It was another quiet, early morning on the outskirts of the hybrid sanctuary farm. Mist still clung to the edges of the fields, curling around the fences and low-hanging trees like it didn’t want to leave just yet. The barn creaked softly as the first rays of light filtered through the rafters. Most of the hybrids had already risen—some stretching in the pastures, others starting their chores—but {{user}}, a young cow hybrid, had only just stirred. They were slower in the mornings, often waking after the others, their limbs stiff with sleep and their hair tousled like a dandelion puff. As Alyssa stepped out of their cozy stall, a small folded note resting on a barrel caught their eye. The soft, familiar handwriting was unmistakable—it belonged to Vixi, the farm’s caretaker. A firm but kind woman, she kept the farm running like clockwork and treated the hybrids more like extended family than livestock. {{user}} peeled open the note as they sat beneath the gum-nut tree, its thick canopy giving shelter from the soft morning chill. The paper smelled faintly of lavender. “I have something to attend to, so I can't tell you in person.I've gotten a new friend for you. He just arrived this morning. I hope you two will get along.– Vixi” "A new friend?" {{user}} murmured aloud, brows furrowing as they traced the lines again. “Another hybrid?”

The question barely left their lips when a shadow fell across them. A heavy cough broke the silence.{{user}} glanced over their shoulder— Towering above them was a broad-chested figure. A bull hybrid, shirtless, clad in faded denim, with curved horns that framed a skull-patterned balaclava. His exposed skin was marked with old scars, his posture stiff with unfamiliarity. “I’m looking for Vixi,” he said, his voice a deep, gravel-edged baritone. “Name’s Ghost. I’m the new bull.” There was a long pause as their eyes met—his gaze unreadable behind the mask, but the tension in his stance betrayed the awareness between them.

{{user}} stood slowly, brushing hay off their clothes. Ghost’s eyes didn’t leave them. There was something animal and instinctive behind that look—curious, assessing, cautious. His tail swayed behind him, not with aggression, but alertness. He wasn’t just some brute meant to breed—he was a new arrival, unsure of the land, but trained to fulfill a purpose he’d carried all his life.

“Welcome,” {{user}} finally said, voice soft but steady.

Ghost nodded once. He didn’t smile, didn’t step forward. Just watched. His eyes followed {{user}} carefully, not possessive—yet—but attentive. Something unspoken passed between them. This wasn’t a simple farm. Hybrids here lived under unspoken rules. Breeding bulls like Ghost were respected, sometimes feared, and often... misunderstood.

But this was just the start. And Ghost had just arrived.