The little ball of fur had curled up in Limpick's palm all night.
When he woke up the next morning, his first move was to check the black bread tucked in his shirt—it was still there, pressing hard against his ribs. His second was to look down by his feet.
Nothing.
He paused for a moment, unsure if he felt relieved or a little disappointed. There was still a faint warmth left in his palm, but it faded quickly once the sun hit it.
"Being sentimental," Limpick muttered to himself, then got up and headed out.
The moment he lifted the ragged cloth that served as his door, he nearly stepped on something—
A rat was squatting right at the entrance.
Gray fur, red eyes, back leg still moving a little stiffly. It was looking straight up at him.
Limpick looked down. The rat looked up.
The two of them stared at each other for three full seconds.
"Number One?" Limpick called out tentatively.
The rat didn't respond, of course, but it didn't run either. It just stayed there, blinking its red eyes.
Limpick crouched down to get a closer look. The rat hadn't changed much—same gray coat, same skinny tail. The only difference was its eyes. Yesterday when he stepped on it, they were just normal rat eyes, creepy and blood-red. Now there was something else in that red… like a tiny flicker of flame inside. Or maybe it was just the sunlight reflecting off them.
He stared for a long time but couldn't be sure.
"What are you following me for?" he asked.
The rat, naturally, said nothing.
Limpick thought for a second, pulled out the black bread from his shirt, broke off a small piece, and placed it on the ground.
The rat came over, sniffed it, and started eating.
Limpick watched it finish, then stood up and headed toward the docks.
He walked about twenty steps, then glanced back.
The rat was still squatting in the same spot, watching him.
Limpick turned around and kept walking.
Another twenty steps. He looked back again.
The rat was following now, staying five or six steps behind, dragging its bad back leg in a limp.
Limpick stopped.
The rat stopped too.
"Fine," he said. "Follow if you want. It's not like you take up any space."
He continued toward the docks without looking back this time. But he kept his ears open, listening to the faint scratching sounds behind him—sometimes close, sometimes farther away, sometimes drowned out by other footsteps, but always returning after a while.
Work at the docks was hard to get that day. Several boats had arrived the night before, and the line of laborers stretched from the pier all the way to the mouth of the alley. After shoving his way through, Limpick only managed to get half a day's work. The overseer tossed him two copper coins and waved him off.
Limpick stood by the water clutching the two coins, staring into space for a while.
What could two coppers buy? Half a loaf of black bread, a small piece of salted fish, or— he glanced down at his feet— something for the rat?
Rat Number One was squatting in the shadow behind his heel, curled up small so the sun couldn't reach it.
Limpick suddenly wondered: What do rats even eat?
It had eaten the bread he gave it, sure. But wild rats were supposed to eat garbage, right? Dead fish, rotten shrimp, or—
Then the golden progress bar popped into his head.
[Evolution progress: 0.0001%]
One in ten thousand.
If he had to do it all himself, how many rats would it take to make one dragon? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand?
But what if— Limpick's mind started turning— what if this rat could grow on its own? What if it ate other things, even other rats, and slowly changed?
He looked down at the little gray ball of fur at his feet.
Number One looked up at him. That tiny flame-like spark in its red eyes was still flickering.
"You wouldn't eat other rats, would you?" Limpick asked.
The rat didn't answer.
Limpick wasn't even sure whether he wanted it to say yes or no.
He turned and walked toward the market. In the end, the two copper coins went toward a full loaf of black bread—slightly bigger than yesterday's. He tore off half and stuffed it in his shirt for later. The other half he broke into small pieces and dropped one by one on the ground as he walked.
Number One followed him, picking up and eating each piece. The soft scratching of its steps followed him all the way back to his shack.
That night, Limpick lay on his pile of rags, listening to Old Tommy's coughing next door and the usual sounds of rats racing across the roof. Strangely, there seemed to be fewer rats running around tonight. Maybe it was just his imagination.
He rolled onto his side and glanced toward his feet.
It was too dark to see anything.
But he knew a small creature was curled up there, sleeping, its body rising and falling with each breath.
"Number One," he whispered.
The little ball didn't move, but its breathing seemed to pause for a second.
Limpick closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Over the next few days, Limpick started noticing something.
He'd never paid much attention before to how many rats were in this shithole. Now that he was looking, he realized they were everywhere— in the alleys, along the gutters, near garbage piles, under the walls. Day and night, those gray little things were scurrying around everywhere.
But the one at his feet seemed… different.
Number One didn't hang around with the other rats. When they fought over scraps in the garbage, it just sat nearby and watched, completely still. Occasionally another rat would come over to sniff it. Number One would bare its teeth and let out a low, thin hissing sound—not the usual rat squeak, but something else. Limpick couldn't quite describe it.
Most of the time, after getting hissed at, the other rats would back off and go around it.
Limpick saw it all but said nothing.
He kept going to the docks every day, fighting for work. Some days he got two coppers, other days he went hungry. Number One followed him— sometimes right at his heels, sometimes in the shadows, sometimes disappearing for a while. But every time he returned to the shack, it was there waiting.
One evening, Limpick was resting against the base of the city wall with Number One squatting beside him.
The setting sun stretched their shadows long across the ground— his own shadow and a tiny rat shadow next to it.
He suddenly thought about all those novels he'd read before crossing over. Every protagonist who got a system would take off right away— finding magic rings, taking disciples, slapping noble young masters, marrying rich beauties.
And here he was.
Sitting by the city wall with a rat whose progress bar was stuck at one in ten thousand, carrying half a loaf of bread he'd be licking tomorrow morning.
"Fuck," he cursed.
Number One looked up at him.
"Wasn't talking to you," Limpick said.
The rat lowered its head again and continued sunbathing.
Limpick looked at it and suddenly asked, "You've got a name now— Number One. What about me? What do you call me?"
Number One ignored him.
"Limpick," he said, pointing at himself. "Lim—pick."
The rat's ears twitched.
"Remember that," Limpick said, leaning back against the wall. "Don't go turning into a dragon someday and then act like you don't know me."
The sun slowly sank. The shadow of the wall grew longer. In the distance, lights began to glow in Riverrun castle, and House Tully's banners fluttered on the towers. Limpick squinted at them for a while, then realized he couldn't remember what his name had been before he crossed over.
Whatever. It didn't matter.
Limpick was a good name. Sounded like one that could survive.
That night when he got back to the shack, Limpick noticed something.
Before bed, he habitually checked the system panel. It usually stayed hidden unless he called it up, and there wasn't much to see besides the progress bar. But when he pulled it up this time, he froze.
[Evolution progress: 0.0002%]
He stared at the number for a long time, thinking his eyes were playing tricks.
It had doubled from 0.0001% to 0.0002%. Still tiny as hell, but it had actually moved.
How?
He looked down at Number One. The rat was calmly licking its paw, looking the same as always.
"What did you eat?" Limpick asked.
Number One ignored him.
Limpick thought back. The rat had disappeared several times that day, gone for half an hour or even a full hour each time. He had no idea where it went.
He lay down and stared at the hole in the roof.
Moonlight still leaked through like always.
But something inside Limpick felt different now.
0.0002%.
Even if it took ten thousand years to become a dragon, at least it was changing.
He closed his eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly without him realizing.
Old Tommy's coughing started up next door again. Rats were still racing across the roof. The stench from the sewer drifted in through the cracks in the door cloth. Everything was the same as usual.
Yet Limpick fell asleep more soundly than he had in days.
The next morning, he was woken by loud noise outside.
People were shouting in the alley, footsteps running back and forth. Limpick scrambled up, lifted the cloth, and looked out—
A group of people were standing at the mouth of the alley, pointing at something on the ground with ugly expressions.
Limpick pushed through to take a look.
Three dead rats lay on the ground.
They hadn't died normally— they looked like they'd been bitten to death. There were tiny tooth marks on their necks, and the blood had already dried.
Limpick's heart skipped a beat.
He lowered his head and glanced at his feet.
Number One had appeared at his heel at some point and was looking up at him. The little flame in its red eyes seemed just a bit brighter than yesterday.
"You do this?" Limpick asked quietly.
Number One didn't move.
Limpick stared at it for three seconds, then turned and walked away.
He walked quickly until he reached a quiet corner where no one could see him, then squatted down to look Number One in the eyes.
"Was that really you?"
Number One blinked its red eyes.
Limpick suddenly didn't know what to say.
He wanted to tell it not to go around killing other rats— it would cause trouble if people noticed. But then he thought, who cares if a rat kills other rats? Dozens of them died in this place every day anyway.
He wanted to say, fine, kill them if you want, but don't let anyone see. But how would a rat understand "don't let anyone see"?
After thinking for a while, all he managed was: "Are you… full?"
Number One's tail tip twitched.
Limpick suddenly felt a little stupid.
He stood up, brushed the dirt off his backside, and headed for the docks.
After walking twenty steps, he looked back. Number One was following, limping along, keeping five or six steps behind as usual.
Limpick turned forward again and kept walking.
After a couple more steps, he stopped, pulled out the black bread he hadn't licked that morning, broke off a piece the size of a fingernail, and tossed it behind him without looking.
He heard the soft scratching sound as the rat went after it.
The corners of Limpick's mouth lifted slightly, then settled back down.
The sun rose. The Long Summer sun was still brutally hot. The sound of dockworkers chanting as they unloaded cargo carried over as usual.
But as Limpick walked, he suddenly felt like today's sun wasn't quite as harsh.