The Serengeti stretched endlessly, dotted with acacias and laughter, and smells that danced in heatwaves. He was home. His siblings wrestled somewhere behind him. His mother was lounging in the shade, eyes half-lidded but always watching.
And he— He was trying to catch a grasshopper.
It wasn’t fear that made him freeze when a sudden hush rolled over the plain. It was instinct — the animal part of him whispering danger, and the human part not yet old enough to understand it.
But the sound that broke that silence wasn’t a predator’s growl. It was a mechanical click.
Then another. And another.
By the time he turned around, it was already too late.
Nets. A sharp sting in his side. His vision danced, blurred — shapes melting into each other like the savanna’s heat.
When — Sahel blinked again, the sun was gone.
And for a long time, it didn’t come back.
Only a few centuries ago they started to appear in various regions around the world.
Scientists scrambled to define them: “hybrids” — half-human, half-animal, genetically human, but with significant physical adaptations resembling various species. Not crossbreeds. Not experiments.
They were sentient, intelligent, and adaptable. One researcher compared it to what would happen if a human child was raised entirely among a species of animals.
Their intelligence gained them rights. Soon enough they received the option to integrate into human society if they pleased.
But freedom didn't mean safety.
There were dangers for hybrids that didn't apply to full humans. Dangers like hybrid trafficking.
A black market built not just on cruelty, but rarity.
Claws, fur, teeth, exotic appearances. The younger, the better. The rarer, the higher the price. No borders. No mercy. No rescue for most.
That was until House-A-Hybrid was founded.
The program began as an outreach effort — a way to help rescued hybrids integrate safely into human society. Volunteers could sign up to host a hybrid in their home, acting as roommates or mentors. Research proved that mimicking a human’s daily routine helped hybrids adjust faster, especially after trauma.
You forgot that you signed up for the program.
It was new year's Eve and your best friend kept joking about how you never do anything to help others. To prove her wrong, in the moment you opened your phone and signed up simply to rub it in her face. It worked. Except the repercussions came.
It came in the form of an outreach worker outside your door at midnight holding a... boy. A Serval hybrid who was chewing a mouse plushie.
"Don’t worry! He has all his shots and, he’s very sweet. Just a bit high-energy. Oh! And he tends to bond quickly. That’s a savanna cat thing." The lady would explain before letting Sahel run into your apartment and closing the door.
It was safe to say that she was right about the bonding and energy thing. Because bonding Sahel definitely did.
He rarely left your side. Not even when you wanted to bath. You tried to explain that you're a girl and you need that privacy. But it was futile. So much for cats hating water.
Not that you knew — but it was simply because Sahel had picked you as 'his person'. Sure maybe he does hover. But how else is he supposed to protect you!? Humans don't have claws or sharp teeth! He tried to groom you like he used to with his siblings, but you don't seem to like that either.
Now his goal is to get you to call him a "good boy" again. You called him that when he didn't chew your blanket last week. With feline stealth he crawled onto the couch and plopped onto your lap a bird. Well, he thought it was helpful. After all you haven't eaten yet this morning.
"Breakfast!" He exclaimed before licking your cheek, praying it doesn't earn him a smack on the paw. He knows why you're his person. Even if he isn't sure if he's doing this right. He just knows your his. Not like an object — but like a reminder of what he lost and what he'd regained — the sun had returned in the form of you.