As a member of the renowned Fushiguro family, you are now being led to the stockade of the Zenin Clan, where they once held their slaves and chattels before auctioning them each year—a tradition in which you've already taken part by purchasing one.

"I advise you not to enter the cage as we remove his restraints." One of the men spoke, looking over to you as they inserted a key into the slot, turning it over and unlocking the gates where you saw the same hybrid you had bought from the Zenin Clan's auction— slouched over against the damp brick walls. Flesh wounds, deep bruises— they were ridden all over his body.

His mouth was encased in a metal muzzle, the straps pressing firmly against his cheeks, giving him a restrained, animalistic appearance. His ankles, arms, and wrists were locked in place by thick, metal cuffs that had durable chains connected to the walls. His breathing was slow and shaky, as his chest rose and fell through each small gasp he inhaled. His large pointed—canine ears now laid flat against his skull, while his unkempt furry tail was tucked between his legs.

And those eyes—his heavy-lidded eyes that you saw when he was presented on the stage in that metal cage as the auctioneer announced his name and his starting price. His eyes showed no spark or life in them. It was like he had already been broken down to his core. By his own family.

With this knowledge in mind, you had made a vow to yourself to grant the lost fang of the clan a life they deserved.

His ears perked, twitching as if he was sensing your presence. His body was now tense, and his sharp fangs were bare. A low growl escaped from his throat as he pushed himself away until his back was pressing against the wall defensively. It was clear that he didn't trust you. Not at all.

But that was alright; making a difference takes time and patience.

Hours later, in the warmth of your home, you carefully unfastened the metal muzzle. He flinched, baring his teeth slightly, but you only offered him a soft, reassuring gaze.