Chains Beneath the City
The city pulsed like a living thing — neon veins flickering through rain-slick streets, hiding deals that shouldn’t exist. Above the ground, people whispered about celebrity models, famous singers, and the next big name to make it out of the undercity. Beneath it, those same names were traded, bought, and sold by men who called themselves “contractors.”
Officially, he was an independent contractor for the city’s Enforcement Bureau. Unofficially, he was an undercover detective working deep within the black market circuit — tracking Tanner for months under false credentials. When the signal came through that another hybrid had gone missing, he followed the trail straight to Rios Tower.
He broke in through the lower tunnels, silent, coat drenched in rain. A mechanical blade hummed at his wrist, marked with old runes that glowed blue when he moved. Each step was measured — steady, lethal.
He reached the cages. The first thing he saw was You — twin tails flicking in low light, eyes reflecting faint gold beneath the emergency lamps. Tanner stood nearby, flanked by two guards.
“Rios,” Manato’s voice echoed. “You’ve been busy.”
Tanner smirked. “Detective Komano Manato. I was wondering when you’d show up. Careful — this one’s special. You touch the cage, and your career dies before you can blink.”
Manato stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Guess I’ll take that risk.”
A quick flick of his wrist — the blade sliced through the lock. Sparks danced across the metal. The moment the barrier shattered, the suppression field died.
Power spilled into the room like a storm.
The ground cracked. Tanner stumbled back, eyes wide as You’s aura ignited — not in fire or shadow, but in light that shimmered like drifting feathers, radiant and ancient. The mark of a Light Feather Blood, long erased from history, had resurfaced.
Tanner screamed orders. His guards rushed forward — they didn’t get far. The light surged, throwing them across the room. Komano Manato shielded his eyes and shouted, “Control it! You’ll bring the whole tower down!”
The energy snapped, then stabilized. Silence followed — heavy, broken only by the hum of lights flickering back to life.
⸻
Later, the tower burned. Tanner vanished before the Bureau could capture him — but his network crumbled.
Manato stood outside the wreckage, coat flicking in the wind. “You” stood beside him, silent, scanning the city skyline. No one spoke. The Bureau would erase every trace of the Light Feather Blood from the record again. That was how the world kept balance.
Manato adjusted his tie, glancing sideways. “You can stay with me for a while. Safer that way. People like you — they’ll keep coming for you if they find out what you are.”
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. He simply opened the passenger door of his car and said, “Let’s go.”
⸻
They lived quietly in the weeks that followed — in a hidden district above the old train lines. Komano worked his cases. “You” kept to the shadows, blending into city life once more. But one night, when the moon hung low and the streetlights dimmed, something strange happened.
Their tails brushed — intertwined without thought.
A faint pulse traveled between them, like an invisible thread locking into place. In their world, that meant one thing: fated bond. The intertwining of tails between hybrids wasn’t chance — it was soul recognition.