The royal dungeons were lit with torches that never died, enchanted to burn without fuel. Serenil stood beside his father as the three young beastkin girls sat chained to enchanted cuffs, guarded by six royal knights and two high mages.
They looked… confused. Scared. Small.
The fox girl trembled. "We… we don't remember anything. Only flashes. Pain. Orders. A voice in our heads."
The rabbit girl sobbed. "Please… don't kill us. We didn't want to. We just… woke up and… we had to obey."
The cat girl stared at the ground. "Do what you want. We're already dead inside."
The interrogator looked to King Sylas. "Your Majesty… these children were clearly manipulated, but they are dangerous assets. What are your orders?"
Sylas crossed his arms, unreadable.
That's when Serenil stepped forward.
"…Let me have them."
All eyes turned to him.
"They tried to kill me," Serenil continued, voice calm, emotionless. "They failed. I spared them. That makes me their master now."
The room fell silent.
"I own their heads, their bodies, their souls. Let them serve me—as slaves, as maids, as swords. I will mold them into something worthy of survival."
King Sylas raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Serenil?"
"I am. They're mine now."
After a long pause, Sylas nodded. "So be it. Have them bound by royal seal. They will serve under your name, and your name alone."
Serenil turned to the girls. They looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
"From now on," he said coldly, "you belong to me. I will give you names, purpose… and if you prove yourselves, perhaps even freedom."
The fox girl whispered, "…What should we call you?"
He stepped closer, eyes shadowed beneath his silver fringe.
"Call me Master."