The woman froze. She turned slowly, and when her eyes landed on him, she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Her lips trembled, then curved into a soft smile, fragile but real. Despite the deepening lines in her face, despite her frailty, she was still beautiful to him—his mother, the face he had longed for through ten years of silence.
But it wasn't only his mother who noticed him. One by one, the visitors turned. His father's voice faltered mid-sentence. His brother stopped laughing. Even the household guests went quiet, the air thick with curiosity.
Eren could feel their eyes on him—not on his clothes or the bag slung over his shoulder, but on him. On the way he didn't quite smell like any of them. On the way his hair caught the light, a striking shade no one else in his family bore.
He heard the whispers ripple through the group.
"Is he yours, Romeo?" one of his father's companions asked, tilting his head. "The third child you sent away?"
Another leaned close, voice low but not low enough. "His scent's… odd. Not quite alpha, not quite omega. Are you sure he belongs to your line?"
The words sliced through him. He bit his lip until he tasted iron, but he kept his gaze steady.
His brother finally stepped forward, brows furrowed. "What are you doing here?" he asked flatly. No warmth. No joy. Just suspicion.
The rejection hit harder than Eren wanted to admit. Even after a decade, his brother's disdain hadn't softened. He'd hoped—foolishly—that time apart might have changed something.
A guest scoffed, the sound sharp in the still air. "She's the one who's different from them," the man muttered, forgetting—or not caring—that Eren was no longer a child. "It's a miracle he came back at all. Don't you think it's dangerous? A curse?"
The word sank like a stone in his chest. Curse. The same word that had followed him since he was old enough to understand what it meant to be born outside the tidy boxes of alpha, beta, and omega. He tightened his jaw, fighting the sting in his throat.
And yet, through the shame and hostility, his mother was still looking at him—her eyes soft, wet at the corners. For a moment, it almost felt like enough. Almost.
The tray slipped from his mother's hands, crashing to the floor, food scattering across the tiles. Her eyes widened, nostrils flaring as his scent reached her—familiar, yet sharper, more grown than the boy she had last seen.
"Eren." Her voice trembled. She stepped closer, then glanced over her shoulder toward the open house where voices carried. Without another word, she seized his wrist and tugged him aside, out of sight of the guests.
"What are you doing here? Do they know you're here?" Her words came out in a hushed rush, her pheromones spiking with anxiety.
The bitterness stung more than the grip on his arm. Ten years away, and this was her first instinct—to hide him.
"Mama," he whispered, forcing the word past the lump in his throat. "Aren't you happy to see me? It's been so long. I want to come home. To be with you again." His own scent wavered, betraying his desperation no matter how hard he tried to hold it steady.
Her expression tightened. "You shouldn't have come. If the alphas in this house notice…" She shook her head. "You should've stayed with the nuns. It's safer there. For you. For us."
Safer. That was what they called exile. That was what they called cutting him off so thoroughly that he hadn't even known how to write to her.
"I brought some things," Eren said, fumbling with the strap of his satchel, trying to keep his voice steady. "And… today's my birthday. I thought you'd remember." His words cracked at the end, his pheromones bleeding sorrow into the air like a wound.
For a moment, her gaze softened—but then—
"Mama! Can I open my presents now?"
A little girl came bounding out of the doorway, clutching a brightly wrapped gift to her chest. She skidded to a stop when she saw him, blinking up with wide, curious eyes.
Eren froze. His heart thudded once, painfully, in his chest. He turned to his mother, voice rough, almost breaking. "It's… her birthday?"
His mother moved quickly, crouching to gather the girl close, smoothing her hair with trembling hands. "Shiny, go inside for now. Stay with Alfred. Mommy's talking."
The child looked between them, her nose wrinkling as she tilted her head. "Who is he?" she asked, innocent, curious.
Eren's jaw clenched. He tasted blood where his teeth dug into his lip, his pheromones spiking sharp and raw, filling the air with grief. Forgotten. Replaced. Erased.
He had thought—just for a moment—that she would remember him. He had thought wrong.
"Okay," the little girl said softly, then turned and trotted back toward the house, her gift box clutched tight.
Eren watched her go. His chest twisted. He couldn't remember his parents ever throwing him a birthday party. Not once.
"It's her birthday?" His voice cracked as he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Tears burned at the edges of his eyes, but he blinked hard, refusing to let them fall. It felt like a blade had pierced straight through his ribs.
"Yes," his mother said simply. She didn't meet his gaze. Her pheromones were sharp with unease. "Go back to the nuns. It isn't good for you to be here. If you come again, warn us first so we aren't… surprised." She pressed a hand against his chest, giving him a small push.
His throat clenched. That push hurt worse than any slap.
"Please," Eren said, his voice breaking though he tried to keep it calm. "Don't push me away like last time. I'm your child too. Is it so wrong for me to want to stay with you?"
His mother's eyes flickered, but her tone was cold. "Don't be stubborn. You know how your father is when he's angry. Go back." She pushed him again, firmer this time.
Eren flinched, his scent spilling raw grief into the air. Still, he reached for her hand, clutching it tightly. "Ma, I don't want to go!" His voice cracked into a plea. "Take me back. Even if I suffer, even if life here is hard—it's fine. I'll endure anything. I'll hide my hair. I'll wear a wig if I have to. I'll do whatever it takes, as long as I'm with you."
He pressed her hand to his chest, desperate.
Her patience snapped. "Why is it so hard for you to understand? Do you want me to get angry with you?" Her pheromones lashed sharp and bitter as she grabbed his arm.
"Even if you hide your hair, it changes nothing," she hissed. "People already know who you are. Can you erase their memories, too? Do you want the whole island to sneer at your father every time they see him? Do you want to drag him down with you?"