The first notes came soft, like a breeze curling through alleyways. A whisper of melody, faint but insistent, carried on the night air. Cipher froze mid-step. His scythe hummed low, runes flickering faintly, as if the weapon itself recognized the sound.
The Automaton stirred on his shoulder. Its head tilted, clockwork eyes narrowing. "The song grows bolder. He tests the story's edges."
Cipher's gaze swept the crooked rooftops and warped chimneys of the town. The streets were deserted, but not empty. He could feel them. The rats. The unseen eyes. The waiting. His grip on the scythe tightened.
"Stay alert," he murmured. "This isn't just music. It's a hook looking for mouths."
The melody wound tighter, sharper. It shifted in tone, bouncing like a child's laugh, but threaded with a dissonance that clawed at the ear. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't meant to be. It was coercion disguised as joy, a command wrapped in play.
From the shadows, small shapes began to stir. Children, faces pale, eyes unfocused, stepped out of doorways. Some carried toys. Some dragged blankets along the ground. All of them moved in unison, their bare feet pattering on the cobblestones, following the pull of the invisible flute.
Cipher's chest constricted. Not again.
He planted the butt of his scythe on the ground, the sound echoing sharp through the square. "Stop!" His voice carried the same tone he used in classrooms, commanding but not cruel. A voice that expected to be heard. "Breathe. Stay with me."
The children faltered. Just slightly. The music curled higher, pulling harder, and they began to shuffle forward again.
Cipher exhaled slowly, raising his scythe. Its runes flared, spreading a circle of silver light around him. The glow touched the cobbles, washing over the small feet of the nearest children. Their steps slowed, their blank eyes flickered, tiny hands trembling.
"Plant your feet," Cipher said, voice firm. "The song cannot take what you refuse to give."
The Automaton's gears clicked, quiet and thoughtful. It said nothing this time.
The children wavered. Some blinked, tears forming as if waking from a dream. Others swayed like reeds, torn between two pulls—Cipher's steady words and the Piper's irresistible melody.
And then the rats came.
They poured from the alleys, from cracks in the cobblestones, from gutters and drains. Their bodies glistened unnaturally, patchwork fur shifting like ink, eyes glowing faintly red. But it wasn't their numbers that set Cipher's jaw tight. It was their focus. Every rat's gaze locked not on him, not on the Automaton, but on the children struggling in the silver light.
"They're enforcers," Cipher muttered. "Not just background… they push the story forward."
The first wave surged. Cipher's scythe swept out in a wide arc, runes blazing as steel met shadow-flesh. The rats split apart, scattering into curls of smoke, only to reform a heartbeat later at the edges of the light. They hissed, pressing against the barrier of his runes, waiting for any slip.
The music sharpened. The children clutched their heads, whimpering. One little girl stumbled forward, nearly crossing the circle's boundary. A rat lunged instantly, its jaws snapping for her ankle.
Cipher moved without thinking. His hand shot out, pulling her back into the light, the scythe spinning in his other hand to cut down the creature. The blow didn't kill it, not fully, but the impact scattered it long enough for her to collapse into his arms. She sobbed against his chest, trembling.
"I've got you," Cipher said quietly, kneeling so she was eye level. His hand rested gently on her shoulder. "Listen to me. The song only wins if you walk with it. Do you understand? You don't have to walk."
Her wide, terrified eyes blinked at him. A tiny nod.
"Good girl," he said, helping her stand again inside the circle. "Now hold still. Stay with the others."
The Automaton's voice came low, reverent. "You guide them as though the square is a classroom."
Cipher didn't answer. His jaw was set, eyes scanning the rats gathering in thicker waves at the circle's edge. More children were shuffling toward the square now, drawn by the melody, their steps slow but unstoppable. The Piper was calling, and the town was answering.
Cipher's heart pounded. I can't fight both forever. I can't hold them and strike at him. I need another way.
The scythe's runes pulsed, almost impatient. Cipher closed his eyes briefly. Not to retreat, but to remember.
A different classroom. A different child. A boy who had once stood because Cipher told him to. A boy who fell because Cipher hadn't been quick enough.
Cipher's eyes snapped open. Not this time. Never again.
He slammed the scythe into the cobblestones. The runes flared brighter, sending a ripple of silver outward. It wasn't a weapon's strike. It was a boundary, a widening sanctuary. The children within gasped, blinking, the music's pull lessened for them.
But the rats howled, surging with fury. They swarmed the barrier, clawing, gnashing, their red eyes glowing hotter.
Cipher straightened, shoulders squared, voice carrying across the square like the crack of a whip. "Listen to me!"
The children froze, every gaze snapping to him despite the music. His tone left no room for ignoring.
"You are not alone!" Cipher said, voice cutting against the flute's melody. "The story wants you to believe you are nothing but pawns, nothing but food for the Piper's song. But you are more. You are yourselves. Each of you. And as long as I stand here, you will not be taken."
The words seemed to ripple in the air, cutting across the notes. For a moment, just a moment, the music faltered.
And then another sound joined it.
Laughter.
It wasn't the laughter of children, not the joy of play. It was cruel, hollow, echoing from the rooftops. The Piper's silhouette appeared against the fractured moon—tall, thin, cloak billowing like torn fabric, his flute glinting silver-black. He lowered it from his lips, the sound dying with a hiss.
"You speak as though words could rewrite a song already composed," the Piper said. His voice was smooth, almost mocking. "Do you believe your lessons mean anything here, Teacher?"
Cipher's grip on the scythe tightened, but he didn't raise it. He lifted his chin, meeting the Piper's shadowed gaze across the rooftops.
"They mean everything," he said.
The Piper tilted his head, amused. Then he lifted the flute again.
The Automaton whispered urgently. "Cipher—"
The first piercing note shattered the air.
The rats screamed as one, launching themselves at the circle in a frenzy. Children clutched their heads, crying out as the music battered at their senses. Cipher swung his scythe in furious arcs, silver light scattering bodies that reformed just beyond reach. He was a wall, a storm, his every movement calculated not to kill but to protect.
Still, the music pressed harder. Louder. Stronger.
Cipher's voice roared above it, raw and unyielding. "Plant your feet! Hold to yourselves! Don't let him steal what is yours!"
Some of the children screamed the words back, their voices breaking the spell for precious seconds. Others wept but clung to one another, anchored by Cipher's circle of light.
The Piper's laughter rolled again, chilling and triumphant. His silhouette vanished from the rooftop. The music did not stop. If anything, it grew sharper, closer.
Cipher turned slowly, scythe raised, breath steady despite the chaos. His heart pounded not with fear, but with resolve.
The Piper was coming.
And Cipher would not yield.