Ancient Werewolves

The night was dark and quiet, like a thick, inky shadow. A woman dressed in black slipped silently through the shadows toward the castle ahead. The moonlight cast a faint glow on her slender figure, outlining her graceful shape even in the night. The castle was a classic piece of medieval European architecture, with tall, towering spires and thick stone walls that looked both grand and eerie. Alia smirked slightly, muttering to herself, “Doesn’t seem too hard. A place this big, and no guards in sight? This should be a piece of cake.”

Even though she felt relaxed, Alia’s movements were precise and careful. She pulled out a detailed map of the castle from her bag, studying it in the dim light. With a confident nod, she silently slipped inside. Her eyes were sharp, quickly memorizing every hallway and corner. There were no guards, but infrared sensors were everywhere. Trained from a young age, Alia was more than used to these challenges. She moved skillfully, evading every sensor like a shadow gliding through the darkness.

After passing through layer after layer of obstacles, she finally reached the treasure room marked on her map. She held her breath, hiding behind a bookshelf as she prepared to make her move—when suddenly, a low, angry voice broke the silence.

“Why did you betray me? Do you even understand why I did all this?” The man’s voice was cold and harsh, slicing through the stillness of the night. Alia froze, instinctively looking up to find the source of the voice.

A moment later, a soft voice answered, distant and calm, yet laced with bitterness. “You never understood what I needed. You never really knew me. This would have ended sooner or later, with or without this.”

“No, I won’t let you go!” the man shouted.

As he spoke, the air grew heavy and thick, and then—BANG! A gunshot rang out, sharp and startling. Alia stumbled back in shock, her heart racing. Her hand flew to the knife at her waist, but the tiny movement betrayed her.

“Who’s there?” The man’s voice cut through the room, sharp and cold. In an instant, the lights blazed on. Alia’s eyes widened at the scene in front of her, blood chilling—there, sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, lay a beautiful young woman. Over her stood a tall, cold-faced man, gripping a pistol tightly.

Before Alia could react, another gunshot echoed. Pain shot through her chest as the world blurred, her consciousness slipping away.

“Miss? Miss, please wake up! How could you fall so deeply unconscious? This illness… why did it get so serious this time?” A gentle, worried voice floated into Alia’s ears. She opened her eyes to see a maid sitting beside an extravagant bed, watching her with concern. Alia’s pale face looked frail, but somehow even more beautiful in her weakness, like a delicate figure from a painting.

“Miss?” Alia heard the voice, stirring her from a deep, foggy sleep. She struggled to open her eyes. Warm sunlight poured through sheer curtains, casting a soft glow around her. She whispered, almost instinctively, “Where… am I?”

“Oh! Miss, you’re awake!” The maid’s eyes filled with tears of joy as she clung to Alia’s hand, hardly believing it. “I’m so glad! I’ll go fetch the master right away!” With that, the maid hurried out, her joyful voice fading into the distance.

Alia closed her eyes again, trying to steady her mind. “Where is this? How did I end up here?” She felt a faint ache in her chest, reminding her of the events before she blacked out—she had been on a mission, sneaking into a creepy old castle to steal a legendary “Holy Grail.” But just as she was about to succeed, she had seen the castle’s stern, handsome owner murder his wife in cold blood. She had witnessed the scene and tried to escape—only to be shot by him.

“Where am I now? Did someone save me?” Alia pressed a hand to her chest, trying to sit up, but her body felt weak and her head heavy. She gritted her teeth, taking a shaky breath as her mind swirled in confusion.

Before she could gather her thoughts, quick footsteps sounded from the hallway, and a tall, striking man rushed to her bedside. His features were sharp and defined, his eyes filled with worry and relief. He grasped Alia’s hand, his voice brimming with emotion, “My dear, you’re awake! Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Alia’s eyes widened, her breath catching in shock. Her mind went blank, and for a moment, the pain in her chest vanished. She knew this man—she could never forget him. He was the very same man who, just last night, had murdered his wife and shot at her, the castle’s cold-blooded killer—Marcellus!