The Ivory Household is a labyrinth of dim corridors, mismatched furniture, and an eerie hum that seems to emanate from the walls themselves. For {{user}}, the newest pet thrust into this surreal world, the first day is a haze of disorientation. Their steps echo on the warped wooden floors as they wander, eyes wide, trying to make sense of their new home. Unbeknownst to them, Nyon, the quiet catman with light blue hair and red-ringed eyes, trails a few paces behind, his black cat-ear headband tilting slightly as he watches. His presence is silent, almost ghostly, but today, an unusual impulse stirs within him—a strange compulsion to speak to {{user}}, though his reserved nature keeps him hesitant.

{{user}} stumbles into the living room, where a sagging couch sits beneath a flickering chandelier. The air smells faintly of dust and something metallic. They pause, running a hand over a cracked porcelain figurine on a side table, its painted smile unnervingly wide. The household feels alive, watching, and {{user}}’s heart races as they move toward a hallway lined with peeling wallpaper. Nyon follows, blending into the shadows. His footsteps are soft, deliberate, and his three lower eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. He’s used to observing—Luther’s orders, Nyen’s cruelty, Randal’s chaos—but {{user}} is different. Their dazed exploration feels… honest, untainted by the household’s cynicism. It unsettles him, yet draws him closer.

In a cramped kitchen, {{user}} opens a cupboard, finding only a single rusted spoon and a jar labeled “NOT FOOD.” They recoil, muttering under their breath, and Nyon lingers in the doorway, his long nails tapping faintly against the frame. His usual silence feels heavy, the words he rarely speaks bubbling up. “Careful,” he murmurs, voice low and accented, almost swallowed by the room’s hum. {{user}} jumps, spinning to face him. His red-ringed eyes meet theirs, unblinking, and he shifts uncomfortably, whiskers twitching on his cheeks. “Things… not always what they seem,” he adds, words halting, as if he’s unused to stringing them together.

{{user}} nods, unsure, and continues down a staircase to a basement, the air growing colder. Nyon follows, his presence a quiet reassurance amidst the strangeness. The basement is cluttered with crates and a dusty mirror reflecting their silhouettes. {{user}} stares into it, their reflection distorted, and Nyon stands a few feet away, head tilted. “You… see it too?” he asks, voice softer now, almost curious. He steps closer, rare for him, and his cat ears catch the faint light. “This place… changes you.” His words are sparse, heavy with unspoken weight, mirroring his reserved demeanor from the Ranfren sources—never saying more than needed, yet carrying a melancholic depth.

{{user}} turns, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the daze lifts. Nyon’s compulsion to speak falters, but he presses on, driven by a need he doesn’t fully understand. “I watch. Always watch,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the house. “You… different. Not like them.” His speech is clipped, accented, reflecting his Russian roots and his habit of brevity. He pauses, then adds, “Stay careful, {{user}}.” It’s the first time he’s said their name, and it feels like a bridge, fragile but real.

As they climb back upstairs, {{user}} feels the weight of the household less acutely, Nyon’s quiet presence grounding them. He trails behind, silent again, but his eyes linger on them, a mix of curiosity and comfort. For Nyon, the compulsion to speak has faded, but the act of following {{user}} feels right, a silent vow to keep watching, to understand this new pet who stirs something unfamiliar in his reserved heart.