“A little under two thousand years ago, there was a mad, selfish man at the head of the most powerful empire in the world. Nero, he was called. He did many things, but one, the citizens of Rome never forgave. He took a humongous territory that belonged to the people, and made it his. His palace, his playground, his gardens.

“Finally, though, he died. Those left to pick up the pieces had a pretty hard road ahead. The government had lost the faith of the people, and regaining it was going to take a lot of work.

“Then Flavian rose to power and decided to give that land back to the people. You’ve seen the results in postcards, I’m sure. They call it the Colosseum nowadays.

“This is common knowledge. What most don’t know is that Vespasian Flavia, and the rest of his family, were shifters.

“Financing the amphitheater wasn’t easy. Giving it to the people meant that they Couldn’t raise the funds from taxes, for one. So they went to war, heading east, to Jerusalem.

“They won, bringing back gold, of course, but they also brought back slaves. A lot of them. Only three were of consequence, though.

“We don’t know if they’re related. We don’t know their actual names. They never spoke to their captors, according to the records we have of those days. What we know is that they were seen as rulers by the rest of the slaves. What we know is that they also were shifters. Wolves.

“Titus Flavia was so proud at having caught such a powerful, distinguished enemy. Wolf shifters had founded Rome - think back to the story of Romulus and Remus, and connect the dots - and now here they were, at his mercy.

“The Flavian amphitheater wasn’t ready yet, but there were others where gladiators fought. He took them there and pitted them against each other, first. When they wouldn’t fight, he threw animals at them. They massacred them without effort. But, relentlessly, every fortnight, he threw them in the pit and watched them fight. In between, instead of training them and polishing them, like other gladiators, he starved them to ensure they would ultimately die.

“It took years, I’m told. Finally, though, one of them fell. And the moment he stopped breathing, hundreds, if not thousands, of slaves died, too.

“They weren’t sure about what happened, at first. Had they all committed suicide to commiserate with their master? It seemed unlikely. Titus needed to understand, so he had another one executed - a female, I think.

“As she died, other hundreds of slaves were lost. This was quite a blow for all of Rome, and it terrified Titus. As a shifter himself, he wanted to understand what caused it. He went to the last wolf and made him an offer. Tell me, he said, and I’ll grant you your freedom. He didn’t believe it, but at long length, and probably after a fair bit of torture, Fenrir finally spoke.

“He told Titus the legend of the first wolves, one red, one white, one gray. They’d been turned together, and every single werewolf in the world had either been bred, or turned by them.

“Fenrir said he was the direct descendant of the First Gray wolf. The last descendant. His companions had been the last of the First Red and Arctic wolves. Without that original bloodline, without anyone in the world with First blood running through their veins, they were all doomed.

“Titus laughed, relieved and victorious. He knew he came from First blood, too. As they’d never turned anyone, every Eagle shifter alive shared his blood. He wasn’t likely to ever be afflicted. But it gave him ideas. Realizing there could be power in having thousands of followers who would die if something happened to him, he started to turn more humans into shifters.

“He lost interest in Rome, and faked his death just as the Amphitheater was built. Humans were of no consequence now. Finding the best witches, he took an island and made it his. The money stolen in Jerusalem hadn’t run out yet, so he used that to make his Dale.

“He died eventually, of course, but his descendants were a little less egocentric, or so I like to think. Still, they saw that he hadn’t had the worst idea, especially after the new religion came. Humans destroyed every reminder of their old faith as best they could over the following centuries, in the name of their new savior.

“Not in Dale, though. Our wards have stood for two thousand years, and we still have marble halls and columns so tall they seem to touch the sky.

“I’m Ava Flavia Dale. Six months ago, our people started to question the old stories. I frankly understand why, because it sounds like old mumbo jumbo to me, too. But they massacred most of my family. I ran east, as my brother went north to get them off my trail.

“Before we went our separate ways, he asked me to try to find the only person who can give us a true account of what happened all those years ago. He told me to find Fenrir. There’s a good chance the Enforcers who betrayed us are right, of course. But, if they aren’t, if killing us means the end of our kind, we need to know. So, the idea is to find him, and ask him if it’s true. Then, in case it is, I guess I need to convince him to testify under a truth spell, so that this madness can end.”