Jade watched the scene unfold, his young mind struggling to grasp the tension thickening the air and the strange words being thrown around. As a reincarnated man from Earth, he was utterly bewildered by the dynamics at play.
What did being an Alpha, Beta, or Omega even mean in this world? The way Niamh's posture shifted from confident to cautious, the way the men's eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and hostility—it all felt alien.
When Niamh handed over the scraps and began to back away, Jade's gaze remained locked on her face, his expression an unspoken question. What just happened? Why did those men want to hurt us? And what were those strange labels they used? His curiosity burned beneath the surface, urging him to reach out, to tug at her sleeve and demand an explanation. Instead, he simply leaned forward in her arms, his wide eyes asking what words could not.
Niamh met his gaze, her hardened expression softening as she offered a small, reassuring smile. "It's alright, little one," her eyes seemed to say. Adjusting her hold on him, she shifted his weight carefully and began to hum—a soft tune Jade had grown familiar with. It usually soothed him when he was restless, but this time, it felt more like she was trying to calm herself. The hum quivered faintly, a melody shaped by fear she wouldn't name.
She'd explain one day, she promised herself. But not now. Not when danger still lurked just beyond the rusted fences of the junkyard. Her thumb brushed gently over Jade's silvery hair, and she whispered, almost to herself, "It's okay, little one. We're safe now."
Jade couldn't understand her words completely, but he felt her tension—felt the way her body had stiffened when those men approached, the way her grip had tightened protectively around him. Their gazes had lingered on him far too long, and though he was too young to define it, something about it had made his skin crawl. It wasn't just curiosity—it was possession, hunger, something that stirred instinctive unease deep inside his small chest.
He didn't yet comprehend what it meant to be an Omega, but he knew instinctively that it made him different, and that difference drew the wrong kind of attention. Still, wrapped in Niamh's arms, he found comfort. Safety. Gratitude.
He resolved quietly—childishly, yet with the soul of an adult—that one day, he would be strong enough to protect her the way she protected him. Until then, he would endure. He would grow.
Now, as he nestled closer against her, the rhythm of her heartbeat and the lull of her hum coaxed his heavy eyelids shut. The world faded, but the questions didn't. Even as he drifted into sleep, his mind turned over the strange encounter, storing every detail for the day he would finally understand.
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Five years passed in the blink of an eye.
Jade had grown into a striking little boy. His features refined and exquisite, almost unearthly in their beauty. His thick, silvery-blue hair flowed down his back like strands of moonlight, and his silvery-grey eyes held a depth that seemed far too old for his age. His skin, pale as polished jade, gleamed softly under the light, untouched by grime or sun. There was something ethereal about him, something that made people look twice even when they didn't know why.
Yet for all his delicate grace, there was a quiet strength behind those eyes, a composure that made him seem more observer than child. Niamh saw it every day—the maturity, the silent intelligence that reminded her he wasn't ordinary. Every time she looked at him, pride and fear warred in her chest.
Raising a child like Jade in the slums of Nexus City was like walking a tightrope over a pit of knives. His very existence was a risk. In a place crawling with exploitation, with gangs and predators lurking in every shadow, a vulnerable Omega was a prize, and a curse.
Niamh's anxiety never slept. Each time she remembered those men in the junkyard, the ones who'd looked at Jade as though he were prey, her stomach clenched. There were more like them everywhere: desperate, ruthless souls who would not hesitate to hurt or sell a child for a handful of credits. The weight of that constant threat hung over her like a shadow that never faded.
So, she adapted. She learned to mask the light that made him stand out.
Standing in front of their cracked mirror, Niamh carefully selected plain, tattered clothes from a pile on the floor. Her eyes were sharp, measuring, as if calculating every thread. "The simpler, the better," she muttered. In this world, blending in was the truest form of armor.
She dressed Jade in dull, faded tones, rubbed a bit of dirt on his face, and ruffled his hair until it looked properly unkempt. "There," she said, forcing a smile. "Perfect little beta boy."
In this city, Betas were invisible—too common to be worth a second glance. That invisibility was their shield.
"Alright, kiddo, put these on," Niamh said, holding out a worn shirt and a pair of pants with frayed hems. Her tone was gentle but firm, her expression leaving no room for argument.
Jade nodded, obediently slipping into the clothes. He didn't complain; he understood, even without her explaining. Over the years, he had watched and learned. In the slums, beauty could get you killed faster than hunger.
Niamh tied his long hair back into a messy knot, then smudged another streak of grime along his cheek. Her touch was brisk but full of care, her movements sharp from habit. "Stay sharp," she murmured, her voice dropping low. "Eyes open. Stay close. You know the rules."
"I know," Jade replied softly. His voice carried a calm assurance rare for a child. When their eyes met, something silent passed between them—trust, understanding, an unspoken promise that they would protect each other.
With a nod, Niamh handed him a small canvas bag filled with essentials. Together, they stepped out into the junkyard.
The world outside was a graveyard of steel and ash. The air reeked of rust, oil, and decay, a scent that hit Jade's senses like a blow every time. He wrinkled his nose but said nothing, following Niamh through the labyrinth of scrap and broken machinery.
He moved carefully, his light footsteps soundless over the uneven ground. Even at five, he had the poise of someone far older. Years of scavenging had sharpened his instincts. He could sense weak metal before it collapsed, could spot the glint of useful material amid the trash, and could move through narrow paths without brushing against jagged edges.
He had become her shadow—quiet, observant, dependable.
As they passed a pile of shattered drone parts, something caught his eye. "Niamh," he whispered, tugging at her sleeve, "look."
Following his gaze, she spotted a small cache of intact processors half-buried beneath a collapsed panel. She smiled faintly. "Good eye."
They worked in perfect synchrony. Niamh scavenged efficiently, hands quick and precise. Jade stayed alert, his gaze sweeping the surroundings for movement. A soft hum in the distance made him stiffen.
Engines.
The rhythmic growl of heavy motors rolled through the junkyard like thunder.
Niamh froze. Her eyes darted toward the horizon, calculating. "Stay close," she whispered sharply.
Jade's heart pounded, his small fingers tightening around her hand. He remembered the stories of scavengers caught in the open, of those who didn't come back.
They slipped into the shadows between two towering stacks of scrap, pressing their bodies against the cold metal. The vibrations grew stronger; the air trembled with the sound of grinding treads.
Niamh's grip on Jade's hand was fierce. Her heartbeat was steady, though calm in the face of danger. That steadiness anchored him.
Jade looked up at her, remembering. He'd seen her fear only once, the day he'd lifted a fallen pipe off her when he was three. She had been trapped, breathless, blood pooling beneath her leg, and somehow, he had moved the impossible. And then there was the rat—massive, mutated, snarling. He had raised his hand without thinking, and frost had erupted from his fingertips, freezing the beast mid-leap.
Niamh had been terrified at first. Then grateful. Then resolute. From that day forward, she hid his gift as fiercely as she hid his identity.
Now, crouched behind the crates, Jade could feel her tension. But beneath it was something else—a readiness, an unspoken decision that if danger came too close, she would fight. And if that failed, he would.
The roar of engines drew nearer, clanking metal echoing through the ruins. Niamh's eyes met his, and she offered a small, reassuring nod.
Jade exhaled slowly, his pulse steadying.
If it came to it, he knew what he had to do.
And deep within his mind, the familiar glow of his system began to form, unseen by anyone else but him as he muttered: Status
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