The evening air held the first hint of winter's bite as Bete made his way home from an extended training session. His muscles ached pleasantly from an afternoon spent practicing sword forms with Sergeant Borin, and his mind buzzed with new techniques and strategies. The rabid fox incident three days earlier had marked a turning point in his training—the adults now looked at him with a new respect, and his own confidence had grown accordingly.
As he approached the family home, warm golden light spilled from the windows into the gathering dusk. The familiar sounds of domestic life—the clatter of dishes being prepared for washing, Mira's lilting voice as she practiced her letters, the soft murmur of adult conversation—wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.
But tonight felt different somehow. There was an unusual quality to the air, a sense of anticipation that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle with awareness. Looking up at the darkening sky, Bete noticed that the moon was nearly full, its silver light beginning to dominate the twilight landscape.
"Bete!" Mira's excited voice called from the doorway. "Grandmother's going to tell us about the Blood Moon tonight! She says it's important that we learn the old stories now that you're becoming a real warrior."
Intrigued, Bete quickened his pace. Grandmother Elsa's stories were always fascinating, but the ones she deemed "important" often carried weight beyond mere entertainment. These were the tales that held the accumulated wisdom and warnings of their people, passed down through generations of werewolf families.
Inside, he found the family gathered in the main room, which had been rearranged for storytelling. Grandmother Elsa sat in her favorite chair near the fireplace, while Captain Fenris occupied his usual spot at the sturdy oak table where he often reviewed village reports. Gareth lounged on a pile of cushions near the fire, trying to look nonchalant about his interest in what he probably considered "children's stories."
"Ah, there's our young hero," Grandmother Elsa said with a smile as Bete entered. "Mira's been bouncing like a rabbit all afternoon, waiting for you to return so we could begin."
Bete settled onto the rug beside his sister, noting the way the firelight danced across his grandmother's weathered features. In this light, with her silver hair gleaming and her eyes holding depths of memory and knowledge, she looked less like their familiar grandmother and more like one of the ancient storytellers from her own tales.
"Now then," she began, her voice taking on the formal cadence reserved for the most important stories. "Have any of you children ever wondered why our people are called werewolves? Why we can take on aspects of the wolf when need drives us to it?"
The children shook their heads, though Bete found himself leaning forward with interest. He had always known that their family—that all the families in Silverfang—possessed abilities that other humans did not. He had seen his father's eyes flash golden in moments of anger, had felt his own senses sharpen during times of stress. But no one had ever explained the origin of these gifts.
"Long ago," Grandmother Elsa continued, "our ancestors were ordinary humans living in scattered villages much like this one. They were farmers and craftsmen, hunters and healers, going about their lives in the shadow of the great forest that once covered most of this continent."
Her voice grew softer, more distant, as if she was seeing the events she described rather than simply remembering them.
"But in those days, the world was more dangerous than it is now. Great monsters roamed the deep woods, creatures of shadow and hunger that viewed human settlements as nothing more than convenient hunting grounds. Entire villages would disappear in a single night, leaving nothing behind but burned ruins and scattered bones."
Mira unconsciously moved closer to Bete, her small hand finding his as the story grew darker.
"The humans tried everything they could think of to protect themselves. They built higher walls, forged better weapons, trained their warriors in arts of combat that had been forgotten for generations. But still the monsters came, and still their people died."
Grandmother Elsa paused to add another log to the fire, the flames crackling and sending new shadows dancing across the walls.
"It was during this time of desperation that the first Blood Moon rose."
"What made it different from other moons?" Gareth asked, his attempt at casual disinterest abandoned.
"The Blood Moon appears only once in a generation, sometimes less often than that," their grandmother explained. "It rises red as spilled blood, larger than any normal moon, and its light carries power that touches the very essence of living things. Most creatures fear it and hide when it appears. But our ancestors... our ancestors were desperate enough to pray to it."
She looked around at each of them, her gaze lingering on Bete with an intensity that made him feel as if she was seeing something beyond his eight-year-old exterior.
"On the night of the first Blood Moon, the elders of seven human villages gathered in a sacred grove at the heart of the forest. They brought with them offerings—their most precious possessions, their deepest hopes, and their willingness to sacrifice anything to protect their families."
The fire popped and hissed, sending sparks up the chimney as the story continued.
"They called out to the moon, begging for the strength to protect their people. And the moon... the moon answered."
"What did it do?" Mira whispered.
"It sent down the Great Wolf—a creature of moonlight and shadow, neither fully spirit nor fully flesh. The Great Wolf spoke to the gathered elders in voices that sounded like wind through pine branches and told them that strength could be theirs, but only if they were willing to accept the wolf as part of themselves."
Bete felt a strange stirring in his chest, as if something deep inside him was responding to the words.
"Seven elders stepped forward that night, representing their villages and their people. Each placed their hand upon the Great Wolf's silver fur and spoke a binding oath—to protect the innocent, to fight against the darkness that threatened their world, and to accept the burden of strength even if it changed them forever."
"And that's how the first werewolves were created?" Bete asked.
"Indeed. The Great Wolf breathed upon each of the seven, and its essence flowed into them, changing them at the deepest level. They gained the wolf's strength, its speed, its keen senses, and its fierce protective instincts. But more than that—they gained the ability to pass these gifts to their children and their children's children."
Captain Fenris, who had been listening quietly from his place at the table, spoke for the first time. "The seven elders returned to their villages as changed beings. They could shift aspects of their nature, calling upon wolf-strength when they needed it most. Their eyes could pierce the darkest night, their noses could track a scent across miles, and their bodies could heal from wounds that would cripple ordinary humans."
"And they were finally able to protect their people," Grandmother Elsa continued. "The monsters that had plagued the villages for generations found themselves facing guardians who could match their strength and exceed their cunning. Slowly, steadily, the werewolf guardians pushed back the darkness."
Mira clapped her hands together softly. "That's wonderful! So the moon helped them save everyone!"
But Grandmother Elsa's expression grew more serious. "The power of the Blood Moon is not a gift given lightly, little one. It comes with a price, and with a prophecy."
The room grew quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the soft whisper of wind outside the windows.
"What kind of prophecy?" Bete asked, though part of him wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"The Great Wolf spoke of a time when the Blood Moon would rise again, larger and more terrible than ever before. On that night, it said, the ancient darkness would return with power beyond anything the world had seen. And when that time came, the descendants of the seven would face a choice."
She looked directly at Bete as she continued. "They could cling to their comfortable lives and watch the world burn around them, or they could pay the same price their ancestors paid—accept transformation and change, even if it meant losing parts of themselves in the process."
"What kind of transformation?" Gareth asked, his voice unusually subdued.
"That, the prophecy does not say. Only that when the time comes, those with wolf-blood will know in their hearts what choice they must make."
Captain Fenris stood and moved to look out the window at the nearly full moon hanging in the star-scattered sky. "The elders of our village have long debated whether the prophecy speaks of events yet to come, or whether it was fulfilled long ago in battles our histories have forgotten."
"But you don't think it was fulfilled, do you?" Bete said, reading something in his father's posture.
Fenris turned back to face his family. "No, son. I don't. There have been signs lately—strange movements in the deep forest, unusual behavior from the wildlife, dreams that come to those with the strongest wolf-blood. Something is stirring that has been asleep for a very long time."
A chill ran down Bete's spine that had nothing to do with the cooling night air. "Are we in danger?"
"Perhaps," his father replied honestly. "Or perhaps the danger lies far in the future, and the signs we're seeing now are simply... preparations. The Blood Moon works in its own time, not ours."
Grandmother Elsa reached over and placed a gentle hand on Bete's shoulder. "This is why it's important for you to understand your heritage, dear one. You carry the blood of those seven elders, the blessing and the burden of the Great Wolf. If the time of choosing ever comes, you need to know what you're choosing between."
"I don't understand," Mira said softly. "If the wolf-power helps protect people, why would anyone choose not to use it?"
The old woman's smile was both sad and proud. "Because power changes you, little star. The more you use it, the more it becomes part of who you are. The first werewolves discovered that their connection to the wolf grew stronger with each transformation, each battle, each moment when they called upon the beast within."
She gestured toward the window where the moon's light streamed into the room. "Some found that balance, learning to be both human and wolf without losing themselves. Others... others became so focused on strength and protection that they forgot the joy and gentleness that made life worth protecting in the first place."
Bete thought about his own experiences during the fox attack, the way time had seemed to slow and his senses had sharpened beyond normal human limits. Even now, he could feel something stirring in response to the moonlight, a restless energy that made him want to run through the forest under the open sky.
"How do you know which path you're on?" he asked.
"By remembering what you're fighting for," Captain Fenris answered. "As long as your strength serves love rather than anger, protection rather than conquest, you'll find your way. But the moment you start seeking power for its own sake..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but the warning was clear.
As the evening wound down and the family prepared for bed, Bete found himself drawn once again to the window. The moon seemed particularly bright tonight, its light casting everything in sharp silver relief. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—a real wolf from the deep forest, not one of their kind.
The sound sent a shiver of recognition through him, as if something in his blood was responding to the call. For just a moment, he could almost imagine himself running alongside that distant wolf, feeling the earth beneath his feet and the wind in his hair as they raced through moonlit glades.
"The Blood Moon rises tomorrow night," Grandmother Elsa said softly from behind him.
Bete turned in surprise. He hadn't heard her approach. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes. It will be the first Blood Moon of your lifetime, and likely the last until you're grown. Watch carefully, dear one. Sometimes the moon shows us glimpses of what might be, if we have the courage to look."
As Bete finally made his way to bed, his mind buzzed with questions and half-formed dreams. The stories his grandmother told had always seemed like distant legends, exciting but unreal. Tonight, for the first time, they felt like something more—like a heritage he would one day have to claim, and a destiny he would one day have to face.
Outside his window, the moon continued its ancient journey across the star-filled sky, carrying secrets and promises that only tomorrow night would reveal.