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.”