CHAPTER 147 | Uncle Arthur and regrets

The old cabin nestled within the dense thicket of the village seemed almost as weary as the man who inhabited it. Arthur sat slouched at a rustic wooden table, a dimly flickering lantern casting long shadows across his haggard face. His weathered hands clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey, its amber contents offering temporary solace to a soul burdened with remorse.

The air was heavy with the weight of his regrets, each breath heaved with the weight of his betrayals. Through tear-blurred eyes, he stared out of the cabin's small, frosted window, watching as the moon cast an eerie glow upon the surrounding trees. It was a night ripe with both sorrow and danger.

Outside, in the veil of darkness, lurked creatures of myth and legend. Werewolves, guardians of the forest, prowled silently, their keen senses attuned to the slightest movement. Among them, two pairs of amber eyes fixated on the cabin, the Beta and the Head Warrior of the Blue Orchid pack tasked with observing and bringing th