I was soaring high above the world. The sun’s golden warmth bathed me, and the cool breeze filled my senses. Beneath me, the sea stretched out like an endless sheet of rippling blue.

The last time I’d flown this high was when I nearly died. I had been no more than half a year old then. Reckless, curious, every bit as mischievous as a kitten should be. I had snuck aboard a fisherman’s boat, thinking I could catch fresh fish for myself.

What a sight in my eyes! The fishermen were hauling creatures of such size and quantity that it left me in awe. Some of the fish were so massive that I just couldn't believe my eyes.

Until that point, fish had only ever been served in bits, neatly mushed in my bowl. I wasn’t ready for the sheer presence of a full-grown tuna, thrashing on the deck. One powerful smack from its tail, and I was flung overboard, plummeting into the icy water.

No one saw me fall; after all, no one had known I was there to begin with. I sank deeper and deeper into the cold, dark water, the burn in my lungs growing, desperate for air. Water began to creep into my nose, and I could feel the panic rising. I thought it was the end.

But then, out of nowhere, maybe by some miraculous intervention of the divine, I was suddenly plucked from the water and lifted high into the air. I was saved from a terrible end.

The boat became a distant speck, shrinking beneath me as I was carried up, higher and higher into the sky. I was upside down, hanging my tail which was in the grip of a gannet’s beak. It had mistaken me for a meal.

But this time it wasn't that moment. This was different. There was no gannet now. I was alone. Weightless. Suspended between life and whatever lay beyond. I came to a conclusion that seemed absurd and yet inescapable: I must be dead.

When I looked up, I saw far above me a realm of limitless wonder. An infinite sea of stars and swirling nebulae. All waiting to be explored. I wanted to reach for it, to go into that unknown, to escape the gravity of the world I had left behind.

But something stopped me. I pushed upward, trying to break free, only to feel an invisible force pushing back. It wasn’t violent, though. It was soft, like a hand on my shoulder, coaxing me down. The wind itself seemed to whisper, “Not your time.”

As I looked down, the anchored ships below appeared no larger than toy boats bobbing on the waters. They were scattered along the fringes of Floating City. Each one was a world into itself, home to thousands. NOAH 1, the largest of them all, was my world.

My home.

My sweet, sweet home.

I swooped lower, drawn by the sight of three familiar figures. There, on the promenade deck, stood Joe and Anne Kelping with their mother. Anne spotted me first. She glanced up, her face brightening as a smile spread across her lips. She waved at me. Noticing her gaze, Joe followed suit.

“Page! Get down from there, you silly cat!” he shouted, laughter in his voice.

But the invisible hand steering me wasn’t leading there. No, it pushed me further from my home, closer to Floating City, where a column of thick, black smoke spiraled upward from a street.

Then, as if seized by an invisible force, I spiraled downward toward the blackened wreckage. Through the swirling curtains of smoke, silhouettes of men and women appeared, gathering around what was left of the apothecary. They began combing through the debris, searching for survivors. A few worked in tandem, passing buckets of water, putting out the lingering flames.

"Out of my way!" a voice roared from within the crowd. The people split in two like a wave parting as a tall, broad figure barreled toward the ruins, shouting Alan’s name. I knew the voice. Gunther!

“I’ve got someone!” came the cry of a man as he dragged a beam off a crushed body. I inched closer, dread building up in me. Then, the world seemed to crumble around me… Alan. Her eyes were closed, her chest still, as though life had already abandoned her.

The man crouched beside her, fingers gliding over her neck in search of a pulse. There was none. Gunther rushed over, panic in his eyes, and with the other man’s help, lifted her from the debris-strewn ground. Together, they moved her, awkwardly, like carrying a fragile thing that might break further, and laid her on the cracked sidewalk.

Gunther lowered himself, shaking her shoulder, whispering her name. She stayed still, unresponsive. He cursed under his breath, then inhaled deeply to pull her back from the void with his own breath. The other man, hands shaking, pressed his palms to her chest.

I hope to God they weren't too late. Come on, Alan! Wake up!

As they worked furiously to revive her, my ears caught a low, persistent scraping, like claws burrowing through debris. I turned just in time to see it: a burnt hand with two fingers severed. Flesh clung to it in ragged strips, like melted wax, exposing the glint of bone beneath scorched tendons.

“Another survivor!” someone shouted, brushing aside the rubble to free the outstretched hand. But as soon as the injured figure emerged, the hand shot up, fingers closing around his throat like iron.

He tore himself free and stumbled back just as the figure rose. It was the masked stranger…only now, his face was unrecognizable. Burnt beyond repair, the flesh had melted away. The skull beneath was exposed and ashen, eyes like hollow pits of nothingness.

Horrified, the rescuer turned and fled. The masked stranger, now a hollow shell, crumbled to the ground, his life slipping away in a shuddering breath. But even as his body stilled, something slithered out from his open mouth. A half-formed, oily skeleton with some rotten gray flesh hanging on its face. It writhed on the ground, dragging itself forward with skeletal arms, pulling its broken body forward in a desperate, searching crawl.

I trailed the thing, my instincts screaming of the evil it carried. What was it after? My soul grew sick as it slithered toward Alan, still unconscious, her life hanging by a thread as she was being resuscitated. It wanted her. It wanted to claim her body as its own.

I shot forward, placing myself between the thing and Alan, hissing fiercely, my fangs gleaming, back arched in defiance. My tail bristled, claws unsheathed, ready to tear into it before it could reach her. I wouldn’t let it have her.

“Page! Dear God, I thought you were a goner,” Lee's voice floated from behind me, but I couldn’t wrench my eyes away from the oily, skeletal thing in front of me.

“The kick that guy gave me hurt like hell,” he went on, almost laughing. “And somehow, I think I just bruised my leg from the blast—” His voice cut off, mid-sentence.

"Wha... what in the hell is that?" he whispered, horror creeping into his words.

I caught a glimpse of Lee stiffening, crouching low, muscles taut like a predator on the verge of pouncing. His tail flicked up, hackles raised, a guttural growl escaping his bared teeth. His eyes were locked onto the creature, pure menace in his glare.

“That thing came out of the masked stranger,” I said, struggling to steady my voice. “It’s after Alan. It wants to take her over.”

Lee sprang forward, jaws wide, intent on sinking his sharp teeth into the monstrosity. But he passed through its form as though it was made of smoke. He hit the ground hard. He rose, shaken, eyes wide, ears pricked upward, lost in a daze of confusion and disbelief.

The thing hissed. It slithered forward, but I struck first. I tore a chunk of its decayed, oily flesh from its skeletal cheek, the rancid stench clinging to my claws. It flinched, lifting a gnarled hand to swipe at me, but I was faster, ducking out of reach just as its bony fingers swatted empty space.

I vaulted onto its back, my claws raking wildly at its skull as it dragged itself, inch by inch, toward Alan. Just as it reached her, preparing to slip into her open mouth the moment Gunther lifted his head up for another breath, Alan's eyes flew open.

The entity threw its head back, releasing a jagged, ear-splitting screech before flinging me off and snaking away. None of the humans seemed to notice the skeletal form creeping under their noses, hunting for a host to inhabit. It vanished into the smoke, burrowing deep within the rubble, but I could still hear its shrill cry, like the sound of rusted metal grinding against itself.

Alan gasped, like someone surfacing from the deep. Her face was streaked with blood and ash. She slowly pushed herself up, then stood, wincing as her injured leg throbbed with pain. The right leg of her trouser was burnt away, exposing her calf–raw, blistered, and bright red.

Gunther’s voice cracked with relief. “Thank God! I thought I’d lost you for good.”

“The cats…” Alan rasped, barely audible. “Page... and there was another one.” Her eyes searched through the haze and scattered debris, calling my name.

I’m here! I’m right here! But my voice was like the wind in a vacuum. She couldn’t hear or see me.

“They can’t see you, can they?” Lee said, watching the humans comb through the debris. Then his eyes flicked to me, and his expression faltered. “You... you look different. You're silver! What the hell is that about?”

“Because I’m dead.” I looked down at my legs and paws, noticing the faint silvery glow they were radiating.

“I'm dead. You’re not dead,” another voice broke through. “Well, not yet.”

I spun around, startled, to see Wynn standing there. His fur shimmered with golden dust, his jaw and head intact, glowing with the light of those on the brink of transcendence. I’d seen that same glow before—around Joe and Anne on that fateful night.

“What makes you say that?” I asked the rat.

“Like what Lee said, you're glowing silver, but it won't last,” Wynn replied. “The explosion may not have killed you, but the force was enough to have separated your body and spirit, and you're still clinging to life here.”

“So, I’m not dead, just… dying somewhere in there,” I said, my voice strangely distant as I pointed at the heaps of rubble. I felt hope and helplessness. Could I really find myself in time? How much was left?

“There’s time. You can still save yourself. Find your body and return to it.”

“So, what the hell are we waiting for?” Lee barked, dropping low as his nose swept across the debris.

Then, a boy who had joined the crowd searching for survivors shouted triumphantly, hoisting something from the ruins. It was a cat, its fur matted with ash, eyes wide and bewildered. It wriggled out of the boy’s arms.

“Ziggy!” I yelled, my legs carrying me toward him through the swirling smoke. He was dazed but kicking, shaking off the dust in fits and starts, like a machine sputtering back to life.

But just as I was about to reach him, I stopped dead. There, sprawled in the rubble a few yards from me, was a shape too familiar to be anyone else.

Dread gnawed at me. The body was mine. There I lay, my ruddy fur caked with soot and blood, motionless. No breath, no rise and fall of my chest. But faintly—barely—a flicker of life lingered, slipping away like a dream dissolving at dawn.