Castin woke to the sound of something moving.
At first, he dismissed it as the usual creaks and groans of the house settling in the night. But then, there it was again. A deliberate shuffle, something shifting across the floor.
His heartbeat quickened as he sat up, blinking against the dim glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. Shadows stretched long and thin across the living room, swaying gently with the movement of the trees outside. He scanned the darkness, searching for whatever had disturbed his sleep.
And then he saw it.
A figure stepped into the light. Small but regal in its bearing.
A rat.
But not just any rat. It stood upright, its whiskers twitching as its sharp eyes met his. Its fur was scruffy but somehow dignified, a tattered gray cloak draped over its shoulders. In one paw, it clutched a small envelope.
"Good evening, Tall One," the rat said. Its voice was a low rasp, rough but precise, each word measured. "I come bearing an invitation."
For a moment, Castin simply stared, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. Sleep still clung to him, but the rat didn't waver. It didn't vanish like something from a dream.
It stepped closer.
"You are the one they call Castin."
His throat tightened. How does it know my name?
"Who...?" The word barely formed before the rat continued.
"That does not matter," it said smoothly. "What matters is that you have been chosen. An esteemed honor, I might add."
Castin swallowed, glancing toward the door, the window, anywhere that might explain how this creature had gotten inside. Chosen for what?
"A dinner," the rat declared, as if that explained everything. "In Rat City, beneath the sewers. A dining experience like no other."
The absurdity of it all nearly made him laugh, but his body remained tense, as if it understood something his mind had yet to process. Before he could form a response, the rat moved.
With startling agility, it leapt onto the coffee table, placing the envelope down with deliberate care. Its golden eyes flicked up to meet his, gleaming like embers in the dim light.
"You may call me the Rat King," it said, inclining its head. "And I assure you, this is no ordinary invitation. Consider yourself fortunate."
Castin's breath came slow and shallow. The words should have sounded ridiculous, but there was something in the rat's posture, its presence, that made it feel less like an offer and more like a summons.
"You... you're inviting me to dinner? In the sewers?"
"Precisely," the Rat King replied, his tail flicking behind him. "A meal fit for royalty. Should you choose to decline..." His voice dropped, and something shifted in his expression, not quite a threat, but close. "Well. Let's not dwell on such unpleasantness, shall we?"
A shiver crawled up Castin's spine.
His gaze flicked to the envelope, then back to the Rat King. Against all logic, curiosity stirred. What kind of creature sneaks into someone's home just to deliver a dinner invitation?
The Rat King gestured toward the corner of the room.
"Come with me."
Castin followed hesitantly as the rat led him to a small vent near the wall. Rusted, insignificant, something he'd never paid much attention to before.
And yet, as the Rat King waved a paw, the vent shifted. The metal slid aside, revealing a tunnel beyond. A tunnel bathed in an eerie brown-green glow.
A prickle of unease ran down Castin's neck. What is this?
"Your threshold, Tall One," the Rat King said, his voice calm but firm. "Step through, and your journey begins."
The glow pulsed softly, breathing in the darkness. The air that seeped from the opening was thick and humid, carrying a scent that was neither wholly unpleasant nor entirely natural.
He hesitated.
Behind him, his home remained unchanged. The familiar couch, the half-empty mug, the faint hum of the refrigerator. A space filled with things but absent of meaning. It wasn't a home, not really. Just a place where he existed. A hollow structure, no different from the husk of a man still standing inside it. He had stopped feeling attached to anything here a long time ago.
What difference did it make if he left?
"Are you afraid, Tall One?" the Rat King asked, his voice almost kind. "Even Nikodemus was afraid the first time."
Castin exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the dim glow of the streetlamp outside.
"Honestly," he said, "I haven't been feeling much of anything lately."
The Rat King studied him carefully, as if weighing the words.
"Then step forward," he said at last. "But know this, once you enter, there is no turning back. The world above will no longer see you as you are. But in my kingdom, you will find purpose, if you are brave enough to seek it."
A dull pounding filled Castin's ears, though whether it was his own heartbeat or something else, he couldn't tell.
Grief can be an anchor. But no matter how tightly you hold on, the current will pull you forward anyway.
He stepped into the unknown.
The glow thickened around him, wrapping him in warmth. A strange vibration hummed beneath his skin. His body felt weightless, like sinking, like drowning, like being carried away.
"What is this?" he whispered.
"The Brown light," the Rat King replied.
Castin frowned. "It looked more... Brown-Green to me."
The Rat King exhaled softly, almost a laugh. "To me, it is only Brown, Tall One. Rats are red-green colorblind. Perhaps your kind sees it differently."
Before he could process this, the light flared.
A sudden, rushing warmth crashed over him, and his vision broke apart. The world bent, shifted, realigned.
And then he was falling.
The first thing Castin noticed was the cold.
It crept through his skin, a damp, clinging chill that settled into his bones. His fingers twitched against smooth stone, his palms pressing into dampness as his senses slowly returned. His breath came ragged, uneven, his pulse hammering in his ears.
His vision swam.
Shapes wavered in the dim light, shadowed outlines bending and shifting as his eyes adjusted. He reached for something, anything, to ground himself, but the surface beneath him felt wrong. Too close. Too unfamiliar.
Then, he saw the Rat King.
Standing at eye level.
A sinking dread twisted in Castin's gut. He looked down, his heart leaping into his throat. His hands, his arms—smaller.
Panic surged through him, a dizzying rush of disbelief and confusion. He scrambled to his feet, his movements unsteady, his balance off. The tunnel around him seemed impossibly vast, towering above like the corridors of some forgotten underworld.
"What… what just happened?" His voice was different—smaller, thinner. It barely echoed in the tight space.
The Rat King observed him with quiet amusement, his cloak shifting as he took a step forward. "A gift, Tall One," he said. "The Brown-Green light, if you insist. A doorway into a world you could not reach on your own."
Castin's breath came faster. He held his hands out in front of him, turning them over as if expecting the illusion to crack. His fingers curled into fists. His body had changed, shrunk, but it felt... stronger, lighter, more balanced in a way he didn't understand.
"This isn't possible," he murmured.
The Rat King chuckled softly, stepping past him. "And yet, here you stand."
Castin forced himself to steady his breathing. The panic wouldn't help. Figure it out later. Move now.
The tunnel stretched ahead of them, dimly lit, its walls lined with twisting pipes that glistened with moisture. The air carried an acrid tang, damp and metallic. In the distance, a rhythmic hum pulsed through the stone, something vast and alive.
The Rat King moved with practiced ease, his steps light, his tail flicking behind him. "Come," he said, his voice echoing against the tunnel walls. "We have a long way to go."
Castin hesitated. His legs still felt strange beneath him, as if his body had yet to decide whether it belonged to him or something else. But standing here would do nothing.
He followed.
The deeper they went, the more the air changed.
The dampness thickened, clinging to his skin like a second layer. The stone beneath his feet was slick, uneven, shaped not by hands, but by time. Water dripped from unseen sources, their echoes threading through the tunnels like whispers.
The Rat King moved with unsettling grace, navigating the twists and slopes with ease. Castin struggled at first, his steps awkward, his sense of scale still unfamiliar. But with each stride, something within him adjusted. His balance improved. His footing became surer. It was as if his body were learning faster than his mind could comprehend.
"You are adapting," the Rat King remarked without looking back. "Good."
Castin scowled, unsettled by the way the Rat King always seemed to know more than he should. "What's happening to me?"
"The dark has a way of shaping those who walk it." The Rat King's voice carried a quiet reverence. "You are growing stronger, faster, learning to move as we do. It is a gift, though not one given lightly. Use it well, and you may find you can keep up with us yet."
Castin wasn't sure if that was meant to be comforting or a warning.
The tunnel took a sharp turn, revealing a passage narrower than before. Castin hesitated before ducking beneath a low-hanging pipe, his movements more fluid than he expected.
The Rat King glanced back at him, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
"See?" he murmured. "You are not as out of place as you think."
Castin exhaled sharply through his nose, but he said nothing.
Ahead, the walls shifted. The close, winding tunnel opened into something wider, deeper. The echoes of dripping water gave way to something more—a low murmur, distant but growing, like the breath of something vast and unseen, they were close.
The first sign of Rat City was the glow.
It flickered faintly from the far end of the tunnel, dancing against the stone like the dying embers of a fire. As they stepped closer, the passage widened into a platform overlooking a sprawling labyrinth of movement and sound.
Castin stopped cold.
Below him, the city unfolded—a vast, tangled mass of structures built into the underground landscape. Towers of discarded metal and wood jutted from the stone like crooked teeth, their surfaces patched together with scavenged glass and rusted beams. Bridges spanned across open spaces, ropes and ladders connecting levels in a chaotic web of movement.
The streets, if they could be called that, pulsed with life. Rats moved in rhythmic swarms, some carrying scraps of food, others dragging metal and cloth to unknown destinations. The air was thick with sound, a chorus of chittering voices, the grind of metal against stone, the faint hum of something electric.
Castin barely breathed.
It was alive.
The Rat King stepped forward, gazing over the city with something that might have been pride. "Welcome to Rat City," he said, his voice carrying above the distant noise.
Castin swallowed hard. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it hadn't been this. The sheer scale of it, the way the city seemed to pulse beneath him like a living thing, set his nerves on edge.
His gaze drifted, taking in the chaotic sprawl, the movement, the makeshift structures—and then, it landed on a portion of the city that stood in stark contrast to the rest.
A scar.
A massive section of Rat City lay in ruin, flattened and burned, the skeletal remains of collapsed structures jutting out like broken ribs. A jagged void where life had once thrived. The destruction spread outward from a central point, its edges blurred by the slow creep of scavengers picking through the wreckage.
Something inside Castin twisted.
He knew this kind of emptiness. He had carried it with him for a long time.
He stared at the wreckage, feeling an unease that had nothing to do with the damp underground air. "What happened there?" he asked quietly.
The Rat King's expression darkened. His tail flicked once, slow and deliberate.
"Nikodemus happened."
Castin looked at the ruins again, something stirring beneath his ribs.
It was strange, standing here, looking down at a wound in a city that had refused to die. He wondered if this was how people had seen him—someone carrying something broken inside, a void no one dared to touch.
"Did you rebuild?" he asked, though the answer was obvious. The city still stood. The rats still moved. The ruin was only a piece of the whole.
The Rat King's eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. "We salvaged what we could," he said. "Rebuilt where we had the strength. But some things do not heal. Some scars remain."
Castin's fingers curled slightly. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know what that's like."
The Rat King studied him for a long moment. There was no judgment in his gaze, no prying curiosity, only something that understood.
"The city did not ask for this," he said at last. "Nor did it deserve it. But it carries the ruin all the same." His voice was softer now, a rare moment of quiet among the chaos. "Time does not mend everything, Tall One. It only teaches you how to keep moving."
Castin exhaled slowly. His throat felt tight, though he wasn't sure why.
"The scars don't go away," he murmured.
"No," the Rat King said. "But neither do my people."
The words settled over Castin like a weight, pressing against the part of him that had long since gone numb.
For a long time, he had believed that once something was broken, it stayed that way. That there was no sense in trying to piece things back together when the damage had already been done.
But standing here, in the heart of a ruined city that still breathed, still fought to exist.
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of Rat City below.
Finally, the Rat King turned. "Come," he said. "The city is waiting."
Castin lingered for only a moment before following, the ruins still at his back, but no longer unseen.
The path down into Rat City was not a straight one.
The tunnel sloped sharply, curving with the natural contours of the underground. The damp air thickened as they descended, carrying the scent of earth, rust, and something faintly acrid. The sounds of the city grew louder with each step—the murmur of unseen voices, the rhythmic patter of countless paws against stone.
The Rat King led the way, his movements smooth, unhurried. Castin followed, his steps careful, his mind still tangled in the image of the ruins.
Something about this place unsettled him. Not just the size of it, the noise, the flickering lights that barely held the darkness at bay. It was the way it felt—like the walls had seen too much, like the tunnels carried memories that had never faded.
The deeper they went, the stronger the pulse of the city became.
They passed through narrow corridors lined with scavenged metal, makeshift lamps flickering dimly against the walls. The path split off into winding passages, some disappearing into shadow, others illuminated just enough to hint at unseen destinations. Everywhere, the city breathed, alive in a way Castin couldn't quite define.
He stole a glance at the Rat King.
"You built all of this?"
The Rat King didn't look at him. "We built it. A city does not rise from one set of hands, Tall One, but from many."
Castin's gaze flicked to the structures ahead—haphazard towers of salvaged wood and metal, pathways stitched together with old cables and planks. The entire city was a thing of necessity, made from what had been discarded, what had been forgotten.
And yet, despite its chaotic construction, there was an undeniable order to it.
"Everything has a purpose," the Rat King said, as if reading Castin's thoughts. "Nothing is wasted here."
As they moved deeper, more figures came into view. Rats—hundreds of them. Some scurried along the bridges overhead, others darted between the stalls of what looked like a market. Their eyes flickered toward Castin as he passed, some wary, others merely curious.
But it wasn't just rats.
Scattered among them were humans.
Not many, but enough for Castin to notice—their forms moving through the crowd like faded echoes. A woman stood near a scaffold, her hollow eyes tracking a group of rats as they carried away scraps of food. A man sat on a low ledge, his fingers deftly repairing a broken lantern, his movements slow, practiced. Their clothes were worn, their faces gaunt, their expressions unreadable.
Castin slowed, watching them.
"Those people," he murmured. "Who are they?"
The Rat King's stride didn't break. "Remnants," he said. "Strays, like you. Those who fell through the cracks above and found their way here. Some by chance, some by choice, others by desperation."
Castin's chest tightened. "And they stay?"
The Rat King tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes catching the flicker of a nearby lamp. "Most who come here do not leave. Not because they cannot, but because they no longer belong anywhere else. The surface rejects them. Its brightness burns their souls. Down here, they find purpose. They endure."
Castin turned his head, his gaze lingering on a man hunched over a workbench, his fingers sorting through rusted gears and wires. There was a weight to him, something beyond exhaustion, something buried deeper than fatigue.
Castin knew that weight.
He carried it too.
He swallowed, forcing himself to look away. "So, are they… prisoners?"
The Rat King's laughter was low, dry. "Prisoners? No, Tall One. They are part of this city now, just as the rats are. Some serve willingly. Others need time to understand. But all of them are here because they chose to stay."
The words settled uncomfortably in Castin's mind.
He didn't want to think about what choosing to stay meant.
The deeper they moved, the more organized the city became. The winding pathways and makeshift structures gave way to something older, something built not from scraps, but from stone.
The Rat King led him toward a towering structure embedded into the cavern wall. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a ruin, a half-collapsed remnant of something abandoned. But as they drew closer, Castin saw the deliberate design beneath the decay.
Columns of carved stone rose along the entrance, their edges worn but still standing. The walls bore faint etchings, their patterns long faded by time. Cracks split through the foundation, but the structure held.
The Rat King gestured toward it.
"My palace," he said.
Castin raised an eyebrow. "You live in a ruin."
The Rat King's whiskers twitched. "I live in a monument."
Castin stepped closer, trailing his fingers along the stone. It was cool beneath his touch, solid. "This was here before you."
"Most things were here before me," the Rat King confirmed. "Before any of us. The surface world forgets its own history, Tall One. It discards, it buries, it leaves behind. But the dark does not forget. It remembers. And so do we."
The words sent a quiet shiver through Castin's spine.
The Rat King turned, his cloak shifting as he moved toward the entrance. "Come," he said. "There is much to discuss."
Castin hesitated.
His gaze drifted back toward the city, its winding paths, its flickering lights, its scars.
He wasn't sure when it had happened—when the strangeness of this place had begun to feel less foreign. Less distant.
Maybe it was the way the air hummed with movement, the way the tunnels carried voices like the echo of something alive and unbroken.
Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't standing still.
He turned back toward the Rat King and followed him inside.
The entrance to the Rat King's palace loomed before them, its worn stone facade half-swallowed by the shadows of the cavern. Castin took in the towering pillars, their edges softened by time, the faint etchings carved into their surfaces now barely visible. The structure felt ancient, far older than the city surrounding it.
The Rat King strode forward with his usual grace, his cloak brushing against the damp stone floor. Castin hesitated for only a moment before following him through the grand archway.
Inside, the air was cooler, the walls thick enough to muffle the distant hum of Rat City. The corridor stretched before them, lined with lanterns fashioned from scavenged metal and glass, their flickering glow casting distorted shadows along the walls.
As they moved deeper into the palace, a figure emerged from a side passage.
He was a rat, taller than the others Castin had seen, his form lean and well-built, his fur marked by faint scars that spoke of years spent in battle. His stance was poised, disciplined, and his dark eyes locked onto Castin with measured caution. A sword—roughly forged but sharp—hung at his side, its hilt wrapped in worn leather.
"Matias," the Rat King greeted, his tone even.
The rat inclined his head slightly, though his posture remained rigid. "My King," he replied, his voice rougher than the Rat King's but just as firm. His gaze flicked to Castin, assessing him with quiet scrutiny. "The city is secure. No disturbances."
The Rat King gave a small nod. "Good. We have a guest tonight."
Matias said nothing at first. His sharp eyes remained on Castin, lingering just a little too long.
"I assume this is the reason for the increased presence near the tunnels?" Matias finally asked, voice unreadable.
The Rat King's whiskers twitched slightly. "He was invited."
Matias didn't look convinced, but he did not argue. Instead, he stepped aside with practiced precision.
"Then I will ensure nothing interrupts your gathering," he said simply.
The Rat King regarded him for a moment before speaking again. "See that the girl is invited as well."
Matias's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. A pause. Brief, but noticeable.
"My King," Matias said carefully, "you know she does not—"
"Invite her," the Rat King repeated, his voice calm but firm.
A beat passed before Matias gave a slight nod. "As you wish."
Castin glanced between them, sensing something unspoken between the two.
The girl.
Who was she?
Matias turned sharply on his heel, disappearing down one of the corridors without another word. The Rat King did not elaborate. Instead, he resumed walking, his posture composed, but something about his request lingered in Castin's mind.
Whoever the girl was, Matias hadn't expected her to come.
And neither, Castin suspected, had the Rat King.
The dining hall was quieter than expected.
Castin had anticipated more voices, more movement, but as he stepped inside, the space felt... intentional. The long stone chamber stretched before him, its aged walls lined with salvaged lanterns that cast warm, flickering light across the worn table at the center. The air smelled rich, a mixture of slow-roasted meats, aged cheeses, and something spiced he couldn't quite place.
For a place built in the depths of the earth, the meal before him looked surprisingly whole.
The Rat King moved to the head of the table, his posture relaxed but composed. Castin followed cautiously, eyes scanning the setup. Several mismatched chairs lined the length of the table, though only a few were set with dishes.
One seat, near the Rat King, remained untouched.
Its plate was set, its goblet filled, but the space around it felt... hollow.
Castin's brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
The Rat King exhaled softly, almost to himself, before pulling out his chair and sitting. As he did, his gaze flickered toward the doorway, just as the first platters of food were brought in. For a fraction of a second, something crossed his face, a shadow of sadness, a flicker of something distant. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual unreadable calm.
He folded his hands together and looked toward Castin.
"Welcome, Tall One, to what my people call The Rat King's Feast."
Castin raised an eyebrow.
The Rat King's whiskers twitched with amusement. "I did not name it myself," he admitted, gesturing toward the table. "But the people of Rat City enjoy the idea of it." A small smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps it makes the meal taste better."
Castin huffed lightly, shaking his head. "Not bad for a city in the dark."
The Rat King chuckled. "You would be surprised at what thrives when left forgotten by the world above."
He gestured toward the food. "Eat."
Castin hesitated, then took a seat. The chair creaked slightly beneath him, the scent of warm bread and roasted root vegetables stirring his appetite despite himself.
For a long time, he hadn't thought much about food beyond sustenance. Meals were simply things to get through, moments where his mind drifted to places he didn't want to go. But now, sitting in this strange, flickering light, in a city that should not exist, he felt... present.
He reached for a piece of bread, tearing it absently.
The Rat King observed him for a moment before leaning back slightly in his chair. "You hesitate, Tall One. Do you fear it is poisoned?"
Castin scoffed. "No."
"Then you do not trust a gift freely given?"
Castin exhaled, glancing at the empty plate beside them before focusing back on the table. "Let's just say I don't feel much like celebrating."
The Rat King hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. "A celebration and a moment of stillness are not the same thing."
Castin frowned slightly, but the Rat King didn't elaborate. Instead, he reached for his goblet, swirling the liquid absently.
For a while, they simply ate.
The quiet remained comfortable, filled only by the occasional clink of utensils and the distant murmur of the city beyond the thick walls.
Then, the Rat King spoke again.
"You carry something with you," he said, his tone softer than before. "Not in your hands, but in the way you move, the way you look at things without really seeing them."
Castin's jaw tightened. "I didn't come here to talk about the past."
"No," the Rat King agreed. "But the past does not care whether it is spoken of or not. It follows, regardless."
A pause.
Then, quieter: "What was her name?"
Castin froze.
His fingers tensed against the table's surface. His chest tightened.
It should have been easy to say. A name was just a name. And yet, it wasn't.
It was everything.
The last thread tying him to a world that no longer existed. The last piece of a voice that would never call for him again.
His throat burned before he could stop it.
"...Elena."
The name barely left his lips, but the Rat King inclined his head slightly, as though he had already known it.
"A child, then."
Castin didn't answer. He didn't have to.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then, with quiet grace, the Rat King set his goblet down. "The world above moves forward with or without you," he said. "But here, in the dark, we remember. We carry what was lost—not to let it weigh us down, but to honor that it was ever there at all."
Castin swallowed, staring at the flickering lantern light reflecting in his drink.
For the first time since arriving, he wasn't sure if he wanted to respond.
After the plates had been cleared and the lanterns in the dining hall flickered lower, the Rat King rose from his chair.
"Come," he said, his voice calm yet certain. "There is more to see."
Castin hesitated. A part of him had expected the dinner to end with some kind of explanation, some justification for why he was here, why he had been invited to this underground world. But the Rat King seemed in no rush to provide one.
With a final glance at the empty seat beside them, Castin pushed back his chair and followed.
The hallways of the palace stretched out before them, carved stone giving way to passageways lined with salvaged metal and wood. The deeper they went, the more the air changed—warmer, thicker, carrying the distinct scent of earth, rust, and something faintly electric.
Then, they stepped out into the city.
The food had settled in his stomach, warm and steady, different from the empty nourishment he was used to. It wasn't just about survival—it was about purpose, about belonging.
That realization made Castin more aware of his surroundings as he walked through Rat City, no longer just observing from a place of wariness but truly seeing.
The air was still thick with damp earth and rust, but there was something else beneath it—the faintest traces of spice and charred wood, of oil burning from lanterns, of life being carried forward.
He had seen pieces of the city before, on his way to the palace. But back then, his mind had been too preoccupied—his body still adjusting, his footing still unsure. Now, his stomach was full, his pulse steady, his mind no longer clouded by hunger.
Now, he could actually take it in.
Rat City wasn't a haphazard pile of survivalist scrap.
It was built.
Everything had a function. Scaffolding reinforced fragile structures. Bridges, though makeshift, were carefully placed to avoid weak points. Rats moved through the city with a rhythm, weaving through tight spaces with precision, their routes practiced, their tasks deliberate.
Even the market, chaotic as it first appeared, followed an unspoken structure. There were stalls, designated spaces for trade, a constant exchange of goods—food, cloth, sharpened tools, even strange mechanical parts Castin couldn't identify.
He passed a group of young rats, watching as they lined up before an elder who handed out small, careful portions of bread. The elder spoke softly to each one, ruffling their fur or tapping their heads in what almost seemed like a blessing.
Further ahead, he saw a cluster of rats working together to hoist a wooden beam into place, securing it with rope and iron scraps.
It wasn't just sustenance. It was effort. Structure. Intention.
His jaw tightened. How long had it been since he had seen something built with care?
He had spent so much time walking through hollow places—abandoned homes, empty streets, corners of the world where life had been stripped away.
This city, despite its flickering shadows and lingering scars, was still breathing.
The realization made his stomach twist.
He swallowed hard, dragging his gaze away from the scene before his thoughts could wander too far.
"You seem quieter than before, Tall One," the Rat King remarked, his voice calm but perceptive.
Castin exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Just… taking it in."
The Rat King's whiskers twitched in amusement. "It is not what you expected."
"No," Castin admitted, his voice lower. "It's not."