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In a world veiled by ancient mist and old magic, there were three great kingdoms.
Wellwood, a mighty realm where werewolves lived not as beasts, but as noble hunters. Their castle, tall and rugged, pierced the sky like a fang — home to a proud race who believed strength was everything.
The Dark Forest, endless and deep, breathed with ancient magic and creatures of imagination — snake-ladies, howling mermaids, shadow beasts, and things unnamed even in dreams.
Bellwonder, the kingdom of high fairies, glistened like a jewel — full of grace, enchantment, and elegance. Their white castle shimmered under moonlight like glass kissed by stardust.
In Wellwood, among the fierce, lived a young werewolf named Reven. He had a heart as golden as the morning sun, but his people saw only weakness in his kindness.
His father, a legendary hunter, and his brother, sharp and cruel, never spared a kind word for him. They said he was soft. Useless. A disappointment.
One storm-tinted morning, his father growled, "Today you'll prove yourself."
They took Reven into the Dark Forest, where moonlight barely touched the forest floor. Shadows danced like spirits, and every step echoed with silent threats.
They stalked an elf — a delicate girl, young and trembling. His father and brother struck like thunder.
But Reven… froze.
Her eyes shimmered with fear, not malice. And in that moment, he let her go.
When they returned to the castle, his father's fury exploded.
"You are USELESS! A shame to this blood!" he roared, his voice shaking the stone walls.
"B-but I was jus—"
"SHUT UP!"
Reven ran. His room slammed shut behind him. He collapsed on his bed, fists trembling, tears stinging.
"Why am I like this?"
But then his eyes burned with something new.
"I'll prove I'm not useless. I'll prove I am something."
He ran to the Dark Forest under the bleeding sky. His body shifted — fur, fangs, claws. He became the wolf. The hunter. The shadow.
Through the twisted woods he wandered, hunger in his heart — not for flesh, but purpose.
Then… he saw it.
Behind a fallen, moss-covered tree, something stirred.
Eyes wide. Hiding.
A girl — an elf, or maybe a fairy — with a face like morning dew. Delicate, soft, afraid.
He stepped closer, gently.
She gasped. Picked up a stick.
Thwack!
The stick hit his head — and with a thud, he tumbled, shifting back into his human form.
"Ow…"
They locked eyes.
She blinked. He smiled, awkward and honest. "I'm not here to hurt you."
She didn't run. She listened.
And night after night, they met.
By fireflies and moonbeams, they talked, laughed, whispered dreams.
He told her about his pain. She told him about her hopes.
He felt seen.
She felt safe.
They were more than friends — they were light in each other's darkness.
But the world is cruel to softness.
One night, under silver stars, his father found them.
Before Reven could move, his brother pinned him down.
His father raised his blade.
"NOOOO!"
Too late.
The elf girl gasped, her chest blooming red.
Reven tore free, but she was already falling — light draining from her eyes.
He caught her.
A single tear rolled down her cheek. She whispered,
"I trusted you reven"
Then she was still.
Reven screamed into the night, his cry echoing through the forest — a sound of heartbreak, of rage, of something breaking forever inside him.
His golden heart… turned to ash.
To be continued…
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