The dying grey luminescence of the moss seemed burned onto Alan's retinas,intertwining with the garden's utter desolation into a tableau of apocalyptic dread.Fenrir's disgusted snarl still hung in the air,while Lena's icy prophecy–"next'garden'"–weighed on them all like lead.
Simon,with meticulous care,used specialized forceps to extract the last fragments of the grey-glowing moss clinging to the dead oak root,placing them into a container filled with inert gas and a weak life-support field.The feeble grey light within flickered like a guttering candle,making Simon frown deeply.
"Samples critically fragile.Activity below 0.8%.Contamination index rising…Decay affinity Anima acts like a wasting disease,accelerating disintegration.Need deep lab analysis ASAP to stabilize,or…"Simon's muffled voice was heavy with implication.The moss wasn't just evidence;it was the sole,fragile bridge to the truth in Epping Forest.
"Fenrir,watch our flanks."Lena's command cut through the tension.Her gaze,sharp as ice picks,fixed on the edge of the withered garden,where deadened shrubs met the deeper gloom."Company."
Almost instantly,the shadows there seemed to writhe.No sound,no disturbance of air.A figure materialized as if painted onto the canvas of reality,standing silently ten meters away,framed by the patchy shadow of another dying,yet still-standing oak.
He was clad in an impeccably tailored deep-purple velvet frock coat over a silver-grey silk shirt,a dark crimson cravat knotted at his throat.Tall and slender,his features possessed an androgynous,classical beauty,skin unnaturally pale,almost translucent.His eyes were the most striking–not human hues,but a deep,ancient violet,glinting with inhuman light in the gloom.He held an obsidian-topped cane,his posture radiating the effortless elegance of a high-society soirée,grotesquely out of place in this necropolis.
Vampire!The word slammed into Alan's mind.And not some back-alley feeder!This aura…ancient,icy,elegant,radiating palpable power!The Crimson Conclave!
Fenrir reacted instantly.A deep,threatening growl erupted from his chest,rumbling through the dead silence.Muscles coiled like springs,his alloy knuckle-dusters snicked out,gleaming lethally in the low light.His amber eyes locked onto the vampire,primal hostility radiating in waves.Wolf and Vampire–the ancient enmity ignited.
Lena's response was equally swift but controlled.Her right hand rested on her shock baton,her left palmed several silver throwing stars etched with Warden wards.She shifted subtly,placing herself between the newcomer and Simon and the weakened Alan.Her eyes held no fear,only icy assessment and readiness.
"Halt!Identify yourself and state your purpose!"Lena's voice cut through the stillness,clear and cold as shattering ice,carrying the weight of Warden authority.
Alan's heart hammered.The suppressor cuff on his wrist surged hotter,its hum intensifying.His Harmonizer ability rippled violently within him!Not from fear,but because he perceived it!The energy radiating from this vampire!It was a cold,deep,ancient reservoir of power,like a fathomless glacial pool.But deep within that pool,Alan's senses screamed at a faint,chillingly familiar taint–a sliver of the same cold,ravenous thirst that lingered in the Withering's residue and polluted the dying moss!Minuscule,almost drowned by the vampire's own might,but Alan's Harmonizer instinct screamed at its malevolent resonance!
This vampire…had he touched the Withering power?Or…was he…?Alan dared not finish the thought,a chill snaking down his spine.
Facing Fenrir's snarl and Lena's weapons,the vampire aristocrat showed no ripple of emotion.His violet eyes swept the tense Warden team,lingering on Fenrir with a flicker of undisguised contempt,as one might regard a snarling cur.Finally,his gaze settled on Lena.The corners of his lips lifted infinitesimally,forming a perfect,utterly cold smile.
"A regrettable disturbance to the night's tranquility,"his voice resonated,low,melodious,possessing an unnatural cadence like a cello solo in the midnight silence,each word unnervingly clear.Yet Alan felt no warmth,only icy elegance."Permit me.Elliot de La Tour.At the behest of the Crimson Conclave,I extend…greetings…to London's Wardens."He offered a slight bow,fluid as centuries of practice,impeccable yet radiating aloof superiority.
"Greetings?"Lena's voice held no thaw,cold as forged steel."Lord de La Tour.Appearing thus,at the site of the'Withering'event,suggests more than courtesy."She named the place and event,refusing to yield ground.
"Withering…"Elliot repeated the word,a subtle shift in his violet eyes,like currents beneath frozen water."An…apt designation."He tapped the charred ground lightly with his cane,a gesture of distaste,as if fearing contamination."The lament of this land echoes faintly even within the Conclave's ancient walls."
He raised his eyes,pinning Lena with his gaze,deep enough to drown in."The Conclave sends me not to sow discord,Warden.Quite the contrary.We come to…express concern.And to seek…clarification."
"Clarification?"Lena's brow furrowed slightly.
"Indeed."Elliot's voice remained level,but the pressure subtly increased."Last night,the shadow of the'Withering'…did not confine itself to this unfortunate garden.It also…brushed against the sanctum of an esteemed Conclave affiliate."His gaze swept the desolation."A minor family residence,tethered to the Greenhaven Corner's ambient Anima node.While the scope was far less…dramatic…the outcome was no less grievous."
He paused,a flicker of cold fire in his violet depths."Three loyal thralls…succumbed to the abrupt depletion of Life Anima.Their eternal rest…permanent.The estate's cherished'Crimson Rose Garden'…reduced to ash within the night.A severe blow to a lineage dedicated to eternal elegance."
"Therefore?"Lena remained unmoved,tone steely."The Conclave believes the Wardens responsible?"She seized the implication.
Elliot's cold smile seemed to deepen a fraction."'Believes'?Such a direct word,dear Warden.The Conclave merely…notes the coincidence."He spread his hands elegantly."Such precise,large-scale extraction of Life Anima is no mere accident or loss of control.It requires meticulous guidance,profound knowledge…and intimate familiarity with the target locale."His gaze lingered meaningfully on Lena and her team.
"Wardens maintain order,handle supernatural incidents.Yet the'order'here seems to have been…forcibly'reset'by some agency.And the Conclave,coincidentally within your sphere of activity,suffers collateral damage."His words were velvet sheathing steel,subtly pointing the finger at the Wardens."Though,we cannot discount…other possibilities.Our long-standing'neighbors'within this city's venerable shadows."He didn't say"werewolves,"but his pointed glance at the snarling Fenrir was unmistakable.
"The Conclave requires truth,Warden."Elliot's voice lowered,carrying undeniable authority."Who dares wield such forbidden power beneath London's veil?Who challenges the dignity of the Ancient Laws and brings loss upon the Conclave?"His violet eyes,deep pools reflecting Lena's cold face,held her gaze."We trust the Wardens'…efficiency…will yield a satisfactory answer with due haste.After all,preserving the stability of'The Veil',preventing unnecessary…turbulence…is our shared responsibility,is it not?"
His words,draped in courtesy,were pure threat and pressure.Tying the Conclave's loss to the Withering,implicating Wardens or werewolves,demanding swift answers,or else implying consequences.
The air crackled with unspoken tension.Fenrir's growl deepened into a rumbling snarl,claws scraping audibly.He was a hair-trigger away from attacking,restrained only by Lena's sharp,silencing glare.Simon clutched the sample container,frozen.Alan stared fixedly at Elliot,his Harmonizer still churning,the hidden sliver of ravenous"thirst"beneath the vampire's elegance feeling like a serpent's tongue.
Lena was silent for a long moment,her gaze sharp enough to flay Elliot's elegant facade.Finally,she spoke,her voice still cold,but carrying the ironclad weight of the Wardens'mandate:
"The Wardens are investigating the'Withering'event.Any unnatural death or destruction caused by supernatural forces falls under our purview.The Conclave affiliate's loss is regrettable.However,presenting unsubstantiated conjecture as conclusion is unwise."Her words were a clear rejection of accusation and pressure."Investigation requires time and evidence.We will follow procedure to uncover the truth,regardless of the perpetrator.Including…any entity misusing forbidden power."Her own implication was clear,her gaze unwavering against Elliot's.
A taut silence stretched.Two invisible forces clashed in the dead garden.Elliot's violet eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.The icy elegance cracked for a microsecond,revealing true cold beneath.The obsidian atop his cane pulsed with a barely visible,dark crimson light.
"Procedure…evidence…"he echoed softly,a trace of mockery in the curve of his lips."Very well.The Wardens'…thoroughness…is noted."He offered another flawless bow."Then,the Conclave shall…observe with interest.May the truth not tarry overlong.After all,"his gaze swept the dead garden once more,lingering fractionally on Alan–a look unfathomably deep,seeing or merely glancing?–"the shadow of the'Withering'seems…restless."
His form seemed to dissolve like ink in water,flowing backward into the deeper shadows of the withered oaks.No sound.No stir of air.As if he had never been.
Only his final words remained,coiling in the dead air like cold serpents:
"May the night guard you,Wardens.The Conclave…is watching."