THE BLACKSMITH'S LEGACY

The village of Greywood was a place forgotten by time. Tucked away in the shadow of the Black Forest, it was a small, close-knit community where every face was familiar, and every story was shared by the fireside. The villagers lived simple lives, tending to their fields, crafting their wares, and praying to the old gods for protection from the dangers that lurked beyond the trees.

Kel, the village blacksmith, had lived in Greywood all his life. His father, and his father before him, had forged the iron that kept the village safe horseshoes, tools, and weapons, crafted with a precision that spoke of a skill passed down through generations. But there was one thing his father never spoke of, one secret that had died with him a year ago, leaving Kel to carry on the family trade alone.

On the day of his 25th birthday, Kel stood before the forge, the heat from the flames casting an orange glow on his muscular frame. His hammer rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the sound echoing through the smithy. But as he worked, an unease gnawed at him, a sense of something just out of reach, something hidden in the depths of his mind.

That night, the moon was full, its light filtering through the canopy of trees to bathe the village in an eerie silver glow. Kel lay in bed, his mind restless, plagued by strange dreams of forests and wolves, of blood and ancient rites. The air was thick with tension, and his skin prickled with a sensation he couldn't explain.

As the hour grew late, Kel felt a sudden pain shoot through his body, starting in his chest and radiating outward. He gasped, clutching his sides, as the pain intensified, becoming unbearable. His vision blurred, and he collapsed to the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

In the darkness, his body began to change. Muscles rippled and grew, bones cracked and reformed, and his senses sharpened to an unnatural degree. His heart pounded in his ears as he felt his humanity slipping away, replaced by something primal, something feral. The transformation was agonizing, and when it was over, Kel was no longer the man he had been.

He was a beast—a creature of the night, with fur as black as the shadows and eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light. The wolf inside him howled in triumph, reveling in its newfound freedom, but somewhere deep within, the man that was Kel fought to hold on to the last remnants of his humanity.

Staggering to his feet, Kel stumbled out of the smithy and into the night. The village, unaware of the monster in their midst, slept peacefully, oblivious to the danger that now lurked among them. Driven by instincts he didn't understand, Kel fled into the forest, his mind a chaotic swirl of fear, confusion, and a hunger that clawed at his very soul.

As the night wore on, Kel found himself deep in the heart of the Black Forest, the moonlight barely penetrating the thick canopy above. Exhausted and terrified, he collapsed by a stream, the cold water reflecting the monster he had become. But even as despair threatened to consume him, a voice whispered in his mind a voice that was not his own.

"Embrace the curse, or be consumed by it," it said, echoing through the darkness. "Your fate is tied to the moon, and only the truth will set you free."

Kel didn't understand the voice, but he knew one thing for certain: his life would never be the same again.