My destiny has always been clear. Unlike others who search aimlessly, I was born into a legacy. To two Guardians, the strongest warriors in our pack. I was meant to be a Guardian, just like them.

My parents were fated mates, two halves of the same soul, and their bond made them incredibly powerful. They were responsible for protecting our Alpha, Anders, his mate Luna Calista, and their young son, Rik.

Then came the battle. An attack from a neighboring pack. I was only five when I lost my mother. She died protecting Luna Calista and Rik. In that same fight, my father, while defending Alpha Anders, faltered when my mother's life force snapped. He was bitten, his spine severed. Werewolves can heal from much, but not a paralyzing spinal injury.

From that day, my father became a shadow of his former self. He survived only for me, but he lost everything: his mate, his ability to walk, his status as a warrior. He lost himself.