The forest was alive with the sounds of night—crickets singing, leaves whispering in the wind, and the distant, haunting howls of wolves. In the small Viking settlement, the Mikaelson family gathered around a fire, their faces flickering with warmth and worry.
Henrik, the youngest, sat close to his brother Niklaus, eyes wide with excitement and a touch of fear. "Do you think the stories are true?" he whispered. "That men become beasts beneath the full moon?"
Niklaus grinned, ruffling his brother's hair. "Only one way to find out, little brother."
Elijah, ever the voice of reason, frowned from across the fire. "Mother would not approve. The woods are dangerous tonight."
But Henrik's curiosity was insatiable, and Niklaus's rebellious spirit was contagious. When the others retired, the two boys slipped away, silent as shadows, hearts pounding with anticipation.
They crept through the trees, following the distant howls. The moon hung heavy and bright, casting silver light on the world below. They found a clearing where the transformation was already underway—shapes shifting, bones cracking, fur sprouting where flesh had been. Henrik gasped, awestruck and terrified.
Suddenly, the wind changed. A wolf, larger than the rest, caught their scent and turned, eyes burning gold in the darkness. Niklaus grabbed Henrik's hand, but it was too late—the beast lunged, and chaos erupted.
Niklaus fought to protect his brother, but the wolf was relentless. When it was over, Henrik lay still, blood staining the earth, the light gone from his eyes.
Niklaus screamed for help, his voice echoing through the trees. Elijah arrived first, then Mikael and Esther. The family's grief was immediate and absolute. Esther fell to her knees beside her youngest, tears streaming down her face. Mikael's rage was volcanic, directed at the world, at the wolves, at himself.
They carried Henrik's body back to the village, the fire now a cold memory. That night, the Mikaelsons mourned not only the loss of a son and brother, but the loss of their innocence. The world had shown its teeth, and nothing would ever be the same.
Esther sat alone by Henrik's side, her heart breaking with every breath. She whispered ancient words, prayers for peace, but found no comfort. In her grief, a dark resolve took root. She would not lose another child. She would do whatever it took to protect her family—even if it meant defying the natural order.
As dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky with pale gold, the Mikaelsons stood together, united in sorrow and anger. They could not know that their pain would echo through the centuries, shaping destinies and awakening forces far older and more dangerous than any wolf.
And in the deep places of the world, where magic slept and old secrets waited, something began to stir—a faint tremor, a whisper of chaos, a promise that the age of legends was far from over.