Heir To The Iron Crown ✓

1 - Fyrst

-Part 1-

It's usually still dark out when I wake up to get ready for my morning classes. The sunlight streaming through my window was definitely not a good sign. I'd slept in again, I'm sure.

I checked the time and realized I've got to get to class in, well, six minutes ago. And it's a fifteen minute walk just to get there.

Might as well be early for second period than late for the first.

Even with the chaotic college phase I'm living in, it's a fraction of what I've been through in the past 21 years of my life.

Yes, I can be a very melodramatic person.

After many years of living in a pack, I've managed to come across as an okay-ish person. I wonder, if I was a normal human, I'd be a social outcast for like, ever.

Fortunately for me, I'm not human. I'm what you'd call, a dyrith. I'm the sneaky fantastical hybrid creature you read about in story books with special powers and what not.

As Gramma Rosabelle would tell me, I'm a hybrid of a werewolf and some other creature that she couldn't quite place. You see, I've never had a family of my own blood. I never even knew who my parents were.

Gramma found me as an infant in a deep, dark forest and took me back to the pack immediately. It was obvious, my presence in the forest all covered up was intentional, they still searched for weeks to find my parents. Whoever they were, really didn't want me.

So Gramma took me as her own. Her only daughter Renee had found her mate abroad and would visit once a year with her family. She was a beautiful woman with a kind heart, just like Gramma. They were all the family I had.

I wiped away a tear as I looked at the time on my phone and calculated how much time I had left before second period.

Forty-nine minutes.

I dropped back down to my pillow but couldn't sleep anymore.

All those thoughts were back.

...

Our pack, Fathilagt, had always been in direct contact with the Royal Palace but never meddled in the matters in between.

So, very few people even knew of our existence. Our Alpha, Fridure, was a man of peace. After his father was killed in battle, he swore to protect his pack from danger. He decided to keep his pack in secrecy, only maintained essential contacts for basic necessities, and kept the pack small, trusting the fewest people.

It had worked. For a while.

Fridure could not have foreseen what happened next. Fathilagt was attacked from all sides as the warriors mistook our hidden pack for a band of rebellious Liet.

The Liet are the werewolves who do not belong to packs and rebel against the laws of the Palace. They move in the human world freely with no consideration for coexistence, whatsoever.

The bigger packs seeked to remove the Liet from the lands to gain favor from the Palace. They are also responsible for the deaths of many innocent werewolves caught outside of the packs, regardless of whether they associated with the Liet or not.

Grandpa Bryn and many pack warriors died fighting the attackers. The memory always hurt Gramma more than anything.

After the attack, the few who had survived ran for their lives. They moved towards the south of Iceland to a small town named Hof, and tried to fit in with the coastal inhabitants. There were forests lined with birch trees which provided protection and shelter for our pack.

There was no trial. No hearing.

The attacking pack, Sgriosaire, got away with a massacre, and took credit too. Fathilagt was left with no strong voice after the deaths of both Alpha and Beta of the pack. Gramma would describe how they took care of their own and sacrificed so much just to be able to survive.

Years passed, and the pack started growing again. Fridure's son, Valente, took his place as the new Alpha. He took care of the pack just like his father. The pack was still kept small but the members were allowed more flexibility.

It took some time, but eventually Fathilagt regained it's tiny glory and peace was established once again. I lived in that pack and saw it grow with me as if from a seed once more.

Only to watch it burn down again.