark skin and close-cropped black hair. His eyes were steady, assessing, but not unkind. He leaned slightly to peer down at Thomas, one corner of his mouth lifting just enough to soften the stern set of his jaw.
The scent rolling off him was undeniably dominant, but different from the other Alpha’s—calmer, steadier, threaded with something that made Thomas’s racing heartbeat slow a fraction. It wrapped around his frayed nerves like thick blankets, coaxing them to settle.
“You’re not gonna run again, okay?” the boy asked.
There was authority in his voice—a leader’s weight that settled on Thomas like a hand on his shoulder. Not harsh, just… sure. Safe, in a way that made Thomas’s throat ache.
He swallowed and nodded.
“Good.” The boy’s mouth ticked up a little more.
He slid back the bolt and swung the gate open. Instead of dragging Thomas or tossing him around like the last Alpha, he simply extended a hand.
Thomas stared at it for a second. His fingers twitched. Instinct told him that taking that hand meant something—accepting something. Protection. A place. Or maybe he was just desperate enough to imagine that.
Either way, he reached out.
Their palms met. The other boy’s grip was firm and warm. It grounded Thomas, pulled him up out of the dirt literally and somewhere deeper too. For a second, that soothing Alpha scent wrapped around him more fully now that there were no bars between them, and a shaky breath slipped out of Thomas’s chest before he could hold it in.
“My name is Alby,” the boy said as he helped him climb out of the pit.
Thomas staggered a bit once he was on his feet, and Alby’s hand tightened on his arm, steadying him before letting go. They stood close for a moment, and Thomas realised he’d shuffled into that proximity without thinking, like his body knew this was a good place to be.
Alby watched him with those steady eyes. “Can you tell me anything about yourself?”
Thomas opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
He dug, clawing through his own mind for anything—a name, a memory, a face—but it was all fragments and static. Panic crept up his spine, cold and relentless. His throat went dry. He shook his head.
“No,” he managed, voice small and hoarse. “I… I can’t remember anything.”
The admission burst out of him like breaking glass. The panic spiked, roaring suddenly loud in his ears. Why? Why couldn’t he remember? Who had done this to him? What if this was all he had now—just fear and blankness and strangers staring?
His breathing hitched. His chest tightened, vision edging with fuzz.
“Hey, hey.” Alby’s tone shifted, smoothing out, warm and firm. “It’s okay, you can’t remember anything.”
A big hand landed on Thomas’s shoulder, solid and reassuring. The weight of it, the scent pouring off Alby, the calm in his voice—it all worked together, tugging Thomas back from the edge.
“Relax,” Alby went on, quieter. “It’s normal. Happens to all of us.”
Those words hit like a life raft. All of us. So he wasn’t the only one. He wasn’t broken alone.
Thomas dragged in a shaky breath. His muscles unknotted a little at a time. The wild buzzing in his head eased enough for him to notice they were walking now, Alby’s hand guiding him gently through the camp.
They passed a group repairing a wooden structure, some boys carrying stone blocks, others laughing as they tossed tools back and forth. A few glanced at Thomas, curiosity sharp on their faces, but no one approached. A wide bonfire pit sat in the centre of the clearing, blackened stones arranged in a rough circle around it. Beyond that, more open ground, more activity.
The scents changed as they moved, too—some sharp and tangy, some softer. One or two dominant presences brushed against Thomas like passing pressure, but Alby at his side was a constant, solid anchor.
“You’ll get your name back in a day or two,” Alby said at last. “Comes back on its own. Always does.”
Thomas swallowed. A name. That felt… huge. Important. Something solid to cling to in all this strangeness.
“Until then, you’re just greenie,” Alby added, a hint of humour returning to his voice.
Thomas might’ve smiled if his face didn’t still feel like it had been carved out of stone.
They’d barely gone ten more steps when another presence swept into Thomas’s awareness.
It wasn’t loud or heavy like the Alphas he’d sensed. It was… different. Softer, but not weak. Warm, with an undercurrent of something that made Thomas’s chest loosen even more, like a cool hand on a fever.
A tall, skinny blond boy walked over to them, long limbs moving with a slight limp that Thomas somehow knew wasn’t new. His hair was messy, sticking up in places, and his brown-gold eyes were sharp but tired, like he’d seen too much and still chose to be gentle anyway.
He came right up to Alby, close enough that their shoulders bumped, and then they leaned in and gently butted their foreheads together.
The motion was simple, practised—more than just a greeting. It was pack, Thomas’s instincts whispered. Comfort. Familiarity. A touch that said I’m here. You’re not alone.
Something in Thomas’s chest tugged, hollow and aching.
“Green bean, this is Newt,” Alby said, gesturing between them.
Up close, Newt’s scent washed over Thomas fully. It was calm and steady, threaded with something soothing and home-like. Not dominant, not sharp—gentle, inviting. It curled around Thomas’s frayed nerves, and his shoulders dropped a fraction without his permission.
If Alby were a wall at his back, Newt felt like a hand on his cheek, cool and careful.
Thomas didn’t have words for what that meant, not yet, but his instincts did.
Omega, a small, quiet part of him, supplied.
And somewhere under his own skin, under his fear and confusion, something answered in kind—like a tuning fork struck the same note.
Whatever he was, whatever he had been before his memories were stripped away, his whole body was very sure of one thing:
He was standing between an Alpha and an Omega, and some deep instinct told him he’d just stepped into the middle of a pack he didn’t understand yet.
Newt tipped his head, studying Thomas with a mixture of wariness and sympathy. “Welcome to the Glade, greenie,” he said softly, accent curling around the words. “We’ll try not to scare ya too much your first day, yeah?”
Thomas swallowed, caught between Alby’s grounding hand and Newt’s calm gaze, surrounded by walls he couldn’t escape and rules he didn’t know.
His memories were gone. His future was a question mark.
But for the first time since the metal cage, the roaring panic in his chest eased just enough for another feeling to slip in:
Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t completely alone here.