Chapter 8: Return to Sender

The morning light filtered through the bakery's front window, catching in the floating motes of flour that swirled through the warm air. The scent of fresh bread and simmering stew clung to the walls, mingling with the quiet sounds of Edgar kneading dough behind the counter.

Elizabeth set down a woven basket and glanced toward Castin. "You up for a short trip?"

Castin, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "Depends, where to?"

"The market. We need fresh vegetables for dinner," she paused, tilting her head toward Emma. "Thought you could take Emma with you."

Emma beamed, grabbing a small bag of barter goods from the counter. "Come on, Cass! Before all the good ones are gone!"

Castin sighed, pushing off the wall. "Alright, alright. Lead the way, Em."

As they reached the door, Edgar glanced up from his work, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Travel safe, you two. Market's busy today, keep an eye on each other."

Emma beamed. "I'll keep an eye on Cass, Papa."

Edgar smirked, shaking his head. "That's what I'm afraid of."

The streets of Rat City were already alive with movement, vendors calling out from their stalls, exchanging goods in a rhythm as old as the city itself. Castin let Emma take the lead, weaving easily through the crowd, while he kept his hands in his pockets, keeping half an eye on their surroundings.

Then, someone stepped out in front of him.

A lean man, gaunt but sharp-eyed, blocking his path with the casual confidence of someone who didn't need to make a scene to be dangerous. His clothes were ragged but practical, and the way he studied Castin sent a prickle of recognition through him.

"Didn't think I'd see another one of us down here," the man muttered while throwing a sloppy salute in Castins direction. 

Castin stiffened. He didn't need the insignia or the salute to recognize the bearing of a former soldier. "I don't know you."

The man smirked. "Sure you do. Maybe not my name, but my type. UNSC, yeah? You got that look. I dropped out and came here names Lorne."

Castin's jaw clenched. He stayed silent. He hadn't been an active member for months since Elena had passed but the idea of defecting still bothered him.

The man chuckled, gesturing lazily to the alley beside them. "Look, no pressure, mate. I know a guy who's always looking for men like us. Real money, real power. A Gun Runner, You wouldn't believe the kind of—"

"Not interested," Castin cut in, his voice flat his face mired in disgust.

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, recognizing Castins refusal as a lost cause. "Whatever, man. Your loss. Have fun with these stupid rats."

Castin moved before he could think. His fist met the man's jaw with a satisfying crack, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Emma gasped beside him, wide-eyed.

Castin exhaled, shaking out his fist. "Asshole." Then he glanced at Emma. "Don't tell your mom, Em."

Emma giggled. "Not unless she asks."

The market itself was a brief reprieve, Emma eagerly picking through the stalls, chatting with the vendors, her face lighting up when she found the freshest greens. Castin lingered, listening but not fully engaging, his mind still half on the encounter. What the hell was a Gun Runner doing in Rat City? Was whoever it is responsible for the armed men who had kidnapped him?

Eventually, with their arms full, they made their way back to the bakery.

Edgar took the vegetables with a nod of thanks, already setting to work prepping them for the evening meal. "Good trip?"

Castin smirked, setting down the remaining items. "Just a walk and some produce." He shot Emma a wink, who giggled but kept quiet.

Elizabeth walked over, handing him a folded slip of paper. "This came for you. Hand-delivered."

Castin frowned, taking it. "Great, maybe it's another dinner."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, smirking. "You've been here, what, a few days? And now you're getting mail delivered to our home?"

Emma grinned. "Guess that means you live here now, Cass!"

Castin hesitated, then chuckled. "I guess it does."

He unfolded the letter. The writing was precise, the message simple.

You are summoned to the palace.

No sender. No explanation.

Just an expectation.

The warmth of the bakery still clung to him, but a chill settled in his gut as he threw his head back and sighed.

"Only a matter of time, I suppose."

Change was coming.

As Castin stepped out into the streets, making his way toward the palace, he let his thoughts wander.

The past few days had settled into something uncomfortably familiar, a rhythm he hadn't realized he was falling into.

Walking Emma through the market, watching her pick through vegetables with serious little frowns as she inspected them, reminded him of another small hand gripping his years ago.

"No, Daddy, we have to get the green ones. The red ones are too squishy!"

Elena had been like that, opinionated, stubborn about the smallest things. She had loved markets, loved picking out food for meals like it was the most important task in the world.

Emma had done the same, her voice bubbling with excitement, debating between carrots and radishes as if the fate of dinner depended on it. He had smiled then, genuinely. He hadn't realized how rare that had become.

And then there was the moment she looked up at him and called him 'Cass'.

It had been so natural, so casual and he hadn't corrected her.

Now, as he walked through the streets alone, headed toward something heavier, the weight of that realization sat differently in his chest.

He wasn't her father. He never would be.

But it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like he was something safe.

The closer he got to the palace, the heavier his steps felt.

And before he knew it Castin was standing at the entrance of the palace, flanked by two silent guards. The weight of the summons sat heavy in his mind, an unspoken demand he wasn't sure he wanted to answer. But here he was.

The halls of the Rat King's domain were quieter than the streets outside, the opulence of the space contrasting against the rougher edges of Rat City. The guards led him through the corridors without a word, until finally, the doors to the Rat King's chamber loomed ahead. They swung open without ceremony.

The Rat King sat in his usual place, his presence as steady and unreadable as ever. Castin approached, stopping a respectable distance away.

"You've had time to rest," the Rat King said, voice calm but weighted with expectation. "Now, tell me again what you saw."

Castin exhaled, crossing his arms. "What, that's it? No 'Hey, how ya doin'?' Oh yeah, Emma gives her best" 

The Rat King lifted his left paw and wiggled his fingers in a slow, effortless wave.

Castin snorted. "That's more like it." He shifted his stance. "Anyway, down in the Ruined Quarter, I saw more than just wreckage. There were men down there. Armed. They had communication devices, weapons, tech that doesn't belong in a place like this. I fought them. One fired a gun at me. I Escaped. That same one won't be breathing right for a while."

The Rat King listened, his expression unreadable, waiting for more.

"And today," Castin continued, "I ran into someone in the streets. Some ex-military type, or at least he used to be. He tried to pull me into something, said there was a gang leader looking for people like me." He let the words settle before adding, "Called him 'The Gun Runner' not much of a title as it a position"

At that, the Rat King's expression flickered, only for a moment, but enough for Castin to notice.

"And what did you tell him?" the Rat King asked.

Castin smirked. "Told him to piss off. Then I knocked him out."

A slow breath left the Rat King's nose, though whether it was amusement or quiet contemplation, Castin couldn't tell.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then the Rat King leaned forward slightly. "You are not a fool," he said. "You've seen the city. You've seen the underbelly of it. Tell me, do you think Rat City is at peace?"

Castin hesitated. He thought about the quiet tension in the streets today. The way people moved, the murmurs that seemed to hang just below the surface of the usual market chatter. The men in the ruins. The invitation from a gang leader. The way the Rat King himself seemed heavier, his patience thinning.

"…No," Castin admitted. "I don't."

The Rat King sat back, nodding slightly. "If you wish to remain here, you will not remain a bystander."

Castin frowned. "What the hell does that mean? I'm gonna start paying rent?"

The Rat King's expression didn't change. "You've seen what lurks beneath our streets. The question is… what will you do about it?"

Castin had thought this meeting was about giving a report. But it wasn't. The Rat King wasn't just listening, he was testing him.

Castin exhaled, shaking his head. "You're asking me to pick a side. I didn't come down here looking to get involved in a war. I've seen war already. I just wanted to survive."

The Rat King studied him, his expression giving nothing away. "And yet, survival is rarely passive. You've already made enemies, whether you intended to or not."

Castin scoffed. "You think just because I knocked out some thug in an alley, I want to play hero?"

The Rat King remained silent for a moment before speaking again, this time with measured curiosity. "Tell me, Castin, have you noticed any… changes since you've been here?"

Castin frowned. He had, but he hadn't wanted to dwell on it. The way he could move faster, react quicker. How he'd bent the bars back in that cage with strength he never knew he had.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said cautiously.

The Rat King leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "I think you do. The city has a way of shaping those who walk its streets long enough. And it seems you've been specially marked by it. The question is, will you use what you've gained, or let it go to waste?"

Castin clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He didn't want to be anyone's soldier again. He didn't want to be dragged into someone else's fight.

But he couldn't ignore what he'd seen. The corruption, the growing unrest, the enemies lurking just beneath the surface.

And worse, he couldn't ignore what was happening to him.

But it wasn't just the changes in his body that made him hesitate. It was them.

Emma, Edgar, Elizabeth.

At first, he told himself he was just passing through. That he was only here to survive, to rest, to figure out his next step. But the longer he stayed, the harder it became to ignore the way they had let him in.

He saw it in the way Emma looked up to him, like he belonged there.

In the quiet steadiness of Edgar, always working, always providing.

In Elizabeth's sharp glances, her careful words, not distrust anymore, but something closer to reluctant acceptance.

They weren't just another place he was passing through. They were becoming something else entirely.

A home.

The thought unsettled him. He didn't do homes. Not anymore.

And now, the Rat King was telling him he couldn't remain a bystander. That he had already been pulled into something bigger than himself.

If he walked away, what happened to them?

He exhaled slowly, the weight of it settling deep in his chest.

For the first time since he got here, it wasn't just about his own survival anymore.

The Rat King's gaze remained steady, calculating. "Follow Matias. See where he goes."

Castin leaned back slightly, folding his arms. "Why? You got a problem with your own captain?"

"Something weighs on him," the Rat King replied, voice level. "I want to know what. And you… you are less noticeable than my own people."

Castin exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Great. So I'm a glorified errand boy now."

The Rat King only smiled.

Castin exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned to leave. The weight of the request settled on his shoulders, heavier than he wanted to admit. 

He told himself it was just another errand, nothing more. But as he stepped out into the dimly lit corridors of the palace, something gnawed at the back of his mind. Why was the Rat King watching Matias so closely?

The further he walked, the more the city around him came to life. The market was bustling with vendors, the smell of roasted nuts and spiced bread curling through the underground air. Castin moved past stalls where merchants haggled over dried meats and fresh produce, the glow of lanterns flickering over worn stone. He caught sight of Matias ahead, pausing briefly at a food stand to make an exchange and received something wrapped in cloth, a quick meal, not a leisurely stop.

Castin kept his distance, slipping between the crowd as Matias weaved through the marketplace. As they passed beneath the Lantern Archway, the warm glow of the swaying lights above sent memories flickering through Castin's mind, Emma, laughing as she ran ahead, Elizabeth trailing behind with a wary eye, the festival alive with music and the scent of fried dough. It had been a moment of peace, something that had felt real, something he hadn't wanted to admit he enjoyed. And now, here he was, slipping back into old habits, following someone like a shadow.

He pushed the thoughts aside as Matias rounded a corner. Castin slowed his pace to a jog, sticking to the alley's edge before peeking just enough to keep Matias in his sight.

He watched as Matias moved through the streets with purpose, his steps measured, tail flicking with tension. Castin kept his distance, trailing him through the winding paths of Rat City, using side alleys and elevated walkways to stay out of sight.

The deeper they went, the more the noise of the city faded, replaced by the quiet noise of lanterns swaying against damp stone. Matias wasn't on patrol. He wasn't heading toward any known checkpoints.

He was going somewhere private.

Eventually, Matias stopped near a forgotten section of Rat City, where collapsed tunnels had given way to hidden corners untouched by the usual bustle of the underground. The air here was thick with damp earth and lingering shadows, the flickering lanterns barely reaching into the darkness. He glanced around once, scanning the area with the wary precision of someone who didn't want to be seen. Then, satisfied, he lowered himself onto a ledge, his movements precise, deliberate. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, worn journal, the edges of its pages curled with use. For a moment, he simply stared at it, fingers tightening around the cover before he flipped it open.

Castin crouched above, watching carefully as Matias flipped through the pages. He wrote something. Stopped. Stared at the page.

His tail flicked sharply. His ears twitched.

Something wasn't right.

Matias flipped back several pages. He scratched something out, started writing again. Then stopped. Then erased more.

Castin narrowed his eyes. What the hell is he doing?

Matias let out a sharp exhale, tapping the end of his charcoal pencil against the journal's spine, frustration evident in his movements. Then, after another moment of hesitation, he closed the book harder than necessary, tucked it away, and left with brisk steps, his ears angled backward in irritation.

Castin waited. Waited until he was sure Matias was gone.

Then, curiosity won out.

He dropped down lightly from his hiding spot and made his way toward the space Matias had been watching.

The entrance was subtle, barely more than a break in the stone, but as Castin stepped inside, the air changed, warmer, quieter, and filled with the faint scent of old wood and fabric.

The first thing he saw was a body.

Castin froze, instincts tensing, but as he moved closer, he realized the figure wasn't dead, just eerily still, breaths slow, barely noticeable. A young Rodent lay on a makeshift cot, blankets drawn up to his chin, his facial features gaunt under the dim lantern light. Unconscious? No… this was something deeper.

"Hey," Castin muttered, stepping closer. He crouched down, reaching for the kid's shoulder and gave it a light shake. "Can you hear me?"

No response.

Castin frowned, shaking him a little harder. "Come on, wake up."

Nothing.

His breathing was steady, but too slow, like he was lost in something heavier than sleep. A coma?

Castin exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "What the hell is this place?"

His eyes flicked around the room, signs of care, blankets freshly arranged, food and water supplies neatly stacked in the corner. Someone had been tending to him, keeping him alive.

And then his mind circled back to Matias. Why had he come all the way out here… but not gone inside?

Something wasn't adding up.

Castin stood, exhaling slowly, gaze returning to the unconscious man. He didn't know what this was yet, but something tugged at him, an unease he couldn't quite place.

His gaze drifted toward a small bedside table. Among the neatly arranged supplies, a small open box sat beside a carefully tied bow. A gift? Here?

Frowning, he stepped closer, lifting the box with careful fingers. Inside, nestled in cloth, were two wooden lockets. One bore an intricate carving of a young rat, the name Eli etched into the back. The other, more delicately shaped, carried a carving of a familiar face. He turned it over, Naomi.

A chill crawled down his spine as the pieces clicked together in his mind. No. That can't be right. He turned to the unconscious boy, studying his face, the gaunt but familiar features of Elizabeth and Edgar. It's impossible.

But the lockets, the careful way the space had been arranged, the way Matias had hovered nearby but hadn't entered, this had to be him.

Eli.

The kid Edgar, Elizabeth, and Emma had been mourning this entire time. He was here. He had been alive.

Castin sucked in a breath, running a hand through his hair. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit." He looked down at the boy again, fists clenching. He had to tell them. They deserved to know.

He took a step back, casting one last glance at Eli before nodding. "Don't worry, kid," he muttered. "I'm gonna get help. I'm gonna bring the entire guard—"

A voice cut through the still air, sharp and unwavering.

"You're not going anywhere."