Requiem of the Silver Chain

December 21, 1848, Silva City, Borderlands of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.** The snow began to fall in the afternoon, first like fine salt, then feathery down. By evening, the entire mountain town was sealed beneath a cold-white silence. Towering pine branches groaned under the weight, cracking sharply; the distant monastery's bronze bell swung in the wind, yet carried no sound, as if even noise had frozen mid-air. In the east of the city, on the third underground level of Blackstone Castle, there were no windows, only a row of iron bars facing a dim corridor. At the corridor's end, a whale oil lamp swayed, casting jagged patches of light. Lisa Eckert was chained in the center of that light. She was sixteen. Today was her birthday, but no one would sing for her. Coarse silver chains bound her wrists, ankles, and collarbone. The inside of each link was engraved with barbs that tore her skin whenever she struggled, smearing her blood onto the silver. The silver hissed against the werewolf blood, emitting wisps of white vapor, like a snake's tongue. She heard her own heartbeat—*Thump... thump... thump*—three beats, then a pause, as if someone were chipping ice from within. "Don't let it out," rasped Old Graef, the jailer, crouching outside the bars. His voice sounded like a file scraping rust. "The Lord's orders. If you howl tonight, they'll cut out half your tongue." Lisa raised her eyes. Her pupils were darker than normal, too dark to reflect the lamplight, yet they mirrored her own split lip. She didn't answer. Answering wasted spit, and the spit in her throat had already turned to ice. She knew what "it" was. Three years ago, on a Winter Solstice night, she'd seen her mother dragged into this same cellar. Wrapped in silver chains, her mother was thrown into a corner like a sack of rags. The next day, the cellar was empty, save for a tuft of silver-grey fur on the floor. From that moment, she knew "it" was hiding inside her, like a countdown seal of wax, destined to shatter violently under the moon on some future Winter Solstice. And today was the third year. The grating sound of the iron door opening echoed from the corridor's end. Boot heels struck the stone floor, an elegant rhythm like a minuet. Count Cassian von Silva had arrived. He wore a black wool greatcoat, a ruby pin gleaming at his collar like freshly clotted blood. His blond hair shone coldly in the lamplight, but his eyelashes were dark as two small fans, shadowing the deep green of his eyes. "Good evening, little Lisa," his voice was low and smooth, touched with a Viennese lilt. "Today is your great day." Lisa's fingers twitched slightly within the silver chains. Cassian stopped outside the bars, tapping the iron lightly with a fingertip, playing the first three notes of the *Moonlight Sonata*. "Afraid?" he asked. Lisa licked her cracked lower lip, tasting rust. "I'm only afraid of the cold." Cassian smiled, revealing slightly pointed teeth. They weren't exaggerated like a vampire's in legends, just a little longer than ordinary canines, but sharp enough to pierce an artery. "Good," he said. "Cold keeps you clear-headed. When you're clear, the change is slower... and more beautiful." He raised a hand. An attendant behind him handed him an object—a silver gag, its inner surface also studded with barbs. "Just in case," Cassian explained. "A wolf's first howl is always the most unpleasant." The attendant unlocked the bars. The gate groaned like a dying thing. Lisa jerked violently. The chains clashed, the barbs tearing the skin over her collarbone. Warm blood trickled down her clavicle into her collar. White vapor rose, like a miniature sacrifice. Cassian narrowed his eyes, inhaling the scent of iron in the air. "Don't move," he whispered. At that very instant, a wolf's howl tore through the night outside the castle—long, desolate, vibrating with a metallic tremor, like a blade scoring the sky. Cassian froze. The attendant paled. "A wild wolf?" the attendant stammered. "No," Cassian's lips slowly curved into a smile. "The children of the city." Every year on the eve of the Winter Solstice, the wolf packs outside Silva City drew near the walls and howled at the moon. It was part of the curse: the howls would stimulate all the awakening youths within the city, boiling their blood prematurely. Lisa's pupils contracted sharply. She felt something within her own blood respond—*Thump... thump... thump*—her heartbeat suddenly accelerating to the point of pain. Cassian leaned down, dipped a gloved fingertip into the blood on her collarbone, and touched it to his tongue. "Mmm," he sighed. "It's starting to turn sweet." He turned away, instructing the attendant: "Put the gag on her. Add another silver chain. No one is to approach her tonight." The gate clanged shut again. Darkness rushed back in like a damp, cold blanket. Lisa closed her eyes, counting her heartbeats. *One hundred.* *Two hundred.* *Three hundred…* Suddenly, she heard an extremely soft sound— *"Shh."* The sound came from the deepest corner of the cellar, a place utterly swallowed by darkness. Lisa opened her eyes. In the corner, there was a faint gleam. The gleam came from the strings of a double bass. The strings were silver, yet shimmered with a ghostly blue light, like moonlight frozen into thin ice. The musician, Andreas, crouched there, fingers resting on the strings. He made a "quiet" gesture towards her. *When had he come in?* No one knew. "Don't be afraid," he breathed. "I'm here to take you away." Lisa's throat tightened. She wanted to say "impossible," but no sound came. Andreas plucked a single string gently. *"Thump—"* Just one note, yet it fell like a drop of warm water into a frozen lake, sending ripples outward. Miraculously, Lisa's heartbeat slowed. The barbs of the silver chains still tore at her flesh, but the pain felt distant. Andreas plucked the strings again. This time, a short melody— *"Mi-re-do-la…"* Lisa recognized the melody. When she was little, her mother had whistled the same tune to lull her to sleep. Her eyes suddenly burned. "Who are you?" she whispered. Andreas didn't answer. He simply continued plucking the strings. The melody grew longer, like a silver thread weaving through the darkness, coiling around her wrist. The silver chains began to vibrate faintly. *Click.* A soft snap. The thinnest silver chain had broken. Lisa's eyes widened. Andreas smiled at her, showing a glimpse of a canine tooth. "Get ready to run," he said. Outside the cell, the whale oil lamp flickered out. Darkness fell completely. And above the darkness, outside the castle, the wolves' howls rose, one after another, louder and louder, like waves crashing against the shore. Lisa took a deep breath. She heard the countdown within her blood suddenly stop. Replacing it was another sound— *Thump… thump… thump.* This time, it was two heartbeats, synchronized. She didn't know what would happen next. But she knew the story had begun. ---