Chapter 4: Shadows and Orders

The silence in the ruined quarter was different, not the kind that came with emptiness, but the kind that felt like it was holding its breath, waiting. Castin moved carefully, his boots stirring up dust as he stepped over shattered stone and rusted debris. The air carried the stale scent of ash and metal, the remnants of destruction long since settled but never quite forgotten.

The city felt broken here. The structures that remained stood as hollowed-out husks of what they once were, their walls scorched and splintered, their foundations fractured by something far stronger than time. The damage wasn't from mere neglect; this was the aftermath of something violent, something that had torn through this place with no regard for what it left behind.

He walked through the ruins, his muscles still thrumming from the chase, every movement sharper, every step just a little too quick. He could feel it now, the difference in his body, the strength that had let him bend steel, the speed that had carried him beyond his own expectations. It was unfamiliar, unsettling, but undeniable. He wasn't just moving, he was adjusting, learning in real-time how this new body responded to the world around him.

The paths twisted and shifted, leading him deeper instead of back toward the city, and for a moment, he wondered if the ruins themselves were against him. It didn't feel like he was lost; it felt like something was guiding him, nudging him toward some unseen point rather than allowing him an easy way out. The walls of collapsed alleyways seemed to lean in at the edges of his vision, and every turn he took seemed to fold in on itself, forcing him to backtrack, to reconsider. The place felt wrong, its silence pressing down heavier the longer he wandered.

He reached out absently, his fingers brushing against deep gouges in the stone, scratches jagged and uneven, too large for any natural claws, too imprecise for blades. They stretched across the surface in violent arcs, each mark a remnant of whatever had once clawed its way through this place. A few steps ahead, something caught his eye, a glint of dull metal, half-buried beneath the dust and rubble. Kneeling, he picked up what remained of a mechanical component, its edges twisted with age but its design still too precise to be discarded scrap.

Turning it over in his hands, he let out a slow breath. This wasn't just debris scattered by tim, it was a remnant of something deliberate, a trace of a force far beyond anything the Rat King's people could have created. The craftsmanship was intricate, purposeful, and undeniably advanced. Only one name surfaced in his mind. Nikodemus.

Had it been hours or days since he first arrived in this underground world? Castin had lost his sense of time, severed from the familiar rhythm of the sun's rise and fall. He hadn't realized how much he had relied on it until now. The Rat King's words echoed in his thoughts—'Nikodemus happened.'

Even without seeing the man, Castin could feel his presence woven into the devastation around him. This wasn't a place that had simply been left behind; it had been razed, broken, and discarded by someone who pursued their own ambition without care for what they left in ruin. The ruined quarter wasn't just abandoned, it was a monument to a disaster, a graveyard for the dreams and lives swallowed in its wake.

He straightened, instinct pushing him forward, a quiet urgency pressing at the edges of his thoughts. He needed to leave. The sensation of being watched had been subtle at first, easy to dismiss, but now it clung to him, settling against his spine with the unmistakable weight of unseen eyes. He turned his head, scanning the edges of the ruins, but found nothing. Still, the feeling remained, patient and unshaken.

Through the gaps in the collapsed buildings, he could see the familiar glow of Rat City beyond the ruins. The air felt less suffocating here, the presence that had lingered over him finally loosening its grip. He pressed forward, keeping low, determined to slip back into the city unnoticed.

At that same moment, Matias was watching someone else slip through the city's shadows.

Naomi moved ahead of him, her steps careful, deliberate. She always left the palace around this time, always took a path that avoided the main streets. Tonight was no different, and yet Matias had the distinct feeling that something was about to change.

He had been tracking her for days, trying to figure out where she disappeared to every night. The girl was too aware of her surroundings, too quick to vanish when she thought she was being followed.

At first, he had assumed she simply wanted to escape the pressures of the palace, a habit not uncommon among those who had been given shelter by the Rat King. But Naomi's disappearances weren't impulsive, nor were they aimless. She always went somewhere specific. There was a pattern, a route that took her through the quieter streets, past abandoned corridors, away from the places most people wandered. And most telling of all, she always returned before dawn.

It made no sense. If she were simply sneaking away for freedom, she would be reckless, unpredictable. But this? This was deliberate.

He had tried following her before, but she had an uncanny ability to shake a tail. She took unusual paths, moving in ways that suggested she knew she was being watched. He had nearly lost her more times than he cared to admit, forced to keep his distance or risk exposing himself. He wanted to believe it was paranoia on her part, but that wasn't it, she was protecting something.

What was so important that she risked secrecy?

He turned a corner, watching as she slipped between two stacked crates near an abandoned storeroom. Matias pressed his back against the cool stone, waiting, listening. He kept a measured distance, knowing better than to move too soon. Naomi's movements never wavered, never hesitated, yet he knew she was aware of him. She always was.

She weaved through the alleys with ease, slipping past small clusters of people with the kind of fluidity that only came from familiarity. Matias followed carefully, using the natural flow of the crowd to mask his presence. The closer they got to the market district, the harder it became to stay unseen, but Naomi never made a mistake, never gave away that she knew he was there.

As the market came into view, the scent of fresh bread and spices filled the air, mingling with the sweat and chatter of merchants haggling over the last of their goods. Naomi walked past a stall stacked with neatly arranged baked goods, then, with a casual flick of her foot, nudged the stand's leg just enough to send a tray of pastries spilling to the ground. The merchant gasped, scrambling to save what he could, while a handful of passersby stooped to grab the fallen goods. A commotion erupted, voices rising in frustration, and in that instant, Naomi was gone.

Matias cursed under his breath. She hadn't even looked back, hadn't acknowledged the chaos she had caused, but he knew better. That had been deliberate. She had known he was there and had shaken him with the simplest of distractions.

He scanned the crowd, but she had already melted into the city. Gone. Again.

Matias exhaled sharply, his frustration mounting. She always managed to slip away when it was convenient for her, as if the city itself conspired to hide her. It was uncanny, the way no one ever seemed to notice her unless she wanted them to. One moment, she was just another face in the crowd, unremarkable, easy to overlook, and the next, she was causing just enough of a stir to disappear without question. It happened too often to be mere coincidence.

He had considered before that she simply understood people, that she knew how to move in a way that made her presence an afterthought. But there were times, like this, where it felt like something more. Like she had a way of shifting the attention around her, making people either see her or ignore her at will. If he didn't know better, he'd call it supernatural. But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it? 

Matias sighed, running a gloved hand down his face as he turned back toward the mess Naomi had left in her wake. The merchant whose stand she had toppled over was still cursing under his breath, hurriedly trying to salvage what could be saved from the dirt-covered pastries. A few passersby had stopped to help, kneeling to dust off the fallen bread while murmuring among themselves.

Matias stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "You there," he addressed the merchant. "The girl who knocked over your stall, Naomi. How often does she pass through here?"

The man barely glanced up from his work, frowning as he stacked what remained of his goods. "Naomi? Ah, yes, the young one. She's here often. Always polite, always offering to help when she can." He scoffed. "Didn't seem to notice the mess she made today, though."

Matias narrowed his eyes. He had seen Naomi's exact movement, the precision in which she had knocked over the stand. She had noticed, she just didn't want anyone else to.

A woman standing nearby dusted off her skirts and chimed in, smiling faintly. "She's such a lovely girl. Always so kind, always helping out when she can." Another woman beside her nodded eagerly. "And beautiful, isn't she? Hard not to notice her. Every time she passes through, she just has this… glow about her."

Matias clenched his jaw. He had expected as much. No one ever spoke of Naomi in a neutral way. It was always admiration, always something intangible about her that made her more than just another face in the crowd. Even when she knocked over an entire stall, no one was angry, just confused or amused, as if she could do no wrong.

"Does she buy anything specific?" Matias asked, shifting the topic.

The merchant finally stopped what he was doing and rubbed his chin. "She picks up bread sometimes, but nothing extravagant. Usually just practical things, dried fruit, medical herbs, things you'd take care of someone with. Why?"

Matias didn't answer. He already had his suspicions. She wasn't shopping for herself.

He took a step back, scanning the market one last time. "And do any of you know where she goes?"

The group fell silent.

The woman who had spoken first shook her head. "She never says. I've asked before, but she always just smiles and changes the subject. Never stays too long in one place."

Matias nodded. That much, at least, made sense. Naomi wouldn't be careless enough to leave a trail to wherever she was going.

Still, something gnawed at him. She was good at making people see what she wanted them to see. He had seen it time and time again, how she could be invisible when it suited her, and yet impossibly unforgettable when she needed to be. Matias had seen it too many times to dismiss it as luck.

With a final glance at the market, he turned away. He had no choice but to let her go for now. But next time, she wouldn't slip away so easily.

The journey back to Rat City was heavier than before. As Castin trudged forward, he became acutely aware of the way people moved aside when he passed. They weren't just making room for a stranger; they were avoiding him. He could see it in their eyes, in the way their noses wrinkled slightly as he approached. They could smell it on him.

He still reeked of the topside, of open air, of something that didn't belong down here. It clung to him like a bra nd, marking him as an outsider even as he fought his way through the labyrinth of pathways. He felt their stares as he passed, heard their whispers just under their breath. He wasn't welcome yet—not truly.

Stopping at the edge of a quiet passageway, he exhaled sharply and turned toward a group of workers stacking wooden crates. Their fur-lined coats were damp with sweat and grime, their hands moving with the practiced ease of people who had done this a thousand times before. They glanced up as he approached, their expressions a mix of curiosity and caution.

"I need to get to the Rat King's palace," Castin said, voice rough from exhaustion. "Which way?"

The men exchanged glances. One, an older worker with graying stubble and a missing tooth, scratched his chin before answering. "Palace is a ways off. You'll need to pass through the market to get there."

Another man, younger but no less wary, frowned. "Not from around here, are you?"

Castin shook his head. "Come on man, just point me the right way."

The older worker gestured toward a winding path between two buildings. "Follow that until you reach the lantern archway. That'll take you to the market. Once you're there, keep your head down and follow the scent of spices. You'll know the way when you see it."

Castin nodded, muttering a gruff thanks before continuing on. The path ahead felt longer now, his legs aching with each step. His thoughts drifted, weighed down by exhaustion. He thought of the ruined quarter, of the scars that city bore. He thought of the Rat King's words, of the way Nikodemus had twisted this place into something broken. And then, he thought of Elena.

This, all of this, the crumbling ruins, the lost city beneath the world—it would have made for an excellent bedtime story. She would have loved it, would have asked a hundred questions about the Rat King and the creatures that lurked below. He could almost hear her voice, could almost imagine himself weaving a tale for her, one where he was the hero, where things weren't so painfully real.

But she wasn't here. And this wasn't a story.

For the first time in months, though, he realized he hadn't been paralyzed by grief. The weight of his loss was still there, always lingering at the edge of his thoughts, but down here, in the depths of Rat City, he had been swept forward, caught in its current. He had been forced to move, to act, to survive, not by choice, but by the sheer momentum of this place. The city had demanded his attention, pulling him into its chaos, its secrets, its fight for something bigger than himself. It wasn't healing, not exactly, but it was something, something that had kept him afloat, kept him from being dragged under by the past, even if he had no control over where the waters carried him. And for that, at least, he owed this strange, broken place his thanks.

As he neared the market district, his legs felt heavier, his mind clouded with exhaustion. He stopped for a brief moment as he passed beneath the lantern archway, taking in its quiet beauty. The structure, lined with glowing lanterns strung in delicate patterns, cast a warm, flickering light against the darkened tunnel walls. It was breathtaking in its own way, a stark contrast to the jagged ruins he had just escaped. The way the lanterns floated above reminded him of the sky lanterns associated with Chinese New Year, drifting weightlessly into the night, carrying whispered wishes and silent prayers. It was a strange thing, to find something so serene in a place so chaotic. But maybe that was Rat City, always something unexpected waiting just beyond the next turn. He just needed to get back to the Rat King's palace.

Just as Castin stepped out from the lantern archway into the stronger light of the market district, a tall, upright figure emerged from around the corner, moving with deliberate purpose and holding himself with an air of professionalism. The way he carried himself, the quiet control in his movements, immediately caught Castins attention. He recognized the Rat from earlier, the one who had stood beside the Rat King prior to the dinner, the one who had watched him with a gaze that held more scrutiny than trust. Matias.

For a brief second, Castin considered whether this was luck. Maybe Matias could help him. He was on his last legs here.

Matias crossed his arms, eyeing him up and down, his whiskers twitching slightly as he took in Castin's disheveled state. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn, you look like hell. What, did you pick a fight with a brick wall and lose?" His tone was casual, but there was an edge of scrutiny behind it, the kind that told Castin that Matias wasn't just making small talk, he was assessing him. "Where the hell have you been?"

Castin exhaled sharply, swaying slightly on his feet. He could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him now, the adrenaline that had kept him moving finally fading. He barely had the energy to smirk. "I didn't even know rats could whistle."

Before Matias could respond, Castin's vision blurred, his body finally giving in. The last thing he heard before everything faded was Matias cursing under his breath, calling over the guards.

"Damn it, get him to the palace."

As the world slipped away, Castin had one last fleeting thought.

Well, at least I'll get there one way or another.