Three days after Bete's promise to his father, the weather took a turn that even the oldest villagers described as unnatural. What had begun as ordinary autumn rain transformed into something that seemed to carry malevolent intent—driving wind that howled through the streets like hunting beasts, lightning that struck with unnatural frequency, and thunder that echoed long after it should have faded.
Bete made his way through the storm to the guard training facility, where Marcus had relocated their lessons. The former adventurer had been increasingly secretive about his past, but the worsening situation had begun to crack his careful reserve. Today, Bete sensed, would bring revelations that would change his understanding of both his teacher and the threats they faced.
The training facility was a substantial stone building that served as both an armory and a practice space for the village guard. Inside, the thick walls muffled the storm's fury, creating an atmosphere of controlled intensity that matched Marcus's teaching style perfectly.
"You're late," Marcus observed as Bete entered, shaking rain from his cloak.
"The storm is getting worse," Bete replied, hanging his outer garments on wooden pegs near the door. "Some of the streets are starting to flood."
Marcus nodded grimly. "Natural storms don't behave like this. There's something driving this weather, something that wants to weaken our defenses and create chaos before the main attack begins."
Bete felt a chill that had nothing to do with his rain-soaked clothing. "Main attack?"
"Sit down," Marcus said, gesturing toward a wooden bench near the practice area. "It's time you understood exactly what your village is facing, and why your training has become more urgent than you realized."
As Bete settled onto the bench, Marcus began pacing—a habit he displayed when working through complex problems or difficult explanations.
"I told your father and the village council that I was a retired adventurer looking for a peaceful place to settle," Marcus began. "That wasn't entirely false, but it wasn't the complete truth either."
"What's the complete truth?"
Marcus stopped pacing and turned to face Bete directly. "I was part of an elite adventuring party based in Orario. We specialized in dealing with threats that exceeded the capabilities of local authorities—ancient evils awakening, monster outbreaks, supernatural phenomena that couldn't be handled through conventional means."
Bete's eyes widened as he began to understand the implications. "You came here because you knew something was going to happen."
"I came here because I failed to prevent something that should never have been allowed to escape," Marcus corrected, his voice heavy with regret. "Three years ago, my party was tasked with investigating disturbances in a sealed dungeon complex far to the south. We were told that ancient wards were failing and that creatures imprisoned for centuries were beginning to stir."
Marcus resumed his pacing, his hands clenched behind his back as he relived painful memories.
"We found more than just stirring creatures. We found evidence that someone—or something—had been deliberately weakening the seals from the inside. The prison hadn't been failing due to age or neglect. It had been sabotaged by an intelligence that had spent decades planning its escape."
"What kind of intelligence?"
"A fallen adventurer who had been consumed by power and corruption years before my party was even formed. He had been sealed away rather than killed because his abilities made him too dangerous to confront directly. But imprisonment had only given him time to plan and grow stronger."
Thunder crashed overhead, shaking the building's foundations and punctuating Marcus's words with ominous emphasis.
"My party tried to stop his escape. We fought with everything we had, used every technique and strategy we had learned over years of adventuring. But we underestimated both his power and his intelligence. He didn't just defeat us—he destroyed us systematically, ensuring that each of us understood exactly how outmatched we were before he finished us."
Bete swallowed hard, seeing the pain in Marcus's eyes as he continued his tale.
"I was the only survivor, and only because he wanted me to live with the knowledge of our failure. He told me that he would spend the next few years building an army of enhanced monsters, creatures that combined animal ferocity with supernatural power and human intelligence. And when that army was ready, he would use it to prove that the world's current guardians were inadequate to protect the innocent."
"And you think he's coming here?"
"I know he's coming here," Marcus replied grimly. "Silverfang represents everything he despises—a peaceful community protected by local defenders rather than elite adventurers. Destroying this village and everyone in it would send a message that resonates across the entire region."
Bete felt the room spinning around him as the full scope of the threat became clear. "Why didn't you warn us sooner? Why didn't you tell my father what was really coming?"
"Because I hoped I was wrong," Marcus admitted. "Because I wanted to believe that he had chosen a different target, or that his plans had been disrupted by other forces. And because I knew that if I was right, the knowledge would only create panic without providing any real advantage."
"What do you mean?"
Marcus gestured toward the weapons and training equipment that surrounded them. "Your village guard is skilled and brave, but they're prepared to fight normal threats—bandits, wild animals, perhaps a small monster incursion. They're not equipped to face an army of enhanced creatures led by someone with decades of combat experience and supernatural power."
"So we're going to lose," Bete said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Not necessarily," Marcus replied, moving to sit beside him on the bench. "Conventional victory might be impossible, but survival isn't. If we're smart, if we prepare properly, and if we're willing to make difficult sacrifices, some of your people might make it through what's coming."
"What kind of sacrifices?"
Marcus was quiet for a long moment, clearly weighing how much truth an eight-year-old could handle.
"The kind where protecting some people requires abandoning others," he said finally. "The kind where victory means escaping rather than defeating the enemy. The kind where heroes die so that innocents can live."
Bete felt something hardening inside his chest—a cold determination that pushed back against the fear and despair that Marcus's revelations had awakened.
"Is that why you're training me? To be one of the heroes who dies so others can escape?"
Marcus turned to study Bete's face, seeing something there that seemed to surprise him. "I'm training you because you have potential that goes beyond your current abilities. Whether you use that potential to sacrifice yourself heroically or to survive and protect others will be your choice when the time comes."
"How long do we have?"
"Based on the pattern of the weather and the reports your scouts have been bringing back, I estimate no more than two weeks. Possibly less if he decides to accelerate his timeline."
The weight of that revelation settled over them like a physical presence. Two weeks to prepare for a threat that had already defeated elite adventurers. Two weeks to transform a village guard into something capable of facing supernatural enemies. Two weeks to decide who would fight, who would flee, and who would likely die in the process.
"Marcus," Bete said quietly, "I need you to teach me everything you can in the time we have left. Not just the basics or the safe techniques—everything that might make a difference when the fighting starts."
"That could be dangerous. Some of the advanced techniques I know aren't meant for someone your age. The physical and mental stress could cause permanent damage."
"And what will happen if I'm not strong enough when my family needs protection?"
Marcus considered this question for several long moments, weighing the risks of action against the certainty of consequences if they failed to prepare adequately.
"Very well," he said finally. "But understand that what I'm about to teach you will change you fundamentally. The techniques I'm thinking of don't just enhance your abilities—they awaken aspects of your nature that are meant to remain dormant until you're older and more mature."
"What aspects?"
Marcus stood and moved to a locked cabinet at the far end of the training room. From inside, he withdrew several items that Bete had never seen before—crystals that seemed to glow with inner light, vials of liquid that shifted color as he watched, and a small book bound in leather that looked ancient beyond measure.
"Your werewolf heritage contains powers that most of your people never learn to access," Marcus explained as he laid the items on a nearby table. "Abilities that go beyond enhanced strength and senses, techniques that bridge the gap between physical combat and magical power."
"And you know how to awaken these abilities?"
"I know how to try," Marcus corrected. "The process is dangerous and the results are unpredictable. But given what's coming, conventional training won't be sufficient to make you truly effective against our enemies."
Thunder crashed overhead again, and this time it was accompanied by a sound that made both of them freeze—a howl that was definitely not natural, carrying intelligence and malice that spoke of creatures that had once been animals but were now something far more dangerous.
"It's beginning," Marcus said grimly, moving to the window to peer out into the storm-lashed darkness. "The enhanced monsters are starting to probe our defenses, testing our responses and gathering intelligence for the main assault."
Bete joined him at the window, where shapes could be seen moving through the rain-soaked streets—shadows that moved too purposefully to be blown debris, forms that seemed larger and more coordinated than any natural animals.
"Then we don't have two weeks," Bete observed.
"No," Marcus agreed. "We have whatever time remains before they decide they've learned enough about our capabilities. Days, perhaps. Maybe less."
As they watched, one of the shadow-shapes paused beneath a streetlight, and for just a moment, its true nature was revealed. It stood upright like a man but possessed the head and claws of a wolf, its eyes glowing with unnatural intelligence as it studied the village's defenses with obvious calculation.
"That's what we're facing," Marcus said quietly. "Creatures that combine the worst aspects of human intelligence with supernatural power and animal savagery. They're not just monsters—they're weapons, designed specifically to destroy everything your people have built."
Bete felt the last of his childhood innocence falling away as he truly understood what the next few days would demand of him and everyone he loved. But alongside the fear came something else—a fierce determination that burned like fire in his chest.
"Then we'd better get started," he said, turning away from the window and toward the dangerous knowledge that Marcus was prepared to share. "Whatever it takes to be ready, whatever the cost might be—I want to learn it all."
As the storm raged outside and unnatural predators stalked through the streets of Silverfang, eight-year-old Bete Loga began the final phase of his training—lessons that would awaken powers he had never imagined possessing, but which might be the only thing standing between his family and complete annihilation.
The time for gentle instruction and gradual development had ended. Now came the crucible that would either forge him into a protector capable of facing impossible odds, or destroy him in the attempt.
Either way, there would be no turning back.