[Author's Note: Hello, Fantasians! If you read this, you'll gain insight into the complex dynamics between werewolves, humans, witches, and elves, which will help clarify the sacrifices mentioned in Chapter 1. However, be warned that it may contain key plot revelations. If you'd like to avoid spoilers, feel free to skip ahead to the next chapter.]

Once upon a time, humans, werewolves, witches, and elves lived harmoniously. The humans were blissfully unaware of the werewolves among them, who seamlessly blended into their lives.

One day, a stray werewolf wandered through the dense, shadowy woods of the Shadow Pack Kingdom. Injured and starving, it roamed aimlessly until it encountered an old woman and a young boy. The werewolf's powerful, piercing gaze held a mixture of anger and desperation.

"Wow, a werewolf! So they truly exist in our world," the old woman exclaimed, her eyes squinting in amazement. Remarkably, she showed no fear, her voice a playful whisper as if sharing an enchanting secret.

The werewolf inhaled deeply, absorbing the scents of the woman and the child, his nostrils flaring. "Hey, old lady, you're human, but you, boy—you're a werewolf!" he growled menacingly, his voice low and rumbling, laced with hunger.

The old woman maintained her smile, an aura of warmth around her, while the boy trembled, staring wide-eyed at the towering beast before him.

"Why are you wandering around the Shadow Pack Kingdom forest? Are you hungry? Here, have some food," the old woman said, offering the werewolf a handful of apples.

Driven by desperate hunger, the werewolf snatched and devoured the apples, the sweetness momentarily easing his pain. But as the last bite disappeared, a wave of primal instinct washed over him, a dark tide erasing reason and compassion. With a guttural snarl, he lashed out, his claws tearing into the old woman's flesh. A gasp escaped her lips, a silent scream lost in the rustling leaves as life ebbed away, leaving behind only the chilling stillness of death.

The boy's face contorted in horror, disbelief etched deep in his features. "Mother!" he cried, rushing to her side, his voice fracturing with pain. He knelt beside her, shaking her gently. "Wake up! Please don't leave me! Please, you can't die! I can't be alone again!" Tears streamed down his cheeks, glistening like jewels in the dappled forest light.

The werewolf, a wave of chilling guilt washing over him, watched the boy's heartbroken sobs. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, a crushing burden of remorse. "Humans must never know that we werewolves exist in this world," he muttered, his gaze darting nervously to the boy, a silent promise hanging in the air.

Turning away, he melted back into the shadows, the scent of apples and blood clinging to him like a shroud. "Thank you for the food," he whispered, his voice barely a breath, lost in the rustling leaves as he disappeared into the deepening twilight, leaving the boy alone with his grief, his rage simmering beneath the surface.

The boy's gaze followed the retreating werewolf, his eyes blazing with fury. "You will pay for what you did, you bastard!" he roared, his voice raw with pain and hatred.

The boy, suddenly transforming into a werewolf himself, lunged towards the creature that had killed his mother. He slammed into the werewolf from behind, sending it crashing to the ground. Before the boy could move, the werewolf turned, its eyes glowing with a malevolent light. The boy, driven by a primal fury, clawed at the werewolf's throat, ending its life with a single, swift movement.

Terror gripping him, the boy fled, leaving the werewolf's body in the silent, moonlit forest.

A lone human traveler stumbled upon a gruesome sight the following day. The body of an elderly woman lay lifeless, a gaping wound marring her abdomen. A short distance away, a dead werewolf lay sprawled, its throat ripped open. The traveler, a young man named Ethan, was horrified. He'd always believed werewolves were mere legends, but the sight before him confirmed their existence.

This discovery will shatter the illusion of peace, revealing the dark secret hidden beneath the surface of their seemingly harmonious world, a secret that would unleash a devastating war.

Ethan's heart hammered in his chest as he fled towards the nearest village, Shadowbrook.

Ethan burst into the village square, breathless and pale. He recounted his discovery to the village chief, a burly man named Silas. Silas, initially skeptical, was soon convinced by the grim truth. He led a group of villagers to the forest, their faces etched with fear and disbelief. The sight of the dead woman and werewolf confirmed Ethan's story. It was a chilling revelation: werewolves were real, and they lived among them.

Silas, unaware that some of his own villagers were werewolves, was utterly unprepared for the brutal attack that followed. The werewolves, fearing exposure, transformed, their eyes glowing with savage hunger. They slaughtered Silas and his men, their snarls echoing through the forest. Ethan, by sheer luck, managed to escape.

He fled to the Amethyst Kingdom, seeking refuge with his uncle, King Alfred the fifth. He poured out his tale, his voice trembling with fear and sorrow. The news of the werewolves' attack spread like wildfire, shattering the peace between humans and the mythical creatures. Werewolves, emboldened by their newfound power, began to reveal their true forms. The war was on.

Word spread of a powerful witch and her elf allies who had cast a spell on the werewolf that killed the old woman, preventing it from transforming back into its human form. This solidified the werewolf's status as a monster in the eyes of many, fueling their hatred for humans, witches, and elves.

The witches are seeking revenge because werewolves are starting to kill their kind. Witches crafted magical chains that could drain a werewolf's energy, while the elves used their ancient magic to defend themselves. The conflict intensified each day, marked by bloodshed and violence. Humans, werewolves, witches, and elves, locked in a vicious cycle of hate, lost countless lives.

Years passed, and the war raged on. Wary of the endless bloodshed, King Alfred V realized that humans alone couldn't defeat the werewolves. He reached out to the four werewolf kings: Silverhowl, Crimsonheart, Wildfire, and Shadow. The five kings met at the Shadow Ridge Prison, united by a shared desire for peace.

King Alfred proposed a truce: humans would stop harming werewolves, and in return, the werewolves would do the same. But the werewolf kings, fueled by centuries of resentment, refused. Alfred, desperate for a solution, offered a compromise: every twenty years, each human family would offer a daughter to the werewolves. The werewolf kings agreed, intrigued by the prospect of power and control.

The agreement was announced to their respective people. Some welcomed the peace, while others remained skeptical. Some witches, tired of the endless fighting, laid down their weapons. The elves, seeking solace and safety, retreated deeper into the forests.

But the peace was fragile, a fragile truce built on a foundation of fear and resentment. The hatred, deeply rooted in their hearts, remained. The agreement couldn't erase the pain, the loss, the years of bloodshed. The word "peace" became a hollow echo, a fragile hope in a world still consumed by hatred. And so, the cycle continued, the legacy of violence and mistrust passed down through generations, a chilling reminder that true peace remained a distant dream.