Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least not at first glance. Behind the counter, shelves were lined with glass vials, jars, and bottles, each filled with herbs, powders, and liquids that shifted in color—from black to light blue.

But, there was something off, a lingering unease beneath the orderliness. The place was too neat, too precise. A deathly quiet permeated the room. The silence wasn’t just quiet—it was stifling, like the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break the delicate stillness.

I could already picture Lee stumbling around, unwittingly toppling a bottle from the shelf, setting off some catastrophic chain reaction that would shatter the stillness inside. It didn’t take much in a place like this—one wrong move and the whole fragile order could come crashing down, dragging us along with it.

Luckily, I’d managed to convince Lee to stay outside. Stationed at the entrance like a vigilant sentry, his only job was to bark if anyone approached—especially the masked stranger. That way, those of us inside would have just enough time to hide, or at least brace ourselves for whatever weirdness was about to go down. It wasn’t exactly a foolproof plan, but a little warning would help.

The clinking of glass echoed softly through the room. I glanced up to find Flynn scaling one of the shelves with his brother, Rusty, close behind. The two of them were inspecting a bottle containing flower petals. Rusty wrapped his small arms around it while Flynn worked the cork free from its neck with a wire tool.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered, keeping my voice low, wary that the masked stranger—if he was anywhere near—might hear and come for us. “Are you trying to get us caught?”

“It's alright, there's nothing to worry about,” Flynn replied, reaching into the bottle and packing his bag with petals. “The owner isn’t here, not even upstairs.”

“Where could he be?”

He shrugged. “Hard to say, but I’ve heard he leaves the city sometimes. Takes a boat out to sea and vanishes for a few days.”

“Just vanishes?”

“That's right. Vanishes.”

“To where?”

“No one really knows.”

Flynn moved to the next jar, this one filled with a fine white powder. Rusty, the stronger and slightly bigger of the two, tilted the jar just enough for Flynn to reach inside. From his overstuffed bag—its seams already threatening to give way—Flynn pulled out a tiny, bent spoon. He scooped a bit of the powder and funneled it into a small plastic bag.

“And what exactly are you planning to do with that?” Ziggy asked as he watched the rodents with growing suspicion.

“I’m the healer in my village,” Flynn replied. “Medicine’s hard to come by. There aren’t many apothecaries in Floating City, and this one is the best stocked by far.”

“But Flynn, we need to hurry and get the others,” Rusty interrupted, his voice trembling with unease. He cast a nervous glance at me and Ziggy before asking, “Are you sure we can all get out of here... alive?”

“Don’t worry about them,” Flynn said, sounding oddly confident than earlier when he was dangling upside down with his tail clamped in Lee's teeth. “We’ve come to a truce.”

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Upstairs,” Flynn replied, his voice tight. “Locked in cages. But there’s another room across the hall…” His words faltered as he glanced at Rusty, who shuddered visibly at the mere mention of the room. “That’s where—”

“That’s where I’d hear the rats scream,” Rusty cut in, his voice strained with dread. “Our brothers, our sisters, our cousins—everyone we know. He takes them into that room. The Kill Room. No one ever comes back the same. He changes them.”

Flynn quickly finished gathering the supplies, stuffing them into his already overburdened bag. Without another word, he and Rusty leapt from the shelves and darted up the staircase. Ziggy and I exchanged a grim look before following close behind.

The first thing that hit my nose hard was the stench–a foul, suffocating odor that clung to the air like it was trying to choke me. The room was entirely different from the neat and orderly space downstairs. Rusted wire cages were stacked one upon another, leaning like they might collapse at any moment. One cage on the bottom row stood open, its floor smeared with crumbs and filth. That had to be where Rusty had been kept.

As soon as Flynn and Rusty appeared, the rats in the cages erupted into a chorus of cries—desperation, joy, grief, all at once. So consumed were they by the sight of Flynn and Rusty that they barely registered Ziggy and me standing there. The two rodent brothers set to work, skillfully picking the locks of each cage with a wire tool, their hands steady despite the chaos around them.

On the far side of the room stood a workbench, its tools hanging on a metal pegboard. But what really caught my eye were several strange lumps of black rock scattered across the surface. I jumped onto the table to get a closer look, and as soon as I examined them, I realized they weren’t rocks at all. They were fashioned from a strange, glossy black metal.

I tapped one lightly, and to my astonishment, a blue light flickered, swirling across its surface and tracing the intricate spiral lines and grooves etched into the device. It pulsed with an energy that seemed almost alive.

“What did you find?” Ziggy called from below. He tried to leap onto the table but fell short, staggering back as his injured shoulder prevented him from making a full jump.

“I thought they were rocks,” I said, still examining the strange objects, “but they’re not.”

“Then what are they?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, watching the glowing blue lines. “It’s probably some kind of device, but I have no idea what it’s for.”

I gave the device another gentle tap. It stirred to life, a low hum vibrating through the air, and then, without warning, the room erupted in a blue light that swallowed us whole. Everyone gasped. The rats cried out, steeped in disbelief and shock. Then, the room was quiet.

Before our very eyes, a bird’s-eye view of Floating City materialized, its grandeur sprawling across the room. Six borough islands circled Old Rig, each one a gem set in a shimmering azure sea, their contours perfectly defined in midair. I reached up to touch the radiant display, and as my paws brushed against the luminous image, it responded, zooming in on the exact spot I had touched. The image transformed, revealing layers of detail: the crowded street, the vibrant shops lining the avenues, the houses with their weathered facades, and the vendor stalls brimming with colorful wares.

“It's a map,” I said, “but I've never seen a map like this before.”

The only maps I was familiar with were the ones constructed from kelp, carefully stored on the navigation deck of NOAH 1. I took pride in having joined Alan on a six-month expedition to chart the new world after the Great Wrath. Those charts illustrated a world drowned beneath endless water, where scattered islands of rubble and jagged rocks were all that remained of the past.

But this map—this map was different. It was made of light, capturing life on Floating City as it unfolded in the moment. Just as I reached up to touch the map again, Lee’s barking cut through the silence from outside. The signal. Someone was coming into the shop.