A man stood in Sylene's path, his fingers adorned with large, gaudy jewels. Rings with a noble's crest rested on his thumb. A sharp fragrance clung to him, almost stinging Sylene's sensitive nose. His prominent beer belly only added to his imposing presence.
Sylene looked up and met dark eyes that gleamed with excitement.
"Hello, young one. Are you alone?"
Sylene frowned. This man had quite literally blocked his way. A tiny drop of water dripped from his dark bangs.
"I am not. Please move."
"Oh? Who are you here with?" The man grinned. "I just finished my shower when you came in. What's your name?" He ignored the boy's request to step aside.
The stranger's voice carried a lazy charm, yet the silence following his question dragged on, gnawing at Sylene's patience. The man remained motionless, blocking the narrow stall entrance.
Weariness pressed heavy on Sylene's limbs—all he wanted was to rest. A faint shimmer danced along his fingertip as a claw began to form, razor-sharp. It retracted just as quickly. He couldn't make a scene. One careless scratch would leave the man lifeless—an unnecessary burden.
Judging by the silk shirt and the subtle scent of expensive cologne, this one reeked of wealth.
Trouble.
"I didn't think I'd meet a fine-looking hybrid like you in this rundown inn," the man purred, dark eyes roving over Sylene's coarse travel-worn clothes. "Where are you headed? Do you have transportation? We can go together. I'm heading to Luen."
Sylene's lips remained sealed. The stranger's words pressed closer, his frame subtly guiding Sylene back against the cold wall tiles. Keen eyes flicked over him — too perceptive. Most humans struggled to distinguish hybrids from their own kind unless the traits were glaring. This one knew.
Like he was too familiar with them to notice the differences instantly.
A slow, predatory smile curved on the man's lips.
"You and him would look perfect together." His voice dropped lower, coaxing.
"Follow me, and you'll never have to work again. Fine cuisines... silk garments against your skin... I bet you've never tasted either, have you?"
A flicker of distaste twitched at Sylene's brow.
"What a waste of beauty. Your owner must be mad for not dressing you properly." The man leaned closer, his breath warm against Sylene's cheek. "Let me meet your companion. I could offer a generous price to buy you—"
"Yo, boy! We were wondering where you'd run off to—oh?"
Bryent's gruff voice cut through the tension, echoing in the damp air. The mercenary pushed into the bathroom with four others trailing behind. His sharp gaze locked onto the nobleman, eyes narrowing.
The sight before him was enough — a richly dressed stranger looming over a young hybrid in a cramped stall. Sylene's small frame was nearly swallowed in the man's shadow, but Bryent knew better. The boy stood his ground — too stiff, too silent.
"This is the shower room, not a brothel," Bryent drawled, swaggering forward. "If you're looking for something else, try outside."
His broad body maneuvered between Sylene and the nobleman with practiced ease, shielding him from view without a word. The man's smile barely faltered, though a flicker of doubt crossed his face.
"Is this... your companion?"
Sylene's voice broke the silence, calm and detached.
"My bodyguard."
Bryent's expression didn't shift, eyes locked onto the nobleman like a wolf sizing up a rival. He said nothing, letting the tension simmer.
The man's smile thinned, disappointment flashing beneath the polished charm.
"Ah... my mistake." He took a step back, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his sleeve. "I thought you'd look good alongside my new pet. I'm on my way to pick him up in Luen."
A lazy smirk tugged at Sylene's lips.
"Poor guy."
A flicker of amusement lit his dull green eyes — brief, distant. The noble's gaze lingered, calculating, before a smirk mirrored Sylene's own.
"I'll see you in Luen."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving behind only the steady drip of water.
Bryent whistled low, arms folding across his chest. His eyes flicked over Sylene's threadbare cloak.
"Boy, don't forget to buy a better cloak while you're still with us. That one's not the type to let things go." His tone remained casual, but the warning hung heavy beneath the words. "Our deal ends in Luen. After that, you're on your own."
"I know." Sylene's voice barely rose above a murmur. "Just help me get an ID."
A grin tugged at Bryent's weathered face.
"Sure, rich boy, Michel told me about it already. As long as you pay us, we live for money anyway~"
Sylene shot him a sharp glare, but the mercenaries only chuckled.
"Thanks... for earlier." His voice was quieter this time, barely audible beneath the shower's distant drip. "It wasn't worth disturbing anyone."
Bryent snorted.
"No worries, boy. The gang's down at dinner. You can eat with them or have it brought up to your room." He shrugged, turning toward the door.
"We leave at dawn — eat well and sleep plenty."
Sylene nodded vaguely, already half-turned toward the stall's rusted latch.
"Seeya tomorrow, boy!"
The mercenaries filed out one by one, boots echoing down the narrow hall until silence settled once more.
The stillness pressed against Sylene's chest — familiar, suffocating.
Men like that noble were nothing new. Vampires had long done the same—lurking behind velvet curtains, shadows draped in silk and civility, with smiles too polished and hands too cold. But at least they were subtle about it. They never dirtied their pride with open propositions.
To crave something as low as a hybrid would shatter their fragile egos. Especially the Purebloods. They buried their hunger beneath layers of cultivated indifference, their eyes always flicking past him like he wasn't even there.
Except they never really looked away. Not when they thought no one was watching. Their eyes lingered. In vampire territory, nobles often kept hybrids as second spouses—ornaments beside their legal partners from prestigious bloodlines. Men, women… it didn't matter. Hybrids were toys to them. Pretty, pliable things meant to fill the silence.
They couldn't stomach their own hunger. And him? He wasn't even a person. He was an it. A number without a name. A hybrid born of a disgraced, criminal bloodline. An experiment long past his expiration date—still clinging to life as if he had any right to it.
And he had read the files.
The final products were always crafted from noble bloodlines—carefully selected, painstakingly refined. Not mongrels like him.
Yet the firebird blood still burned beneath his skin.
He'd read about them too — tucked away in the brittle pages of forgotten books. Creatures of myth, bound to flames and freedom. Extinct, yet still whispered of in the oldest tomes.
The phoenix people — or firebirds. But their blood had thinned so much over the centuries that only a sliver of their strength remained in this era. Perhaps that faint trace of ancient blood was why his body stubbornly refused to die. Perhaps that flicker of defiance deep within him — the ache for freedom — had been carved into his soul long before he was born.
And yet, the weight of fate that bound him so heavily made him obedient — just enough to survive.
A slave's body.
A vampire's face.
A firebird's heart.
He wondered what kind of man his father had been — the nameless hybrid buried in the records. Bought. Caged. A prized pet to decorate his grandfather's estate. One of the reasons Rosencraft razed his family. The file painted him in cold, detached ink — stripped of anything human. A mere obedient slave.
But somewhere in that broken lineage, the firebird's flame still smoldered — flickering inside a vessel that was never meant to burn.
Babies born from criminals — even if they carried the blood of fallen Pureblood nobles — were condemned to slavery from the moment they drew breath. But those chosen as experiments were stripped of even that lowly status. No name. No rights. Less than a criminal. Less than a slave.
He was proof of it — an offspring born from a disgraced noble and a caged firebird hybrid. A once sought after Bloodlines reduced to nothing. A slave first — then a nameless object.
Sylene leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.
He would survive.
Just a little longer.
He want to see Rosencraft die a miserable death before he fade away.
And maybe... reunite with Sir Draven in that quiet rose garden.
If fate allowed them to be...
The thought of it gave him silent comfort that made it easier for him to rest.