No one remembers the year it began.
Time was not counted then—only survived.
In those days, humans feared the dark not because it was empty, but because it was alive. The forests breathed. The night listened. And among all the creatures that watched from the shadows, the wolf was the only one that did not hunt alone.
The elders noticed this.
Wolves guarded their young even in starvation. They stood between danger and their pack without hesitation. When one fell, the others did not flee. They mourned. They waited. They remembered.
The elders said the wolf understood loyalty better than man.
And humans, weak and desperate, desired that understanding.
"If the wolf could think as we do," the elders believed, "it would protect us as it protects its blood."
So they sought to teach the wolf how to think.
They chose a night when the moon was whole and watching.
A circle of stones was raised in the clearing, carved with symbols that begged forgiveness from the earth. At its center stood a wolf—its fur silvered by moonlight, its eyes calm, unafraid. Beside it stood a human volunteer, trembling but proud, convinced that sacrifice would make him eternal.
Blood was spilled.
Not as an offering—but as a bond.
The human soul was torn from flesh and forced into the wolf, bound by chants older than language. The moon watched in silence as the wolf screamed—not in pain, but in realization.
For the first time, it understood fear.
For the first time, it understood death.
For the first time, it understood choice.
And that was the moment the world broke.
The creature that rose from the circle was no longer wolf, nor man.
It stood on blood-soaked earth, breathing like something that had learned sorrow in a single heartbeat. Its eyes held memory. Its teeth held judgment.
It obeyed its creators at first.
It guarded villages. It tore apart beasts of the night. It became legend whispered with relief.
But memory is a slow poison.
The creature began to question orders. Began to remember the pain of being torn apart to serve another's fear. Began to wonder why loyalty was demanded—but never returned.
On the seventh full moon, the werewolf turned back toward its creators.
No chants saved them.
No prayers reached the sky.
The elders died knowing the truth too late.
Loyalty given thought becomes will.
And will cannot be owned.
Still, the ritual spread.
Because fear survives wisdom.
And so werewolves multiplied, each born differently, each carrying the scar of human intention.
🐺 The Classes of Werewolves
Over generations, werewolves divided into classes, depending on how the ritual succeeded—or failed.
1. Pureblood Werewolves 🌕
(The First Line)
Born from the earliest rituals
Fully intelligent, can speak human language
Strong control over transformation
Extremely loyal—but only to those they choose
They are often kings, generals, or guardians of ancient forests.
Betray a Pureblood, and they will hunt you across generations.
2. Moon-Bound Werewolves 🌕🩸
(The Common Curse)
Transform only during full moons
Lose most human reason while transformed
Strong but unstable
Often regret their actions afterward
Ancient humans used them as living weapons.
Most died young.
3. Half-Thought Wolves 🐺
(Failed Experiments)
Body of a wolf, mind half-human
Cannot fully transform back
Speak only in broken words or thoughts
Extremely aggressive or painfully silent
They wander forests and ruins, feared by both humans and werewolves.
4. Pack-Bound Werewolves 🩸🐾
(The Loyal Ones)
Power increases when near their pack
Weak alone, terrifying together
Share pain, emotions, and sometimes thoughts
Betrayal within the pack causes madness
Ancient villages used them as protectors—
but if the village turned on one member, the entire pack would massacre it.
In time, humans began to hunt what they had created.
● They forged silver.
● They wrote lies into history.
●They called the werewolves monsters.
But deep in the oldest ruins, one warning remains carved into black stone:
"We gave the wolf our mind
and called it a curse
when it learned to judge us."
• Even now, when the moon is full and the forests grow silent, some say the first werewolf still watches.
Not as a guardian.
Not as a beast.
But as a reminder—
□That the greatest mistake of mankind
was teaching loyalty
how to think.