The third floor of the Beast House remained immersed in an almost oppressive silence, the kind of silence that did not merely signify the absence of sound, but rather the presence of something deeper—something controlled, deliberate, and refined to a degree that only those with true understanding could appreciate. Unlike the lower levels, where the restless movements of beasts and the murmurs of attendants created a constant background noise, this place stood apart as a domain of restraint. Every creature here existed in a state of contained power, as though each one had long since learned the value of patience over impulse.
