Rex was a wolf boy—half-human, half-beast—cursed with a nature the world refused to understand. Born with a wild soul and sharper senses than any human, he was more prey than predator in a society that saw his kind as less than animals. Long ago, wolf-bloods had tried to live among humans, to coexist peacefully. But fear always wins where understanding fails. And so the wolf-bloods were driven out—hunted, hated, and cast into the shadows.

Most now lived deep in the forests, building secret communities far from the eyes of men. They taught their young to stay hidden, to be cautious, to never trust the scent of civilization. Those who were caught faced a fate worse than exile. Humans had found value in wolf-bloods—obedience forced by collars, fur sold as luxury, strength used for sport. And so, slavery was reborn with a new face.

Rex had been captured at only ten years old. He remembered the cold bite of the chain, the sting of the whip, the panic in his mother’s eyes as she was torn from him. Years passed. His fur grew matted. His claws dulled. His spirit, though, refused to break. Now sixteen, he knelt on the blistering sidewalk, shackled by iron restraints that dug into his wrists and neck. A filthy man stood beside him, shouting prices to passersby as if selling a chair, a vase—anything but a living soul.

People stared. Some mocked. Others pitied. None helped.

Rex kept his golden eyes low, though they burned with quiet rage. Hunger gnawed at his insides; his ribs stuck out beneath his skin. He longed not just for food or freedom—but for dignity. For a life where he wasn't property. For a chance to run wild again, to feel the earth beneath his paws and the wind in his fur.