Chapter 1

The day had dawned gray and dreary. A constant drizzle had been their companion for weeks now as it had become fall and in the kingdom of Redania, fall came with rain. Worse than that, it came with mizzle and the occasional storm. Not that Geralt could not deal with those circumstances – after all, he had faced worse – but it did not improve the Witcher's mood. Mainly due to Dandelion's constant complaining about it.

Still, as Geralt made his way through Oxenfurt, he understood the sentiment. The cold water was accompanied by a harsh wind that whipped through the streets. It whipped the warmth right out of any creature. The streets were deserted as a result. Houses were boarded up, letting through only the sounds of merriment and warm candle light. In the air hung the deep smell of chimney smoke and prepared foods, though it was not yet time to sup. In fact, the inn was quiet and the market square was deserted; the few stalls that were set up had started packing.

As Geralt picked his way through the streets, he watched a merchant stumble on the slippery cobblestones. The day was tricky like that. Yet the merchant had not worried about the falling nearly as much as the sight of Geralt. The portly Beta man had paused, reeking of ashen fear and citrusy panic.

It was a difficult contradiction for any Witcher, being in a city. While Geralt appreciated the presence of ale and comfortable sleeping that they harbored, there was the unmistakable disadvantage of their prejudice. While travelling, the fighter had found that lengthy stays in towns had always backfired on him as a result of it.

Even now, while the warrior pulled his hood further down over his face as he led Roach, he could hear the man warn his help as he passed. Thankfully, that was all. Another side effect of the rain, Geralt supposed; less people to notice him.

Eluding them at all, however, would be impossible. He would be staying here for longer than he usually liked to stay in a city. He and Dandelion had received word from Shani about trouble at the Academy. At her wit's end, she had decided to reach out to Geralt via magical means. Naturally, the Witcher could not leave her hanging, considering their history together.

Delighted, Dandelion had sent word to prepare the guest quarters in Oxenfurt Academy and would hear none of Geralt's grumbling about sleeping on farmland nearby. The university was open-minded, the poet argued, and they would be able to sleep normally without paying coin. There was nothing the Witcher could counter with that made sense.

Nothing but the truth.

Because the truth was, Geralt was not just aware of the negative reaction of humans to him. The truth was, the warrior did not want to stay on the Academy grounds because it was a school.

And that meant it was Alpha and Beta territory.

Admittedly, Geralt had learned to withstand Alpha voices in his years of training. The man had learned to live with the pang of being a disappointment and had conquered his need to help Lambert and Eskel wherever possible. Long since had he learned to make peace with the fact that he would never be feeling wholly comfortable in his body. It did not matter to him anymore. He did not need to be good enough, after all. He needed to protect and serve, to follow the Path. There had never been another option.

Being able to withstand a few Alphas, though, was different from entering a hall filled with them. Throughout the months, he had been able to deal with Dandelion just fine – but a whole hall? A building?

It would be a true testament to his training if nothing were to happen.

His ability to resist Dandelion had already been a testament to it, in fact. Upon their initial meeting, Geralt had not seen the small, black vertical line behind his ear. Though it was widely considered an indecency to look for signs, most people glanced at them when they had the chance. Seeing as the Witcher and poet had met in a badly lit establishment, though, he had not realized. Besides, the bard had been annoying. He'd cared fuck all whether the man was an Alpha, Beta or Omega, as long as he got the hell away from him.

Later, though, when Dandelion had proven a companion, he had seen it.

It had surprised him, for he had unwittingly written Dandelion off as a Beta or Omega. Never had the man used his Alpha voice, flaunted his pheromones or behaved territorially. Sure, there were the occasional orders he gave but Geralt could easily withstand those. So the vertical line had given him a firm reminder that stereotypes were just that: stereotypes. Not all Alphas were arrogant, pompous pricks showcasing their signs.

Just like not all Omegas were helpless and obedient.

Geralt's own sign had been altered, like all Witchers' signs. Taught from a young age that these human preferences did not apply to them as their sole purpose was the purge and not reproduction, mentors had taken up needles and seared the Witcher wolf behind all of their ears. Geralt had had the wolf there for as long as he could remember. When asked about it, the warrior always replied he was a Witcher first, then an Alpha. As would all his brothers before and after him, the words ingrained in their memory. Being seen as potential bait made one's position as a monster hunter weak. It would stop the steady flow of income. Besides, any Witcher that had made it through the trials was anything but weak.

So even though Geralt could stand his ground against and among a number of Alphas, he sincerely hoped to be able to withstand the halls of the Academy.

Shaking his head as he turned up the street to an entrance of the Academy, Geralt cursed the situation. Of course he owed Shanti for all her help. He just wasn't sure he owed her this.

Luckily, Eskel and he had had their half-year meeting a few weeks ago, as Witcher rituals prescribed. It was mandatory for Omega Witchers to partner up with a trusted Alpha Witcher. Once every half year they would help them drop by innocent means in order to maintain sanity. During winters, other Witchers would be asked to help get Omegas into subspace. The time in-between was spent… alone. It was spent gradually building up tension until the next session, in Geralt's case, and becoming more and more sensitive to touch and smell.

At present, the Witcher had found his balance again. It was the only reason he had even considered coming here.

Deep in his ruminations, Geralt led Roach through the side entrance of the University. The brown-haired poet had told him the stables were to be found on this side. He had agreed to meet up with Dandelion after buying a new saddle, taking care of the horse and to wait for Shani in their rooms.

True to Dandelion's word, none of the guards were surprised at seeing him, nor hearing his name, but they did share a look. A look and a stench, both of which the Witcher knew all too well.

Roach followed him obediently into the stables where a young boy brought them to a large stable.

With a grunt in reciprocation, Geralt sent the boy on its way. Methodically, he untied the bridle and reins from the horse and removed the saddle and saddlecloth. After inspecting her hooves, he rubbed her down with hay. Content, he stood back. Then looked at his pack for the longest time, sorting through any and all possibilities he had before he relocated.

Abruptly, he moved. He opened his pack and rooted through his bottles and herbs. If he were to get through this undetected, he would need a little bit more of a kick to his masking potion than normally.

He held up a blue bottle and sniffed it, like he did every morning. It still smelled like manure to him. In his hands he carefully mixed some herbs and added an extra pinch to the bottle, before sniffing it again. He took a small sip. Drab, like always.

A little stronger, so it also ought to stop people from wondering about his sexual preferences in general. Which was a good thing, Geralt figured.

After a long petting session, the warrior got his things together again and left his mare behind. On the way out he plied the stableboy to spoil her with some extra coin.

Outside, there were just as many people walking around as on the market square: barely any. A good sign, for now. The Witcher adjusted the two packs on his shoulders and headed towards the building Dandelion had indicated. He followed a path around a huge hall of sorts and would have to cross a square to the staff building.

He turned around the corner, then stopped in his tracks. His foot fell down on the ground with a thud. In the middle of the central square stood a small fountain with grass around it. It was filled to the brim with groups of friends sitting together and chatting. On the side there was a field where students were playing football and from the left building a new group of students had just emerged.

He breathed deeply. A wall of pheromones hit him. He stared at the amount of people.

What the fuck had he gotten himself into.