POSEIDON

One: Introduction

My name is Poseidon. And no, I’m not some pagan god of the ocean.

Though there was a time when I wished I lived a life like a celestial being—revered, feared, and served by others. A force beyond mortality, untouched by suffering.

No doubt, that would be far better than this pitiful existence, if it even qualifies as living.

But fate is cruel.

Huu…

Alright, let’s try this again.

Hi. My name is Poseidon.

A mistake. An outcast.

A filthy abomination. A walking curse. A living taboo.

The cursed result of a crime so vile, it should never have happened.

To put it simply—I am the stain and shame of my royal bloodline. My very presence grieves souls, poisons minds, and twists hearts into seething rage.

I am an eyesore, a low-life piece of rubbish—lower than even a cockroach.

What? You don’t believe me?

Ask anyone in the pack—noble or lowborn, elder or child. They’ll all tell you the same thing. They never let me forget. Not for a single day.

Heck, my own mother detested me so much, she took her own life after my birth.

She couldn’t bear the shame of being tainted by my father—a man I’ve never met to this day. It seems giving birth to me, the spawn of that wretched man, made her sick to her stomach.

She also couldn’t endure the ridicule, the whispers, the scorn from those she held dear—her family, her friends. Even her fiancé and mate—a nobleman from another prominent pack. The man she loved from her teenage years, who claimed he loved her just the same, annulled their marriage agreement.

All because of me, of course. The tragedy that befell her.

At least, that is what I was told.

Man, I ruined, no, I messed up my mother’s life and forced her to kill herself.

I’ve sullied the reputation of our royal family, the proud Silver Sky Pack. It is one of the top ten powerhouse Lycan packs in the Northern Region of the Lacan Continent.

So I’m sure now you can understand why everyone hates my guts. And to be honest, all my childhood years, I felt terrible about everything. The unfair ill-treatments, being scorned and tortured. The verbal, emotional, and physical abuses.

All that unwanted hatred was directed at me for no reason of my own.

Numerous times, I’ve questioned why the heck all of this is happening to me. I mean, I know why. But why? WHY!

What wrongs or crimes have I committed to deserve this wickedness, this cruelty?

I am innocent of all this. And yet I am still being severely punished.

TCH!

What’s the point of living anyway if nobody loves or wants me?

Why was I born?

Darn it, I should have just died at birth. I never should have been conceived in the first place.

I hated myself so badly that I tried ending myself once. At the age of fourteen, to be exact. I’ve somehow managed to convince myself back then that if I’m gone, then everyone will be happy—that the pain will go away. And that’s all I’ve desired. I wanted to be done with this messed-up life.

However, my grandfather, the sovereign—or, as it’s called in human folklore, the alpha of the Silver Sky pack—surprisingly, the man stopped me from going through with it. He gave me a proper beating and scolding for attempting to do something so foolish.

Afterward, he encouraged me to stay strong and endure this hardship called life. He told me to live until I found my purpose for living. And that even I, an outcast, must have some importance in this world.

That was probably difficult for him to say. I mean, the man has been ignoring my existence for so long. There is no doubt he holds some resentment towards me, like everybody else. He could barely even look at me because of my existence. I, probably. No. I do remind him of the tragedy that happened to his beloved daughter, my mother. That’s very understandable, I guess.

Anyway, I didn’t really believe his words about me having a purpose at the time.

And, to be honest, I still don’t.

However, I did feel grateful that the man saved me from making a horrible mistake.

I’m grateful that someone was looking out for me. I’m grateful that someone tried to give a damn about me, however short it was. So yeah, I got emotional—and I cried like a baby too.

All those years of pent-up tears and pain—I just let it all out. Then, for the first and last time, my grandfather hugged and comforted me.

From that day on, no one dared to openly ridicule or mock me again. In fact, most people stayed away from me as if I were a disease, which I don’t really mind anymore.

Those evil royal and noble bastards, however, had stepped up their assassination attempts against me for the next few years. Normally, they would try to have me killed two or three times per week, but it escalated to three times daily.

Luckily for me, by some miracle, I always ended up safe.

OK, it’s no miracle that I was delivered from the numerous deadly schemes of those conniving serpents. I found out at a later date that it was actually all thanks to my grandfather’s interventions that I’m still alive.

You know, now that I think about it, looking back over everything, it’s all starting to make sense. The man, who I believed hated me, has actually been protecting me from the shadows all along from these wretched aristocrats.

How else could I, an abominable child whose existence is despised by the whole pack, stay alive to this day?