9

The smell of old parchment was heavy in the air. Between the huge, dark brown bookshelves, time seemed to stand still. Reverently, I run a finger over the thick spines of the books. I never thought Cyrian was a bookworm, but his library was amazing. Rows of white books were stacked on the ten-meter-high shelves.

Only now did I realize how many years I hadn't held a book in my hands. Of course I could still read, but it was unusual to read so many words in a row.

I reverently picked up the old-looking books and leafed through their yellowing pages reverently. Most were in my language, but others were written in languages or even symbols completely unknown to me.

I hadn't seen Cyrian since our argument. There had been a hearty breakfast on the bedside table this morning, but otherwise he hadn't shown up. Around noon I left the bedroom and crept through the corridors. The whole house was eerily empty and accordingly quiet.

Shortly thereafter I discovered the library. A dream for anyone who likes to read or for people with an eye for architecture. Because the room was also visually appealing. It didn't bother that there were hardly any windows, because the slightly gloomy atmosphere gave the room the mysterious and exciting atmosphere that actually every place with books deserves. The dark wooden floor matched the color of the bookshelves perfectly and the seating areas, which were mostly furnished with red armchairs and sofas, rounded off the whole look.

But I still hadn't managed to sit down on one of these armchairs, because I still hadn't found what I was looking for.

Cyrian's words were burned into my head: "You don't know anything."

Unfortunately, I had to admit that I really didn't know much about wolves or war. So I would just take a look at the wolves' perspective on the situation, I'm sure there was a book on here somewhere about the history of wolves. But I knew from the start that this would not change my mind, because I knew one thing for sure, my family, my friends, my village, they had all been good people.

Only a few rows later I finally found the genre that interested me. Most of the books here seemed to be even older than those near the entrance. I decided to ignore all the older books for now, I was always interested in the Wild War and that was only 10 years ago. To my surprise, there seemed to be an entire section dedicated to this war.

About three shelves were overflowing with books on the subject. Thoughtfully, I let my gaze slide over the different spines of the books. Where should I start there?

I wanted to reach for a book whose title: "The wild war - facts and background information." was called and sounded promising to me when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was quite a small book on the last shelf in the department. It was quite inconspicuous, all in black among the others, but it wasn't its color that drew my attention, but its title. "Undervillage". That was my old village! I ran my fingertips reverently over the engraved title. I remembered our village stories. Some said it was called Undervillage because it was on a slope under the forest, others said it was because there used to be illegal businesses there. I didn't know what was true about it, but that didn't matter to me either.

Undervillage had been a nice green village with nice people. As far as I could remember.

I carefully pulled the book off the shelf and sat down in the dark red armchair that was only a few meters away.

I slowly turned to the first page. It was actually written by a wolf. The table of contents is on the next page. I skimmed it roughly. I shrugged and opened the rough synopsis that filled the last few pages.

" Undervillage has always been the source of human evil. The villagers developed what is called: "Wolfbane". One of the few resources that can kill a werewolf.

Undervillage was founded in the Middle Ages under the name Huntervillage, because that's where the wolf hunters met to discuss their battle plans against the wolves. Little by little the village grew, but never so big that it was noticeable. Generations of wolves tried to find it, but most that set out never returned. Little by little, the village founded by R. Rosewood fell into oblivion. Centuries later, Cyrian Blake, Alpha of the North, First of His Name, King of Wolves, managed to find and destroy the village.

This success enabled the production of Wolfbann to be ended. The mass murderers living in the village were executed. Most of the children of the killers were pardoned and allowed to seek a new life under the just rule of the wolves. Even after all these years...."

The book slipped out of my hand and landed on the wooden floor. Undervillage to blame for the war? The village where only a few hundred people lived should have made a remedy against werewolves and hunted them with it?

I shook my head in disbelief. Maybe that was hundreds of years ago, but I would have noticed if the whole village had been going on werewolf hunts on a regular basis. The wolves only hid until there was no one left from the hunters and then killed the descendants.

Why did an entire village have to be wiped out because of the mistakes of an old generation?

I looked at the book on the floor.

I had to find out the truth.

I needed to know what had happened in my village.

I had to go home.