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Ariel RockAriel Rock Written ByWritten By
The Mice Who Dared Copyright © 2026 by Ariel Rock All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses allowed by copyright law. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; characters, incidents, and places are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
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No mouse had ever seen the sky, nor had ever seen the beautiful view of the world outside nor had smelt the fresh smell of green grass, mostly because no mouse found a reason to look for it. Life inside the Great Burrow was nothing less than perfect. In fact, it was a blissful, endless cycle of feasting and sleeping. They were sheltered from predators and blessed with mountains of grain, the word “outside” had simply faded from their language. A massive, tightly knit civilization filled with tunnels, and somehow windows that let natural light into the burrow operating under a strict code of mutual aid. Disputes were exceptionally rare, and when they did happen, the unified community would resolve them collectively. This stable life allowed them to progress far beyond ordinary mice. They even mastered electricity when an adventurous thinker learned to tap into a buried power cable. Yet, this engineered paradise was a trap. Their sophisticated lifestyle hid a huge fatal flaw: prosperity had erased their primal instincts, leaving them fat, brilliant, and utterly defenceless against what would come.The Great Burrow
At the heart of the subterranean society sat George Tyrob, an elderly statesman descended from the legendary king who first led their ancestors to this underground paradise. Age had softened George, but his position remained absolute. His closest confidant was Marco Simmons- known respectfully by the community as Mr. Simmons- a friend who held immense sway over the old ruler’s heart. So much so that George frequently showered him with rare artifacts salvaged from the fringe of their world. The most magnificent of these was a grand shelter, constructed on royal orders by a team of laborers who braved the dark, unexplored edges of the deep burrow to retrieve its materials. Marco Simmons accepted this gift with immense gratitude, naming the unique dwelling the Red Can. Before long, it became renowned as one of the grandest estates of the entire Great Burrow. It was a fitting monument to a bond that spanned lifetimes; George and Marco had been inseparable since their earliest days as pups, long before the weight of leadership and age had settled upon them.The Great Burrow
Wilber Jones, Harvard Grey, and Nicolas Bedrin had heard the tale at least a thousand times, but Marco always told it with the same boyish enthusiasm and pride in being the faithful friend of the King. “I was young and blinded by curiosity,” reminisced Marco. “Out of my mind, I slipped out of the Great Burrow , against my father’s strict words against doing so, and ended up on the nearby asphalt of the street. I was mindlessly scanning everywhere around me except for where I was going, mesmerised by a world I had never seen when I tripped and sprawled out on the pavement. That’s when the shadow fell over me. A rat cornered me. I screamed. Then I froze, totally helpless. The brute’s claw tore into my shoulder, but before it could finish me, George charged in bravely. He was seven years older and moved like a lightning bolt. He took the brunt of the teeth and claws to drag me back to safety, bearing scars of that fight to this day.The Great Burrow
Years later, when my curiosity almost drowned me in the burrow’s deep pools, guess who pulled me out from the current? George, yet again.” My parents punished me severely and forbade me from ever looking at the surface again. But from that day on, we were tethered. If we broke rules, we broke them together. “Genuinely, Marco, that's like the billionth time you’ve recounted that tale,” Wilber said fighting a yawn. “We understand the depth of your friendship. You’re soulmates.” Harvard gave Marco a sharp nudge, turning to their companion. “Nicolas, Isn’t that what they call bromance?” “A bit eccentric, but yes, that’s what it’s giving,” Nicolas smirked. “Okay, boys. Let’s change the subject,” George said, sitting across the palace parlor, his voice held enough weight to freeze the laughter instantly. The quiet didn’t last. The heavy door burst open dramatically, and the king’s young son, Georgey, stumbled in, his face flushed with anger. “Father! Father!” he cried out.The Great Burrow
The Great BurrowGeorge narrowed his eyes, massaging his temples. “What is troubling you this time, Georgey.” “It’s Frederick,” “What did Frederick do this time?” George could already feel a headache forming, knowing he’d likely have to intervene yet again. “And most importantly- what did you do to provoke him?” It was the same old pattern: Georgey provokes Frederick and Frederick retaliates. George knew what happened; his son must have instigated the fight- it was never going to be a surprise. “He... He” Georgey stammered through thick tears. “Speak up, child.” George crossed his arms, his patience thinning. “He called me ugly.” Georgey sniffed as he wept openly. “And worst of all, he slapped me right across the face.” “Then handle it properly.” George said flatly. “And did you report it to your instructor?” “Not yet.” “The chain of command exists for a reason, Georgey!” George sighed. “ Next time tell your teacher first. If she fails to act, then you come and tell me. I’ll phone Mr. Becker. Now go. I assume you have homework.”
The Great BurrowWith heavy steps, Georgey began to retreat, but George’s voice cut through the room like a double-edged iron sword. “Hold on.” Georgey instantly ceased moving and turned his neck towards George, trembling. “Yes?” “If you started this, you have to know that you’ll face consequences. Being royalty do not exempt you from our laws. We do not tolerate those who disrupt this burrow’s peace.” Sweat broke out on Georgey’s eyebrow. “Yes, Father, right.” With that, Georgey walked out the room. “That kid, seriously.” George said to himself under his breath. “Looks like stuff are getting a little spicier around here.” Harvard chuckled. “You have no idea. But I know for a fact that he started whatever happened there,” George added. Marco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, how so?” “The way he said it gives it all away. The stutter? It’s his signature way of telling me that he started it.
Gentle Havok And plus, It’s not the only time he started a fight. The kid has a track record of being the instigator.” “Uh, I see.” Marco nodded, pressing his lips together. “You know, my children are like that as well. Except, they’re a bit easier to handle.” “Must be nice,” Nicolas asked. “Mine is an absolute rascal. I’m telling you it’s not very fun.” “I’m lucky I don’t have children yet. I have some time to relax.” Harvard said. The evening’s dinner was an extravagant affair. Harvard, Wilber and Nicolas gorged themselves, though George and Marco remained unusually restrained. By midnight, the guest had long since returned to their homes, leaving George alone with the silence. That’s when the agony struck. A bizarre, twisting sensation clawed at George’s stomach, sharp as shattered glass. A wave of dread washed over him as sour bile rose in his mouth. He panicked; in a world of absolute peace, illness was a forgotten myth. This was entirely alien. “Devon!” The King gasped, choking on the name. As soon as he heard the call, his assistant- who was working in his office- rushed in the royal chambers, eyes wide.
“Yes, sire. You called for me?” “Yes.” George managed, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Can you please call medical support. Call Doctor Grim, please.” “On it, sire.” Devon promised, sprinting back to his office. He snatched his telephone receiver made by a wire scavenged from human parts and frantically punched the four-digit emergency code : 1-1-1-2. And ring! Ring! The phone rang. The line clicked, and a gravelly voice cut through the static. “Hello.” “Hello?” Doctor Grim answered. “Doctor Grim, it’s Devon from the palace,” the assistant gasped, his voice trembling. “The King needs you immediately. I don’t know what’s wrong, but he seems in severe pain. Please, get here as soon as you can “Ok, I’ll be right there.” Doctor Grim replied, leaving the line abruptly going dead. Alarmed, Doctor Grim rushed to the palace. A few minutes later, he burst into the royal chambers. “Your Majesty! What is wrong? Are you alright?” Doctor Grim asked, gasping for air after he had dashed on all fours. George lay twisted in his bedsheets, clutching his chest. “I’m not sure, Doc,” he wheezed, each breath a painful struggle. Gentle Havok
Gentle HavokDoctor Grim dropped to his knees by the bedside, pressing two fingers on the King’s erratic pulse. “What are you feeling? Tell me where it hurts.” “I can’t exactly describe what I felt completely.” George responded, feeling worried. “But I can try.” “Please do, Sire.” “After I had dinner, I retired to my chambers. And at midnight- right before I summoned you- I felt a sharp sensation. It felt as though I had swallowed a handful of needles. And I also felt a hot surge of acid going through my throat.” He explained. “Did you, perhaps, overindulge at the feast?” Doctor Grim asked, quill scratching furiously against his parchment. “No,” George wheezed, shaking his head. “I didn’t have an appetite. In fact, it was only Harvard, Nicolas and Wilber who ate a lot.” “Is there anything else that you’ve been feeling?” “Oh, and I felt slightly out of breath.” George answered, straining to pull air into his lungs. Doctor Grim stopped writing, his eyes widening slightly. “By the ancients... it matches the old texts. A case of Gentle Havok. A seizing of the lungs paired with a fiery belly.”
Gentle Havok“What?” George’s face drained of color. “But do not panic just yet, Your Majesty,” Doctor Grim reassured, as he pocketed his notes. “I’ll contact my colleague, Leandro, immediately to see if he knows more.” “Thank you very much, Doc.” George barely managed. George was about to collapse back to bed when Devon barged into the room, slamming the heavy wooden door against the way giving it a small dent. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” Devon demanded, his eyes wide. “I… I think I am. George stammered. “Doctor Grim says I have a case of gentle Havok.” Devon raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Gentle Havok? What on earth is that?" “I’m not sure what it is,” George said, clutching his chest as he let out a cough. “Doctor Grim is trying to find out. He and Leandro are searching for answers as we speak.” A few corridors away, inside the dimly lit royal archives, Doctor Grim and Doctor Leandro drowned in parchment. Medical journals lay thrown across the floor, page after page filled with forgotten lore. For hours, they dug through heavy hard-covered volumes detailing ancient plagues and long-extinct remedies.
By the time the first golden rays of dawn began to shine, their eyes were bloodshot and their desk was buried in a mountain of open books. “Oh! Oh!” Doctor Leandro shouted, nearly dropping his spectacles. “Found it!” He held up a heavy leather-bound volume. The gilded letters on the spine read: Ancient sicknesses. “Yes, finally!” Doctor Grim hurried over. “Let’s take a seat and see what we are dealing with.” They huddled together, furiously flipping through yellowed pages. After flipping pages for twenty minutes straight, their fingers felt softened and smelled of harsh ink. Then their paws stopped on an old, ink-drawn illustration of a microscope examining a strange microscopic organism. It was strange; the two of them, who had taken many courses on micro-organisms, had never seen an organism that looked single-celled and yet had two cells. It was almost as though the organism had doubled. Underneath, a single line of elegant cursive read: A disease called Gentle Havok. Discovered in Ancient Sertoth, in 368 BMDM.Gentle Havok
“Oh, wait!” Doctor Grim gasped, his eyes widening in excitement. “I found the origin.” He tilted the book toward his colleague and began to read aloud, tracking the faded words with a claw. “In 368 BMDM- Before Modern Day Mice- a certified scientist named Johan Phoenix discovered a mysterious ailment in Sertoth, Salvandia. Phoenix was examining microscopic, germ-like substances that he named Jerts.” “Interesting,” Doctor Leandro murmured. ‘So the old legends are true.” “Listen to this,” Grim said, his eyes glued to the texts. “Phoenix wrote that Jerts cause severe confusion within the victim’s body, leaving their hormones completely imbalanced. In some extreme cases, the victim could adapt hormones from their opposite gender. Variations include Harrimonia, Recophobia, and the most common of them: Gentle Havok. It earned its name because it mimics a mild ‘friendly’ affliction, acting as a less fatal mutation of the true Havok.” Leandro leaned closer as Grim scanned the long list of symptoms. “What does it do to the host?”Gentle Havok
Grim continued: Symptoms Of Great Havok (from Jerts species): Slight Digestive issues and tingling stomach Painful gut and pain while breathing Sleep issues and fluctuating energy levels Appetite loss or sudden appetite increase Increase in sleep Unusually red eyes and insensitivity Hallucinations and irrational fear of things the victim never feared before (e.g. eggplants, broccoli, red onions) Loss of smell. Grim’s voice faltered as he reached the bottom of the page. “Leandro, look at the warning. ‘If Gentle Havok remains untreated for more than two months, it mutates to a brain- eating monster: Havok, Ultrolomonia.” A heavy silence fell into the room, as they exchanged nervous glances. “It says it is spread through food poisoning,” Grim continued, his voice trembling. “Its cures are unverified. Grey slime to stunt the Jerts’ growth. Garlic, cayenne pepper, lime, lemon, black pepper, and chilli pepper which won’t completely cure the disease, but it will relieveGentle Havok
the agony.” “We have to be quick,” Doctor Grim exclaimed, his own heart hammering against his ribs. “Though, thank the Heavens, King George doesn’t exhibit all of the symptoms yet.” “Not yet,” Grim agreed grimly. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. “We need to know exactly what we are up against. I am going back to the archives to search for ‘Havok’ and Ultrolomonia right now.” There wasn’t any book on Ultrolomonia, so Doctor Grim came up with an idea. “What if we contacted Christopher Mclauren?” “That’s the only way to deal with it," Leandro said. "It’s a great idea.” But there was a glaring problem with their solution: neither of them knew him or had his contact information. They had no idea where exactly he lived. They only possessed one clue—they were absolutely certain he lived somewhere in the USLM, but they had no location details beyond that. Tracking him down would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.Gentle Havok
It felt as though they had to cancel the plan before it even started, leaving them to find the cure themselves before George’s Gentle Havok mutated into Ultrolomonia. Doctor Grim let out a heavy, ragged sigh, defeat pressing down on his shoulders. He was a top-class physician with years of flawless experience. He had cured rare plagues and saved countless lives. Never in his career had a medical anomaly completely baffled him. The worst part was the guilt gnawing at his stomach. He could have studied it. He had been given the syllabus a year ago, but after months of relentless, exhausting work, he decided he could afford a break. It has 'Gentle' in the name, he had reasoned with himself back then. Surely I can skip these few lessons. I’ve earned a holiday. So, he skipped the lessons and went on a grand holiday. He had the time of his life, away from the crushing pressure of medical school, even debating whether or not to quit medical school entirely. He had lost a lot of time and energy sacrificing his personal life for his career, so he figured he deserved a rest. What was supposed to be a short recess turned into a sweeping, three-month escape.Gentle Havok
After his holiday concluded, he prepared to return to medical school. He went to the airport in Jerdston, Gerland, with a purchased ticket in hand, ready to fly back to his home country of Orlandia. That was until his phone rang. It was a representative from his medical academy. She told him he had been offered a life-changing job at a royal palace. A job in a royal palace? Grim thought. But it was all the way across the globe, far from his homeland, located in the Great Burrow of Parkland. Grim stood there frozen. He was deeply tempted. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work for a king. But as good as it was, he had promised his mother- a strict, unyielding mouse who demanded nothing less than perfection- that he would finish his degree. All she had ever cared about since his birth was his education; she wanted him to be the most brilliant mind in Orlandia. On the other hand, he felt there was more to life than just studying. He had grown up under a heavy burden of high expectations, never wanting to let his mother down. So, he was left with a tough decision: stay in medical school with all its stress and anxiety, or choose a comfortable,Gentle Havok
prestigious path to recognition. Working for the king. Looking at a sea of stressed students and remembering the impending years of anxiety and sleepless nights, Grim made a choice. “My parents will be proud,” he whispered to himself, looking down at his plane ticket. “I’m making them proud, on my own terms.” With a sharp, decisive snap, he tore the ticket apart. He would fly to Parkland instead. He phoned the school back and said, “Tell the King that I’m on my way.” Now, standing in the dark royal library years later, Doctor Grim stared at his trembling claws. The lessons he had skipped to run away from his duties had kicked him in the back. And the price of his holiday might cost the king's life.Gentle Havok