"Come on, Red," Ulrich smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm obviously joking. Beatrice and I were just friends, though I wouldn't have minded going out with her..." A mix of sadness and longing washed over his face, making me wonder if he had feelings for my grandmother at some point.

"Like grandma would ever go out with you," I muttered sarcastically.

"You should have seen your face, dear girl. It was quite funny," he said, chuckling.

I scoffed in reply, rolling my eyes at him. Ulrich walked to a desk with drawers and opened one of them. He pulled out a couple of photos and handed them to me. "Here, so you believe what I said," he told me, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

I examined the photos closely. In one picture, a younger version of Ulrich stood next to my grandma, both shaking hands in what appeared to be this very same cabin. Their expressions were friendly, but there was an intensity in their gazes that hinted at something deeper. My heart clenched slightly, wondering what could have been between them.

The other photo showed my whole family: I saw myself as a child, beaming brightly with innocence; my mother, graceful and strong; my grandma, still as fierce and beautiful as ever; and my dad... He wore that ridiculous "Dad Bod" shirt and nostalgia warmed my chest like a sip of hot cocoa on a winter's day. I remembered Grandad taking us these pictures, it was the last time we were all together before he died of pneumonia. We had a barbecue in the forest and I was filled with blissful joy.

"Wow," I breathed, unable to tear my gaze away from the images of the past. "I never thought I'd see these again."

"Your grandmother sometimes gave me pictures of her family," Ulrich explained, his voice soft.

I smiled as I turned the photo over. On its back, I noticed a handwritten message: "To my friend Ulrich". It was undeniably my grandmother's handwriting.

"I'm sorry for not recognizing you, Red," Ulrich said with sincerity. "I haven't seen any recent pictures of you."

I shrugged. "It's okay. Can I keep this photo, though? The one with my family?" I asked, clutching the precious memory.

"Of course," he replied, nodding.

I carefully slid the photo into my pants’ rear pocket, ensuring it was safe. Ulrich then moved to an old, comfy armchair and sat down, facing Silver, Ylfa, and me. His expression turned serious as he looked at each of us.

"Please, listen to an old man's story without judgment or anger," he requested, his voice heavy with emotion. "What I am about to reveal to you, I've never told anyone before." We all looked at him expectantly.

Ulrich began his story by recounting how he met Beatrice back when she was a Black Hood, before she became the Matriarch. "She was beautiful, brave, and cunning. The only Hood who managed to find the Nightshade Clan's location," he said, admiration in his voice.

As he spoke, I tried to picture my grandma as the fierce woman he described. It was difficult, but I could see glimpses of her in his words. Ulrich continued, explaining that something had made Beatrice change her perspective on werewolves.

"Beatrice started to see werewolves as what they were... Not bloodthirsty, mindless beasts, but people," he said, pausing for emphasis. "People who had been cursed with a terrible disease."

My eyes widened at this revelation, and I looked over at Silver, wondering how he felt. He seemed deep in thought, his brow furrowed as he processed Ulrich's words. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. What did Silver think of his own condition? Did it hurt him when he turned?

"Being a werewolf is not something we choose," Ulrich added, locking eyes with Silver. "It's a burden, and one we must bear with courage and resilience."

Ulrich's voice cracked as he paused, his eyes welling up with unshed tears. He gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. I had never considered lycanthropy as a disease or a curse before, always viewing it as something to be feared and hunted. But maybe Ulrich was right. I glanced over at Silver, who seemed lost in thought, his face etched with pain. He didn't choose to be a silver werewolf, an outcast from both human society and his own pack. Had I been wrong all these years?

Why hadn't Grandma ever talked about this perspective? Maybe she was scared in her own way of being ostracized by the Hoods. As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I felt a mix of confusion and guilt settling in my chest.

Ulrich took a deep breath and carried on. "Beatrice was so kind that she even took in a werewolf pup whose family had left him behind due to his difficulty shifting," he said.

"Adriano," I blurted out, interrupting Ulrich's story.

He leaned in, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I know... He was like a brother to you."

I nodded as Ulrich reclined on his seat, his eyes hardening.

"Beatrice managed to make a pact with me so some of the werewolves in the Nightshade would stop attacking people and killing Hoods," Ulrich revealed. "The Hoods never knew. They thought she simply hunted down enough of us so we were not such a threat anymore. That's how she got to be the Matriarch."

As Ulrich spoke, I couldn't help but reflect on all the secrets my grandmother kept hidden from me and the Hoods. It was hard to imagine that the same woman who taught me to hunt werewolves had made a pact with a Clan leader to stop the war.

Ulrich continued, his voice filled with the weight of his memories. "This alliance between the Nightshade and the Hoods cost me greatly, though." My attention snapped back to him as he spoke. "That's when Skol decided to challenge me as the alpha of the Nightshades. He was the most fierce, cruel, and ambitious, and was against the non-aggression pact."

Silver suddenly stood up, his body tense with agitation. His fists clenched at his sides, and I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten as he tried to control his emotions. "He didn't tell me that he used to belong to the Nightshade Clan..." he said, his voice strained. "Is that true?"

Ulrich looked at Silver, studying him, probably wondering if Silver was about to do something stupid. "What would I gain by lying to you?" He retorted, his tone cold and sharp.

Ylfa tugged at Silver's shirt, urging him to calm down, but he remained standing. She turned to Ulrich and explained, "Skol was the werewolf who raised Silver."

At this revelation, Ulrich's eyes widened with genuine concern, and he looked at Silver with sad, serious eyes. "I didn't know..." he said, frowning, pausing as if weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he looked at Silver and spoke matter-of-factly, "Even though Skol challenged me, I was stronger. When Skol lost the challenge for the leadership of the Nightshade Clan, he convinced some werewolves to join him and form his own pack, the Ironfang Clan."

I watched Silver's expression closely, trying to gauge his reaction to this new information - a history he was never aware of. His eyes were stormy, and I could sense the turmoil brewing within him.

"Your parents were among those who joined them," Ulrich told Silver, his voice weary from the weight of his words. "They were good people." He paused before continuing, "Estrid, your mother, was pregnant with you then."

My gaze shifted to Silver, trying to figure out his emotional state. His chiseled chest heaved up and down as he breathed in shallow, rapid bursts. His expression seemed a mixture of confusion and distress, his eyes flickering between Ulrich and the floor.

"It was around the time that some other werewolves in my Clan were asking me to expel all the silver werewolves from the Nightshades... So I understand why they went with him. For that, I'm sorry," Ulrich said.

Silver's anger bubbled to the surface, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenched his teeth. "My parents were not good people," he growled menacingly, his voice deep and dangerous. "I'm tired of all of you repeating the same bullshit."

He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Ulrich. The fire in his intense yellow eyes only seemed to make him more handsome and enticing, even in his rage. His body was taut, every muscle defined by his anger.

"They abandoned me when I was just a newborn," Silver snarled, his hands curling into fists. "They left me to die, but Skol saved me."

Ulrich stood abruptly, the speed of his movements belying his age. He faced Silver, their eyes locked. I could feel the tension between them, thick and heavy, as if they were seconds away from lunging at each other's throats.

"Your parents were good people," Ulrich hissed angrily. "But Skol is scum. Do you want to know why?"

As he spoke, I noticed Silver's claws lengthening, his anger morphing into something more primal and wild. His voice was no longer human but a guttural roar that sent shivers down my spine. "Take that back!" Silver shouted, fury in his eyes.

Instead of backing off, Ulrich got even closer to Silver, their faces inches apart. "Do you want to know why?!" he repeated, his voice even louder, deep and terrifying. "Because he killed your parents in cold blood, and then lied to you about it."

That revelation seemed to push Silver over the edge. His body convulsed and twisted, fur sprouting all over his muscular frame as he transformed into his werewolf form. The sight was both mesmerizing and terrifying - the raw power, the uncontrollable rage, the sheer size of him in this state. It was almost too much for me to take in.

But Ulrich didn't hesitate; he too shifted into his werewolf form, just in time to brace himself for the impact as Silver charged at him with a scream that shook the cabin. The two massive beasts collided with an earth-shattering force, rolling across the floor, snarling and clawing at one another in a brutal display of violence.

I could hardly breathe, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched the fight unfold, unable to tear my eyes away. Every snarl, every growl, every flash of claw and fang only served to remind me of the sheer power these creatures possessed. Silver's ferocity was both terrifying and intoxicating.

"Silver!" I cried out. "Please, don't do this!"

But my voice was lost beneath the cacophony of snarls and growls, and the two werewolves continued their vicious brawl, neither willing to back down.