[Fourteen Years Earlier]
"You should eat!" Lora coaxed gently, trying once more to get the infant to accept the honey porridge she'd prepared.
Devon held the mush in his mouth for a moment — testing it with improbable seriousness — before letting it dribble straight down his chin.
"You little rascal…" Lora sighed, wiping his face and kissing his cheeks in rapid succession. She set him into the small crib beside the bed.
Devon beamed up at her, toothless and delighted.
"Alright, alright. Let me see what else I can make." She tapped her chin. "Fruit, maybe. I can mash some up for you."
She turned toward the small table — then froze.
A sudden flare of white light flashed through the window. A heartbeat later, the entire side of the apartment exploded with fire.
"Saints…"
The heat slammed into her like a physical blow. Lora spun and ran back into the bedroom, finding Devon standing in his crib, alert but blissfully unaware of the danger.
"No…"
The window was already swallowed by roaring flame. She turned toward the rear room, wrenching the door open just as another gout of fire surged toward them. Instinct took over — she twisted, shielding the baby with her body as her shawl ignited.
Cut off.
Nowhere to run.
Lora held him closer, numb to the burn crawling up her arms. "We aren't going to make it," she whispered, voice breaking.
Devon began wailing, shrill and frightened. Lora tore away her smoldering shawl, frantically searching for anything — anything—that could buy him a chance.
Then she saw it.
The fireplace.
Cold—unused—but made of stone.
Gritting her teeth, she clawed out the cinders and half-burned logs, placing the screaming baby into the hearth's narrow belly. She crouched in front of it, using her own body as a shield as the heat surged behind her. Tears splashed onto Devon's cheeks.
"I'm sorry… Saints, please… just one miracle." Her voice trembled. "Let this old woman die with a smile."
The crying stopped.
The air thickened.
Devon's eyes glowed — bright, supernatural, ancient. An instant later, the baby vanished, and a small black rodent wriggled out from beneath his tiny blanket.
Lora's breath hitched. Hope flared.
She snatched the rat up, ignoring the fire licking her legs, and lifted him toward the stone chimney.
"Climb!" she gasped. "Climb as fast as you can!"
Whether from instinct or understanding, the rat scrambled upward.
Pain twisted her features — then softened into a trembling smile.
"Yes…" she whispered, her voice breaking as the flames roared behind her. "That's it. Keep going, little one. And don't stop… no matter what."
The rat burst onto the rooftop, fleeing the flames. He scampered across scorched tiles, leapt to the next roof, then slipped down a cracked drainpipe into the muddy back alley of Thaigmaal. His bright eyes caught movement — another rat — and instinct guided him after it, through gutters, down crusted pipes, and into the sewers below.
Hundreds of glittering eyes turned toward him.
Cautious. Curious. Even fearful.
The rat moved among them, small and lost, not comprehending why they followed. Hours blurred into days.
When he shivered, the others pressed close, a warm, writhing blanket of bodies.
When hunger gnawed at him, they led him to scraps and hiding places.
When predators prowled the tunnels — snakes, foxes, even desperate thieves — the swarm defended him, some giving their lives without hesitation.
Time, as people count it, dissolved into instinct.
Life settled into a strange, quiet rhythm — until danger returned.
The northern district of Thaigmaal had changed.
Cats vanished.
Dogs disappeared.
Something was hunting them.
Rumors spread: monsters, vampires, sewer demons… all wrong. The true culprit was a small black street rat, too clever, too bold, too uncanny to be natural.
Outside the Silver Spoon Inn, a fat man in embroidered silk robes addressed a half-dozen robed acolytes. A heavy staff marked him as a mage of the Academy.
"The rats in this district have mutated," he announced, his voice booming across the cobblestones. "Smarter. Meaner. Organized. The mayor has commissioned the Magi Academy to exterminate these pests."
"Master… please don't say we're going down into the sewers." The youngest acolyte spoke up, her pretty face arranged into a practiced expression of pleading.
The mage ignored her. He struck his staff against the stones, and the tip flared with white flame. "We're going down," he said flatly. "Burn everything that moves. From this access point, we'll drive the swarm into a dead end."
The sewer grate groaned open.
Darkness waited below.
So did the rats.
Minso — the fat mage — paused at the sewer's central junction. "I'll take the main path. The six of you split up — three in each alternate tunnel. All the routes converge at the killing point. Light them up."
Flame roared down the tunnels, blasting away darkness and everything that lived in it. The black rat moved unseen in the stampede, its pelt just dark enough to blend with sewer stone. It sensed the central path was deadlier and veered toward the side route.
Rats fled by the thousands, shrieking as the stone walls glowed red-hot. The black rat halted abruptly when it spotted daylight filtering through a grate above.
It climbed, claws scraping against damp stone. Several hundred of its protectors scrambled up after it.
Chaos greeted them. Shoppers, guards, and stragglers screamed as a river of rats poured from the drains and gutters. Swords, brooms, arrows, and boots came down in equal measure as Thaigmaal's residents reacted in panicked fury.
Through the slaughter, the black rat wove with uncanny instinct, dodging blows as his followers dwindled with every heartbeat.
He rounded a corner—and froze.
Minso stood in the street, staff raised.
"Filthy vermin," the mage snarled. "Thought you could escape Minso?"
A fireball splashed across the cobblestones, scorching the swarm into instant ash. Only the black rat darted free, running until its lungs burned and its legs trembled.
It slipped down a narrow alley and collapsed beneath a pile of discarded crates, breath coming in faint, ragged squeaks.
Hours passed. Midday sun filtered weakly between rooftops.
Three street kids came single-file, the leader carrying a roasted chicken like it was buried treasure.
"Brim! Let's eat the damn thing before someone steals it," said a skinny boy with tangled hair and mismatched clothes. His identical twin nodded eagerly beside him.
"Who'd dare take our chicken?" Brim bragged as they ducked into their hidden alley hideout.
The twins licked their lips while Brim dug out a cracked plate from his stash. He set the chicken down—and the wooden crate forming their makeshift roof abruptly gave way. All three boys dove aside as it crashed to the ground.
"Saints damn it," Brim coughed, spitting dirt. "Help me put it back. We'll look for nails later."
Together they set the crate back in place—none noticing the missing plate or chicken until Brim turned around.
"What the fuck?!" Brim's rage exploded as he began kicking crates and boxes aside.
"Wait," one twin whispered, staring at a pile of moldy rags. "Something's under there."
Brim raised a brow and grabbed his club. "Come out. We can talk about the chicken."
The rags shifted—and a small boy stood up.
He was tiny, naked, soot-stained, his fingers still slick with roasted chicken fat.
"You stole our chicken?" Brim hefted the club threateningly, but the boy made no sound.
"You some kinda mute?" one twin asked, stepping closer. The boy turned his head slowly, dark eyes glittering with an unreadable instinct.
"Hey," Brim said sharply. "Back up." He studied the child more closely. "What are you? Some kind of street rat? Where're your clothes?"
The small boy looked down at himself with no hint of embarrassment.
"Get him something to wear," Brim ordered.
"What? Why? These are our spares!"
"Because I said so. And because we need a fourth. Since he ate our chicken, he can work it off. Simple."
The twins grumbled but dug out a ragged shirt and trousers. Brim tossed them at the boy.
"You're with us now," Brim declared. "I'm Brim, those two are the Twins… and you?"
He smirked.
"You're Rat."