Castin left the palace in silence, the heavy stone doors closing behind him with a dull, final thud. The Rat King's words echoed in his mind like the last ripple of a bell long stopped ringing.
Bring her back safely, Castin. Not just for our sake. For hers.
He walked with purpose, but not urgency, not yet. The city didn't know of the storm coming. The narrow corridors and lantern-lit streets still breathed with a soft, naive calm. He passed a pair of guards chatting lazily at their post, a baker hauling in his goods, a child chasing her tail in the dust.
The weight of what he carried didn't show on his face.
As he entered the lower market, the air grew warmer, busier. Castin let himself move without staring, slipping between wandering shoppers and sputtering vendors. The sounds of haggling and clinking against stone faded to background noise. His focus was forward.
He passed a fruit stall, bits of figs, overripe and sweet-smelling. Emma had liked figs.
His steps slowed as he reached the Lantern Archway, that strange, quiet landmark where the city always seemed to hold its breath. The ceiling dipped lower here, but the walls opened wider, carved with swaying metal arms that held long-dormant lanterns. He paused beneath it, staring up at the hooks and chains overhead.
His thoughts drifted, not to a specific day, not to a clear-cut memory, but to the soft blur of warmth and color during the Lantern Festival. He remembered the way Emma had tugged insistently at his hand, how tightly she'd gripped his fingers when the lights began to rise, her eyes wide as if she'd never seen anything so magical even though it happened every year.
She had looked at him like he was a part of that magic. Like he belonged here.
Castin exhaled slowly, the air brushing past his teeth like a question he couldn't yet answer.
He had become close with so many of them. Emma, Elizabeth, Lorne, even Red. He wasn't sure when it had happened, he'd slipped into their lives like runoff into stone, and somehow, they hadn't pushed him back.
He wondered, not for the first time, what came after all this. If they survived Nikodemus. If Rat City endured.
Could he go back to anything else?
To quiet mornings aboveground? To a world that didn't know who Eli was, or what Naomi had survived? To being alone again?
He didn't know if he could. Maybe this was his life now.
But he also didn't know if that was such a bad thing.
The thought didn't bring comfort exactly, but it settled something in him. He looked down the road ahead. Not far now. The entrance to the Ruined Quarter waited just beyond the next bend, Naomi's old hiding place tucked inside.
Castin squared his shoulders and started forward again.
Whatever he was becoming, whatever came next, he could decide that later.
Right now, someone needed him.
The Ruined Quarter loomed just ahead, Castin hesitated at its threshold, eyes briefly scanning the broken shapes in the shadows beyond. Memories flickered, the echo of Naomi's anguished voice and the scars left by Nikodemus that refused to heal.
His boots crunched gently against fragments of stone and shattered wood. Each step seemed louder than the last, intruding upon the eerie quiet.
Naomi's hideout wasn't far. The half-collapsed building loomed in the darkness ahead, its silhouette starkly familiar. Castin approached cautiously, pulse quickening despite his effort to keep calm.
He paused just outside, taking a steadying breath. "Naomi?" he called softly, carefully, voice carrying gently into the shadows.
No response.
He moved closer, ducking under the broken threshold. The room inside felt instantly colder. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness, finding familiar disarray, splintered furniture, overturned crates, the scattered remnants of a life barely lived. The broken necklace lay trampled on the ground, a small reminder of how fragile everything had become.
"Naomi, it's Castin," he said again, tone gentle but firm. "I'm not here to drag you back. I just want to talk."
For a long moment, silence lingered, heavy and expectant.
Then, a voice from the shadows, quiet and raw.
"You shouldn't have come."
He turned sharply, eyes narrowing as Naomi stepped slowly from the darkened corner, her form illuminated faintly by the dim glow leaking from distant lanterns. She stood stiffly, gaze wary but defiant, eyes glinting with a dangerous resolve he'd never seen before.
"I needed to," Castin said simply, holding her gaze. "We're worried about you. I'm worried about you."
Naomi's mouth tightened, fingers curling at her sides. "You shouldn't be."
"Maybe not," he acknowledged softly, stepping just slightly closer. "But here I am."
Naomi's expression flickered, something beneath her guarded surface softening fractionally. Yet her voice remained bitterly defensive. "You don't understand. None of you do."
"You're right. We don't fully understand, we can't imagine what you've been through." Castin replied gently, unwavering. "But that doesn't mean we won't try."
Her eyes glistened briefly, the resolve cracking, just a little, revealing the frightened, hurting girl beneath the hardened mask. She turned away quickly, shadows hiding her face once more.
"You can't help me," she whispered, voice shaking slightly. "No one can."
"Maybe not," Castin admitted quietly. "But I know what it's like to feel alone. To feel lost. Like the person you were before doesn't exist anymore."
She didn't turn, didn't speak, but he saw her shoulders tremble slightly.
"You don't have to go through this alone, Naomi," he continued carefully, stepping closer again, voice filled with quiet sincerity. "Whatever happens next, we face it together."
Her breath hitched softly in the silence, then steadied. She turned slowly, eyes still glistening, but something stronger behind them now, a fierce, stubborn determination.
"I have to face him," Naomi said, voice firm despite the tremble beneath it. "He owes me answers. He owes me a life."
Castin studied her quietly, recognizing something familiar in her resolve, something painfully, frighteningly like himself almost as if looking in a mirror.
"Then we'll face him together," Castin promised softly, holding her gaze. "But let's do it right. Let's do it smart."
She hesitated, eyes wary yet hopeful, searching his face as if expecting deception and finding none.
Castin exhaled, feeling the tightness in his chest ease slightly.
"Come on," he murmured gently, extending a careful hand toward her. "Let's get you home."
Castin exhaled, a quiet relief spreading softly through his chest as Naomi nodded.
A sudden silence, like the air itself had held its breath.
Then, in the space between heartbeats, reality fractured.
He blinked, and the room snapped into a colder, emptier clarity. The spot where Naomi had stood was vacant, the shadows abruptly deeper, mocking him in their silence. Castin's pulse surged violently, eyes wide and frantic as he spun in place, desperately searching the corners, the darkened recesses, anywhere she might have slipped to.
"Naomi?" he called again, voice tight and panicked, bouncing sharply off the hollow walls. The silence mocked him, the fragile hope he'd clung to moments earlier dissolving like mist between trembling fingers.
His breath quickened, chest tightening painfully as a nauseating realization twisted through him. Had she ever truly been here? Had he conjured the entire conversation, his desperate wish manifesting into a cruel illusion? The vividness of her voice, the fragile flicker of trust he'd thought he'd seen, had it all been a lie spun by her newfound mastery of manipulation?
No, he refused to believe that. She had been here; she had to have been. But if she had been, how had she slipped away so seamlessly, so silently?
Castin burst from the building, heart hammering painfully, boots stumbling as he searched the empty streets of the Ruined Quarter. But there was no sign of her. No footsteps echoing in retreat, no distant silhouette fleeing into the darkness, only the stark, oppressive emptiness of the abandoned quarter, bearing down upon him with cold indifference.
His fists clenched helplessly at his sides. He stood there, breath shaking, anger and despair warring within him. Naomi had slipped through his fingers, vanished like a ghost he never stood a chance of holding. She had left him alone once more with his doubts, with the cold, sinking dread that nothing could ever be as simple or hopeful as he'd dared to imagine.
Castin forced himself forward, defeated and numb, feet guiding him back through the shattered streets toward the familiar path to the palace. The heavy silence of Rat City now pressed upon him, thick with regret, anxiety coiling tighter around his chest with every step.
When he finally passed back through the lower market, the voices of vendors sounded muffled, distant, meaningless noise swallowed by the turmoil in his head. But as he passed the fruit stall once again, the familiar scent of figs stirred something in him, a gentle but insistent reminder.
He stopped abruptly, pulling a small, smooth shard of steel from his pocket and placing it gently on the merchant's counter without meeting the vendor's eyes. "Just a bit," he murmured quietly, his voice strained but steady.
The merchant took the metal with a nod, passing Castin a small bundle of figs wrapped in thin cloth. As Castin turned to leave, the nagging, insidious thought surfaced unbidden:
She isn't your daughter.
He stopped again, jaw tight, heart heavy, and then, with stubborn defiance, pushed the thought aside.
It doesn't matter if she is, it doesn't change anything.
He walked back into the shadows toward the palace, clutching the figs like a fragile promise. Whatever the future held, whatever he had just lost or never truly had, he refused to let go of the people who had managed, despite everything, to anchor him here.
When Castin finally returned to the palace, he moved straight to the infirmary, trying to keep his pace casual despite the nagging anxiety biting at his heels. He needed to know, needed to see if the King's desperate gamble had paid off.
He stepped quietly past the medics and into Eli's room, pushing aside the curtain with a cautious hand.
Inside, Eli lay motionless beneath a neatly tucked blanket, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. Castin exhaled softly, tension easing a fraction from his shoulders.
Then he spotted Emma curled in a chair by the bedside, staring intently at her sleeping brother as though sheer willpower alone could wake him.
Castin cleared his throat gently. "Hey, Em. Mind if I crash your vigil?"
Emma blinked up at him, a flicker of warmth replacing the worry on her face. "Hey, Cass."
He sat in the chair beside her, settling in with a quiet grunt. "So, did ol' Red… y'know, actually do it, or did he just nearly poison himself and Eli for nothing?"
Emma frowned, trying hard not to smile at the dry humor. "It worked, but I missed it. Mama said Eli woke up for a second, said something funny, and then went right back to sleep." She hesitated, fingers twisting in her lap. "Do you think he's mad I wasn't here?"
Castin reached into his pocket, retrieving the small bundle of figs and nudging her gently with his elbow. "Emma, Eli would forgive you even if you shaved his tail in his sleep. I'm pretty sure missing his grand revival isn't a dealbreaker."
She giggled softly at the absurd image, relaxing a bit as she accepted the figs. "You're weird Castin."
"Yeah, I get that a lot," Castin admitted dryly. He paused, letting her eat quietly before adding, more gently, "And no, he's not mad. I bet your brother's pretty understanding for a guy who's slept through more than half a year."
Emma chewed thoughtfully, casting another glance at Eli. "Do you think he was scared? When he woke up?"
"Probably more annoyed," Castin shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I mean, I'd be pretty irritated if my nap got interrupted by the king nearly poisoning me awake. Seems pretty rude, honestly."
Emma laughed again, then grew serious. Her voice softened, vulnerable. "But… why is it so hard? Why can't things just be good without hurting first?"
Castin hesitated, eyes tracing the quiet rise and fall of Eli's breathing, the delicate outline of Emma's worried face. He let the humor fall aside, his voice quiet and sincere.
"Because life's complicated. Good stuff comes with the bad. But the good stuff sticks around longer. It helps smooth over the parts that hurt. At least, that's what I always thought."
Emma smiled faintly, considering this. "Like Eli waking up?"
"Yeah," Castin said softly. "Exactly like that."
She leaned lightly against him, nibbling quietly on another fig. "Do you think he knows we're here, even though he's asleep?"
Castin paused, pretending to give it serious thought before nodding slowly. "Oh, he knows. He's probably annoyed you're not sharing those figs with him."
Emma's smile widened into a real grin. "Well, he'll just have to wake up again, won't he?"
"Exactly. Good strategy, keep him motivated," Castin agreed.
She sighed, a little more peacefully now, settling comfortably against him. Castin felt a subtle tightness in his chest ease, replaced by a quiet, unfamiliar warmth.
A few quiet minutes passed. The only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of Eli's breathing and the faint rustle of cloth as Emma finished the last of her fig.
Without a word, she shifted closer and gently laid her head on Castin's lap. Castin stiffened for a moment, unsure what to do with the sudden weight of her trust. He stared at the far wall, letting his hand hover for a second before resting it lightly on her shoulder.
She reminded him so much of his daughter, different life, different voice, different species but something about the way she sought comfort, the quiet vulnerability in it, stirred something too familiar in him. A part of him wanted to pull away, but instead, he stayed still.
Just as he was bracing for the ache to rise, Emma's voice broke the silence, small and tired.
"Do you know any good songs, Castin?"
He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don't want to hear me sing, Em. I sound like a rusted hinge with a hangover."
She sighed, long and slow, like she hadn't expected much but still hoped anyway.
Silence again. Castin looked down at her for a moment, watched the way her fingers curled gently around the fabric of his coat.
Then, after a beat, he shifted slightly and spoke low, almost a hum, almost a whisper.
"Over the seas and to the mountains, where the breeze is formed."
"Through the peaks and into valleys, where the beasts are born."
"And when those many beasts come for you, no you must not be afraid."
"No, for when the shadowed things find your truth. You must not lay down your blade."
He paused, his voice a little rough, a little cracked at the edges. "See, kid, I can't sing…"
But when he looked down, Emma was already asleep. Her breathing had slowed into a steady rhythm, her face tucked softly into the fold of his coat, her paw still curled near her chin.
Castin leaned his head back against the wall, the ache in his chest gentler now. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and let the silence settle in again, no longer hollow, but warm.
A gentle rustle of fabric startled Castin. He found himself blinking at the dim figure standing just inside the curtain. The Rat King's eyes glinted softly in the lantern light, gentle amusement tugging at his features.
"I didn't know you could sing," he whispered, careful not to disturb Emma, who still slept peacefully against Castin's lap.
Castin cleared his throat quietly, embarrassment briefly flickering across his face. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," he muttered dryly. "It's a special occasion thing."
The Rat King's gaze drifted toward Eli's sleeping form, expression softening noticeably. Castin seized the opening.
"I heard it worked," he murmured, following the King's gaze. "Emma told me he woke up."
The King managed a faint, weary smile, exhaling heavily. "Yes. Though, I wouldn't ask Elizabeth how smoothly it went."
Castin chuckled quietly at that, shaking his head. But his expression quickly sobered, and he hesitated only a moment before adding quietly, "I'm not sure I found Naomi."
The King's eyes narrowed slightly, confusion replacing the brief warmth. "What do you mean, you're not sure? Did you see her?"
Castin sighed deeply, searching for the words. "I think I did." He shook his head slightly, gaze fixed somewhere far off in the distance. "She was there, at least for a while. We talked. I thought...I thought I was getting through to her." He paused, rubbing tiredly at his face. "But the next thing I knew, she wasn't there anymore. Just gone. I think, I think she's gotten stronger. Strong enough that I didn't even notice when she used her ability. I kept talking like a damn fool, long after she must've left."
A heavy silence settled into the small infirmary room. The only sounds were Eli's and Emma's gentle, rhythmic breathing and the faint, consistent beep of Eli's monitoring equipment. The King lowered his head slightly, shadows deepening in the lines of his expression.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was subdued, threaded with quiet dread. "You'll all set out tomorrow. Late hours, to keep things quiet."
Castin exhaled, tension tightening around his chest. He glanced down at Emma's sleeping form, suddenly feeling far heavier than before. "Better sooner than later, I guess." His tone carried none of its usual confidence, replaced instead by a wary resignation. "I just can't shake the feeling we still have no idea what we're actually walking into."
The King met Castin's gaze, understanding clear and stark in the shadows of his eyes. "Neither do I," he admitted softly. "And I fear when we find out, it will be too late to turn back."
They lingered there, neither of them bothering to speak again, the quiet weight of tomorrow pressing down upon them both, mingling with the uneasy peace of the moment, a fleeting victory already fading beneath the looming shadows ahead.
Somewhere out there, Naomi was walking deeper into the dark. And no one could say if they'd be fast enough to bring her back.