The transition from life to death was supposed to be a quiet slip into the void, or perhaps a blinding light.
For Gary Goffer, it was the metallic tang of blood in his throat and the deafening crack of a silver-plated revolver.
He remembered the silk sheets of his penthouse—sheets he'd bought with the money earned from years of playing the perfect companion—soaked in a crimson that matched the vengeful wife's lipstick.
He remembered the look on his "single" lover's face: not grief, but the panicked calculation of a man whose reputation was crumbling.
Then, the world went black.
When Gary's eyes snapped open, the first thing he felt wasn't pain. It was a scent.
It was the smell of damp earth after a thunderstorm, mingled with the sharp, medicinal sting of crushed herbs. He wasn't lying on his Egyptian cotton; he was submerged in a bed of moss-green velvet so deep it felt like a grave. Above him, a canopy of carved dark wood depicted intertwining vines that seemed to pulse with a faint, bioluminescent light.
"Your Highness? Oh, praise the Ancestors! Your Highness is awake!"
Gary bolted upright, but his limbs felt heavy, uncoordinated. His vision blurred, then snapped into focus on a young man kneeling by the bedside.
The boy wore a tunic of stiff grey linen with a crest—a stylized lightning bolt striking a mountain—embroidered on his chest.
"Highness?" Gary croaked.
His voice was different. It was higher, melodic, like a well-tuned cello, yet raspy from disuse.
"You collapsed, Prince Consort! The Royal Physician said your core was stagnant, that the grief of Prince George's departure for the Western Front had overwhelmed your humors."
The boy was trembling, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch Gary.
Gary didn't answer. He was staring at his own hands. They were pale, translucent almost, with long, elegant fingers that had never known a day of hard labor. On his ring finger sat a heavy band of jade encased in white gold.
A sudden, violent surge of information flooded his brain—a sensory overload of a life he hadn't lived.
He was in the Levicious Empire.
He was Levi Gray, the third son of a minor Duke, sold—no, "gifted"—to the Imperial Family because he was a Wood-type Omega.
The Prophecy: "When the Jade Branch entwines with the Silver Bolt, the scorched earth shall turn to gold."
The Empire was a land of harsh extremes. The Royal Family, the Grants, were Alphas of Lightning and Storm, powerful but destructive. For generations, the land had been hardening, the soil turning to flint, the crops failing under the weight of perpetual magical storms. The prophecy promised that a Wood-type Omega—a rarity in a world dominated by Fire and Earth—could ground that lightning and heal the soil.
But the "original" Levi Gray had been a disaster.
Terrified of his husband's volatile Lightning temper and resentful of being treated like a glorified fertilizer, Levi had shut himself away. He refused to study the elemental arts. He neglected the court. He spent his days weeping in the North Wing, becoming a symbol of disappointment for an Empire that was slowly starving.
I've gone from being a high-end escort to a high-end vegetable, Gary thought, a hysterical bubble of laughter rising in his chest. At least in my old life, I got paid to be ignored.
"Water," Gary—now Levi—managed to say.
The servant scrambled to fetch a crystal carafe. Levi drank deeply, the cold liquid clearing the fog in his mind. He looked around the room. It was a gilded cage. Beautiful, expensive, and utterly lifeless.
"What is your name?" Levi asked, handing the glass back.
The boy blinked, looking terrified.
"It... it is Theo, Your Highness. I have been your personal attendant since the wedding two years ago."
"Two years," Levi murmured. "And in those two years, have I ever left this wing?"
Theo looked at the floor.
"Only for the Wedding Rites and the New Year's Sacrifice, Highness. You... you said the air outside felt like needles on your skin."
Levi sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He felt a strange thrumming in his veins. It was the "Wood" element—a dormant power that felt like a coiled spring made of ivy.
In his past life, Gary had survived by reading people, by adapting his personality to fit the desires of the rich and powerful. He was a chameleon. If this world wanted a Prince Consort who could bring prosperity, he would give them one. But he wasn't going to do it while being treated like a shut-in.
"Theo, bring me something that isn't white or grey. And find me a mirror."
The man in the mirror was hauntingly beautiful. Levi Gray had large, almond-shaped eyes the color of forest glass and hair that felt like spun silk, a shade of green so dark it looked black until the light hit it. He was slender, built with the delicate grace of a willow tree.
But his scent—the pheromones of an Omega—was faint. Sour. It smelled of stagnant water and neglected soil.
"No wonder the Prince hates me,"
Levi muttered, touching his throat.
"I smell like a swamp."
"The Prince does not hate you, Highness!" Theo squeaked, though his eyes said otherwise.
"He is merely... busy. The Western Provinces are experiencing a drought. The Lightning Alphas are trying to force rain, but without a Wood catalyst to hold the moisture in the ground, it just washes away the topsoil."
"And I've been sitting here crying for two years while the world burns," Levi finished.
He turned away from the mirror, his gaze sharpening.
"Where is he? My husband."
"He is in the War Room, Highness. He leaves for the front in an hour. He came to see you while you were unconscious, but..."
"But?"
"He told the guards that if you woke up, they were to tell you not to bother coming to the gates. He said he couldn't bear another 'fainting spell' or a lecture on how cold the palace floors are."
Levi felt a spark of genuine Gary-like irritation. Oh, honey, you haven't seen a dramatic performance yet.
"Dress me," Levi commanded.
"The deep emerald robes. The ones with the gold embroidery. And Theo? Put some color in my face. I look like a ghost, and I have a husband to 'negotiate' with."
The War Room of the Levicious Empire was a cavernous hall of black stone, dominated by a holographic map of the continent that flickered with blue lightning.
The guards at the door leveled their spears as Levi approached.
"Stand aside," Levi said.
He didn't shout. He used the "Client Voice"—the low, velvety tone Gary used when a billionaire was getting unruly and needed to be reminded who was actually in control of the room.
The guards hesitated. This wasn't the trembling, weeping Consort they knew. This man stood with his spine like an iron rod, his scent beginning to bloom—not stagnant anymore, but beginning to smell of fresh pine and sharp mint.
"The Prince Consort is to remain in the North Wing," one guard grunted, though his hand shook.
"The Prince Consort is the husband of your Sovereign and the key to your prophecy," Levi replied, stepping close enough that the guard could smell the sudden, aggressive shift in his pheromones.
"If you don't move, I will tell the Prince you laid hands on an Omega. Do you think his Lightning is as cold as my Wood?"
The spears lifted. Levi swept past them.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and scorched metal. A dozen high-ranking Alphas stood around the map, their voices a low rumble of strategy and frustration. At the head of the table stood a man who seemed to swallow the light in the room.
Prince George Grant.
He was taller than Gary's previous lovers, his shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of an empire. His silver hair was pulled back in a severe warrior's knot, and his eyes—piercing, electric blue—were currently fixed on a map of a dying province.
"If the Earth-types can't stabilize the trenches, the Lightning will just shatter the bedrock," George growled.
"We need—"
He stopped. His head snapped toward the door, his nostrils flaring.
The room went silent. A dozen Alpha generals turned to stare at the man in emerald green standing in the doorway.
"Levi?" George's voice was like a low roll of thunder.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were 'incapacitated' by the sheer effort of existing."
The generals chuckled, but Levi didn't flinch. He walked forward, the silk of his robes hissing against the stone floor. He stopped three feet from George, well within the Prince's personal space. The Alpha's scent hit him—heavy, dark, and dangerously magnetic. It made Levi's knees weak, but he pushed through it.
"I've had a change of heart, George," Levi said, his voice carrying to every corner of the room.
George's eyes narrowed.
"A change of heart? Or did you just run out of tea in the North Wing?"
"I heard the West is starving," Levi continued, ignoring the jab. "I heard that my husband is going to a war he can't win because his 'Jade Branch' is too busy playing the martyr."
George took a step forward, his height looming over Levi. A faint crackle of blue electricity danced over his collar.
"Careful, Levi. I am in no mood for your sarcasm. I have an Empire to save."
"Then let me save it with you."
The silence that followed was absolute.
George let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
"You? You haven't grown so much as a blade of grass in two years. You claim the Wood element 'hurts' your sensitive constitution. You haven't even performed the Binding of the Elements since our wedding night—a night you spent locked in the bathroom."
Levi leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that only George could hear.
"That Levi died this morning, George. The man standing in front of you knows exactly what it's like to work for his keep. You want your prophecy? Do you want prosperity?"
Levi reached out—a bold, forbidden move—and grabbed George by his leather lapels. He pulled the Prince down until they were inches apart.
"I will give you everything this Empire needs," Levi hissed.
"I will turn your deserts into orchards. I will ground your storms. But I am done being your prisoner. From now on, I am your partner. I want access to the Royal Treasury, a seat on the Council, and I want you to look at me when I'm talking to you, not like I'm a disappointment, but like I'm the only thing keeping your crown on your head."
George's pupils dilated.
The Lightning around him flared, then settled into a low, rhythmic hum. For the first time, he wasn't looking through Levi; he was looking at him.
He smelled the Omega's scent—it was changing, sharpening into something intoxicating and fierce.
"And if I refuse?" George asked, his voice thick.
Levi smiled. It was the smile Gary used when he knew he'd already won the contract.
"Then you can go to the West and watch your soldiers die in the dust. And when you come back, you'll find that the 'Jade Branch' has finally snapped. Choose wisely, Alpha."
George stared at him for a long, agonizing minute. Then, he turned to his generals.
"Clear the room," he commanded.
"But, Your Highness, the departure—"
"CLEAR THE ROOM!"
The generals scrambled out, leaving the Prince and his Consort alone in the heart of the storm. George turned back to Levi, his expression unreadable.
"Who are you?" George whispered. "Because you aren't the man I married."
Levi straightened his robes, his eyes glowing with a faint, verdant light.
"Consider me a version 2.0. Now, about that drought... shall we talk business?"