Rumors of deep-sea humanoids leaked from the loose lips of a NOAH 1 steward who’d had too much to drink one evening at a Floating City bar. It didn’t spark the immediate chaos Francis had feared, but a thick, heavy unease descended over the city and ships alike.
People didn’t outwardly panic. There was no screaming or running, but paranoia took root. People glanced over their shoulders. They were searching, always searching, for signs of the creatures that might be stalking them.
I found it amusing, in a way, that the humans were now just awakening to the possibility that another kind of their species existed. I wondered why they didn’t seem to notice it when the Masked Stranger had strolled openly among them. Dressed like an emissary from some alien world, he went unnoticed, unquestioned.
I suppose it didn’t matter to them—his origins, his appearance, his very nature. He could’ve been a colossal octopus or a loquacious squid walking among them, they didn’t care. Why? Because he offered them relief—cures for their illnesses, remedies for their pain. And some of those so-called cures, I was almost certain, carried an opium-like haze of bliss. When people want something badly enough, they’re willing to turn a blind eye to just about anything else.
But then again, humans—ah, humans. In all my cat years, I’ve found them to be wonderfully, hopelessly oblivious. They are blind in a way few creatures are. They don’t see what’s right in front of them. Not until the world forces them to.
The story, inevitably, made its way to the ears of Floating City’s Council Members. They wasted no time in sending a messenger to Francis, commanding his presence to recount the full details of what had occurred.
Though NOAH 1 prided itself as an independent state, its status didn’t shield it from the authority of Floating City’s Council, much to Francis’s annoyance. Begrudgingly, Francis decided to answer the Council’s summons. He ordered Alan and Louis to join him and recount their side of the events. Louis agreed, but his choice didn’t sit well with Sam, who reminded his father of the promise never to leave the ship again—unless Sam could go too. In the end, Louis gave in and brought the boy along. And me? I wasn’t about to stay behind and just sit idly by.
What would Louis tell the Council? What did he truly know about the sea humanoids? And that black stone… Where did it come from? Was it given to him, or had he stumbled upon it? Did he even understand what it was? The questions swirled in my mind, multiplying faster than I could make sense of them. Thinking about it all too long felt like standing in a whirlpool, and I had to shake myself free before I drowned in it.
The Council Hall was the grandest structure in Floating City, its imposing columns and steps made from a hodgepodge of metal, plastic, and concrete.
We stepped into a foyer that felt like the heart of the sun. Rays of golden light filtered through a glass dome above, wrapping the circular room in warmth.
A guard approached us. His steel spear towered above him, gleaming under the light. He wore a dark green uniform that shined like oiled leather and a metal helmet fastened tightly over his head.
“Ah, Mr. Francis and crew,” he said, nodding at Francis.
“It’s Captain Francis,” Francis corrected sharply.
“Right, Captain. This way, please.” The guard turned on his heel and led us down a lengthy hallway, where another set of double doors awaited.
As the doors swung open and we stepped across the threshold, a stout, round man marched toward Francis, his chest puffed out and chin held high. His black robe flowed with his movements, and a conical green hat with a flat top crowned his head, its long yellow tassel swaying with each step like a pendulum. He could only be one of the seven Councilmen.
He stopped a few paces away, his nose twitching in irritation. A moment later, he erupted in a loud, grating sneeze that shook his small frame. Recovering quickly, he glared at me with sharp, disdainful eyes, his expression as cold as stone.
Turning to the captain, he spoke with icy authority.
“No animals allowed in the Hearing Room,” he declared curtly, citing a strict policy driven by his acute allergy.
The others behind him—six council members in all—nodded in agreement, some suggesting the need to draft a formal policy to prohibit creatures from sullying such a majestic space.
I glanced up from Alan to Louis, then over to Francis and Sam. The boy stared up at his father, his eyes brimming with quiet desperation.
“Are you sure he can’t stay?”
Before Louis could even draw a breath to answer, the guard barked his response, louder now, as if to leave no room for debate. “No animals allowed. That’s the rule.”
Francis gave a terse nod and motioned for Alan to see the task through.
“Sorry, Page,” Alan apologized, gently steering me back out into the hallway. “You’ll have to wait out here until we’re done.”
Absurd! Unbelievable! Outrageous! Me, unfit for such a “majestic” place? This was discrimination, plain and simple! Floating City wasn’t even that grand—hardly the pearl of the sea it pretended to be. More like a tarnished coin.
I clawed at the doors as they slammed shut in my face. I’d find a way in, no matter what; they couldn’t keep me out. There was always a way. Returning to the foyer, I spotted a flock of seagulls perched on the steps of the grand staircase. They had likely found their way inside through a missing panel in the glass dome above. Their keen eyes followed my every move, glinting with a blend of curiosity and sly amusement. Soft whispers and mocking laughter fluttered through the air.
“Ah, land animals,” one said, “always sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
“I don’t understand their obsession with humans,” said another. “Humans toss a few scraps, sure, but their kindness never lasts. Eventually, they show their true colors—cruel, every last one of them.”
“Too right! They’re vicious underneath; cruel at heart. Just look at what happened to that poor dog—”
At the mention of a dog, I spun around and demanded to know, “What dog? What happened?”
The first gull fluffed its feathers nonchalantly. “Not sure. Heard the Warden picked it up from the vet. Something about an infection... Poor thing’s set to be put down.”
Could it be? No, of course not. Lee must be fine—I was sure of it.
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“OUT! Away with you, blasted birds!” The guard charged up the stone steps, brandishing his spear at the seagulls. The startled birds squawked indignantly and flapped their wings, retreating through the gaping hole in the glass dome above. One, however, left a damp, white farewell that splattered right on the guard’s helmet.
“Damn birds,” he muttered through clenched teeth, glaring upward as if they could still hear him, and then swiping at the mess in frustration.
Before he could recover his composure, a sudden, ear-splitting scream cut through the moment, and a frantic woman descended the stairs in a flurry of skirts and panic.
“Rats!” she cried out, breathless. “There are rats up there!”
“Rats?” the guard repeated, his expression pinched with disbelief.
“Yes, rats! Do something about it!”
His glare snapped to me. The sharp tip of his spear leveled inches from my face.
“Make yourself useful, cat! You’re lucky I haven’t already thrown you out on your tail.”
I let out a sharp hiss in his direction, my tail flicking with indignation as I turned my back on him and padded up the stairs. I prowled along the hallway, sniffing the floor, when a blur of gray and pink darted around the corner, followed closely by a streak of brown fur. My whiskers tingled, and my nose twitched at an all-too-familiar scent. I bolted after it, rounding the corner.
A flash of pink—a tail—vanished through an open door, and I followed quickly. The room beyond was crammed with tall file cabinets, scattered chairs and furniture, overstuffed bookshelves, marble statuettes, and lifeless head busts staring blankly into the dimness. But my eyes were drawn to a dusty sofa under which a tight cluster of rats had gathered.
Among the scurrying rodents, Flynn was calmly directing a pair of rats hauling a long, black tubular instrument with a gleaming silver disc affixed to one end. Others trailed behind, wires draped over their shoulders, all squeezing through an opening beneath a lifted floorboard plank.
“P-p-predator!” one rat shrieked, freezing mid-step and pointing a trembling claw at me. Its beady eyes bulged with terror. Every rat turned to stare, black eyes wide.
A ripple of fear passed through them, and then pandemonium broke loose. They shrieked, claws scrambled against the floor, and the narrow opening in the loose floorboard became a bottleneck of fleeing bodies.
Flynn didn’t flinch. His arms raised in an attempt to steady them. “Be calm!” he commanded, but his voice barely cut through the frenzied shrieking. His words were lost in the rising tide of hysteria.
He clenched his jaw, inhaled deeply, and roared, “I SAID BE CALM!”
The effect was immediate. The rats froze, their squeals fading into a tense silence. But their tiny paws quivered, their fur bristling, and their whiskers twitched with the tremors of fear still coursing through them.
Flynn lowered his arms and clapped his hands together sharply.
“Alright, alright. Everyone’s calm,” he said, glancing at his rattled companions before turning his gaze back to me. “So, you came back! What for, this time?”
“There’s an important meeting happening in the Hearing Room,” I replied. “And I need to get inside. One of the humans from my ship, NOAH 1, has an extraordinary story to share. It could determine the future for all of us.”
“I’m surprised you’re not already in there with your humans.”
I let out an irritated sigh. “I’ve been turned away. Non-humans, apparently, aren’t allowed. But you—you and your rats— what exactly are you up to with this stuff?”
I pointed at the rats’ equipment: black tubes capped with silver discs and a tangle of wires in bright red, yellow, blue, and white.
“You arrived just in time,” said Flynn. “Follow me.”
The other rats exchanged wary glances but stayed silent, stepping aside to let Flynn pass through the opening beneath the lifted floorboard. I crouched low, squeezing through the narrow gap to follow him. A soft orange glow illuminated the space, emanating from a lightbulb containing tiny jellyfish that pulsed with light. Wires snaked along the cramped floor, and the ceiling forced me to crawl.
At the far end, Flynn and several rats knelt beside a bright green box with a metal grate, its back panel removed to reveal a tangle of wires and exposed green and copper circuits.
“We’re right above the Hearing Room,” he explained, his fingers nimbly weaving through the tangled wires. “This is where we listen in on the city’s critical affairs and pass the messages along to the Wise Keepers. We’re no strangers to eavesdropping, but the Council Hall is special. It’s not the usual rumors or idle chatter at a bar—words said here are more official.”
The rats were hard at work. I could hear faint, hurried scratches in the distance—along the walls, overhead, weaving through the unseen spaces around us.
As Flynn tinkered with the wires, a thought struck me. It had only been a few days since he lost two of his brothers, yet here he was, working as though nothing had happened.
“What’s been going on since…?” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Since we last saw each other?” I didn’t dare say more.
“I’ve been keeping myself busy,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the task as another rat handed him a straightened paper clip. “I didn’t have many patients to tend to today, so I figured I’d drop by and lend a hand with the eavesdropping.”
“Busy is good… it helps with coping—”
“Coping?” He scoffed softly, still not looking up. “This isn’t about coping. It’s just survival. Life out here doesn’t give you much time to dwell. Death’s always right behind us, waiting for the smallest mistake.” He paused, his gaze distant, before releasing a heavy sigh.
He snapped out of his reverie as another rat approached, reporting briskly that the wires and stethoscopes had been set up within the walls.
“The only task left is connecting the last wires to the green box and the lightbulb,” the rat said, glancing at the equipment.
Flynn rubbed his hands together, his face set with determination. The team got to work, carefully positioning a long wire that extended through the opened floorboard and connecting it to the green box. Flynn, now wearing a pair of dark green gloves, wrapped a copper wire around the metal base of the lightbulb before securing it to the box.
I watched them work with growing curiosity, captivated by the rats’ ability to manipulate wires and machinery with a skill that seemed almost human.
“You never quite answered me earlier,” I said. “What’s the purpose of all this? What are you up to?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Flynn replied with a sly grin. “Well, not see, but hear.”
With that, he pressed a button on the green box. At first, there was nothing but silence. The tiny jellyfish inside the lightbulb began to glow brighter, shifting from a soft orange to a vivid yellow. Then, a crackling sound came through the metal grate of the box. It was faint and indistinct at first. Footsteps, papers rustling, and muted voices. Flynn adjusted the wires carefully, and slowly the sounds sharpened, coalescing into words. And then, I heard it—clear as day–a single voice breaking through the static. It was Captain Francis.
“There’s someone here from my ship,” Francis said, his voice carrying across the chamber, “who has returned after years of absence. He’s the only surviving member of my scavengers and the only one who knows what these creatures are and what they’re capable of.”
“And who might that be?” came a voice, deep and commanding, reverberating through the chamber.
“Louis Kelping, Councilor,” Francis replied. “Three years ago, he led a team of scavengers on a mission. It was meant to last six months, but they never returned. Until now. And Louis… he’s the only one who made it back.”
“What happened to the others?”
“I’m not sure if they’re alive or dead. What I saw—”
“Let Mr. Kelping speak for himself,” another Councilor interrupted.
“Go on. Tell them everything—what you’ve seen, what you’ve been through.”
“There’s been so much that has happened…” Louis said. “I don’t know where to start.”
A Councilor’s voice broke through, cold and impatient. “The beginning, of course! Start with the day you left NOAH 1.”
“Alright, I’ll do my best to recall that day and everything that followed.”