The air hummed with the murmurs of those below, drifting up from the pool—a restless sea of wandering souls that would never find peace.

The hook descended once more, carving its path through the crimson depths in an endless cycle, where neither joy nor hope awaited. But at least, there was quiet. No vengeful gods, no bloodthirsty foes, no gnawing hunger—only silence.

Beside the pool, the old rat sat unmoving, his gaze fixed, undisturbed by the years spent searching for his lost heart, even through the depths of hell. The wind cut through the forest with an icy chill, yet Ratoo did not stir. Nor did he flinch at the gaping hole in his chest.

At times, he would speak—soft murmurs to a life long past, to a brother he still mourned, or to memories too distant to hold. Whether he spoke to you or to no one at all, you could never tell. But you knew it helped him, somehow, to think. And he had all the time to think, as he pulled heart after heart from the abyss, only to discard them in quiet disappointment. None were his.

He never told you how he lost it. You had asked, back when he first caught you. It was the only time his gaze had wavered, when his expression had darkened with something like pain. A brief dismissal, followed by a question of his own, shifting the subject.

The cage that held you was no prison. It never had to be. Ratoo, at least, had someone to talk to—a heart still full of life. That was why he refused, time and again, to let you replace the one missing from his chest.

A hush settled. Then came a faint clink, drawing his attention. With a quiet huff, he turned, his single eye glinting as it fell upon you. In the darkness, your spirit was the only thing that still lit his face.

“Well, what do we have here, little soul? Are you bored ? Come here.”

The cage opened and the rat smiled, knowing. His claws traced slow, thoughtful patterns along the bars, waiting, listening. You were his secret-keeper now, the one soul to whom he might whisper truths he had never dared to tell.