Chapter 04: Rats First

Deep within the claustrophobic underground passage, Luke led the way through utter darkness while Arryn followed closely, his divine sword serving as a makeshift lantern. 

Its ethereal glow barely penetrated the gloom, yet it radiated enough warmth to fend off the biting chill.

Luke's eyes darted back repeatedly, worry etched on his face. He couldn't reconcile Arryn's inexplicable mercy—by every account from the novel, anyone branded with the words "You are a liar" should have been swiftly dispatched.

The echo of those fateful words reverberated in Luke's mind:

*You are a liar.*

That memory sent a shudder down his spine. Paranoia gnawed at him as he questioned, 

'Am I the one who fell into his trap? Not him—me.'

Lost in his spiraling thoughts, Luke stumbled, nearly succumbing to weakness. He clutched the damp brick wall for support, each rough surface a temporary lifeline. 

From behind, Arryn's impatient interjection cut through the silence. 

"Keep your head straight," he snapped, his tone brisk and cold. 

"I don't have time for dawdlers—I have a banquet to attend later."

Luke shot Arryn a quick, troubled glance. The prince's short temper and unyielding nature were becoming ever more apparent, casting doubt on whether any thoughtful plan could emerge from such volatile arrogance. 

'Am I giving him more credit than he deserves?'

he mused.

'Maybe I'm just overthinking things—that could be his plan all along.'

Shaking off the disquiet, Luke murmured,

 "I'm sorry for slowing you down," though his apology barely registered with Arryn, who seemed disinterested in pleasantries.

They pressed on until the passage ended at a hidden staircase, ascending toward a sliver of sunlight. The gentle, otherworldly radiance filtered through the opening, illuminating each step with a promise of freedom.

Luke pointed at the stairs, voice low yet determined. 

"These lead to the surface—close to Masym Rete. Trust me on this."

Arryn paused only long enough to sheath his sword, then cast a wry smirk at the illuminated stairs. 

"Rats first. I'll follow behind," 

He declared with a dismissive chuckle.

Frustration tightened Luke's fists, but he forced a rueful smile as he stepped onto the first stair. 

Before he could steady himself, a sudden grip seized his throat from behind, yanking him upward. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Luke saw Arryn's wide, almost gleeful grin—a look that reveled in the terror it elicited. In a tone almost gleeful, Arryn teased, 

"Like I said, I will show you what the surface is like first, rat."

"A-AHHH!!!" 

Luke's scream was raw as his legs buckled, his body surrendering to the brutal push. Arryn's grip remained unyielding, hoisting him up the stairs with relentless force.

At the top, the unforgiving sunlight bathed Luke's lean form. With little ceremony, he was flung to the ground, landing hard on his back as pain and shock stole his breath away. Even after release, the phantom pressure around his throat lingered like a cruel memory.

"Now, what are you waiting for? Show me the way!" 

Arryn barked, scanning the surroundings as if expecting hidden threats. Finding nothing amiss, he nodded curtly. 

"So you weren't lying about that tunnel after all. Lucky for you, your truth spared your life today."

'This bastard!' 

Luke seethed internally as he pushed himself upright, taking in his new environment.

They now stood on a raised park platform at the heart of a bustling four-way intersection. 

The brilliance of the surface was almost blinding after the underground's oppressive darkness. Vintage open-roofed cars, relics from his bygone era, glided silently along the streets. Instead of drivers, passengers lounged leisurely, as though in a perpetual state of admiration for the ride.

Pedestrians, clad in an odd fusion of medieval robes and sharp, tailored suits, strolled with an air of regality past towering shopfronts that lent the city an unmistakable elegance. Laughter and chatter mingled in the air, a stark contrast to the tension clinging to Luke.

Breaking the reverie, Arryn's tone cut through the ambient noise. 

"Weak-Leg, where to next?" 

He queried, his voice as indifferent to beauty as it was fixated on the mission—to find Masym Rete.

"Give me a moment to recall…" 

Luke replied, mentally sifting through the details etched in the novel. After a brief pause, he nodded. 

"Follow me. I know where he is."

Together they leaped from the platform, and as they reached the road, Luke hesitated. There were no traffic signals—cars whizzed by at breakneck speeds without so much as a pause. They careened through intersections like renegades in a chaotic ballet.

"Follow me!" 

Arryn commanded, striding forward with unwavering determination, unconcerned by the near-miss of oncoming vehicles.

Luke had little choice but to match his pace. 

"AHHHH!!" 

Luke shrieked as a car barreled toward him, its velocity a lethal threat. Yet, Arryn moved on with an almost casual air, as if the speeding machine were nothing more than background noise. 

In a surreal twist, the car narrowly missed them—its passing marked by not even a whisper of wind—and its occupants chatted inside as if their reckless drive was entirely ordinary.

Another vehicle, a brown car, swerved perilously close, nearly colliding with both. But in a heartbeat, it was gone, leaving Luke to marvel at the absurdity of the situation. 

The surrounding vehicles continued their zigzag dance, yet not a single crash disrupted the flow, as if the entire scene were choreographed chaos in which he and Arryn were mere observers.

Arryn crossed the street effortlessly while Luke, drenched in sweat and adrenaline, trailed behind. 

Luke heart pounded wildly, and every labored breath reminded him of the narrow escapes they'd just experienced. For a fleeting moment, he attempted to regain composure and scan his surroundings for the right direction.

Then, as people passed by, a remarkable transformation occurred. 

The moment their eyes fell upon Arryn, their cheerful expressions melted away, replaced by an almost primal reverence. Men, women, children, the elderly—even those confined to wheelchairs—instantly bowed, paying their respects to Prince Arryn Rocheford.

Yet Arryn remained aloof, acknowledging none of the silent tributes. He turned to Luke with steely command, 

"Guide the way!"

Luke, head bowed in deference, silently consented. 

For the next two blocks, he navigated the labyrinthine city streets, envisioning a map layered within the map, pinpointing the hidden location he sought. 

All the while, Arryn amassed a veritable tide of bows from passersby, and the relentless sunlight sapped every ounce of Luke's energy.

Finally, they arrived at their destination—a modest, unassuming bookshop. The single-story structure boasted a charming green facade, and a vast window displayed a vibrant mosaic of books across various genres. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, yet curiously devoid of any signage.

Luke hesitated before pushing open the green door. A comforting aroma of aged paper and ink enveloped him as he stepped inside. 

The shop was bustling: clusters of readers, children darting among the shelves, and the low murmur of conversation filled the air.

His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the target of their pursuit. But apprehension seized him—if he pointed out the man, Arryn's wrath might unleash untold carnage in the crowded store.

'Arryn will kill everyone in the shop without any reason!'

Luke thought desperately.

Before he could decide, he felt a familiar, ominous pressure on his neck. Spinning around, he caught Arryn's face twisted into a bloodthirsty grin. 

"So," Arryn sneered,

"Is everyone here one of Masym Rete's lackeys?"

In that chilling moment, Luke realized that silence would be catastrophic—Arryn's unpredictable fury might consume the entire shop. Desperation and hope warred within him. 

Summoning courage, he raised his hand and pointed unmistakably toward a small seating area. Cushioned chairs formed a loose circle, occupied by several children and, in the center, a delicate man with pink hair and black-framed glasses who was calmly reading a story.

Luke's eyes locked on the gentle expression of the man. 

"He is Masym Rete," 

He whispered, his voice trembling with urgency.

[The Hero's Journey continues…]