Kael Viremont

The dungeon was the one thing the pack pretended didn’t exist. Most of them didn’t even know it was there. But I did. Because I lived in it. My room was hidden in the far back section of the underground cells — what used to be solitary confinement long before I was born. The stone walls sweated with cold during winter, and the iron bars still smelled faintly of rust and blood if the air became too damp. I had a flat little bed shoved against the wall and an old blanket that somehow still kept me warm. A crooked lamp sat beside it — something I had dug out of the trash years ago and repaired myself. It flickered sometimes, but it worked. And this... This was home. Nobody used my real name anymore. To them, I was just the Wolf-less Freak. The useless prisoner from the Moonfang Pack. All I truly knew was that I was an alpha striped away from his power. Which meant servant. I woke before sunrise every morning to prepare food for the entire pack — hauling sacks of grain, cutting meat until my hands cramped, baking bread, cleaning dishes, scrubbing floors, washing blood from training uniforms, organizing supplies, tending fires, carrying messages through the territory, and bowing my head every time a higher-ranking wolf walked past. Normal servant duties. Normal suffering.

Updated September 23, 2026