The Rat King stirred slowly, consciousness returning to him in fragments, each accompanied by a sharp, lingering pain that pulsed rhythmically behind his temples.
He groaned softly, shifting his head carefully against the leg of his desk where he had collapsed. He likened the sensation to the worst hangovers of his younger days, nights spent indulging in drinks at The Lantern's Rest, forgetting for a few precious hours the weight of his responsibilities, The ceremonial royal crown sitting above the fireplace mocking him.
He pushed himself upright, blinking away the heavy fog that blurred his vision. The study around him gradually sharpened into clarity, the waning light of the fireplace illuminating the scattered papers, the spilled ink, and the shattered remnants of a vial, stark evidence of his earlier, desperate decision. Fragments of glass glittered dangerously across the stone floor, reflecting the flickering amber glow.
Slowly, memories returned, flooding through him with relentless clarity. Naomi's pained eyes, her voice shaking with raw determination, and finally, the devastating realization of what she had done. He clenched his jaw, not in anger, but in renewed determination, guilt twisting painfully within him.
"Naomi," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. He had failed her once, and he refused to do so again.
Rising unsteadily to his feet, he moved to a tall cabinet against the wall, opening it with careful precision. His fingers closed around another intact vial of the shimmering blue sedative, handling it cautiously, fully aware of its dangerous potential. As he stepped toward the door, he purposefully avoided the glass of the previous vial, the sharp reminder of his earlier mistake.
The door swung open, and just beyond the threshold stood Castin, returning from his errand with Lorne. Castin began to grin, eyebrows raised in casual amusement, ready with his usual sarcastic greeting. "Oh, now you can open the door? Seems like you were ignoring me before, Red—"
He stopped abruptly, words fading as his eyes took in the Rat King's intense expression, the vial clutched firmly in his paw, his posture radiating urgency and resolve.
"What's going on?" Castin asked immediately, tone shifting instantly from playful to cautious concern.
The Rat King didn't slow, walking briskly past Castin and motioning for him to follow. "Castin, Naomi is in danger. She's determined to confront Nikodemus herself. We need to find her before it's too late."
Castin hurried after him, matching his stride as confusion knitted his brow. "Slow down a second, what happened? Did she say something to you?"
The Rat King's gaze remained fixed ahead, voice edged with barely restrained frustration, not toward Naomi, but himself. "She came to me, pleading her case to join the mission. I refused, trying to protect her. Maybe It was the wrong move but either way I forced her hand."
Castin caught the hidden undertone immediately. "Forced her hand? You mean she—?"
"Made use of her ability, yes," the King admitted, voice heavy but resolute. "But it was my failing. She felt trapped. Cornered. I should have handled it differently."
"You can't keep shouldering all the blame," Castin protested gently, worry lining his features. "Naomi's been going through hell. She made a bad call, but it's not entirely on you."
The Rat King shook his head firmly, slowing just enough to glance meaningfully at Castin. "I've watched Naomi suffer too much already. This isn't about assigning blame, it's about finding her, quickly, before she makes an irreversible mistake."
Understanding dawned clearly in Castin's eyes, determination hardening his gaze. "You know I'll do it. Where do we start?"
The Rat King paused at a juncture in the corridor, turning fully to face Castin. "Her old hideout in the Ruined Quarter. She may return there first, either seeking refuge or gathering courage. You're the only one here who has truly tried to withstand Naomi's abilities. I fear you might be the only one capable of safely approaching her now."
Castin nodded gravely, determination clear in his eyes. "I'll find her, Red. Whatever it takes."
The Rat King slowed slightly, turning to face Castin directly. His gaze was steady, unwavering in its quiet intensity. "Bring her back safely, Castin. Not just for our sake, but for hers. She needs to know she isn't alone, and never has to face this darkness alone again."
Castin's expression softened with understanding, offering a firm nod. "I won't let you down."
The Rat King offered a faint, appreciative smile, gratitude shining briefly through his anxious eyes.
Castin hesitated only a moment longer, curiosity flickering as he noticed the vial in the King's grip once more. "What about you? Where are you headed?"
The Rat King paused, fingers tightening around the vial. A cold, quiet determination seeped into his voice, chilling in its resolve. "I'm going to wake Eli."
Castin's eyes widened slightly, surprise mingling with cautious hope. He nodded firmly, accepting without question the depth of the King's resolve. "Alright Red. We'll do what needs doing."
The Rat King turned away sharply, the set of his jaw firm as he moved swiftly toward the infirmary. His voice carried back, quiet but unyielding.
"Yes," he murmured to himself as much as to Castin, "because this time, I won't lose either of them."
The stone corridors of the palace felt colder than usual as the Rat King descended toward the infirmary. The vial of sedative weighed heavily in his pocket, heavier still in his thoughts. He moved quickly, each step measured but purposeful, ears tuned to the quiet shuffle of activity in the lower halls. The tension in his chest had not eased since he had spoken with Castin and perhaps it never would until this gamble played itself out.
At the front desk of the infirmary, the charge nurse looked up, startled by his sudden arrival.
"Is anyone with Eli?" the Rat King asked, voice low but firm.
The nurse blinked, then shook her head. "No, your majesty. He's alone."
He gave her a quick nod before striding past, the hem of his cloak brushing the stone floor. The heavy curtain leading to Eli's private room parted under his paw, revealing the small chamber lit by dim lanternlight. It looked just as he had left it. And there, under layers of neatly tucked blankets, was Eli, still and unmoving, the rise and fall of his chest the only sign that life lingered.
The Rat King moved to the bedside, pulling the vial from his robe with trembling fingers. His voice was soft as he looked down at the sleeping boy.
"Eli... I fear this won't be pleasant," he whispered, "and for that, I'm truly sorry."
Uncorking the vial, he leaned down carefully and poured a small, precise amount of the glowing blue liquid into Eli's open mouth. Eli didn't stir. The King stepped back, watching with an uneasy stillness.
In his thoughts, a bitter reflection stirred. Nikodemus, you heartless bastard... may something good come from your abominations yet, even if it takes wringing a miracle from a stone.
Seconds passed.
Nothing.
The Rat King sank into the chair beside Eli's bed, the vial still loosely cradled in his hand. He stared at it, his expression unreadable.
"Perhaps it was too good to be true," he murmured, voice soft with grief. "Or perhaps I simply expected more." He looked back toward Eli's still face. "I'm sorry, Eli."
His thoughts slipped, pulled backward by a memory that never truly left.
He was in his study again. The smell of soot clung to the air, heavy and bitter. The fire had long gone out, leaving only dying embers in the hearth, casting dull light on the crown that hung above it. The crown seemed colder now than it ever had, mocking in its silence. A relic of a time when leadership felt like guidance, not grief.
He had stared at it for hours.
Another drink. Another hour lost.
Then a knock.
He didn't look up.
"Come in," he said, his voice like gravel.
The door opened. Matias stepped inside, hesitating when he saw the room, or perhaps the man inside it. The king didn't greet him, didn't glance his way. His eyes remained locked on the crown, unmoving.
"Your Majesty," Matias said.
Still nothing.
"Merrik."
The name struck. Not gently, not kindly. It cracked through the silence like the snap of a broken branch. The king blinked, slowly, but still didn't turn.
Matias crossed the room and slammed his hand down on the desk.
"Merrik," he said again, firmer now, frustration edging into his voice. "It's time. The city needs you. It's been a week since the explosion."
Silence.
"I know your relationship was... complicated. But what Nikodemus—"
"Do not speak his name," the king snapped, rising so suddenly that the glass in his hand sloshed over. His eyes were red-rimmed, bloodshot. His fur disheveled. His voice, raw.
Matias flinched, but not from fear. From the sheer weight of what he saw.
The king, Merrik, stood not as a sovereign, but as a man gutted by betrayal. The bottle on the desk was half-empty. The scent of old wine clung to the air like rot. His hand trembled faintly, not from rage, but from exhaustion.
"I loved him Matias," Merrik said, quieter now, like the words themselves were poison. "I defended him. I trusted him. I welcomed him into my home. Into this city." He looked down at the spilled drink like it had answers he couldn't find. "And he used it to carve open everything this city has built."
"Used it to carve open," Merrik slurred "To carve me open."
Matias's voice softened. "And now the people look to you. To mourn, yes... but also to act. You don't have the luxury of disappearing into your grief."
The king sank back into his chair, every movement heavier than the last. He didn't answer. He only stared again at the crown.
"Do you still believe in this city?" Matias asked.
Merrik's jaw tightened.
Matias continued, more gently now. "Then help it heal. Or we'll all be ghosts of what we used to be."
Then, voices from beyond the curtain. A commotion. The king was whisked back to the present.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, the king is with your son right now. He is not to be disturbed."
"Nobody is going to keep me from my son!" came Elizabeth's sharp reply, the trademark steel in her voice as strong as ever. "I don't care who it is!"
"I must insist—"
The curtain was pulled back before the nurse could finish, and the Rat King stood to meet them.
"That's enough," he said gently. "Please. This is her son. She may enter, no matter who is already present."
Elizabeth pushed past the nurse with barely restrained emotion, her eyes finding Eli instantly.
"Thank you," she said breathlessly, just as her son's body began to convulse violently.
His limbs jerked under the blankets, and the faint hum of medical devices began to spike.
"Eli!" Elizabeth gasped.
The Rat King rushed to the bedside. "Nurse!" he barked.
The nurse was already moving, grabbing a syringe from a nearby tray, ripping open the sterile packaging. "What did you give him?" she demanded over the growing chaos.
The King held up the vial, guilt etched across his features.
Elizabeth rounded on him, eyes wide with disbelief. "I thought we were waiting on test results! What were you thinking?"
"There wasn't time—"
"You weren't supposed to decide that!" she snapped. "You—"
"Elizabeth, please," he tried again, voice rising. "I had just taken it myself, I—"
"What is wrong with you!" the nurse and Elizabeth shouted in unison.
But the storm of voices halted all at once when a groggy voice croaked from the bed behind them.
"Can't a guy get any sleep around here?"
They all turned as one.
Eli lay with his eyes barely cracked open, the corner of his mouth tugging upward into the ghost of a smile. His voice was rasped, weak, but unmistakably alive.
"You guys look like you've seen a ghost," he whispered, before his head rolled gently to the side and he drifted back into unconsciousness.
A stunned silence filled the room.
The Rat King stepped back slowly, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. The vial slipped from his paw and clinked quietly onto the floor. He looked to Elizabeth, whose eyes shimmered with disbelief, then to the nurse, who seemed frozen in place.
For the first time in what felt like years, the impossible had happened.
Eli was awake.
Elizabeth moved first.
She rushed to Eli's side, dropping to her knees beside the bed, her hands hovering over his face as if afraid touching him might break the spell. "He's Back," she whispered. "My baby is back." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she pressed her forehead to the edge of the mattress, tears falling silently into the blankets.
The nurse, ever the professional despite her earlier fury, leaned in and adjusted the small monitor beside the bed. "Vitals are... steady," she murmured, disbelief coloring her tone. "Elevated, but stable." Her fingers trembled as she readjusted the leads, watching the slow pulse line trace steadily across the display. "That shouldn't be possible."
Elizabeth exhaled shakily, brushing Eli's hair back with trembling fingers. "He spoke. I heard him."
"You're not mistaken," the nurse replied softly, her tone no longer accusatory, but reverent. "You really brought him back."
Elizabeth looked up at the Rat King, her eyes red-rimmed but clear, shimmering with emotion. "You reckless, infuriating fool..." she whispered, a breath away from crying or laughing, or both. "Thank you."
The Rat King bowed his head slightly, unable to hold her gaze. "I didn't know if it would work. I wasn't even sure I had the right... dosage. I just—" He hesitated, staring at Eli's now-peaceful face. "I couldn't lose another one. Not him. Not now."
The nurse crossed her arms, more out of grounding herself than frustration. "We'll need to monitor him closely. He's been out for months, there's no telling what side effects waking up like this could bring."
The King nodded once. "Anything you need, you'll have."
Another beat of silence passed. Elizabeth remained by her son, her hand gently resting over his.
The Rat King turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. "If... if anything changes or if you see Naomi, send for me immediately. I'll be in my study."
Elizabeth didn't respond with words. She simply looked up at him and gave a slow, grateful nod.
He left them there, mother, son, healer, bathed in the quiet miracle of a life returned, the storm behind them for now, though the thoughts of Naomi still threatened worse.
As he stepped into the corridor, the door closed gently behind him with a soft click, the Rat King exhaled deeply. The silence wrapped around him like a blanket this time, not of isolation, but of reprieve.
But it would not last.
Because now that one life had returned, another was slipping further away.
And Naomi was still out there, chasing ghosts of her own.