Putrid moss oozed through stone cracks as silver chains scorched Alyssa's wrists—Layne's "engagement gift" now a torture device. Moonlight squeezed through iron thorns above, dappling the wall where her wolf-head brand devoured mold like a ravenous beast.
"The grey wolf shall devour the silver moon..." The adjacent cell's elder rasped like crumbling leaves, bloody astral charts clawed into stone. "The seventh cycle's traitor will shatter her chains." Moonflare hatchling burst from Alyssa only to ricochet, singeing her loose hair.
Layne's footsteps echoed through the tunnel, blue copper stench overriding rust. His mercury-skinned hand held a mermaid oil lamp: "Like your new quarters? Your great-grandmother resided here." Mechanical fingers tapped the wall, revealing six mummified Silverfang matriarchs—each heart pierced by identical rings.
"Relax, darling." He forced her chin toward neck bite marks. "The Embrace is an art, and I..." His pupils spider-fractured, "am the eternal artist."
The dungeon quaked. As Alyssa's flame hawk surged, the elder howled. Darkness erupted with silver glints—Kane's arrow pinned Layne's shoulder, fletching tied with Evelyn's防腐液-soaked ribbon.
"Did sister upgrade her perfume?" Layne snapped the arrow, black blood sprouting vine-like veins. "She craves dramatic exits." Ripping his shirt open, a bloodied scale glinted in his clockwork heart—matching Kane's mother's earring.
Moonflare phoenix erupted, illuminating hidden murals: Alyssa's reflection stabbing Kane as the grey wolf tore the moon. The elder laughed, clawing through stone with a broken pocket watch—hands spinning backward, "Lóthar Bloodkiss" engraved inside.
"Time outloves lovers." Layne's forked tongue licked the watch, skin melting like wax. "Why blue copper? It lets you hear..."
Harp strings snapped below. Moonflare collapsed into hovering ash-prophecy: "When traitor's blood awakens, the cage becomes throne." The elder's eye sockets glowed green, voice merging with a three-century-dead prophet: "Daughter of the moon, your fangs have always grown."
Alarms blared with Layne's sneer. As guards approached, Alyssa traced bloody words on the elder's scale: "He fears your ash-flame."
Bloodied moonlight flooded the dungeon. The deepest iron gate creaked open, revealing cub whimpers meshed with grinding gears. Her brand burned anew—flames birthing not a wolf, but a grey phoenix spreading wings.