Chapter 3 A LESSON IN MYTHOLOGY

The sound of that haunting howl still echoed in my mind, even as daylight streamed through my window the next morning. It felt like a warning, like the world outside my door had suddenly shifted into something darker, something primal. I hadn't slept well, my thoughts spinning with questions about what I had heard and the unnerving connection I felt to the stories from the night before.

I couldn't stop thinking about it-the howl, the shadows, and the weight of the legends that seemed to press down on this town. The rational part of me wanted to dismiss it all as coincidence, maybe even my overactive imagination. But deep down, I knew better. There was something happening here, something I wasn't fully grasping yet, and the key to it all seemed to lie in Crescent Falls' ancient myths.

I hurried to my mythology class, my mind buzzing with more questions than answers. Today's lecture was about folklore, and I couldn't help but wonder if Professor Blackwood would touch on the very legends that haunted this place. My heart raced slightly at the thought of him-his commanding presence in the room, the way his voice seemed to hold a depth of knowledge that went beyond what was written in the textbooks.

As I stepped into the lecture hall, the room was already buzzing with students, but my eyes found him immediately. Professor Adrian Blackwood stood at the front of the room, his tall frame shadowed by the dim light filtering through the windows. There was something about the way he carried himself that always drew my attention-an intensity, a quiet authority that made you feel like every word he spoke was carefully chosen and loaded with meaning.

I slipped into a seat near the back, hoping to go unnoticed, but as I settled in, his dark eyes met mine for a brief moment. It was like he could see through me, right down to the thoughts I was trying to hide. I tore my gaze away, my heart thudding, and focused on my notebook instead, determined to act normal.

"Today," Professor Blackwood's voice cut through the low murmurs of the room, "we'll be discussing werewolves. Not the Hollywood versions with their silver bullets and full moon transformations, but the ancient lore. The real myths."

My breath caught. I hadn't expected him to go straight into it, into the heart of the stories that had become so real to me over the last few days. The legends I had read about were ancient, older than Crescent Falls itself, rooted in a time when the line between man and beast was said to blur under the light of the moon.

"As many of you know," he continued, pacing slowly at the front of the room, "werewolves, or lycanthropes, are often seen as cursed beings-men who, either by birth or through a bite, are doomed to transform into wolves. But the older legends, the ones that predate modern fiction, tell a different story."

I leaned forward in my seat, hanging onto his every word. I couldn't help it; his voice had that effect. He made it feel like he was unlocking some secret part of history, peeling back layers of the world that most people couldn't see.

"In many cultures," he said, "the wolf was not just a symbol of violence or savagery. It represented loyalty, strength, and deep connection to the natural world. And in the most ancient of tales, the transformation into a wolf wasn't seen as a curse-it was a gift. A way for certain individuals, chosen by the forces of nature, to protect their people and their lands."

A gift. The word echoed in my mind, pulling at something inside me. Could there be some truth to it? That the wolves were more than the monsters we'd always been told about?

"These chosen ones," Adrian's voice deepened, as if he were revealing something sacred, "formed packs, bound by an unbreakable bond. They ruled the forests, not as monsters, but as guardians. Protectors of a power far older than mankind itself."

The words resonated with me, sending a chill down my spine. I remembered the line from the book I had read the night before: *The wolves of Crescent Falls were not just protectors of the land; they were guardians of a power far older than mankind, and they would stop at nothing to preserve it.*

The similarities were too strong to ignore.

Professor Blackwood paused, his gaze sweeping the room, and for a split second, I thought I saw his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. It was as if he knew-knew that some of us were beginning to understand that these weren't just stories. That there was truth woven into the myths he was so carefully unraveling.

My pulse quickened, and I scribbled notes, my mind racing. The idea that the werewolves of Crescent Falls had been guardians of something ancient, something powerful-it made too much sense. And what did it mean for this place now? For me?

"Of course," Adrian said, breaking the spell of the moment, "these are just legends." His tone was casual, almost dismissive, but I didn't believe it for a second. He knew something more. "But it's important to remember that every legend has a kernel of truth hidden inside it."

The lecture continued, but I was barely listening. My thoughts were swirling, piecing together fragments of history, trying to make sense of what it all meant. I couldn't shake the feeling that these myths weren't just a part of the past-they were connected to the present, to the strange events happening around me.

When class finally ended, I gathered my things quickly, avoiding Professor Blackwood's gaze. I didn't want him to see how much his words had affected me. But as I moved toward the door, something tugged at me-a need to dig deeper, to find out what else might be hidden in this town's history.

I made my way back to the library, determined to uncover more. The old books section beckoned me like a siren call, and I found myself wandering the aisles, searching for anything that might offer answers.

And then I saw it.

A small, worn book tucked away on the highest shelf, nearly hidden among the larger volumes. It was ancient, the spine cracked with age, and as I pulled it down, dust billowed into the air.

The title was faint, barely readable: The Lost Texts of the Pack.

My heart raced as I flipped through the pages, the ink faded but still legible. These weren't just stories-these were accounts. Written by those who had lived through it, those who had been part of the pack.

A shiver ran through me as I realized what I was holding. This was it-the truth. The answers I'd been searching for.

As I turned to a page marked by a faint symbol of a wolf, my breath caught in my throat.

The text spoke of a prophecy-one that involved the pack, the land, and something far darker than I had imagined.

A sudden noise echoed through the library, making me jump. I glanced around, heart pounding, as if someone-or something-was watching me from the shadows.