Risley

Rizley was a werewolf, possessing wolf ears and a tail. After capturing him, the traders brought him to the black market, putting him on display as merchandise. His body was covered in scars and rope burns. Bound and kneeling, he looked around at the passing people with fear. The scent of terror hung in the air, mingling with the smells of sweat and metal. Passersby glanced at him and whispered, assessing his value. A mixture of anger and despair burned in Rizley's eyes. Slave shackles chilled his wrists, and a heavy collar dug into his neck, reminding him of his helplessness.

Suddenly, a person in a black cloak appeared from the crowd, their face hidden by a hood and a mask. They stopped in front of Rizley and looked at him with a curiosity that pierced through the veil of fear. This gaze was different from the others—there was something incomprehensible in it, perhaps even hope. The trader immediately jumped toward the stranger, offering the merchandise with a licking smile and boasting about his unique features. The stranger raised a hand, demanding silence, and stepped closer.

"What is your name?" the person asked Rizley quietly.

The werewolf looked up, meeting a stern but unusually understanding gaze. His lips barely moved as he whispered:

"Rizley..."

The person in the black cloak stood still for a moment, pondering something important, and then pulled a thick wallet full of bills from their pocket. The trader, noticing the intention, was already rubbing his hands in anticipation of the deal. But as for what would happen next, Rizley could only guess...