Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He died alone, in a world that barely remembered he existed.

It wasn’t dramatic—no car crash, no bullet, no blaze of glory. Just the slow, sinking weight of an illness that wore him down, cell by cell, breath by breath. He didn’t even realize it was the end until the hospital lights blurred into soft, trembling stars and the machines started to fade to silence.

There was no one there to cry for him. No hand to hold. Just the cold, beeping void.

And then... nothing.

No tunnel of light. No past-life review. Just stillness. Endless, quiet stillness. He thought that was it. Maybe it should have been.

But something—someone—was calling him back.

A voice, soft and low. A presence, warm and aching with love. He felt it before he saw anything. Arms around him. A heartbeat against his ear. The scent of home.

Then breath returned—not a human breath, not the rough, heavy gasp he’d known before, but something softer. Lighter. His lungs filled easily. The air smelled sweet.

His eyes fluttered open.

Everything was strange.

The light above him was filtered through warm colors. A golden hue washed the room, not sterile white like the hospital, but soft and comforting. The ceiling curved upward into unfamiliar architecture, and the walls pulsed faintly with life.

And the woman holding him—no, not a woman exactly—had fur. Pale lilac fur, gentle eyes, and a glowing smile as tears streamed down her face.

"Welcome to the world, my little star," she whispered, voice trembling. "My beautiful baby boy. My sweet Chris."

Chris?

He blinked, instinctively reaching for something—anything—that made sense. But the hands he moved weren’t the ones he remembered. Smaller. Softer. Covered in white fur.

Panic rose like bile in his throat. He wanted to scream, to ask what was happening, but his mouth couldn’t form the words. It was like trying to speak through cotton. His limbs were foreign. Everything was new.

And yet… the warmth of that voice. The way she held him close. It calmed the storm in his mind.

He didn’t know how, or why, or what he had become, but one truth settled into his bones as surely as the name now wrapped around his soul:

Liam was dead.

Chris was born.

And fate… fate was just getting started.

Mobius was… beautiful.

Even as a child, Chris knew it. The skies here were bluer than anything he'd ever seen on Earth. The air was cleaner, the plants more vivid, and even the birdsong felt like something from a dream.

His new family lived just outside a peaceful Mobian city—far from the chaos of the heroes and villains that made headlines. It was quiet, warm, and filled with a kind of love he’d only ever dreamed of in his past life.

His mother, Lyra, was gentle but firm. A telekinetic fox with lavender fur and soft, wise eyes. His father, Darius, was a quiet Alpha hedgehog with storm-grey quills and a voice like deep river stones. He didn’t speak much, but when he held Chris, there was no fear. Just safety.

Chris grew up fast. Too fast.

Not physically—his body aged like any other Mobian child—but inside, he remembered everything. Earth. Hospitals. Loneliness. Being Liam. It lingered like a ghost in his chest.

But he never told anyone.

How could he?

Instead, he learned to smile. To laugh. To live.

And sometimes, when no one was looking, he sang.

It started as humming. Quiet, secret melodies that slipped out when he was alone. Then full songs, stolen from Earth’s memories—R&B hooks, soft ballads, things no one here had ever heard. And oh, how they came alive in his voice. He sang under trees, in the bath, in bed. At first, he didn’t realize anyone was listening.

But one evening, after dinner, his mother placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Chris... where did you learn to sing like that?”

He hesitated. Then lied. “I don’t know. It just… comes out.”

She smiled, but there was a flicker in her eyes. Something knowing. Something curious.

The first time Chris realized he was different—really, truly different—was when the other kids in the village started presenting.

It was subtle at first. A scent shift. A behavioral twitch. Teachers quietly pulling students aside. Whispers of “Alpha” and “Beta” and “Omega.”

Chris didn’t know what any of it meant. Not really.

But he knew what it felt like to be watched.

People looked at him differently. Too long. Too intensely.

Even adults.

By the time he was ten, he’d heard the word whispered behind his back.

“Is that the boy?”
“They say he’s not just an Omega—he’s a Queen.”
“That’s impossible. They haven’t had a Queen in over thirty years.”
“But did you smell him? He’s dangerous.”

Chris didn’t feel dangerous. He just felt... confused. Awkward. Lonely again.

Lyra sat him down one night. She told him about dynamics. About the biology that shaped Mobian society in ways Liam never could’ve imagined. Alphas. Betas. Omegas. And rarer still, the Queen Omegas.

“You don’t have to be afraid of what you are,” she said softly, brushing his thick white quills behind his ears. “You’re more than your designation, Chris. You’re loved. Always.”

“But what does it mean?” he asked. “Being a Queen?”

She paused.

“It means… one day, people will want you. Need you. Your scent. Your voice. Your presence. It means your body will do things you won’t understand right away. And it means fate might have already chosen someone—or someones—to belong to you.”

Chris felt his stomach twist.

He wasn’t ready to belong to anyone.

Especially not in that way.

Still, the years passed.

He grew into his body. Slim, tall, soft-featured but undeniably beautiful. His voice deepened and became something otherworldly. A perfect mix of silk and smoke. His scent—though he tried to hide it—only got stronger. Addictive, some called it.

By fifteen, he wasn’t just the strange, beautiful boy anymore.

He was CT the Prince.

His stage name caught fire faster than he'd ever dreamed. A voice that could melt steel. A face that made hearts race. Even his heats began to sync with the moon cycle—regular, intense, dangerous if left alone.

There were whispers in the music industry. Rumors. Offers. Obsession.

But he kept his distance. He didn’t want a mate. Didn’t want the drama of Alpha attention. He wanted music, freedom, peace.

So when fate brought Sonic, Shadow, and Silver into his life…

Chris did the only logical thing he could think of.

He panicked.

And ran.

Chapter Text

Chris never meant to be heard.

Not by them, anyway.

He sang because it helped. Because the melodies drowned out the memories of Liam—of sterile hospital beds, quiet deaths, and Earth’s hollow, grey skies. Here, on Mobius, the world felt. He could breathe. And when he sang, it was like his soul remembered how to dance.

He thought the woods were safe.

He always came to this clearing just outside the city, where wildflowers grew between tree roots and the wind carried his voice to no one but the stars. A perfect, secret stage. He never saw the fox standing at the edge of the trees that day, notebook in hand, heart racing.

Until she stepped out of the shadows.

“You,” she said, breathless. “You’re the voice I’ve been looking for.”

Chris froze.

He was sixteen. Too young, too guarded, and too used to hiding behind the walls his scent and designation built around him. Most people backed away when they got too close—overwhelmed by his Queen pheromones or afraid of what he might become. But this woman didn’t flinch.

“I’m Rue,” she said quickly, stepping forward. Her fur was caramel-gold, her eyes sharp behind tinted glasses. “I run a small label downtown. I’ve been scouting talent for months, but you—Chris, right?—your voice is rare. It does something I can’t explain.”

Chris swallowed. “It’s just... singing.”

She tilted her head. “No. It’s alchemy. You bend the air when you sing. You could own a stage.”

He wanted to say no.

He really did.

He didn't want fame. Attention. More people whispering about his scent, about how his heats would hit, about whether he’d end up with some high-profile Alpha crawling into his bed.

But Rue didn’t look at him like a Queen Omega.

She looked at him like an artist.

**Play Song**

The first time he stepped into the studio, Chris almost turned around and left.

It smelled like old coffee, tech grease, and too many unspoken dreams. The mic stood like a monolith in the center of the booth, and behind the glass, Rue sat with her team—two Betas, one Alpha, all looking at him with cautious curiosity.

“Whenever you’re ready,” came Rue’s voice over the speaker.

He closed his eyes.

And let go.

The song that poured from him was one he'd written. It was instinctual. New. Maybe something buried deep in the blood of who he was now. The room went still. Even the Alpha in the sound booth looked stunned, jaw slack.

When the final note fell away, no one moved.

Then Rue pressed a button and whispered, “Holy shit.”

The rise of CT the Prince happened faster than anyone expected.

Chris chose the name on a whim—C for Chris, T for his middle name (Tallis), and “the Prince” because Rue told him he carried himself like royalty even in hoodies and ripped jeans.

His first single dropped two months later.

It shattered local records.

By seventeen, his scent was being bottled by perfume brands. Fans wrote songs about his songs. Magazine covers, interviews, sold-out showcases. No one cared that he was a Queen Omega—they cared that when he sang, they felt everything.

Desire. Grief. Hunger. Longing. Love.

He made the world ache with three notes and a glance.

Still, Chris remained distant.

He never accepted dates. Ignored flirty messages. Never responded to the heat-drenched fan mail that arrived in boxes. He wore scent blockers most days, but even then, people looked. Alphas stared too long. Betas flushed and stammered. He wasn’t trying to seduce anyone, but his body spoke a language older than words.

Rue shielded him the best she could.

“No parties,” she told producers. “No scent-trap PR stunts. No ‘heat-bait’ album promos.”

She didn’t treat him like a tool. She protected the art and the artist.

Chris stayed behind layers of stage persona and lyrics that let him feel without confessing too much.

But some part of him knew it wouldn’t last.

Because fame attracts attention.

And true mates can feel each other even from a distance.

**Second song**

The lights in the recording studio were low, humming violet and blue across chrome panels and brushed steel.

Chris adjusted the headphones over his ears, closing his eyes as the opening beat dropped—clean, sharp, and pulsing with synths. It was new. Raw. A prototype track built from his own voice, woven through digital layers, K-pop in structure but uniquely Mobian in soul.

Rue sat just beyond the glass, nodding along, chewing the end of her pen. “You’re on,” she said over the intercom. “Let it ride.”

Chris didn’t respond.

He felt it.

The beat slithered through his chest like wildfire. He didn’t just hear the music—he was the music. It wrapped around his spine, curled into his stomach, and set something ancient and sensual aflame. His body moved before his mind caught up—shoulders rolling, hips dipping, dancing with restrained hunger even inside the tiny space of the booth.

Then he sang.

“We carved our names on that old oak tree,
Said we'd come back, just you wait and see.
Now I pass by, the bark's grown thick,
Feels like time played its cruel trick."

His voice dripped with emotion, layered with falsetto and quiet growls—sweet honey one second, velvet smoke the next. It wasn’t just singing. It was a performance, even in isolation.

Rue pressed the talk button. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. Run the hook again—this time push the emotion harder. Lean into the ache.”

He went again, voice breaking on purpose now. Not from pain—but from pressure. From years of silence. Of wanting. Of waking up in a body the world said was powerful and precious but made him feel like he was always on the edge of unraveling.

"울 때까지 웃던 밤 기억나?
내가 숨으려 할 때 눈물을 닦아주었지.
우린 황금빛이라고 생각했지만, 이제 진실이 드러났지.
모든 미소가 사라지고, 젊음에 푹 빠져버렸어."

By the time the bridge hit, Rue stood with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.

The last take came straight from his gut:

"이제 별은 밝게 빛나지만, 너무 어둡게 느껴져요.
이 질문을 마음속에 묻어두고 간직할게요.
Was I enough, was it just a façade?
아니면 잃어버린 사랑 노래, 다음 구절은 어디에 있을까, God?"

Silence fell when the music cut.

Chris’s chest heaved, the final note still hanging in the air like steam on glass.

He let out a shaky breath, blinking through sweat. His scent was thick in the booth now. Sweet. Magnetic. The kind of scent that made Alphas forget their names. Rue immediately kicked on the filtration fan.

“Jesus, Chris…” she murmured over the intercom. “That’s not a single. That’s an anthem.”

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. “You think they’ll get it?”

“They’ll feel it.” Her voice softened. “Even if they don’t understand it.”

When he stepped out of the booth, his assistant, Jun—an excitable Beta rabbit—was already fanning herself, nose twitching like she’d just run a mile.

“CT, that track’s gonna break hearts,” she said. “I could feel the heat in the bridge. Were you—were you going through a pre-heat?”

Chris froze. “What?”

“You know, your scent's spiking. Not full-on, but…” Her ears lowered. “You okay?”

He forced a smile. “I’m fine. It’s just the song.”

But he wasn’t fine.

He felt off—like something inside him was stirring. Something deep and territorial. Something that ached to be seen. To be claimed.

Chris turned away, pretending to scroll through notes on the console screen, his fingers trembling slightly.

The booth still smelled like him.

He could taste it in the air.

Something was coming.

He didn’t know who.

He didn’t know when.

But every part of his Queen Omega instincts whispered the same truth:

You’re being watched. And when they find you, they won’t let you go.

Chapter Text

The packet arrived on a Tuesday.
Rue dropped it on the kitchen island of Chris’s new apartment—penthouse, city-view, all glass and chrome and scent-filtered air—without ceremony.
“Read it,” she said. “All of it. Then burn it if you want. But you need to know what you’re walking into.”
Chris stared at the seal: a silver crest of Mobius, stamped over the words QUEEN OMEGA REGISTRY – RESTRICTED.
He hadn’t asked to be registered. He hadn’t asked for any of this.
Rue left him alone with the folder and a mug of chamomile that smelled faintly of suppressants.
He opened it.

MOBIUS DYNAMIC CLASSIFICATION ACT
Amended Year 2147, Post-ARK Incident
SECTION I: ALPHA

Instinctual hierarchy: Dominant.
Physiological markers: Heightened muscle density, knot formation during rut, pheromone potency capable of inducing omega heat within 48 hours of sustained exposure.
Legal privileges: Right to challenge for custody of unbonded omegas in cases of proven neglect. Right to carry concealed scent-markers in public.
Legal restrictions: Mandatory rut-suppressant registry. No induction of heat without omega consent (5-year minimum, 20-year maximum if non-consensual).

SECTION II: BETA

Neutral. No mating cycles. No scent potency.
Legal standing: Full citizenship, no restrictions.

SECTION III: OMEGA

Instinctual hierarchy: Receptive.
Physiological markers: Monthly heat (3–7 days), slick production, scent-gland sensitivity, nesting behavior.
Legal protections:

Scent-blockers subsidized by state.
Mandatory safe-house access during heat.
Assault on an omega: 7–25 years.
Intentional harm resulting in heat-death: Capital.

SECTION IV: QUEEN OMEGA

Rarity: 1 in 4.7 million.
Physiological markers:

Poly-bond capable (2–4 mates, genetically predetermined).
Scent manipulation: Can pacify or enrage within 50-meter radius.
Heat cycle: Lunar-sync, 9–11 days, fertility window 72 hours.
Pheromone resonance: Can trigger rut in any alpha within 1 km if unmedicated.

Legal protections:

State-funded security detail (optional).
Bonding without consent: Life sentence, no parole.
Forced severance of bond: Only by Royal Healer decree, risk of psychic rupture to Queen.
Public disclosure of identity: Illegal without Queen’s written consent.

SECTION V: MATING BONDS

Formation: Mutual bite to scent gland. Venom exchange.
Effects:

Empathic tether (location, emotional bleed).
Scent-lock (Queen’s scent becomes keyed to mate(s) only).
Severance: Surgical, 40% mortality rate for Queen.

Chris closed the folder.
His hands were shaking.
He’d known the basics. Lyra had told him in soft voices, late at night. But seeing it in black and white—clinical, legal, final—made his stomach lurch.
He was property with a pulse.
Rue came back an hour later. She found him on the balcony, city lights flickering across his white fur like static.
“You okay?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m a walking felony waiting to happen.”
She leaned against the railing. “You’re also the reason half the alphas in this city are on double suppressants. You’re not the danger, Chris. You’re the reason the laws exist.”
He laughed, bitter. “Great. I’m a national security risk.”
Rue didn’t smile. “You’re seventeen. You’re allowed to be scared. But you need to know the rules before you break them.”
He turned to her. “And if I don’t want any of this? The bonds. The mates. The—” He gestured vaguely at his throat, his hips, his everything. “—this?”
“Then you don’t take them,” she said simply. “Queens can reject. It’s rare. It’s painful. It can kill you if the bond’s already forming. But it’s your right.”
Chris looked out over the city. Somewhere down there, three alphas were breathing the same air he was. He didn’t know their names yet. Didn’t want to. But he could feel them—like static under his skin, like a song he hadn’t written yet.
He closed his eyes.
“Rue?”
“Yeah?”
“If I run… how far do I have to go?”
She was quiet for a long time.
“Nowhere,” she said finally. “They’ll find you. Not because they’re cruel. Because they can’t not.”
Chris swallowed.
Below, a news ticker scrolled across a skyscraper:
CT THE PRINCE – SOLD OUT IN 3 MINUTES. QUEEN OMEGA RUMORS CONFIRMED?
He turned away from the city.
“Then I guess I’d better learn how to fight,” he whispered.
Rue smiled, small and sharp.
“Good. Because the first rule of being a Queen isn’t in that folder.”
She tapped his chest, right over his heart.
“It’s this: You don’t just survive the bond. You write it.”

Later that night, Chris stood in front of the mirror.
He was shirtless, scent-blockers off for the first time in weeks. The air in the bathroom was thick with him—sweet, heady, dangerous. His scent glands pulsed faintly under his fur, just below his collarbones. Two small, raised nodes. Virgin. Unmarked.
He pressed a finger to one.
It burned.
Not pain.
Want.
He jerked his hand away like he’d been shocked.
In the reflection, his eyes glowed faintly—Queen gold, Lyra had called it. A color that only showed when his instincts were close to the surface.
He leaned closer.
“Listen to me,” he told his reflection. “You don’t get to choose them. But you do get to choose how this goes. You hear me?”
The mirror didn’t answer.
But the air did.
A low, distant rumble—like thunder over the ocean.
Or three heartbeats, syncing from miles away.
Chris’s knees buckled.
He caught himself on the sink, breath ragged.
They’re coming.
He didn’t know how he knew.
He just did.