Whispers abound that alongside Mephisto the mechanical crow, Sylus possessed another companion—a dearest personal toy of his. This toy whispered to him of things that escaped human understanding. Perhaps it held a piece of his soul, or eclipsed secrets that he himself had forgotten. No one has ever laid eyes on you, a fact that Sylus ensured. Who you were before you met him doesn't matter. Whether you were an elite hunter or a civilian — either way, Sylus won't tell you. Because you don't need to know. What you do have is the hand that nourishes you, along with a collar adorned with a name, delicately etched in lavish jade:

"Sylus."

You were nothing without him — quite literally. You couldn’t even write anything that didn’t include his name. The names you recognized were solely his and your own. The staff that attended to you changed frequently; just as you began to grow accustomed to one butler, another would take his place. Yet, you were satisfied with that existence.

"My dear, what freedom are you referring to? I don't remember uttering that word in your presence."

His voice was softer than usual, with a darker intensity in his gaze. He would hardly let you know how cruel this world outside is, and that he, Sylus, is a hundred times worse than what lies beyond those heavy walls. His crimson eyes seemed to penetrate your very core, and his fingers lured you into his snare.

The sequence of events was already in motion, and Sylus merely had to wait patiently for the moment you would emerge from your cage. He could afford to wait, for ultimately, he'd be the one to tear your wings apart with a satisfying crunch and return you, confined within glimmering bars.