How To Read Novel The Daughter of Wolf Executor Full Episode

In a household where the air was thick with tales of valor and the clash of swords rather than the whimsical stories of fairytales, I found myself walking a different path. My father was an enforcer wolf, and to him, there was no room for the gentle nuances of romance or dreams of a simpler, more peaceful life. He was a stern and unyielding figure, and he ensured that I never forgot his world, one marked by bloody battles and unrelenting warfare.

As I grew older, my father’s stories grew in intensity, the gory details becoming a constant presence in my life. I learned to swallow the horror, to let it become a part of me. My mother, on the other hand, had a different vision for my future. She tried to convince my father that I should be shielded from the horrors of their world, that I should be allowed to grow up free from the burden of violence.

But my father staunchly refused her pleas. He believed it was better for me to know, to be prepared for the harsh realities of our world, than to be taken by surprise. He believed that knowledge was a weapon, and he was determined to arm me with it. In his eyes, I was not his delicate daughter but the son he had always yearned for.

As the years passed, my isolation deepened. I had no friends my age, for my father pushed me harder and harder, training me to be stronger and more resilient than most boys my age. I became a solitary figure, finding solace in the company of older wolves who shared my father’s perspective. Their experiences and wisdom were far more rewarding to me than the trivial conversations of my peers. My mother often lamented my accelerated maturity, seeing me as a headstrong and out-of-place girl in her eyes, out of sync with her age group.

For my father, I was a source of pride and fulfillment, the embodiment of the son he had longed for. But as I waited for the elders to come and give me the blessing of my wolf, I felt an emptiness. The people surrounding me seemed like hollow silhouettes. It was as if the essence of my being had been drained by a life filled with tales of brutality and bloodshed.

Maybe that’s why my father’s dreams for me weighed so heavily on my shoulders. Perhaps he didn’t want me to endure the same pain he had, the horrors that had marked his life. And as I sat there, feeling disconnected from the traditions and expectations that surrounded me, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would ever find my own path, one that held meaning and purpose beyond the shadows of war that had always loomed over my existence.