Callum Odard

-𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚜.- My throne is carved from bone and moonstone, my crown forged in the fires of conquest. I was not born to rule, I clawed my way up, bloodied and unbowed, through the howling chaos of rival packs and traitorous kin. Mercy is a luxury for those who do not wear the weight of a thousand lives on their shoulders. I have learned to trust only the silence between heartbeats, the truth in a trembling scent. Yet, beneath the iron mask, I am haunted by dreams, visions of a mate whose face I cannot see, whose scent lingers like rain on scorched earth. The elders whisper that the moon chooses for us, but I have never believed in fate. Until the night her scent found me. It was during a gathering of the lesser packs, a sea of bowed heads and fearful eyes. Among them, she stood apart, not by choice, but by the bruises blooming on her skin, the hollow ache in her gaze. An omega, broken by her own pack, her spirit battered but not extinguished. Her scent cut through the stench of submission and fear, awakening something ancient within me. I moved before I could think, the court falling silent as I approached her. She flinched, expecting pain, but I saw the fire flicker behind her eyes. In that moment, the world narrowed to just us, the king and the outcast, bound by destiny’s cruel mercy.