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Crescent Throne
墨書 Inktalez
The damp air was thick with the mingled scents of rust and alcohol. Lia Vane crouched by the drainage ditch in the underground laboratory, wiping the cold sweat from her brow with fingers dusted in silver powder. Her long hair was hastily tied back into a ponytail, with a few stray strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, reddened by the steam. In the center of the lab, a bronze distiller emitted a low hum, and pale blue moonlight flower dew dripped slowly from the serpentine condenser, each drop resembling tears forced from her parched eye sockets.
"That's the seventh failure, Miss Apothecary," came the voice of Morris, the black market intermediary, from outside the iron door. His iron boots splashed in the puddles on the floor, sending silver droplets flying. This one-eyed man had a habit of toying with a thumb-thick silver chain, its pendant—a wolf's head seal—glistening in the shadows with each step he took.
Lia did not turn around. She knew that three hired werewolves followed Morris, their heavy breaths like bellows and their claws scraping against the concrete floor with an ear-piercing sound. Suddenly, the fluorescent fungus wall lights flickered erratically, and the easternmost light fixture crackled before going out completely. She heard Morris's breathing quicken—werewolves had an instinctive wariness of darkness, despite being embodiments of night themselves.
"This time, we have an omega," Morris said as he kicked aside a canvas at the door, revealing a pale face emerging from the shadows. The skin burned by silver powder was rotting at his neck, fresh scars displaying a horrific purplish-black hue. "He just transformed; you have a two-hour window."
Finally, Lia turned around. The young werewolf lying on the lab table was convulsing, bloodied saliva dribbling from his mouth, silver shackles embedded deep into his swollen wrists. She noticed that the wound on his left chest formed an eerie crescent shape, its edges glinting with metallic sheen as if torn by some weapon laced with silver barbs.
"The Silver Claw Family's handiwork?" she asked as she picked up a vial marked "β-3" with hemostatic tongs. Inside the glass bottle floated a translucent viscous liquid that pulsed with faint blue light.
"Smart apothecary," Morris chuckled, his laughter sounding like rusty hinges. "But this batch is a bit special." He unbuttoned his trench coat, and amidst the clinking of metal, Lia caught sight of a pure silver pocket watch hanging at his waist—the inner cover etched with a crescent moon pattern torn by claws, the very emblem of the Silver Claw Family.
Suddenly, darkness enveloped the laboratory.
The last green glow of the fluorescent fungus lingered on Lia's retina as she instinctively pressed an emergency switch beneath the lab table. The backup magic crystal should have provided three minutes of light, but everything remained pitch black. She heard Morris's breath halt abruptly; low growls erupted from the hired werewolves as if darkness itself was awakening.
"The power's out," said the omega werewolf suddenly. His voice carried a metallic resonance. "The moon... is speaking."
A chill crept up Lia's spine. Omega-level werewolves typically fell into complete instinctual states after transforming; the chance of remaining conscious was less than one in a thousand. She fumbled to open her phosphorescent lighter; in its eerie green flame, she saw that wolf's silver eyes reflecting strange light. His fingers suddenly pierced through his restraints and swept across Lia's throat at an astonishing speed.
"You..." His voice turned hoarse yet authoritative. "You carry... the scent of moonlight."
Morris's silver chain suddenly coiled around Lia's wrist, yanking her roughly toward the door. As phosphorescence extinguished in an instant, she caught sight of surveillance screens flickering to life in the darkness; shadows of that wolf-head seal raced across them, revealing three bloodstains deliberately erased beneath the Silver Claw Family emblem.
"We need to change locations," Morris breathed against her ear. "Someone is hunting this omega."
Something snagged at Lia's ankle; as she fell to the ground, remnants of phosphorescence illuminated half a ring in the drainage ditch—a pure silver band engraved with interwoven crescent moons and claws, dried blood lingering in its lunar grooves. Just as her fingers brushed against it, light flooded back into the laboratory, but that ring burned like fire against her skin, making her scream.
The roars of hired werewolves echoed around her as Lia stumbled back and saw that omega pressing the broken end of his shackles against Morris's throat. The moment silver shackles touched pure silver fabric of Morris's coat, half of his face began to visibly rot at an alarming rate.
"Damn Silver Claw traitor," said the omega in a deep and commanding voice; ripples coursed through his Yin Tong as if two moons were eclipsing within his eyes. "Did you think using inferior silver could mask... the scent of usurpers?"
Lia’s gaze dropped to see that crescent wound on his left chest healing; silvery scaly tissue spread outward from it along his collarbone toward his neck. She suddenly recalled news circulating in the black market three days prior—the throne of the Silver Claw Family had changed hands on Blood Moon Night; no trace had been found of the former clan leader’s body.
"Kalan Silverclaw?" Her voice sounded like a stranger’s whisper to her own ears. "You are Prince Kalan?"
A dangerous smile curled at the corners of that omega’s mouth; dark red light flickered deep within his Yin Tong as if two moons were eclipsing each other in his gaze. Suddenly all silver instruments in the lab emitted sharp buzzing sounds simultaneously; pain shot through Lia’s temples as if countless silver needles were jabbing inside her skull.
"Apothecary," he released Morris and let him crumple to the ground with his burned face. "The moonlight within you... it responds to me."
Lia staggered back as her fingers unconsciously brushed against her wrist where an Old Scar—the mark left by silver claws—now glowed faintly blue in resonance with Kalan’s dark red light. The fluorescent fungus abruptly extinguished entirely; moonlight poured through high windows and bathed Kalan in its glow—his silver hair gleamed like metal—while Lia’s shadow elongated and distorted under moonlight, splitting into two crescent claws at its end.
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