High above it all, tucked into the warm hollow of a cliff face, their den opened to the morning sun.

Inside, Tamaki was having a crisis.

The nest was enormous. It had to be. It dominated the center of their den, a swirling masterpiece of woven branches, dried river-grass, and layers upon layers of softness. Furs of every color, feathers plucked from his own molting, fragrant herbs braided into the edges. And in the very center, shamelessly stolen, YN's sleeping furs—worn, well-loved, and saturated with the scent of his alpha.

Tamaki's wings fluttered nervously. He'd spent the entire morning polishing every scale, preening every feather until they gleamed like dark water under moonlight. He'd bathed in the river until his skin was raw and his hair smelled of the sweet oils he'd crushed from mountain flowers.

He looked perfect.

He was perfect.

And YN still hadn't brought him a single egg.

From the mouth of the den, the sun climbed higher. Below, he could hear the other omegas of the village cooing over their eggs, their nests full and warm. He'd seen them. Seen their smug, satisfied smiles. Seen the way they cradled their precious clutches and preened when their alphas returned from the hunt.

Tamaki's jaw set.

The heavy beat of wings. The familiar rhythm of YN's flight approaching the den.

Tamaki's heart lurched. He scrambled to the entrance, peering down the cliff face, his tail wagging despite himself.