The stories came out slowly at first, then with more shape as he found his footing. He talked about the journey, about the planning that went into it, about the way Charles had handled things most people twice his age would hesitate over. There was a kind of admiration in his voice, not exaggerated, just steady.

Yiannis listened, though his attention drifted more than once. Not away, but back toward Charles. He watched him in small intervals, like he was trying to match what he heard with what he saw.

At one point, Willahelm mentioned it without thinking.

“My master is a Beta,” he said.

The word landed differently.

Yiannis’s expression shifted, not dramatically, but enough to be noticed. He frowned slightly, eyes returning to Charles with a sharper focus. It didn’t seem to fit what he had been sensing, and that discomfort showed in the way he didn’t speak right away.

Charles noticed. He didn’t react.

Yiannis glanced at Willahelm instead. “You’re sure?”

Willahelm straightened a little, as if the question required it. “It was confirmed. By his father’s people, through their rites. And by physicians from his mother’s homeland.” He paused, then added, more plainly, “He doesn’t have a gland.”

Yiannis nodded, but slowly, like he was agreeing to something that didn’t fully convince him. His gaze shifted back to Charles, lingering this time. There was something he couldn’t name, something that didn’t align with what he had been told.

Charles met his eyes for a brief second, then looked away, as if the answer didn’t matter.

But Yiannis kept watching.

The thought stayed with Yiannis longer than he expected. It sat at the back of his mind while he helped around the house, while he listened to his parents speak in quieter tones than usual, while he caught himself glancing at Charles more often than he meant to. Something didn’t line up, and it bothered him in a way he couldn’t explain without sounding foolish.

He already knew how things were supposed to be confirmed. Everyone did. It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t something you did quietly. It meant travel, time, and questions from people who would not stop at the first answer. Seven days at least, maybe ten. There was no way he could suggest that without drawing attention, not now, not with everything already unsettled.

And there was the other problem.

Charles had already been confirmed as a Beta. Properly, thoroughly. That should have ended the question before it even began.

Yiannis pushed a hand through his hair, restless. Next year, he would be expected to choose a mate. It wasn’t just preference. It was responsibility. As the first alpha son, there were expectations tied to his name, his blood, the kind of future he was meant to secure. He had always understood that. He had never questioned it.

The next morning, he left early and headed down the street to a house he knew well enough to enter without knocking, though he did anyway out of habit. The door opened after a moment, revealing Xenophon, who looked half awake but still managed a smile.

“Well. You’re up early,” Xenophon said. “Everything alright?”

“Can I come in?” Yiannis asked.

“Yeah, of course. You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t.”

Xenophon stepped aside, letting him in without pressing further. They moved into the main room, and Yiannis didn’t bother sitting properly. He stayed on his feet for a second, then leaned against the table as if that would make the words come easier.

“You know anything,” he started, then stopped and tried again, “about confirming a mate. Any other way.”

Xenophon blinked at him, then frowned slightly. “Other than the usual?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Xenophon said after a pause. “Not really.”

Yiannis exhaled, slow and frustrated. “You’re from a family of historians. You read everything. There has to be something.”

Xenophon shrugged one shoulder, not dismissive, just honest. “I’ve read a lot. Local records, older texts, some foreign ones my grandmother keeps locked away. But nothing that changes the process.” He tilted his head, thinking. “There’s that sunlight theory. I told you about it once.”

Yiannis looked up. “The one with the mountain.”

“Yeah. That one.” Xenophon gave a short breath that might have been a laugh. “But that’s not really a theory. It’s just… going there. Same place people go when they already know.”

He studied Yiannis for a second longer, then added, “What are you up to?”

Yiannis didn’t answer that. He didn’t have a clean way to explain it, not without sounding like he’d already decided something he shouldn’t have.

Before the silence stretched too far, Xenophon snapped his fingers lightly, as if catching a thought before it slipped. “Wait. There was someone. Not exactly official.” He squinted, trying to pull the name back. “A physician. Or… he says he is. Lives out in the woods. Bit strange.”

Yiannis looked at him. “Who?”

“Ariston,” Xenophon said, the name landing with more certainty. “People go to him when they don’t want the usual answers.”

Yiannis hesitated. “The hermit?”

“That’s the one.”

They didn’t talk much after that. There wasn’t much to say once the decision settled in. By midday, they were already on the path leading out of town, carrying what they knew Ariston would accept. Not money. Never money. Food, tools, things that could be used.

The place was exactly where people said it would be. Far enough to discourage casual visits, close enough that those who needed it could still find their way. The structure itself looked like it had been built without care for appearance, only function.

Ariston was outside when they arrived.

He didn’t greet them. He didn’t ask why they were there. He looked at what they carried first, then at them, his expression unreadable in a way that made Yiannis uneasy.

“You brought enough,” Ariston said finally. “So speak.”

Yiannis did. Not all of it, not the parts he couldn’t explain without exposing too much, but enough. He spoke about uncertainty, about confirmation, about something that didn’t align with what should have been clear.

Ariston listened without interruption. His gaze stayed fixed on Yiannis, sharp and steady, like he was measuring something beyond the words.

Ariston tilted his head slightly. “You’re from the Benizelos family, aren’t you.”

Yiannis nodded once.

Ariston let out a breath, something close to disbelief. “Hyper dominant lineage,” he said, almost to himself. Then he looked at Yiannis again, more directly this time. “And no one told you.”

“Told me what,” Yiannis asked.

Ariston’s expression shifted, not softer, but clearer. “Your great grandfather,” he said. “He found his true mate after your grandfather was already born.”

For a second, Yiannis didn’t react. Not because he didn’t understand, but because understanding came too quickly. Beside him, Xenophon went still in the same way, the two of them caught in the same moment of realization.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

Or at least, that wasn’t how they had been taught.

Yiannis swallowed, the question forming before he could stop it. “That’s… possible?”

Ariston looked at him like the answer should have been obvious.

Ariston didn’t rush into it. He lowered himself onto a worn stool, bones settling like they had carried too many years, and looked at Yiannis with a kind of patience that didn’t feel gentle so much as inevitable.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m old. Older than you think. I knew your great grandfather.”

Yiannis didn’t interrupt. Something in Ariston’s tone made it clear this wasn’t a story told for comfort.

“He married young,” Ariston continued. “A dominant omega. Strong match. Proper in every way people care about. They went through most of the process. Everything but the last step.” He paused, glancing between the two boys. “No bite. No binding of glands. They both agreed to it. Said it was respect. Said it was enough.”

Xenophon shifted slightly, but said nothing.

“They had children,” Ariston went on. “Your grandfather was five when it happened. There was another child already. A good household. Stable. Nothing missing, at least from the outside.”

He let that settle before continuing.

“Then he met Nikos.”

The name came out quieter.

“Nikos was a traveling merchant. Kept to himself. Moved from place to place without leaving much behind. He hid what he was. Not because he had to, but because no one ever thought to ask. He barely carried a scent. People took one look and decided he was a Beta. That was enough for them.”

Ariston leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed now.

“But your great grandfather didn’t need to ask. He knew the moment he saw him.”

Yiannis felt something tighten in his chest, though he couldn’t say why.

“They didn’t speak,” Ariston said. “Not at first. Not really after either. Just… distance. A look here, a glance there. Enough to confirm it without breaking anything open.”

“And Nikos?” Yiannis asked, his voice quieter than before.

Ariston exhaled slowly. “At first, he was happy. You can’t hide that kind of thing from yourself. Finding a mate… it changes something. Even if you try to ignore it.”

He paused, then added, “Then he found out the truth.”

No one needed to ask what that meant.

“He learned your great grandfather had a family. A wife. Children. A life already built.” Ariston’s eyes lowered for a moment, then lifted again. “It broke him.”

The words didn’t come out dramatic. They didn’t need to.

“He left that same night. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t leave a message. Just… gone.”

Yiannis swallowed, his hands curling slightly at his sides.

“And your great grandfather,” Ariston continued, “he stayed. Where else was he going to go. He had made his choices long before Nikos appeared. That didn’t stop it from tearing through him anyway.”

There was a brief silence.

“He came to me after a month,” Ariston said. “Told me everything. Not like a man confessing, more like someone trying to understand what had already happened. He kept saying he had no right to even look at another omega. That it felt like betrayal just to recognize it.”

Xenophon shifted again, this time more visibly.

“I had heard something around that time,” Ariston went on. “Rumors. An omega, traveling, no family nearby. Died suddenly. People said it was illness. Others said it was… something else. A heart that gave out for no clear reason.”

Yiannis’s breath caught slightly.

“I didn’t say anything at first,” Ariston admitted. “I didn’t have proof. And what good would it do him to hear it without certainty.” He let out a short breath. “But he looked at me and knew I was holding something back. Asked me directly.”

“And you told him,” Yiannis said.

“I tried not to,” Ariston replied. “I said we would go together. That I would speak, not him. That he had to stay out of sight. His name, his family… those things mattered. More than he wanted them to, at least.”

Ariston’s voice dropped a little, not softer, but heavier.

“By the time we got there, it had already been three days.”

No one spoke.

“They were burying him,” Ariston said. “We didn’t need to ask. Your great grandfather knew the moment we got close. He couldn’t even see the body, and he still knew.”

Yiannis looked down, his jaw tightening.

“I went ahead,” Ariston continued. “Asked the people there. Confirmed the name. Nikos.” He paused. “When I came back, he was already… gone in a way I hadn’t seen before. Still standing. Still breathing. But something in him had already ended.”

The room felt smaller.

“He cried,” Ariston said simply. “Not loud. Not for long. Just enough to know it was real.”

Xenophon looked away.

“We returned,” Ariston went on. “He put himself back together. Acted like nothing had happened. Spoke the same, moved the same. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t question it.”

He shook his head once.

“It lasted a day.”

Yiannis’s eyes lifted.

“He collapsed without warning,” Ariston said. “No wound. No illness anyone could name. Just… a body that stopped holding itself up. The physicians came. Checked everything. Couldn’t explain it. Said he was strong. Said there was no reason for it.”

Ariston’s gaze shifted, softer now in a way that felt more distant.

“Your great grandmother came to me,” he said. “She knew something was wrong beyond what they were saying. Asked me what had happened. Asked me to tell her the truth.”

“And you did,” Yiannis said.

Ariston nodded once. “She cried. Not like she was angry. Not like she felt betrayed. She understood more than I expected her to.”

He rested his hands against his knees, fingers still.

“They never took the final step,” he said. “Not because they couldn’t. Because they chose not to. They both knew, in their own way, that what they had was built on something else. Something steady. Something chosen. Not… this.”

The silence stretched again.

“He kept apologizing to her,” Ariston added. “Even when he could barely speak. Over and over. Like that was the only thing he had left to give.”

Yiannis felt the weight of it settle in a place he hadn’t prepared for.

“He didn’t last long after that,” Ariston said. “A strong alpha, gone without a clear cause. That’s what people said.”

He looked at Yiannis, steady and certain.

“But I knew. He died from something no one there could see.”

Yiannis didn’t move.

Ariston leaned back slightly, the story finished but not released.

“That’s why you never met him,” he said. “Not because of time.”

He let the words land.

“Because some things end a man long before his body follows.”