Werewolf legend

Chapter 3: The Mysterious Man Appears

Having just endured his first harrowing confrontation with the werewolf, Iris was physically and mentally exhausted. Although the wounds on his body had somewhat eased under the effects of the medicine Gray had given him, they still throbbed like needles, constantly reminding him of his cruel fate that was drawing near. After returning to his dwelling, he felt like a startled bird, his nerves stretched taut at every slight sound, keeping him awake throughout the night. The moonlight outside was still cold and clear, spilling onto the floor like a layer of icy frost, much like the reflection of his heart at that moment—cold to the bone, confused, and helpless.

As dawn’s first light began to break, a faint glow squeezed through the gap in the curtains, as if trying to dispel the gloom within the room. Iris, forcing himself to rise despite his exhaustion, got up to wash his face. In the mirror, the dim glow in his eyes hadn't entirely faded, and the blood vessels in the whites of his eyes resembled a shattered spiderweb, crisscrossing and telling the tale of the dangers he’d faced the night before. He raised a hand to touch his cheek, his fingertips brushing against his skin, which felt oddly warm, as if the mysterious and wild force within him was lurking just beneath the surface, restless and ready to erupt again at any moment.

Just as he was deep in thought about his own changes, a sudden, sharp knock on the door broke the silence, like a thunderclap shattering the stillness of the morning. Iris's heart tightened, and he cautiously glanced at the door. After a moment’s hesitation, he slowly moved toward it. With every step closer, his heartbeat quickened, like a drumbeat pounding wildly within his chest. His hand trembled as he grasped the doorknob, taking a deep breath as if preparing to open a door that led to an unknown abyss.

The door creaked open slowly, and a hunched yet sharp figure appeared. It was an old man, with sparse, messy silver hair, resembling the barren, withered grass of winter. The wrinkles on his face seemed like deep grooves carved by time, profound and weathered, yet they couldn’t hide the sharpness and mystery in his gaze. He wore a tattered but clean black robe, the edges fluttering gently in the breeze, as though carrying an aura of something mysterious. The old man’s gaze pierced straight through Iris, as if he could see every shred of fear and confusion within him, causing Iris to shiver instinctively and step back.

The old man, though seeming benevolent, carries a heavy, unresolved past. His appearance and mannerisms are those of a wise sage, yet his presence feels burdened, as if time has marked him in ways not immediately apparent. Iris might not know it yet, but this old man has lived through the very same curse that is now slowly consuming Iris, and his journey was as much one of survival as it was of sacrifice.

Perhaps years ago, the old man was also a victim of the werewolf curse. He was once just like Iris: lost, terrified, and unable to understand the strange, uncontrollable powers inside him. His initial years were marked by brutal isolation as he struggled with his dual nature—hiding from society, terrified that he would hurt those he loved. But unlike Iris, who faces this curse as a newfound threat, the old man has already traversed its darkest paths.

His salvation came from a f*******n source—a secret society or hidden knowledge passed down by ancient werewolf hunters, or perhaps even other cursed souls who had found ways to control their transformations. This society, knowing the destructive potential of werewolves, crafted a powerful method to control the transformation, but at a great cost: the curse could be suppressed, but it could never be completely purged. It would be a constant, simmering presence within him.

“Who… who are you?” Iris's voice trembled, as if he were a lone leaf quivering in the cold wind, full of suspicion. The old man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, looking past Iris and into the room, as though searching for something. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice deep and hoarse, but carrying an irresistible authority: “Child, I know what’s happening to you. You’ve been bitten by a werewolf. On the night of the full moon, you will become that bloodthirsty monster, unless…” The old man deliberately paused, locking his gaze with Iris, a trace of sorrow flickering in his eyes.

Iris felt as if he had been struck by an electric shock. His body jolted, and the color drained from his face. His eyes widened as he stared at the old man, his lips trembling, but for a long moment, no words escaped him.

The fear inside him surged like a tidal wave, overwhelming him. He never imagined that this old man, whom he had never met, would reveal the very secret he had desperately tried to hide. After a long while, he finally regained his voice, “How… How do you know? What do you want?”

He might not tell Iris this immediately, but his knowledge of the curse goes beyond the surface. The old man knows that Iris is unique, that the curse’s power is shifting in a way that has never been seen before. Could it be that Iris's fate is intertwined with some ancient prophecy or larger plan that neither of them understands yet? The old man fears what Iris might become, for he understands the transformation better than anyone—he knows its seductive pull, the l**t for power, and the terror of losing oneself to the beast inside.

The old man sighed lightly, as if burdened by the weight of countless years of hardship. He slowly crossed the threshold and entered the room. Each step he took was deliberate and slow, as if following some mysterious rhythm, and the aura around him made Iris feel inexplicably tense. “I’ve come to help you, child. Many years ago, I too was cursed by this werewolf, struggling on the edge of life and death,” the old man said, as he walked toward the window, his gaze distant, lost in a long-forgotten memory.

Iris’s mind was full of doubts as he followed the old man’s every movement with his eyes, his hands unconsciously balling into fists, nails digging into his palms in an attempt to calm the growing unease inside him. “You say you can help me, how? Why should I trust you?” His voice carried a trace of defiance and reluctance, like a cornered beast fighting for its last chance. The old man slowly turned around, his eyes meeting Iris’s once more, firm and sincere: “I know the secrets of the werewolf’s power, and I know how to suppress its eruption on the night of the full moon. But this will require your courage and cooperation. Time is running out. We don’t have much time to waste.”

At that moment, Gray, who had been silently watching from the corner, stood up, his eyes narrowed and filled with suspicion as he sized up the old man. He walked closer, like a protective leopard guarding its territory, exuding an aura of caution. “You suddenly appear and claim to want to help us—how do we know what your true motives are? There may be a bigger conspiracy behind this.” Gray’s voice was low and cold, like a blade in the icy night, aimed straight at the old man. The old man raised an eyebrow, glancing at Gray as if evaluating him. After a moment, he smiled lightly, though there was a hint of helplessness in the smile. “Young man, I understand your caution. But right now, our goals are the same. We’re both here to save this child. If I truly wanted to harm him, why would I have waited until now?”

Iris stood between the two of them, feeling torn inside. On the one hand, the old man’s sudden appearance seemed too strange, and though his words were sincere, they raised doubts; on the other hand, Gray’s concerns were not unfounded. Yet, the way the old man spoke about a solution to his curse made Iris’s heart waver, as if he saw a glimmer of hope in the darkness. Caught in this dilemma, his gaze flickered between the two men, like a lost boat in a fog, unsure of where to go.

The next few hours passed in torment for Iris. The old man continued to pace around the room, occasionally casting expectant glances at Iris, as if waiting for him to ask about the solution. Gray remained vigilantly by the side, his eyes never leaving the old man, his presence like a cold, unyielding statue, radiating a “don’t come any closer” aura.

Iris tried to calm himself, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. But as soon as he focused, the power within him seemed ready to break free, making his heart race and cold sweat pour down his face. He clenched his teeth and his fists, his body trembling slightly as both fear and helplessness gripped him. He knew that if he didn’t gain control over this power soon, it would consume him.

The old man seemed to sense his struggle and spoke softly, “Child, don’t resist it. Try to accept it. It’s a part of your body now.” Iris opened his eyes abruptly, confusion and reluctance filling his gaze. “Accept it? That will turn me into a monster!” The old man shook his head slightly, moving closer to him. He reached out a hand as though trying to comfort Iris but paused halfway. “The more you resist, the more violent it will become. Only when you learn to coexist with it peacefully can you begin to guide it.”

Iris felt a stir within him, hesitating for a moment before following the old man’s advice. He slowly relaxed his muscles, allowing the warm energy to flow freely within his body, no longer suppressing it. Gradually, he noticed that his heartbeat slowed, and his trembling eased somewhat. Though the power still felt alien and unsettling, for the first time, he felt that he wasn’t entirely powerless.

However, the balance of trust was still not completely tipped in favor of the old man. Iris looked at him, doubt still clouding his eyes. “You still haven’t said how you’re going to help me. Is it just with words?”

The old man smiled faintly, pulling an ancient-looking medallion from his robes. The medallion was engraved with strange symbols and emitted a faint blue glow. “This is a family heirloom, passed down through generations. It contains a secret technique to suppress the werewolf’s rage. On the night of the full moon, it will help you maintain your sanity.”

Gray snorted derisively. “Who knows if this is some sort of cursed object meant to lure us into a trap?” The old man was not angered, instead offering the medallion to Iris. “Child, feel it for yourself.”

Iris cautiously took the medallion, which felt cool to the touch. But as soon as his fingers brushed it, the restless energy within him seemed to calm slightly, and a flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes.

Gray, however, remained unconvinced. “This could just be a temporary fix. Who knows what will happen on the full moon?”

The old man sighed. “Young man, I understand your wariness. But time is running out. The next full moon is approaching fast. If we don’t begin preparations now, it will be too late.”

Iris clenched the med.