The Harsh Reality of Pack Rules

The pack had rules.

Rules that weren't written down, but ones that everyone knew.

The strong ruled.

The weak obeyed.

Her father used to be at the top. A warrior. A leader.

Now, he was at the bottom.

And no one was coming to save him.

The council chamber smelled of burning wood and old leather, its walls lined with aged wolf pelts—trophies of past victories.

The flickering light of the torches cast long shadows, and Christina stood in the shadow of the entrance, pressed against the wooden frame. She shouldn't be here. The meetings were for adults, for those who held power and influence over their lives. But she had learned to stay quiet, to listen without being noticed.

It was a skill she had honed, a necessity in a world that often overlooked those who were small and unassuming.

She needed to hear this.

Her father hadn't attended. He wasn't invited.

Alpha Dorian stood in the center of the room, his piercing eyes scanning the faces before him. His presence filled the space, a reminder that he was the unquestioned ruler of Stormclaw. He was powerful, commanding respect and loyalty with every word he spoke.

"This meeting is about the future of our pack," the Alpha began, his voice low, like the growl of an approaching storm. "The war has left us weakened. We must rebuild with strong foundations."

Christina clenched her fists, her heart racing.

Strong foundations.

She already knew what that meant. It meant leaving the weak behind.

"We have warriors recovering," one of the elders spoke up, his tone grave. "And others... who may never recover."

A tense silence followed, thick with unspoken truths and hidden agendas.

No one spoke her father's name.

They didn't have to.

Christina's heart sank as she realized what was happening. They were deciding his fate. Like he was a problem that needed solving. A burden.

Her nails dug into her palms, but she didn't move. She was just a child to them—small, insignificant. But inside, she burned with rage, a fire igniting her spirit as she listened to the callous decisions being made.

"We must prioritize our resources," the Alpha continued, his tone neutral, devoid of any empathy. "Those who cannot contribute..." He trailed off, his meaning clear.

The words hit Christina like a physical blow, and she struggled to hold back tears.

They were talking about her father as if he was nothing more than a piece of furniture, something that could be discarded when it no longer served a purpose.

The sky was painted in deep shades of purple and blue when Christina returned home. A cold wind swept through the clearing, rustling the branches above, sending icy tendrils down her spine.

Her father sat outside their small hut, staring at the horizon. His once-powerful frame looked smaller now, shrunken and diminished. His legs—useless—were stretched out before him, motionless. She could see the weariness etched into his features, the way his golden eyes—so much like hers—held a depth of sorrow that cut through her heart.

She stopped a few feet away, watching him.

He had been unstoppable once.

Now, he looked like a man waiting for the world to forget him.

"Papa," she called softly, stepping closer.

He didn't turn, his gaze still fixed on the distance.

"I already knew what they'd say," he replied, his voice rough, like gravel underfoot.

Christina swallowed hard, her heart aching for him. She sat beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. The wind made her shiver, but she ignored it, focusing instead on him.

She didn't tell him how they had spoken about him. How the pack had dismissed him without hesitation. Didn't tell him that they were already moving on.

He already knew.

"I can't protect you anymore," he murmured, the words heavy with resignation.

The admission made her chest tighten.

She hated hearing them. Hated the truth in them.

"I don't need protecting," she said quickly, her voice firm, though doubt gnawed at her insides.

His gaze flickered to her then, filled with something unreadable.

Pride?

Regret?

Both?

"You're strong, Christina," he said softly, his voice a mixture of encouragement and sorrow.

She nodded, but inside, she wasn't sure.

Not yet.

The next morning, the decision was made.

Her father was stripped of his title as Lead Warrior.

No ceremony. No honor. Just a simple announcement from the Alpha during the morning gathering, delivered with the same indifference as stating the weather.

"As of today, Jack..." (they didn't even call him Warrior Jack)..."is relieved of all warrior duties."

It was said as if it were a mere formality, as if it weren't the last thing he had left.

Christina stood in the crowd, her fists clenched so tight her nails cut into her palm, blood mingling with her anger.

No one protested.

No one fought for him.

Not even the warriors who had once followed him into battle, who had once looked to him as their leader.

It was like watching her father be buried alive, the weight of a thousand voices echoing in silent agreement.

And the pack kept walking, their indifference stinging like a slap to her face, as if it meant nothing.

After the announcement, people spoke in hushed tones, already moving on. She heard the whispers as she walked through the village, the words slicing through her heart.

"It was bound to happen."

"The pack can't afford dead weight."

"Better this way."

Better for who?

Certainly not for him.

That night, Christina lay in her small bed, staring at the wooden ceiling above her, her heart heavy with despair.

Not just for her father.

For herself.

She had spent years watching how the pack treated him. She had hoped—foolishly—that someone would stand up for him. That someone would fight.

But no one did.

Because to them, he was already dead.

She clenched her fists, the anger boiling within her.

The world was cruel.

If you weren't useful, you were discarded.

Her father's time was over.

But hers wasn't.

Not yet.

If the only thing that mattered was power...

Then she would become stronger than all of them.

So strong that no one could ever cast her aside.

So strong that when the day came—when she rose above them all—they would regret ever turning their backs on her father.

Her father was a fallen warrior.

But she?

She was just getting started.

With each passing day, Christina vowed to herself that she would train harder, learn faster, and never let the weight of her father's title be forgotten. She would push herself beyond her limits, refusing to be a victim of the pack's harsh rules.

She would become a force to be reckoned with.

Each morning, as the sun rose, she would sneak out to the woods, which has been her second home, practicing the movements her father had taught her in years past. She would run, her legs pumping with determination, her breath coming in steady bursts as she trained her body to be strong and agile. She would find a fallen branch, using it as a makeshift weapon, swinging it with all her might, envisioning the strength of her father behind each blow.

In her heart, she carried the weight of her father's legacy, the love that had once filled their home, and the fierce desire for justice. She would forge her own path, one that would honor him and give him the respect he deserved.

No longer would she be the forgotten daughter of a fallen warrior.

She would rise above, a beacon of hope for those who felt lost, and a reminder to the pack of what true strength meant.

Christina was just getting started.