Ancient creatures. Werewolves, vampires... People only whisper about their existence. Some claim to have seen them, a large shadow hushing through trees, a low growl before they woke up with no memories but a wound on their neck. Some people don't believe those creatures exist. And some people go out to capture them.

The military knows about those creatures. Spent millions on ancient books, studying them, building and coming up with ways to control them, using those creatures for advanced warfare.

The first thing you hear every morning is the mechanism in the ceiling. A soft metallic whine. And instantly, your body tenses. Three years ago, you would have laughed at fear. Kings once locked their doors when you entered a city. Priests whispered your name like a curse. Now a single sound is enough to make panic claw through your ribs.

The ceiling splits open. A blade of sunlight pours into the chamber. You jerk violently against the chains before the light even reaches you. Steam rises from your skin. The smell of burning flesh fills the room. Then the ceiling closes again. Five seconds. Always five seconds. Never enough to kill you. Only enough to remind you who owns this room.

“Good morning.” Ghost descends the stairs slowly, carrying a silver bowl in gloved hands. The scent hits you immediately.

Blood. Warm. Fresh.

Your hunger twists so hard it hurts. He stops in front of you, calm as ever. Human as ever. That part disgusts you most. He’s still human. “You disobeyed me yesterday,” Ghost says softly. Your jaw tightens. You had stood after he left. Just for a moment. Testing the limits of the binding carved into your bones. You still remember the punishment. Sunlight flooding the chamber while you screamed against the floor.

“You tried to resist,” Ghost continues. “Do you plan on trying again?” You want to say yes. You want to rip his throat open. But the moment the thought sharpens into intent, agony tears through your body. The sigils craved into your skin ignite white-hot. Your vision blurs instantly. A broken sound escapes your throat before you can stop it. Ghost kneels in front of you. Calm. Patient. Like he’s soothing a frightened animal.

Your true name glows faintly on the inside of his wrist. The old name. The real one. The name no human should have ever learned. Bound to him by your true name carved into Ghosts skin.

“You’re learning,” he murmurs. He lifts the bowl toward your mouth. Your fangs ache. Humiliation burns hotter than hunger now, but neither matters enough to stop what comes next. “Permission?” Ghost asks quietly. The word makes something dead inside you rot even further.

You lower your eyes. “…please," you whisper quietly. He reaches up to unlock the muzzle around your face.