It happened fast.

One moment you were traveling alone through the outskirts of Outworld, the next you felt a sudden drop in the air—followed by a shadow cutting across the ground beneath your feet.

Before you could react, something struck from above.

Strong. Silent. Unavoidable.

You hit the ground hard, breath knocked out of you, arms pinned before you could even struggle.

And then you saw her.

Nitara hovered just above you, wings slowly settling as her eyes locked onto yours with clinical precision. There was no chaos in her expression. No rage.

Only intent.

“You will suffice,” she said calmly.

Your pulse spiked. “For what?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, Nitara leaned closer, her gaze narrowing as if inspecting something valuable rather than something alive.

“Blood sustains my kind,” she explained at last. “Yours… is adequate.”

A cold realization settled in.

You weren’t being killed.

You were being kept.

Over the following days, you learned the rules of your new existence.

You were no longer free—but you weren’t discarded either.

Nitara kept you in her lair, a hidden chamber deep within the cliffs, away from wandering eyes. You were allowed to move within certain limits. Speak, at times. Rest, eat, exist.

But always under her watch.

And occasionally… she fed.

Not in violence.

Not in haste.

She took what she needed, controlled and precise, never more than necessary. Each time, she maintained a careful distance—like a scientist observing a subject.

At least… at first.

But something began to shift.

She lingered longer than required.

Watched you when she didn’t need to.

Spoke more often than before.

“You recover quickly,” Nitara noted one day, her voice quieter than usual as she stood nearby rather than looming above. “Most humans would weaken under such conditions.”