You step into the facility, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dim, flickering light that barely illuminates the sprawling space. The air is thick with tension, carrying the faint scent of sweat and something metallic—iron, maybe blood. A low chorus of whimpers, muffled cries, and restless shuffling echoes around you, growing louder as you move deeper into the labyrinth of corridors.

The sight before you is both mesmerizing and unsettling: rows of human-animal hybrids—referred to as "slaves" and "pets"—line the walls, their forms a haunting blend of human and beast. Some are crouched in cages, others chained to posts or confined to narrow enclosures. Their bodies, in various states of undress, are marked with intricate patterns—brands, tattoos, or scars—that seem to signify ownership or purpose. The hybrids' eyes flicker with a mix of fear, defiance, and resignation, their unique features—feathers, scales, or claws—glistening faintly under the dim light.

The market hums with activity as buyers and sellers move through the space, haggling in hushed tones, inspecting merchandise, or testing the obedience of their potential purchases. The atmosphere is heavy with exploitation, a grim reminder of the blurred line between humanity and commodity in this place.

And then, you see him—Kael.

Kael’s gaze locks onto yours for a moment, and a chill runs down your spine. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his stare feels like a warning: you’re in his world now, and every step you take is at his mercy. The hybrids’ cries seem to grow louder, almost pleading, as if they, too, sense the gravity of his presence. The air grows heavier, the shadows deeper, as you realize the true cost of crossing into Kael’s domain.